by Unknown
‘That’s the problem with posh food, it’s always tiny portions,’ adds my uncle. ‘I’m knocking, no sixes, no fives and no threes,’ he adds, returning to the game of dominoes.
‘Lovely party though, dear,’ says Mum, no doubt noticing my silence and assuming I’m offended by their analysis of my party food.
‘Wicked,’ yells Rick. My cousins all nod their agreement.
‘So much champagne and cocktails, it must have cost a fortune,’ says my sis.
‘Great band,’ says Charlie. ‘It’s been years since we danced like that, hey Lisa?’
‘You are so off the scale lucky,’ says Rick.
‘You are living the dream, no doubt about it,’ adds my sister.
‘Who could have imagined such a thing?’ asks Lisa.
‘Ben is sleeping with Scott.’ That’s me.
‘What?’
It’s gratifying that everyone else seems as shocked as I am (although no one else throws up). On the drive over here I’ve been haunted by the idea that everyone knew about this, everyone other than me, that is.
‘I’ve just found them together, now, after you all left,’ I explain.
‘Ben wouldn’t do that,’ says Lisa. Notably, she does not put up a similar defence for Scott.
‘I caught them in the act,’ I say. Then I start to cry. Well, cry suggests an element of restraint – I sob actually, and howl.
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ says Charlie.
I gratefully gulp down the whiskey. I enjoy the warmth swirling around my stomach; it offers me some sort of comfort. Not enough comfort. Not as much comfort as beating Scott and Ben with a spiky pair of Jimmy Choos until they beg for mercy – but some comfort.
‘How long do you think it’s been going on?’ asks Charlie.
‘Do you think it was the first time?’ asks Lisa.
‘Do you think Scott is gay or experimenting?’ asks Rick.
‘Is this a fling or the real thing?’ asks my sister.
‘I don’t know,’ I wail. These are exactly the questions that have spurted around my mind on the journey over here but I haven’t got any of the answers. Another whiskey appears from nowhere. I register murmurs assuring me that ‘It’s good for the shock.’ I down it. It has a calming effect or at least a numbing effect and that’s as good as, right now. I still can’t process what I saw half an hour ago. I can’t begin to tackle the enormity of the situation.
‘I’m supposed to be getting married in the morning!’ I wail, placing my head on the table. The cold surface soothes my hot head. Mum bustles around to my side of the booth and evicts Lisa. She grabs me and pulls me into a hug. I close my eyes tightly so I can’t glimpse her appalled and aggrieved face. It’s bad enough dealing with my own disappointment.
‘What am I going to do?’ The whiskey loosens my tongue and I start to blather, giving voice to thoughts I hadn’t allowed to blossom fully. All my secret, difficult thoughts, that I’ve been working so hard to keep entombed.
‘Sometimes when I’m with Scott, I think that we are made for one another. At least, I did in the beginning. I really did. It was so exciting, overwhelming. I thought it was it, you know, everything you ever read about or dreamed about.’
Everyone is gathered around me now; all my loved ones, they nod and murmur their understanding. Only Adam has stayed in his seat and is silent. While every other face is twisted with concern or blazing with a ghoulish astonishment, Adam doesn’t change his expression from neutral. I keep peeking at him but I have no idea what he is thinking. Most likely he’s using every iota of self-control to resist yelling, ‘I told you so!’ In my effort to be honest, I’m probably really hurting him. Hurting him again. Which is shaming. Now I have a hint of how Adam must have felt when I left him. I try to explain my actions to him, under the guise of telling the whole crowd. I stare at the sticky condiments on the table and mutter, ‘I wouldn’t have left like that, unless I believed Scott was everything, do you see? That’s why I cut all strings. I’m sorry I was so – insensitive.’
The word is inadequate. No doubt Adam thinks so too but he still doesn’t move or respond. Everyone else bursts into another round of sympathetic grunts and someone orders more whiskey, I think it’s my third. I dip a chip into a small pot of ketchup. It splits and the fluffy white innards are exposed. I gobble it down in one bite. It tastes fantastic. I carry on talking.
‘But that feeling that we’re made for each other, that somehow we were destined for one another, I haven’t been getting it too much recently,’ I confess. How long have I known this? Why haven’t I said something earlier? At least to myself? ‘Truthfully, I don’t think I’ve had that feeling since we came to LA,’ I admit. ‘And we are never alone. It’s hard to stay connected when you have to shout above thousands of people just to ask him to pass the salt. And I don’t think I care enough about his records and his ambitions. And I don’t think he cares about anything else.’ And I do care about Adam’s band. I also care about where Adam is sleeping and who he’s sleeping with. Sensibly, even in my distraught state I’m aware I can’t confess this. I am however prompted to ask, ‘Where’s Jess?’
When I first came in I assumed that Jess was in the loo but she can’t possibly still be in there.
‘She’s downstairs, in the Purple Lounge,’ says Adam. It’s great that he’s finally entered into the conversation, although he still doesn’t budge from his seat.
‘Alone?’
‘No, this guy asked her to join his friends. He seemed really cool.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Mind? Why should I?’
‘Because. Well –’ I don’t know how to finish the sentence. Adam understands perfectly, without my having to do so.
‘I thought I told you Jess and I are just friends,’ he says with a shrug.
Oh thank God! Thank God! No, no, he hadn’t told me. Not as such. Not clearly. I wasn’t sure. Suddenly (and no doubt improperly) I’m filled with a dreamy sense of delight and relief. It swooshes around my body, causing my knees to shake.
Charlie claps his hands together and looks delighted. ‘Jess hoped you might think that there was something going on between her and Adam. Didn’t she, Lisa?’ Charlie has never been known for his subtlety and he’s had far too much booze today to compute whether his revelation is going to embarrass anyone. He lunges on. ‘Jess has this crazy idea that you and Adam shouldn’t have split up and she thought that if she could make you jealous you’d come to your senses. She bet Adam a tenner you’d beg him to come back to you; she was that certain.’ Charlie is suddenly struck by another thought. ‘Not that her view seems so crazy now. I mean, I was all in favour of you running off with a multi-millionaire, we all were.’ If that’s the case, my friends and family now look extremely unsure. They are clearly mortified at being made accountable for their opinions in front of Adam. ‘But since he’s playing for the other team, it doesn’t look like such a smart move, does it?’ finishes Charlie. The silence is deafening. Adam rescues us all from the awful embarrassment.
‘Jess has been a really good friend to me when, you know, I needed a friend,’ he says. The delight and relief are rapidly replaced with something more like shame and regret. I feel like the cow I undoubtedly am.
Rick asks, ‘Should I go and get Jess? She’ll be pleased to know that you were taken in by her little ploy. Even though it didn’t pan out exactly as she hoped. Part A worked at least. You did think she had the hots for Adam, even though you never begged him to come back to you.’
Why wouldn’t she have the hots for him? I ask myself this as I sit staring at Adam. Why wouldn’t Jess or any other woman, come to that, have the hots for Adam? My fingers are itching to scuttle through his long, scruffy hair. His heavy eyebrows are knit in concentration and his dark brown eyes ooze concern. His cheekbones are sharper than I remembered, his shoulders are broader.
‘No, don’t interrupt her fun,’ I mutter. She’ll hear about my nightmare soon enough.
It’s only just dawning on me but I realize now that Adam is unique in his ability to be so laid back in this hectic and frantic world and he is not at fault. He’s a man with a quiet certainty that everything will be all right. He lives without fear. He isn’t afraid of people not liking him, or of being a failure, or even normal things that everyone is a bit afraid of, like being mugged, lost or unloved. He sees all that as pointless worrying. He’s not even afraid of missing the last train home. That’s why he wasn’t prepared to bow to the deadlines I, or anyone else, imposed. He was not afraid of time passing because he knew he’d have his time. I’m afraid of lots of things and Scott is afraid of everything. Now, being with Adam seems like a freedom. He’s unafraid, he’s not even worried. His quiet confidence is unusual and deeply, deeply attractive.
Oh God, if only I could beg him to take me back as Jess was hoping or, better yet, turn the clock back so that I’d never left him. That’s got to be the whiskey thinking, doesn’t it? Maybe not. Or the shock of finding Scott with Ben. Maybe not. I don’t know. All I know right now is that I want to push past my mum and all the other confused and concerned faces and throw myself on the floor, wrap my arms around Adam’s legs and plead with him to have me back. I think I wanted to do this the moment I saw him by the pool this afternoon, I just couldn’t admit it to myself. What a nightmare. What a total idiot I’ve been. Suddenly, I’m awash with startling, overwhelming memories. We were happy, Adam and I, once upon a time. We were happy in each other’s company and we didn’t need movie premieres or Rodeo Drive or infinity pools. We were happy waiting for a bus, sharing a stick of chewing-gum, finishing the Sudoku, guessing the outcome of a Coronation Street plotline. We were ordinary. Why didn’t I see that ordinary isn’t so bad? It’s actually rather nice when on the other hand you consider that the extraordinary includes your boyfriend having sex with your boy friend.
Dad gently tries to bring me back to the matter in hand. ‘Would you like me to go and tell Scott the wedding is off?’ he offers. He stands up and draws himself to his full height. He’s not enormous but his beer belly is quite impressive; in my eyes he’s never looked so heroic.
‘Someone will have to go and say something,’ says my mum. ‘There are so many people making plans, the sooner we start to unmake them the better.’
‘You think I should call off the wedding?’ I’m actually just confirming I’ve understood their intention, rather than questioning the sense of the plan. It’s an important nuance.
‘Of course!’ Everyone choruses at once. Everyone, except one person, that is. I’m staring at Adam and he’s silent.
‘I know it’s going to be hard giving up all that wealth: the designer clothes, the mansion, the jewellery,’ says Lisa.
‘The helicopter, the private jet,’ adds Charlie.
‘But you have to,’ says my sister, flatly.
‘Money never brought anyone happiness,’ adds my aunt. I don’t actually think she’s right about this but I know what she’s getting at, besides it’s impossible to argue with her when she adds, ‘I mean, Scott isn’t actually happy, is he?’
‘You can’t buy love,’ notes my dad.
‘I know, I know all this,’ I snap. I don’t think I can bear to listen to another one of their platitudes. Of course I know what I have to do. I have to dump Scott and walk away from the wedding of a lifetime. I have to say cheerio to the most glitzy future imaginable – I know that. It’s just a hard thing to do. I wanted my life to be exquisitely special, distinctly not ordinary, but now I realize that the only way it can be that is by being honest with myself. I used to wonder, if I could have anything what would I ask for? A bath full of M&Ms to sit in? A room full of actors to chat to? A wardrobe full of designer clothes to lounge in? None of the above. Being with Scott is not what I want. I look at Adam, Adam is what I want. I smile at him gently, sure that he’ll communicate his support. With a single glance he’ll make it easier for me to walk away from all that glitters and towards what’s truly golden. Easy.
Abruptly he stands up, grabs his battered leather jacket and walks towards the door. In a flash I push past my mum and everyone else, and follow him out of the restaurant.
67. Fern
‘Hey, Adam.’
My voice cuts through the warm night air. He stops and turns. He stares at me and I’m doused with feelings of almost painful tenderness. He waits for me to say something else. But what do I want to say? What can I say? This has been the most bizarre and painful night of my life. The image of Ben’s bum sticking out of my bed sheets is scored on to my brain. I can’t compute the level of betrayal. But that’s not the only thing I’m grappling with. Suddenly, I am certain that Adam’s steady solidness, his reliability and calmness out-wows Scott’s front-man antics. Yes, Scott is dynamic and innovative – he’s also exhausting and disloyal. Scott feasts on adulation and acts on abandon. It’s all a bit much for me. I’m shrouded in the overwhelming belief that all the sorrow of tonight will be washed away if Adam just holds me. I don’t know what I’m hoping to gain from his touch, where I’m hoping it will lead, but I know that I definitely don’t want Adam to walk away right now; I have a feeling that will be more of a loss than chucking away the jewels and the helicopter. Way, way more. I used to believe that Adam proposing would make my life more luminous, glorious and triumphant. Now I’m sure that being with him, married or not, would be just that.
But Adam didn’t join the rest of my family in their resounding calls for me not to marry Scott. Is it possible that Adam is past caring what I do?
‘Do you think I should marry him?’ I ask.
‘That’s a stupid question, Fern.’ Adam sighs and pulls his hands through his hair. He looks weary.
‘Could you take me back?’ I blurt. ‘I’d give it all up for you – the fame and money and stuff. I’d give up the mansion with the pools and the cars and the store cards and the –’
‘No, Fern. I’m sorry. No.’ Adam stares me full in the soul. ‘You can’t go backwards. I don’t want to be the guy you ran back to.’
My ears start to buzz as a burning heat creeps through my body. Humiliation seeps into every pore, leaks into my bloodstream and carousels through my body. Humiliation and sour, sour, disappointment. What was I thinking? Did I really expect Adam to fling his arms open and say, ‘Come back, Fern-girl, all is forgiven’? How stupid of me. How pathetic.
But then, yes, yes, that is exactly what I was hoping for.
I scrabble around for the tiniest shred of poise that might have survived detonation of my dignity. I wobble on my feet. ‘Fine.’
Then quickly I walk towards Barry and the waiting Mercedes. My walk is neat and purposeful. I don’t indulge in a regretful glance over my shoulder. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want me.
Understood.
68. Fern
Barry drives me back to Scott’s. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t know who or what to expect when I arrive there. I wonder if Scott or Ben, or both, will be waiting for me on the steps or will I be greeted by a more formal damage limitation group? Mark, Saadi or Colleen? A combination of the above? I have no idea. The car creeps up the long drive and I see that in fact no one is waiting for me on the steps. I’m relieved and furious at once. Shouldn’t Scott be pacing up and down on the forecourt, fearfully awaiting my return? Surely in a normal relationship the bastard, deceiving fiancé would be waiting on the steps – but there’s nothing normal about our relationship. There never has been. How could I ever have thought being ordinary was dull?
Most of the guests have gone now; I spot only one guy comatose on the front lawn, all the other stragglers have been seen off the property. An army of industrious staff is already returning the magnificent house to its former glory. Dirty plates have been cleared, waste food has been dumped, the bouncy castle is deflated, vomit has been mopped and broken glasses have been swept up. The guts and gore of the party have been effectively removed and dealt with.
Mostly.
Carefully I push open my bedroom door and sneak a peek before entering. The bed has been remade with clean sheets – very thoughtful, I think sarcastically. All the candles have been extinguished but through the darkness I can just about make out Ben. He is sat bolt upright in the chair at my dressing-table. The moonlight streaming through the slats in the blind cast shadows that make him look as though he’s behind grey bars. I flick the light switch.
‘Hello.’ He jumps to his feet, upsetting a couple of cosmetic bottles and sending a hairbrush skidding across the floor; neither of us moves to pick it up.
I nod an acknowledgement but can’t bring myself to speak. What can I say?
He says, ‘I’m sorry.’ The apology falls like a tiny raindrop into an enormous sea of misery; it hardly matters.
I walk into the room, closing the door behind me. This has been the longest day of my life and all I want to do is flop into bed but I stand next to it and stare at it. I know it can’t be, but I imagine the bed is still hot from their betrayal. Ben follows my gaze and stammers, ‘I am so, so sorry, Fern. We didn’t plan for you to find out.’
‘You were in my room,’ I point out. ‘Exposure was predictable – some would say inevitable.’
‘We lost track of time, we –’ I hold up a hand in an effort to silence him. Any level of detail is too much detail. Those six words alone tell me that Scott and Ben have reached a level of passion Scott and I never reached; a state of oblivion when everything else, including time, chastity vows and loyalty, was forgotten.