Love Lies

6. Fern

Lisa staggers back from the bar carefully balancing a bottle of Chablis in an ice bucket and three glasses on a tray. She weaves her way precariously through the boisterous crowd; her face is tight with concentration. I hope she’s thinking about my dilemma with Adam but it’s more likely that she’s thinking about not upsetting the glasses. Not that we need more glasses – we already have them – as this is our third bottle of the night. Bugger. How many units is that? Too many.

‘I’ve got to stop drinking,’ I mumble.

‘Why?’ asks Jess, who rarely stops drinking until she falls over.

‘Because it’s not helping me think straight,’ I say.

Plus I can’t afford to do this. If I’d known we were going to drink this much I’d have suggested that Lisa come over to our place. You can buy this exact same brand of wine for less than half the price in the supermarket. But I always feel like a killjoy if I suggest a night in. Lisa looks forward to her up-town bids-for-freedom, as she jokingly calls our decreasingly frequent gettogethers. But then, Lisa has no concept of watching the pennies, although she does think the pounds look after themselves as her cash appears like magic. Charlie gives her an enormous allowance, plus he unquestioningly pays off her credit card at the end of every month. Lisa gave

I remember Lisa pointing out that her job as a PA paid less than they’d have to shell out for a wedding planner, so there was no point in her working in the run-up to the wedding since she could save some cash by organizing the wedding herself. Lisa’s reasoning seemed logical, once I accepted that real people actually have wedding planners. I thought they were something Hello! magazine had invented to torment brides-to-be who were suffering at the hands of their interfering mothers. Although the odd thing was that Lisa employed a wedding planner anyway, so that she had someone to discuss lace and stationery with ( Jess and I had a very limited interest in the subject at the time). After the wedding Lisa was flat out remodelling the house (apparently managing interior designers demands a lot of time), and now they have the children no one would dream of suggesting that Lisa ought to go back to work, she’s busy enough – even with the help of a nanny and a cleaner. And somehow, knowing all of this makes me a little shy about admitting to Lisa that I’m a bit short cash-wise; I don’t think she’d understand.

‘Plus binge drinking is V fattening,’ I add aloud.

‘Oh, don’t worry about that, you’ll lose weight without even trying soon,’ says Lisa as she starts to pour the wine.

‘Why, because Adam is going to leave me and I’ll be too heartbroken to eat?’ I wail, with a touch of melodrama that I just can’t resist.

Lisa tuts. ‘No, because as soon as you are engaged you’ll turn into a weight-obsessed freak and go all “nil by mouth”. Everyone does.’

‘You think he’ll ask me to marry him?’ I ask excitedly. I want a confirmation from Lisa that my plan is on track.

‘Probably,’ she says with more honest caution than I want. Why couldn’t she have said certainly? ‘He should do, if he knows what’s good for him. You’re gorgeous, the best thing that ever happened to him. He’d be mad to let you go. You two are so brilliant together.’

‘One of the happiest couples I know,’ confirms Jess with a small hiccup.

‘But?’ I can hear the ‘but’ hanging in the air.

‘Well, men…’ Lisa trails off.

It’s an articulate enough comment. Men don’t know what’s good for them. Men don’t always recognize the best thing that ever happened to them. Men don’t always do the right thing. Men make mistakes. We all do.

‘It’s not in the bag, is it?’ I ask drearily.

Sadly, my best friends shake their heads. I know they love me enough to want to lie to me and enough not to do so. We all take another gulp of our wine and gaze around the bar. It’s noisy and busy. The bar we are in is not the usual sort of place we meet up. Normally we grab a bite to eat at the local Italian. The waiters know us there; the service is perfect – attentive but not over-bearing. The Italian restaurant is always full of other groups of gossipy women, the music is piped out at a reasonable volume and the conversations are conducted at a reasonable pitch. Tonight we’ve tried War Bar in

Besides, I fancied a change too. A minuscule part of my brain seemed to want to remind the rest of my brain what it’s like being ‘out there’ again. Something was compelling me to take a cursory glance at the scene in case, God forbid, the worst came to the worst with Adam and the ultimatum. The War Bar is the perfect place to conduct a study of this sort. Jess assured me it’s a ‘cool and happening’ bar. It might just be my jaded view of things right now, but while the War Bar may be cool and happening, it isn’t a very happy place. At least not for anyone over twenty-five. Most of the punters look a little despairing or bewildered. I watch as people fight to be in one another’s physical and mental space. No one wants to go home alone. It all seems feral and desperate. At least the place is well named; everyone does appear a little shell-shocked. Jess is always telling me that the competition is tough, ‘out there’. She’s always telling me that because I haven’t been single for years, I have no idea.

Jess must be reading my mind because she asks, ‘What will you do if he doesn’t produce a ring on Friday?’

I shrug. ‘Leave, I guess.’

It’s hard to know if I mean this because my head is

‘Really?’ my friends chorus, shrilly.

‘Yeah, I have to.’

‘No you don’t, not because of some crazy ultimatum that you issued after you’d had too much to drink,’ says Jess.

‘Not because of the ultimatum, no. But because I do believe what I said to Adam. I don’t have any more time to waste. I’m thirty. I want a husband and a family and a home of my own. I want the next stage. If he can’t give it to me then I have to find someone who can. While I stay in this going-nowhere relationship I’m letting any other chances at happiness float by.’

‘But you love him,’ says Lisa. One of her eyes is wandering around the room. It’s not because she’s deciding whether there is anyone more interesting she’d rather talk to. It’s just the effects of the Chablis; it really is time to get a cab.

‘I do but I’m not sure it’s enough.’

‘Then what is?’ asks Jess.

I don’t know how to answer the question so I change the subject; none of us seem too comfortable with this one.

‘Anyway, during our momentous row, Adam also let slip that you two have arranged something for my birthday. Thanks, girls. Obviously you knew he’d never get his act together.’

Jess and Lisa exchange wary looks. They seem unsure what to say. I know they both like Adam and would defend him if they could but they can’t. Sensibly, they don’t want to elaborate on the theme of what a jerk he’s being either, knowing I’ll remember their scathing words if we make up after this. Prudent but a bit annoying. Right now, I could do with some hard abuse of my commitment-phobic boyfriend in the name of female solidarity.

‘So what’s going down? What should I wear?’ I ask. ‘You might as well tell me now the cat’s out of the bag.’

‘Can’t tell you what’s planned,’ says Lisa.

‘Won’t,’ giggles Jess. ‘But wear your dark jeans and get a really pretty top.’