Love Lies

18. Fern

OK, the rolling naked from carpet thing might be a stretch. What worked for an Egyptian queen thousands of years ago might not do the trick for a twenty-first century, ordinary girl, but this time I do at least take great care with my outfit. I consider buying something new but don’t want to waste a morning trailing around the shops, so I plump for a high-waisted grey pencil skirt that I bought in Zara last year but have only had occasion to wear twice, a silky emerald green top with a pussy bow and high, round-toed, petrol blue patent shoes. The combination of spray-on tight skirt and stilt-height shoes means that I can barely walk but I don’t care because I know I look as good as it gets. No pain, no gain.

I hop-stroke-hobble on to the tube and set off for Wembley. Jess said I should leave Adam a note, but I wasn’t sure what to say. I can’t think about it right now, it’s all too strange and raw and unsettled. I do know that whatever I have to say should probably be said face to face. I tell myself that I’ll find Adam at the stadium and talk to him there, but I have a feeling I might be lying to me. I think I might just go directly to Scott’s dressing-room and avoid Adam like the bubonic plague. I don’t share this choice piece of info with Jess; I guess I know my intentions are far from honourable. I know that I’m not behaving especially well towards Adam right now; the knowing that I ought to be behaving better and actually behaving better don’t seem to be at all sequential.

It’s easy to find his room today. I still have a pass, and besides which I walk with a new confidence through the labyrinth of corridors. A couple of people catch my eye and nod to me. It’s possible they recognize me from last night’s gig and think I have a right and a reason to be mooching around the dressing-rooms. I’ve almost convinced myself of as much.

After just a split second of hesitation I knock on his door and then walk straight in.

He is there. We lock eyes and my heart stops. He grins and it starts again. He’s detonated a bomb of sensations. Effervescent shards of excitement, desire, fear and lust ambush me. The muddles of emotions settle, almost painfully, in my head and knickers. I am freshly overwhelmed by his presence.

‘Good morning,’ he says, with a mock formality.

‘Morning,’ I mutter, my determination and confidence flooding out of me with every passing moment.

He is sat facing the door, as though expecting me, which is impossible – so expecting someone else maybe? Again, he’s dressed casually in jeans and a simple blue T-shirt. He hasn’t shaved or combed his hair. His crumpled, just-got-out-of-bed appearance is once more irresistible. His

‘What did you think of the concert?’ he asks.

‘I was glad we met before I went to it,’ I admit truthfully.

‘Was it that bad?’ he asks with a grin, leaning forward hands on knees now.

I smile back. ‘No, not at all. It was…’ I search for a big enough word but can’t think of one. I settle for ‘Amazing. That’s what I mean. I’d have been too overwhelmed to talk to you the way I did yesterday if I’d had any idea the power you have. You are so big. I knew it but hadn’t seen what that meant up close. You’re bigger than anything I could ever have imagined.’

‘Now, that is no word of a lie. That’s not just PR, that’s true, that is.’ He jokingly grabs his crotch, in case I miss his innuendo.

He’s being obvious, just like when he humped the mike on stage last night. I’m not normally a fan of Benny Hill humour but I can’t help but wonder if his crass bragging is true. I can’t help but hope it is.

‘I didn’t mean that, exactly,’ I say, although in a way I did. The sexual energy he oozes is meshed with the creative performance. I can’t pretend I don’t find it attractive; me and several million others. ‘It was all those girls. I was quite taken aback,’ I add.

‘What do you mean?’

We haven’t taken our eyes off one another since the conversation began. The door behind me is still wide open, which is disconcerting considering the private

‘The flesh, the bums, the breasts. Just everywhere. Abundantly offered up.’

He laughs. ‘What about it?’

‘I don’t want you to think I’m like those other women in the crowd.’ The admission is awkward, mostly because to some extent I am just like them and I know it. I played strip poker with the man, shortly after meeting him for the first time. I wouldn’t have done that with anyone else or under any other circumstances, would I? Plus, I’m stood in front of him in my sexiest outfit. I’m wearing stockings for God’s sake; I’m not playing what anyone could describe as hard to get.

‘So how are you different from those women? You’re made of flesh, you have a bum, don’t you?’ He lets his gaze drop down from my eyes, to my boobs, my legs, and slowly, oh so slowly, he drags his look of longing back up to meet my eyes. My cheeks turn scarlet.

‘Yes and boobs but I’m not here to flash them at you.’

‘Shame, I’d guarantee you an appreciative audience.’

I can’t help it, I smile, but then I bravely get to the heart of what I’m afraid of. ‘Yeah, just the once, I imagine you would.’

‘That’s not what you are after?’

‘I have a boyfriend,’ I say, pretty much avoiding a direct answer. ‘And I’ve never been into one-night stands, they’re pointless; that’s why I left in such a hurry yesterday.’

Scott nods. ‘So why are you back here?’

‘Because you sang to me.’

‘I did, didn’t I.’

‘And so I thought maybe –’

He interrupts. ‘That you are different?’

‘Yeah.’ I stand on the knife edge, blade slicing my feet, waiting to see if I’ve got this all muddled.

‘And so you are, Fern, so you are.’ He beckons me. ‘Close the door.’