Love Lies

49. Scott

‘Fuck me, being someone’s fiancé is hard work.’ I throw myself on the sofa and wait for Mark to sympathize.

‘Fern can’t be as much work as the actresses and models and whatever who you’ve dated in the past,’ he reasons as he offers me a fag.

‘They came with their fair share of aggro, no doubt about it. But I’d sort of got the hang of that type of relationship.’

Providing you guarantee them enough column inches (by which I mean space in the newspapers – column inches is not a reference to my manhood), they were, often as not, more or less happy. And there are loads of ways to get the coverage. Get pissed, stay sober, go speeding, go horse riding, go to the Ivy for lunch, go to the Priory to dry out. My relationship with Fern is on a whole different level. She’s not bothered by press coverage. She wants my time.

‘Fern’s demanding in a totally different way. She always wants to be doing stuff together,’ I explain.

Mark nods. ‘That’s to be expected. Fern wanted extraordinary, you needed something a bit down to earth. The hope is you’ll meet in the middle.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know, and mostly, it’s cool this couple stuff. She’s lovely. I like being with her. But she seems to want my exclusive time. And that, my friend, I no can do.

‘I know, lad, people all want a bit of you.’ I can hear the sympathy in Mark’s voice and I feel better because he gets it.

‘To be frank, I’m tiring of sight-seeing with Fern. Going out is OK but now I’m in a mood to stay in.’ I inhale deeply and scowl at Mark. I’m behaving like a kid but Mark doesn’t mind that. He knows I want him to make it better. The good news is, he can and he will. It’s Mark’s job to fight my battles. He fights the battles I don’t understand (with lawyers, accountants and the record company) and the battles I don’t want to fight (with the press and disappointed women, mostly). That’s what managers do, and because he fights my battles I get more time to do the things a rock star needs to do. Like write songs and, in the old days, get drunk and shag women. He’s a great manager; he’s so good he sometimes spots battles that I didn’t even identify to be skirmishes.

‘That’s fine,’ he says soothingly. ‘The press have plenty of shots of the two of you feeding monkeys, riding rollercoasters and eating burgers.’ He glances across at the file of recent press cuttings. I know he’s delighted with the attention Fern and I are attracting. Everything is on plan.

‘Presenting the ring was a coup,’ I say with a grin, immediately cheered when I think about how well I handled that whole show.

‘Amanda’s premiere was the perfect opportunity. We scooped the undivided attention of the world’s press,’ agrees Mark. He’s also wearing a massive self-satisfied

‘I don’t want to.’

‘OK then.’

‘I need to be in the studio more,’ I point out.

‘I’m never going to argue with that,’ says Mark. We fall silent for a moment as we both suck on our fags. Then Mark adds, ‘I have to say, you’ve done well, son.’ He stands up and walks towards me and gives me a hearty pat on the shoulder. I like it when he calls me son, which he does from time to time. In so many ways he is the dad I never had. And I am definitely the son he never had (the son he did have is a civil servant and no trouble at all but probably not much fun either). ‘I was worried about sending you out to all those watering holes. I thought it was too early. I thought you might fling yourself off the wagon.’

‘Ninety-eight dry days and counting.’

‘Well done, lad.’ He slaps my shoulder again but we don’t look at each other. We both know that in the past I once went 614 days and then woke up in my own puddle of vodka and urine. They say a day at a time because if they said what they mean – ‘for ever’ – no one would ever go to an AA meeting.

‘And you are still OK with the no sex thing?’ he asks. I detect concern in his voice.

‘Yeah. Cool.’ Actually, not having sex with Fern is hard work. The novelty is beginning to wear a bit thin; that’s the thing about novelty. But I’m too stubborn to concede a challenge.

‘Do you know what, son, if you want my advice, I’d shag her, asap.’

‘Nicely put.’

‘You’ve made your point now, you’ve known the girl three weeks and you haven’t shagged her. You not shagging someone after you’ve known them a few weeks is a bit like anyone else taking permanent Holy Orders.’

‘I made myself a promise,’ I point out.

‘But Fern is gagging for it.’

‘I know, I am too. But I hate giving up on stuff. I’ll make it worth her wait.’

Mark sighs and looks weary. His flat bulldog face constricts with concern. ‘Thing is, Scott, as you are currently off drugs and booze I’m worried you’re over-doing the abstaining thing.’

‘You’re scared I’ll break,’ I say flatly.

He won’t answer me directly. ‘Having sex with your fiancée will not damage the record label, getting high or pissed will.’

‘I’m OK.’

‘Is this your latest addiction? Are you now addicted to not having sex? God, things have really changed since my day.’ He shakes his head wearily. I stay silent and he knows better than to try to argue with me. ‘All right then, we’ll have to make sure you are very busy in the studio. Keep you out of trouble.’

‘Yeah, and I’ll exercise more.’

‘Fine.’

‘What about Fern?’

‘Oh, she’ll be easy to distract. There’s the wedding to plan, and besides, she’ll soon have her mate to keep her amused.’

‘Ben.’

‘Yup. He’s the perfect best mate for her to have. Women are jealous, heterosexual men always try their luck with pop stars’ girls, we don’t need the hassle. Homosexual best friends are a manager’s godsend,’ says Mark.

‘OK, so sounds like a plan. Studio and gym for me. Dresses and wedding cake and things for her.’

‘Sure you wouldn’t rather just fuck her?’

‘Thanks for your concern but I think I’ve got it under control.’

‘OK. Sure?’

‘Sure.’

‘OK. Great.’

‘Great.’