Love Lies

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

‘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.