Love Lies

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.

I wander into the house and towards my room. I don’t

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

‘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.

‘Why?’ I ask. Ben knows it’s an all-encompassing ‘why’ and that, right now, I’m too frail and battered to be specific.

‘Because when I’m walking next to Scott I feel drenched in this feeling of success and possibility,’ says Ben simply and quietly. His explanation rolls off his tongue. It doesn’t sound rehearsed – it’s heartfelt. I know the feeling he means, I once thought it was mine alone. I don’t feel it at all any more.

‘Was that the only time?’ I ask.

‘It was the first time.’ Is he making a distinction?

‘Did you seduce him or did he… you know… chase you?’ It’s a stupid question to ask. It doesn’t matter and yet at the same time it’s vital that I know. Ben looks away, he’s reluctant to satiate my curiosity. No doubt he’s guessed he can’t; one question will lead to the next, and the next, and then to another, and no matter what he confesses, he can’t explain things to me. This level of betrayal can’t be rationalized, or justified or even apologized for. ‘Who made the first move?’ I demand.

‘I, I don’t remember.’ He had his bits waxed, he was wearing his lucky pants – I think I can assume Ben took the initiative. I can’t decide if this is a comfort or the cause of further distress. Who do I want to have betrayed me the most?

‘Was he drunk?’

‘A bit.’

‘How could you let him drink?’ I demand angrily.

‘Not slaughtered, if that’s what you are implying. I didn’t have to get him drunk to get him to agree.’

‘Was it planned?’

‘I –’

‘Did you plan it?’ I insist.

‘Maybe on some level.’ My breathing is fast and shallow. So are my friends, it appears. Ben turns to me and pours a complicated expression my way. I can’t decide whether he pities me or hates me. Then he asks, ‘What if he’s gay, Fern?’

‘He’s not gay, Ben. He likes experimenting. We all know that. He’s slept with thousands of women. He was trying you on for size.’

‘Yeah, well, I think I fitted. I think he’s gay,’ says Ben firmly.

‘That’s just your wishful thinking,’ I reply sharply.

‘I’ve thought it for a while now. I had no idea how to tell you.’

I remind myself that before I met Adam I firmly believed sex wasn’t in any way tied up with responsibility, reliability or even love. As far as I was concerned sex was all about hedonistic pleasure, meaningless delight. This is what Scott thinks too. I tell myself that what he’s just they’ve just done – doesn’t have to matter; Ben seems insistent on proving otherwise.

‘So you decided shagging him in front of me was the best way.’

‘No. But let’s face it, whatever I’d have said you would have ignored. You’ve become an expert at burying your head when faced with inconvenient truths.’

‘That’s not true,’ I say forcefully but I know that it is. I’m an ostrich, it’s an essential survival tactic, especially as I know now for sure that I’m still in love with Adam and he doesn’t want me. Scott’s my only option, that’s an inconvenient truth.

‘Women haven’t made him very happy and he didn’t even want to sleep with you. Is that the behaviour of a heterosexual man? You look as delicious as a –’ Ben searches for the right words – eventually he comes up with, ‘a strawberry low-fat smoothie. Even I fancy you a bit. Shouldn’t he have shagged you?’

‘He wanted us to be special,’ I reason.

‘That’s just your wishful thinking,’ replies Ben.

Ben has betrayed me so entirely that I’m finding it hard to stand in the same room as him without clawing out his eyes, but then, there’s something that’s pulling me towards him. He’s been a great friend for four years now. He recommended the only hairdresser I’ve ever trusted, he introduced me to M&S sushi lunches, since we met I’ve never bought an item of clothing or (lord forbid) a pair of shoes without consulting Ben’s impeccable taste first. He was the one who gave me my first decent job, he sent me on expensive training courses when he could barely afford them, he gave me pay increases before I

‘Why did you sleep with him, Ben? Just to show me he might be gay?’

‘No, sweetheart. I slept with him because I’m in love with him,’ says Ben sadly.

‘Oh please.’ I can’t keep the scepticism out of my voice.

‘I am. I’m not saying he’s in love with me. I’m just telling you why I couldn’t help myself. I slept with him because he’s delicious. He’s irresistible.’ Ben starts to walk towards me but thinks better of it as I shrink back towards the door. ‘I am so, so sorry that I hurt you, Fern, but you more than anyone know how irresistible he is. You left Adam for him. And what’s more, I won’t be the last one to demonstrate this weakness. There will be better and worse men than me who will feel the same. Do the same. Men and women. Anyone he wants. That’s the way it is.’

‘No, there won’t. There won’t be opportunity,’ I say firmly. ‘Once we are married and having sex, Scott won’t need anyone else.’

There’s a stunned silence and then Ben splutters, ‘You can’t still be thinking of marrying Scott.’ He looks sick and horrified, he sways a little and then sits back down.

‘Yes, I can and I am,’ I say determinedly. Truthfully, I’m not one hundred per cent sure I mean this. I’m saying it aloud to make it seem more real. In the moment I saw Ben and Scott together I said goodbye to the dazzlingly glamorous and beautiful Jenny Packham wedding dress and all the associated dizzy, glitzy fabulousness that was to be my future. I assumed that wasn’t going to be my

‘Fern, you can’t marry Scott. You’ll be living with constant infidelity. I know his millions are attractive but you have to see what you are getting yourself into.’

I shoot poisoned darts from my eyes; if looks really could kill, the undertakers would be measuring Ben up right now. How dare he? How dare he! This isn’t about Scott’s money.

‘You can’t marry Scott,’ says Ben again.

‘I can, if he still wants me to.’ I’m in the habit of being full and frank with Ben, so before I realize how stupid my honesty is, I add, ‘I asked Adam to take me back and he said no.’

‘And that’s it? That’s the reason you are marrying Scott?’ Ben leaps to his feet dramatically once more. He flings his arms in the air and then places them heavily on his hips. He scowls at me. ‘Well, why am I surprised? Let’s face it – that was the reason you got together with Scott in the first place, because Adam didn’t want you. If he’d proposed on your birthday you’d never have been here, there’s no doubt in my mind about that. You just want to be married! For fuck’s sake, Fern, enough with this obsession of getting married because you are thirty. These are real people with real lives you are talking about. Mine being one of them.’ He’s yelling now, which I think is

‘This isn’t about Scott’s money and it isn’t about my obsession with getting married. I just need something. I need a future of some sort. This is the only offer on the table.’

‘You’re panicking. You’re rushing things.’

‘Scott wants to marry me. Scott loves me. This thing you two did tonight –’ I gesture towards the bed ‘– it doesn’t have to mean anything. People get through these things.’

Ben looks suffocated with rage. His chest is heaving up and down as he tries to catch his breath. He makes a huge effort to recapture some calm. He’s silent for a moment and then he adds, ‘Fern, Scott wants to win over the American market, he thinks you’ll help him do that. You are part of that deal.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘He doesn’t love you, he needs you, or some bride at least – to guarantee Wedding Album will resonate with the Americans. They demand sincerity and you are the nearest he could come up with.’ Ben’s face is granite.

‘No, no, that’s not true.’ I cower away from Ben as though he might hit me. But I already know that no physical blow could hurt me as much as the words he’s just spoken. Everything is unravelling, like knitting stitches, and I’m the wool, I’m left knotted and damaged. ‘You were a fling. He was drunk. I’m his true love,’ I insist. ‘He’s written songs about me. Wedding Album has my name in three tracks.’

‘He wrote most of those songs before he even met you. He dropped your name in and changed the odd

‘How long have you known this?’

‘A while.’ He looks at his feet.

‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

Ben sighs and clasps his hands over his head, elbows touching as though cradling his thoughts. ‘At first I thought it might work, that he might make you happy. You seemed happy. You left Adam for him. You made your choice. You’re a big girl, I assumed you knew what you wanted.’

‘So why tell me now?’

‘I’m in love with him. You’re in love with Adam.’

‘Adam doesn’t want me.’

‘But two wrongs don’t make a right.’ Ben’s tone is pleading but I can’t be sympathetic.

‘You just don’t want him to marry me because you want him to yourself,’ I argue, lamely.

‘You know what, Fern? I think I could make him happy, at least for a while, because I know him, faults and all. You think you do, yet you don’t. But I’m not trying to stop this wedding to save Scott for myself. I’m trying to stop this wedding to save you. You are my friend and you are throwing your life away.’