Love Lies Part 2

5. Fern

'Darling, you are a wonder,' gushes Ben. 'I am so pleased with the gigantic order that Bridezilla placed that I'm giving you the rest of the afternoon off. I'm a marvellous boss, I know. Don't thank me,' he waves his arms theatrically. 'I'm embarra.s.sed by my own generosity,' he adds with a wink.

I love Ben, he's such a laugh to be around and I know his offer is kind but I'm reluctant to accept it. I'm going out with Jess and Lisa tonight and if I'm not working I am unsure how to kill the time in between. Time alone and without tasks means I might have to think about the sorry state of affairs my life has become. Not a favourite option right now.

I definitely don't want to go back to the flat; the air there is stale with disenchantment and anxiety, and I'm too broke to waste time in shops. No matter how much I kid myself to the contrary, I know that window-shopping will lead to an impulse purchase today. No woman can resist the lure of a cheer-up top/pair of shoes/new bag ('it's a cla.s.sic/basic/essential, will come in handy/be perfect for that special occasion/is in the sale and therefore a bargain'). The reality is, of course, it's an impulse purchase, bought in order to bring cheer, that just makes things worse. Then you're down and and broke, with a constant reminder of your own financial and emotional frailty. broke, with a constant reminder of your own financial and emotional frailty.

At the risk of Ben thinking I'm insane, I tell him I'd rather stay at the shop until it's time to meet my friends. I get through the rest of the afternoon by comforting myself with the fact that I'll soon be getting out of my head with Jess and Lisa. The bonus being that while doing so, they might offer me some sound advice or at the very least a shoulder to cry on.

I love Jess and Lisa. I really do. I met them at tech college; our eyes met across a crowded registration hall. That was fourteen years ago. We hit it off immediately and have been proper mates to one another ever since. In Jess I saw a soulmate, a partner in crime. In Lisa I spotted a calming influence, someone who might help me fill out the forms correctly and get me into the right cla.s.sroom at the right time. I needed them both. Need doesn't always turn to affection; often it sours. But we worked well together as a unit, a team. We watched each other's backs and still do.

Jess is funny, witty and careless (bordering on the reckless). She is the perfect person to call if you've ever done anything stupid that you regret (she can usually trump the stupidity or at least knows someone else who can). She is fabulously non-judgemental, which has been important to me throughout my twenties.

Jess chose to attend tech college rather than stay on at school because she was dating a boy who was also studying there at the time. The boy who gets the t.i.tle 'Her First Love', but no more mention in this story because she fell out with him the summer before we started our courses, which was predictable but inconvenient. Jess changed vocation three times before the Christmas holiday that first year. She knew that she didn't want to be a beautician, a nanny or a dental hygienist but she didn't know what she did want to do. I was studying for my qualifications in floristry and working at the local florist at the same time. Jess envied my reasonably regular jaunts to Top Shop and the lure of the pay packet eventually became too much for her to resist. Actually, Jess isn't the resisting sort. Jess applied for a job at the bookshop chain in the high street and has worked there ever since. She really enjoys it. She's a romantic but her own love life is often a disaster. By working in a bookshop she gets to read about other disastrous relations.h.i.+ps like that of Cathy and Heathcliff and she does this at a ten per cent discount. It's some sort of comfort.

Lisa is also funny and witty but she's altogether more aware of consequences than either Jess or me. She's always been great to have around to flash up a big amber light, if any of our single-girl antics threatened to get out of hand. Obviously, since I've been with Adam, Lisa hasn't had to play the role of babysitter with me quite so much, but Jess still manages to get into her share of sc.r.a.pes. Lisa's common sense is as invaluable as her frequent cry of 'I told you so' is irritating. Lisa loves a plan. Even back in college she kept meticulous spreadsheets on everything from her savings account (including target figures, short-term and for twenty years on) to number of s.e.xual partners (she ranked performance and cross-checked against income more of this to follow).

I've always hovered somewhere between total awe and absolute horror at Lisa's level of control in every single aspect of her life. Lisa studied secretarial skills and book-keeping. She is really sharp and she could probably have done A levels and gone on to university if she'd wanted to, but she had a game plan. She wanted a rich husband. And she wanted him as quickly as possible.

Lisa is not a natural beauty; she is a girl who makes the best of herself. Even fourteen years ago when she didn't have a spare penny to toss she always looked a million dollars. She works out, she's always immaculately dressed and I've never, ever ever seen her without makeup. Reportedly she didn't relax this rule even when she was fully dilated and the midwife was asking her to push. seen her without makeup. Reportedly she didn't relax this rule even when she was fully dilated and the midwife was asking her to push.

Lisa's plan was to get a job in the City, as a PA. In the financial district there are about thirty men to every woman and every last one of them earns a salary the length of a telephone number. Lisa wanted one of them. There were times I worried she wanted any any one of them which isn't a nice thing to think about a pal but there were occasions when I really had to question her quality control. She didn't seem too fussed if the guy was dark, blond, tall, short, fat, thin, funny or a git. She just wanted a large stone from Tiffany and ultimately a large house in Esher. There were loads of details in between about where they'd honeymoon and which restaurants they'd go to and stuff, but I used to tune out when Lisa itemized every single strategic particular in operation 'Bag a Rich Guy'. It was bad enough that Jess and I, acting as wingmen, had to trail all the way out to Docklands to visit noisy bar after noisy bar, night after night (just to be hit upon or patronized by turn). one of them which isn't a nice thing to think about a pal but there were occasions when I really had to question her quality control. She didn't seem too fussed if the guy was dark, blond, tall, short, fat, thin, funny or a git. She just wanted a large stone from Tiffany and ultimately a large house in Esher. There were loads of details in between about where they'd honeymoon and which restaurants they'd go to and stuff, but I used to tune out when Lisa itemized every single strategic particular in operation 'Bag a Rich Guy'. It was bad enough that Jess and I, acting as wingmen, had to trail all the way out to Docklands to visit noisy bar after noisy bar, night after night (just to be hit upon or patronized by turn).

Her plan came together. By the time Lisa was twenty-three she was the proud owner of an Amanda Wakeley wedding gown, Jimmy Choo wedding slippers, and a full set of Arthur Price cutlery (including grapefruit forks).

Charlie is a nice enough guy. Considering the lack of direction on the brief, I think Lisa did well. He's clearly intelligent (although a bit dry), he's handsome enough (the sort of looks my mum would approve of but not the sort of look that turns heads or flips stomachs). The important thing is Charlie clearly adores Lisa. He is always showering her with expensive gifts, especially when he's had to work late.

I ache to see both Jess and Lisa this evening. Although I share a flat with Jess, my early starts and her late dates have meant that we haven't had a chance to catch up since Friday. I need to tell them about my row with Adam. Jess will a.s.sure me that while issuing an ultimatum to Adam was a dumb idea, she knows someone who... oh, I don't know... who has done something even more silly to back their lover into a corner, causing him to growl and spit and claw. Right now, I can't think of exactly what might be sillier but that's the point of Jess she will be able to do so. And Lisa will tell me to take a deep breath. She'll understand why I need a game plan. Why I ache to move this relations.h.i.+p to the next level and she will confirm that I am within my moral rights and in my right mind. She'll find me a solution. A dignified way of moving this on. That's what friends are for.

6. Fern

Lisa staggers back from the bar carefully balancing a bottle of Chablis in an ice bucket and three gla.s.ses 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 gla.s.ses. Not that we need more gla.s.ses we already have them as this is our third bottle of the night. b.u.g.g.e.r. 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 up her job as soon as she and Charlie got engaged and is entirely dependent on him financially. This can cause contention in some families but Lisa is delighted with the arrangement she likes to see a plan coming together.

I remember Lisa pointing out that her job as a PA paid less than they'd have to sh.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo! 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. 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 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 Clapham High Street because Jess is newly single again (it didn't work out with the hot banker, she said he had protruding teeth that got in the way when they were kissing) and she wants to use tonight to scout for talent. Lisa and I are fine with this. We'd both do anything to help Jess in her endless search for the perfect man. Plus Jess is a great multi-tasker; she can talk to us and flirt with the man on the next table without anyone feeling neglected.

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, G.o.d 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 a.s.sured 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 s.p.a.ce. 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 sh.e.l.l-shocked. Jess is always telling me that the compet.i.tion 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 morphing into lots of different shapes and my tongue feels bigger than it did at the start of the day. I must say no to that next gla.s.s of wine. I have that thought at the exact moment that I reach for the bottle and fill up my gla.s.s.

'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 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 relations.h.i.+p 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.'

7. Fern

I am thirty. It's official. It's here. The big day. The enormous so-this-is-what-you-amount-to day. I wonder how long I can keep my eyes shut and pray that the whole messy business will just vanish. What the h.e.l.l made me issue an ultimatum to Adam? Sweet, sometimes s.e.xy, seriously funny, if not a bit hapless, Adam. What was I thinking? Everyone knows a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, etc. etc. He's not always a perfect boyfriend but he is my my boyfriend. I start to hyperventilate. The problem with ultimatums is you have to follow through with them. Everyone knows that. Otherwise you're a joke. Will he have got me the big, glittering rock, or not? boyfriend. I start to hyperventilate. The problem with ultimatums is you have to follow through with them. Everyone knows that. Otherwise you're a joke. Will he have got me the big, glittering rock, or not?

b.u.g.g.e.r.

I can sense that Adam is awake. He's lying on his side and watching me, waiting for me to open my eyes. Over the past four years I've been exposed to Adam physically in every way possible. He knows me. He's seen me blubber, howl and erupt into judders during s.e.x. Two years ago he watched me haul my aching body through the 26.2 miles of modern torture that is known as the London Marathon. He was waiting for me at the end and he flung his arms around me even though I was sweaty, b.l.o.o.d.y and weepy; he didn't even seem to notice. He's heard me snore, burp, gargle, hiccup and worse intimacy isn't always what it's cracked up to be. I'd never dare fake an o.r.g.a.s.m with him; he'd call me on it. As he does now when I'm faking sleep.

'I know you are awake. Open your eyes. I have something for you.'

Slowly, carefully, I prise my eyes open. I feel sick. With nerves? Excitement? Fear? I'm not sure. This might be it it. This might be the first moment of my grown-up life. The happily ever after I'm hankering for. I might just be about to receive the allatrope of carbon that makes every girl a princess.

Or I might be about to get the biggest kicking I've ever experienced.

Adam leans close and kisses me on my lips. He smells of morning but in a good way; a little bit salty, with a vague hint of last night's booze. A little jolt of l.u.s.t flickers up through my body. Down, Shep. Let's see if he's come up with the glistening goods first.

There is a breakfast tray on the bed. He's tried: tea, toast and Coco Pops. There are no croissants, no freshly squeezed orange juice and no miniature jars of jam. I'm not in a b.l.o.o.d.y film. Some way from it.

I struggle to sit up and stretch out my arm to grapple to find my dressing-gown. It's on the floor next to the bed where I left it just before I nosedived between the sheets in the dark last night. I sleep naked and I don't want crumbs to stick to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Honestly? I don't want my b.r.e.a.s.t.s on show at all. They are not bad b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Away ye false modesty. They are really rather nice; pert, a bit on the small side but even. Most people who have been introduced to them have greeted them quite favourably but recently I've started to think of my b.o.o.bs as superfluous, considering Adam and I rarely have s.e.x any more. They are a bit like a decent bottle of vintage port at an AA meeting: out of place. I pull my pink towelling dressing-gown around my body without upsetting the tray (quite a feat) and then pick up a piece of toast and bite into it although I have no real appet.i.te. I scan the tray for something that gleams and I don't mean a teaspoon. No sign.

'Happy birthday, Fern-girl,' says Adam as he leans in for another kiss.

This one is longer and more lingering than the last. I don't bat him away but I don't get what you'd call actively involved, not even when he does that really special thing of gently tugging at my lower lip. There was a time when I thought there was a cord attached to my lower lip that trailed through my body and fastened tightly around my G-spot. One decent smacker and I was putty. Today I need to see what he's going to pull out of the hat first.

'OK, Fern-girl.' I glare at him. He s.h.i.+fts uncomfortably and corrects himself. 'Fern, gorgeous, I've been thinking about everything you said last week.'

Is this the moment to describe what he looks like? I think so because at this fleeting point in time I'm suddenly very aware of him, all over again, as though we'd just met and I'm drinking in the details. Maybe it's something to do with a rare shaft of sunlight flooding (past the grime) through the window. Probably. Oddly, the heaps of dirty and discarded clothes that litter our bedroom recede. All at once I'm less bothered about the trail of half-empty coffee cups that decorate our place (a unique twist as an interior design feature other couples have fresh flowers and jars of ma.s.sage oil, I'm sure). Unexpectedly, all I'm aware of is Adam.

Adam has dark, longish hair. Not ponytail length heaven forbid! he's more scruffy surfer. It's great hair. I love losing my fingers in it. He has heavy eyebrows and dark brown eyes, thick, long eyelashes that even Bambi might envy. He used to have standy-out cheekbones and a strong chin truth be known, he's all a bit fles.h.i.+er nowadays. But still attractive. Worn in. Familiar but cute.

He's got great shoulders. He's not the sort of guy you'd ever hope to see down the gym (sadly) but his job is physical enough to ensure broad shoulders, upon which I love to rest my head when we are lying in bed, chatting, late at night (not as regular an occurrence as I'd like). He has enough hairs on his chest to make it clear that he's man, rather than boy, but not so many as to create the urge for you to reach for the Shake 'n' Vac. His stomach is rounder than a Calvin Klein model's but not as lardy as Chris Moyles'. Sort of average for a thirty-two-year-old guy. He's wearing black Diesel boxers he fills them. His legs are long and thin and stick out of the end of our bed. Right now, he seems pretty d.a.m.n perfect.

I've never loved him more.

'So I've given a lot of thought to all you said and I think you're '

'What?' I nervously jump in.

'You're right,' he says simply.

'You do?' I want to kiss him, but I hold off for the moment. I want to hear everything he has to say.

'Yeah. I need to move on. Grow up. Offer you more than my share of the monthly rent in terms of commitment. In fact, I want you to know I've been thinking about this for some time. Before you, er, brought your frustrations to my attention.'

'Really?' Kiss me, kiss me. I silently will him to pull me tightly to him. But at the same time I don't want him to stop talking. I'm fizzing with excitement. This is it! This is the moment I've been waiting for!

'I've got something for you,' says Adam. He reaches behind him.

The ring! The ring! What will it be like? A diamond solitaire? Maybe not, that would be pricey. I'd settle for something semi-precious yet stylish and meaningful. My birthstone perhaps.

Adam hands me an envelope.

'What's this?' I battle to keep the fear and disappointment out of my voice. It's too flat to be a ring. But then a thought strikes me house details? Possibly. Maybe he's done something uber-romantic, like got details from an estate agent of a place we might buy together and he's going to take me there this afternoon. He was very insistent that I take the day off and why else would we be starting the day so early? It's only 7 a.m. Thinking about it, a couple of months back he did start to scan the property pages of the local freebie rag but he always made comments about how ludicrously expensive everything was way out of our league so I never paid much attention. My fingers seem to be incapable of following even the basic motor-skill instructions that my brain is sending to them. But eventually I rip the envelope open.

'Tickets?'

'To the Scottie Taylor gig.' Adam is grinning at me.

'But, but, I don't understand,' I stutter.

'Had you good, didn't I, Fern-girl? That whole thing I made up last April pretending I couldn't get any tickets for the concert, not even on eBay.'

Yup, I remember. Scottie Taylor is doing this major gig tonight in Wembley Stadium. The like of which has never been seen before. He's performing in front of a ma.s.sive crowd of ninety thousand. It's the first time he's played a gig in over two years. He's playing for three nights in a row. All the tickets were completely sold out in forty minutes. From the moment the lines opened for sales, I repeatedly pressed redial to the ticket office. I was gutted when I didn't get lucky. I was furious when none of Adam's industry contacts could help us find tickets. I wanted to go to the gig more than anything.

But that was four months ago.

The gig seems insignificant now, in light of my ultimatum, in light of my clearly communicated desire to move things on. How could Adam imagine that tickets to a pop gig are a reasonable response to everything I said last Friday?

'There are three tickets for tonight's gig; one for you and one each for Lisa and Jess. They are in on this. They don't really have anything else planned, like I said they had. It was all me. This is all my idea.'

'All you,' I parrot, unable to trust my tongue with any sort of independence. Now I understand why my friends were exchanging wary glances. They knew this wasn't what I was hoping for.

'And that's not all,' adds Adam.

Glimmer of hope!

He reaches behind him and hands me another envelope; it's identical.

Another crash landing. I feel the shock shudder through my body just as though I have endured a physical impact.