Adele Parks - Love Lies

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.

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