Love Lies

36. Fern

The captain asks us all to return to our seats and fasten our seatbelts. As he says, ‘Crew cross check for landing please,’ a ripple of excitement creeps up my spine. Scott starts to stir for the first time since we took off. He stretches and looks around to find me. He treats me to a wide and joyful grin. He starts to undo his seatbelt so he can come to me; these first class seats are so spread out – it’s wild – but a strict air steward asks him to buckle up. I have to settle for a kiss blown through the air.

I stare out of the window and catch my first glimpse of America. Los Angeles is enormous. Below me there is a perfectly ordered interlaced lattice of roads, quite unlike the organic tangle of roads I left behind in England. The order and space are instantly appealing. Although the distance means the houses look like doll’s houses I can see that they are anything but small. They are all well kept; most are massive and many have pools. There are hundreds and hundreds of cars lined along the streets or parked in driveways, glittering like jewels in the sun, but there’s also lots of greenery. From where the angels hang out, LA looks perfect.

As the aeroplane door swings open I am engulfed by a gush of hot air and the smell of wet palm trees; there’s no sign of rain, so I can only assume the airport greenery has recently been hosed down by someone whose job it

The beautician, Joy, had long nails and was a tad unnecessarily rough but I’m glad I let her fix my makeup and Linda and Natalie massage out my shoulders as we are greeted by a barrage of cameras clicking and whirring and a hundred different voices shouting at me. ‘Over here, love, look this way,’ ‘Give us a smile,’ ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Are you Fern Dickson?’ ‘Show us the ring,’ ‘Why no ring?’ ‘When’s the big day?’ ‘This way darlin’, smile.’

I turn my head from left to right and back again, trying to follow the countless instructions that are being flung my way. The constant blaze of camera flashes causes me to squint. Scott squeezes my hand and slips his sunglasses over his eyes. He puts a protective arm around me and starts to speak; as he does so the dizzying glare of flashes slows down somewhat, as the reporters strain to catch his every word.

‘We haven’t picked out a ring yet. I want to design something personally that’s really special for Fern.’ He does? Wow. See, Saadi had it all wrong. I tune back in to what he’s saying. ‘As soon as we have a date for the wedding we’ll let you know. We won’t keep you waiting; I’m not a fan of long engagements. Now, I have no idea how you came to know about our arrival here today but

Scott starts to lead me away and the camera flashes start up in earnest again. ‘Oi, Fern, have you any comment?’

Scott stops to allow me to have my say. I’m on the verge of telling Scott that it was Saadi and Mark who tipped off the press and that’s how they know our whereabouts today, but then it occurs to me that he might already know this, so instead I concentrate on what Saadi said I ought to say.

‘I’m, erm, delighted,’ I say. ‘No, I mean, erm, chuffed.’

Scott tightens his squeeze and quickly leads me to the long, black car waiting for us by the roadside. It’s so shiny that the azure blue sky is reflected in the roof and on the doors like a huge mirror. I catch sight of Saadi shaking her head.