Love Lies

55. Fern

I call Lisa.

‘Ouch,’ she says when I tell her about the pre-nup. It’s nearly midnight her time, but she doesn’t appear to mind. She’s very nice about the fact that I keep crying. The children are in bed and Charlie is away on business – situation normal. She’s alone with a glass of wine and the latest novel she’s reading for her book club. I can imagine it all. Her house will be calm and immaculate; she and everything in it will give off an aura of order and self-satisfaction. Often, over the last couple of years, when my old flat became grubby beyond repair (a single dirty sock breaking the camel’s back), I’d run to Lisa’s home and take sanctuary. I love it there and not just because of the pristine and expensive fixtures and fittings or the air of almost religious serenity but because of the tangible sense of contentment; Lisa has caught it and bagged it, that most precious of commodities. I hang on her every word as though she is the Dalai Lama. She’s cracked this relationship thing. I want to get it right too.

‘So what do you think? It’s outrageous, isn’t it?’ I demand.

‘Are the terms as generous as Mark says?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know. I haven’t read it, but that’s not the point.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No!’

‘I’d say it is. I don’t think a pre-nup is a surprise or unreasonable, considering Scott’s wealth. You just have to make sure you’ve got a good deal. Rich people do things differently. You knew that. You wanted different,’ she says calmly.

Suddenly, I find her calm very annoying – almost sanctimonious. Doesn’t she understand I want Scott for ever, not on loan? A pre-nup says that this is a flimsy little effort at a marriage. I want a solid commitment. It’s no surprise that Lisa assumes this is all about the cash, that’s her take on things.

I think about calling Jess but can’t bring myself to do it. If she’s in, I’m pretty sure she won’t pour on tender words of consolation and encouragement; that hasn’t been her bag of late and if she’s out I’ll be left wondering who she’s out with. Adam? The thought does nothing to calm me. She wouldn’t, would she? He wouldn’t, would he? I can’t think about that now.

So next, I call Rick. After giving him a lengthy blow-by-blow account of what the lawyers said to me, and what Mark said to me, and what I said to him, and what I wished I’d said to him, and what I’m going to say to Scott and what I expect Scott to say to Mark, I pause for breath.

‘Bummer,’ says my younger brother.

Then, I call my big sister Fiona. Her response is at least more in-depth, although not totally comforting.

‘I can’t see that you have any choice but to sign.’

Again I try to explain. ‘I’m not objecting to signing, I’m objecting to the very existence of a pre-nup and what

I don’t get to finish. Fiona interrupts, ‘Oh, get over yourself, Fern. You’re the luckiest woman in the world. Don’t you dare muck this up. The kids are really looking forward to being bridesmaids. They’ve told everyone in school that their aunt is marrying Scottie Taylor. They’ve never been so happy. Get a lawyer, get the best deal you can and sign.’

I’ve nobody left to call.

I pick up the blasted pre-nup and I read the first paragraph; it’s a hefty and confusing document. I remember my history teacher explaining that contracts used to be written in Latin, now it appears they are written in gobbledygook. I need a lawyer to explain it. I don’t know any, so I call Mark and ask him to find me one.

‘That’s hardly independent, is it, Fern?’ he says, but he sounds relieved that I’m asking for a lawyer at all.

‘My other choice is sticking a pin in the yellow pages,’ I point out wearily. I’m not even sure if there is such a thing as the yellow pages in LA; it’s scary that there’s so much I don’t know about my new life.

‘I’ll ask Colleen. She’s a wedding planner, she knows all the best divorce lawyers,’ says Mark, without apparent irony. ‘I’ll get her to set something up asap.’

‘Yeah, Mark, you do that.’ I put the phone down and curl up into a tight little ball on my bed.