Love Lies

57. Fern

The lawyer spends hours trying to explain to me the ins and outs of the weighty tome. It’s very dull but she reassures me that I am getting a generous deal. After only two years’ marriage or the production of a baby, whichever is sooner, I have a good chance of walking away with half Scott’s enormous fortune. The lawyer seems really happy with the arrangement. I mumble that if she’s so happy with it then perhaps she should sign it.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Ms Dickson. This is a marvellous contract. Drawn up by the industry’s finest but very fair. No need to be petulant. You’re marrying a very generous man.’

‘And he can prove his generosity when he divorces me,’ I mutter sulkily.

‘Providing you’re faithful,’ she cautions.

I haven’t asked a single question but suddenly one drops from the sky. ‘What about his fidelity?’

‘If you look at page 92, clause 13.4, subsection 6, item 2, addendum 3, you’ll note that his infidelity is covered.’

‘Covered? In what way?’

‘In so much as his infidelity is recognized as grounds for divorce but you would not receive any extra recompense, over and above that stated on pages 45 to 71, with particular reference to clauses 17 to 17.9, subsections 4.2 to 4.7.’

‘In English?’

‘I think your fiancé’s lawyers are anticipating infidelity.’

‘Anticipating it?’ I can’t keep the shock out of my voice.

‘At least acknowledging that it’s a very real possibility and therefore they’re not prepared to offer you extra compensation if that were indeed the case. But, as I say, the divorce terms are particularly generous anyway so you have little to worry about.’

Right.

‘The important thing to remember is that you don’t get a penny if you ever talk about any aspect of your relationship to the press. That’s covered in multiple clauses. That’s watertight.’

As if I would. How can Scott think that of me? I pick up the hefty contract and as much of my dignity as I can scrape off the floor and go to find Mark.

He’s in the second reception room. It’s one of my favourite rooms; south-facing, it’s always warm and bright. It’s definitely sunnier than my mood. Exasperated, I demand, ‘Can you explain page 92, clause 13.4, subsection 6, item – oh, you know what I’m talking about.’

Mark, Saadi and Joy look up from their work. They’re pawing over press cuttings. Every magazine and paper in the western world finds the wedding plans fascinating. There are bets running on the number of bridesmaids I’m having (ten; including three of Scott’s celeb friends I haven’t yet met), the colour they’ll be wearing (pink, although I haven’t told Jess that yet). Tabloids are battling to discover where the wedding is going to take place but the venue is

Mark stares at me and then turns to Saadi.

‘The infidelity clause,’ she prompts. Why am I not surprised she’d know the finer details of the pre-nup by heart?

‘Oh, yeah. Well, that had to be included for obvious reasons.’

‘Obvious reasons?’ I ask. I hope my voice isn’t as shaky as my legs; I’m practically dancing a jig.

‘Don’t get us wrong. We adore Scott and want him to be happy. We’d like to believe that the pair of you will last for ever. But…’

He leaves the ‘but’ hanging in the air. It’s damning enough to have sucked all the pleasure out of the day. I’m unsure who he means by ‘us’. The record company, the band members, Scott’s mum? I have no idea, but I suddenly feel weighed down by the sense that there is a silent army behind Scott and no one in my corner. It shouldn’t matter. We’re not at war. But it does matter. I stay silent and Mark is forced to fill in the gap.

‘Well, you know how it is. Scott gets infatuated with things. With people. Spellbound almost. We’ve seen it before. And then there’s the danger he might act on that infatuation. We’re just protecting him against any possible indiscretions he might succumb to.’

Mark, to his credit, sounds embarrassed that he has to tell me this. I’ve never seen Mark stirred before. It depresses me that he gives this subject so much weight.

‘It’s nothing to be worried about. Even when he does act –’ Mark struggles to find the right word ‘– imprudently, then the interest dries up quickly enough. On average his obsessions last twenty-four hours.’

‘We’re all stunned that you’ve lasted a month,’ says Joy bitchily.

I shoot her a filthy look and turn back to Mark. His gaze bounces around the room, resting on the drapes, the rug, the smooth obelisk ornaments; anywhere other than me. To date, I’ve been overwhelmed by the tastefulness of all that I am surrounded by. Now the room looks vulgar. It is quiet and the sun beats through the windows; I feel suffocated.

‘Even if I accept that Scott has fallen prey to these fleeting obsessions in the past, what we have is quite different. What we have is called love,’ I say firmly.

Mark stands up and walks towards me. Awkwardly he puts both his hands on my shoulders and faces me. It’s the first time I can remember him deliberately touching me. It ought to be a comfort but it’s not.

‘I’m not saying he wants to have sex with anyone else, right now.’ Well, that’s a relief since he isn’t even having sex with me yet. ‘I’m saying somewhere along the line he might want to. Sex is just another compulsion for him. He can’t really help himself.’

‘I think you’re wrong,’ I say, struggling to sound calm.

Mark shrugs. I get the feeling he doesn’t much care

Where is Scott? It never crossed my mind to go and discuss my worries about this contract with him. That’s odd. That’s not right. I think it’s because he stayed absolutely silent when the lawyers presented the pre-nup. No matter what I asked him, he played dumb. So now I’ve come to Mark, hoping he can sort it out, explain it, tidy it away. After all, that’s what Mark does.

I was quickly made aware that there are a number of people who put themselves between Scott and me and I’ve co-operated when necessary, but I’d always assumed – hoped – they’d fade away as I settled into my life in LA. I realize the opposite has happened; their influence seems to have spread and stained – like billows of blood after a shark’s bite. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.

‘And if I don’t agree to sign this?’ I ask.

‘Well, that’s your right,’ replies Mark. ‘You can say that you don’t want a pre-nup and that you want to go into this marriage with as much hope and as little chance as every other bride does.’ I nod, ferociously confirming this is indeed my wish. Mark shrugs, pauses and then adds, ‘But he might not go ahead. He might not want to marry you if he knows you can embarrass him in public, perhaps ruin him. He’s been damaged enough by the media. He might not want to take that risk.’

I feel as though I’ve just been dropped into a bag of spiders as every hair on my body stands up tall. I can’t lose him. I can’t. Scott has become my everything. His world is my world. I love it. I love him; everyone does. I

I look at Mark and try to weigh up whether he is a dependable conduit of communication or whether he’s as much good as the ‘telephones’ Fiona and I used to make as kids. We would tie a couple of paper cups together with a piece of string, run in opposite directions until the string was taut and then bellow to one another. The message never carried around corners and all subtleties were lost.

Mark smiles at me. I don’t respond. He shrugs at me; it seems a more truthful gesture.

‘OK, I’ll sign it,’ I say wearily.

What choice do I have? I just want to get out of the room.