Love Lies

71. Fern

Scott falls asleep on my lap. Before I know it my entire room is bathed in bright light and birds are singing outside my window. As I haven’t managed a wink of sleep, my eyes sting and my head is pounding, the birds’ gleeful twittering sounds like nails scraping down a blackboard. At six Scott slips away and at six thirty Colleen raps on my bedroom door and bursts in. My personal trainer is with her too.

‘You look terrible,’ says Colleen. ‘I don’t suppose you got any sleep last night – too excited, huh?’

‘Something like that,’ I mutter.

‘Well, don’t worry. The wedding isn’t until eleven, we can fix everything by then.’ I doubt it, but can’t bring myself to squash her enthusiasm. ‘Let’s forget the three-kilometre run, you can have a massage instead. I’ll call Linda and Natalie. Then a bath, exfoliation, a power shower, manicure, pedicure…’ She consults her clipboard. She has a plan that is timed to the nearest thirty seconds and accounts for the next four and a half hours. I’m grateful to be swept along by her momentum.

My room is like Piccadilly Circus at rush hour; even though the place is enormous it’s soon jam-packed, there’s little room to breathe out. Hot on the heels of Colleen and my personal trainer, Saadi and her assistants arrive. Saadi discreetly calls Lisa to update her on my decision

It’s not until nearly ten that Jess and Lisa finally arrive; I was wondering whether they’d decided to stay away. They look pale and fraught but they dutifully start their own preparations for the wedding. I’d wanted them to get dressed with me. I’d imagined the scenario for ages; I’d thought we’d elegantly sip champagne through solid

‘You cannot be going ahead with this wedding,’ says Jess.

From the look of disbelief and horror on her face I know Lisa has filled her in on the gory details.

‘Yes, I am.’ I keep my eyes on my own reflection and pretend to be totally absorbed in what Joy is doing with my makeup. Quite brilliantly, she’s managed to hide the black shadows around my eyes. I make a mental note of what cosmetics she’s using, it might be useful to know for the future.

‘You must really love Scott,’ murmurs Lisa. I doubt she means this, she probably thinks I’m marrying him for his money, but as it’s my wedding day she’s too polite to say so.

Colleen continually runs through a checklist of the details of the day; she’s clearly suffering some sort of verbal incontinence. She yells, ‘Has anyone seen the crates of customized silver foil white chocolate coins? They’re monogrammed! I said heart-shaped marshmallows, these are more oval. The candelabras are all wrong. The ribbons and crystal butterflies should create a sweeping effect, this is more of a swooning effect!’

I don’t involve myself with any triumphs or disappointments but concentrate on remaining calm as I dress. I think about putting on my stockings without laddering them. I focus on straightening my hair-clips and I think about whether my mascara is waterproof. Waterproof enough.

The room begins to settle. I’m told that guests have arrived at the venue where the service is taking place; I’m assured Scott is already waiting for me. The people who have fussed and fawned over me all morning vanish; suddenly I’m alone with Lisa, Jess and Colleen.

‘You look beautiful,’ smiles Lisa. As she fiddles with my veil for the hundredth, unnecessary time.

Jess nods, her eyes brimming with tears. She leans close to me and for a moment I think she’s going to whisper something urgent and profound; maybe something like, ‘You don’t have to do this.’ But she doesn’t, she just drops the lightest kiss on my cheek and says, ‘Yeah, you look really gorgeous.’

I gather my veil and my thoughts, buckle up the most dainty, most beautiful strappy, diamanté sandals and step outside where I find a waiting horse-drawn carriage. All six horses are white; their coats are sleek and worthy of an appearance in any fairytale. The carriage is entirely covered with colourful peonies, gerberas and fat, loose roses, as I specified. The road is strewn with petals, as I’d dreamed. Crowds of Scott’s fans line the streets, as I could never have imagined. Most are screaming their good wishes, some girls are sobbing or their mouths are twisted in disappointment and fury. I don’t know whether to wave at them or ignore them. Lisa and Jess are sat opposite

After a few short minutes, we pass the media scrum and leave the press and disappointed fans behind security barriers. The horses’ hoofs stop click-clacking as we draw to a halt.

‘This is it then.’ I beam at my friends. They nod and force smiles that bunch up their cheeks but they can’t push the smiles as high as their eyes. This is it. Or at least, this is as near it as I’m ever going to get.

Lisa helps me out of the carriage; she still looks unusually white and drawn, the professional makeover doesn’t seem to have done its job. I turn to Jess. I always imagined my friends giggling and beaming and making jokes about the wedding night. I guess that’s a tricky one now, under the circumstances.

Jess stares resolutely at the floor and blurts at the gravel, ‘You are so obviously still in love with Adam.’

‘He didn’t want me. Nothing’s changed there.’

‘Yes, it has.’ Now she does meet my eye but I can’t see happiness or confidence, just concern and sincerity. ‘He’s grown up such a lot. He has the band and he’s bought a –’

‘I know he’s changed and grown up in many ways but he still doesn’t want me. That hasn’t changed.’

‘I think he does want you.’

‘No, he doesn’t. I asked him.’

‘Oh.’ Jess and Lisa look crushed by this news. The hems of their dresses flutter so prettily in the light breeze. We look gorgeous. I wish it was a more gorgeous moment.

I spell it out. ‘I don’t have a choice.’

‘There’s always a choice,’ insists Jess. I love Jess in this moment because she is taking an enormous risk. She’s being brave and honest. I’m breaking her heart by making what she considers to be the wrong decision. I feel duty bound to cheer her up.

‘Scott’s not a bad man. He’s just complex,’ I assure them.

‘Gay?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Oh, Fern.’

‘Don’t, Jess.’ I hold up my hand. I can’t hear any more from her. I can’t give up Scott. And it’s not the clothes, shoes and lifestyle that are pulling me. He’s my only option. ‘You’ve been great, Jess. You’ve done everything you could. You brought Adam here. You tried to make me jealous. You’ve pointed out how he’s grown and his new successes. You’ve been the best friend. But –’

The ‘but’ is swallowed by a click of the camera as the reportage photographer captures the moment.

‘I love the moment the bride soars into the service,’ he calls with a grin. ‘It’s a moment of such exquisite loveliness, a moment of intense possibility and unblighted hope. Isn’t it?’

No one answers him.