that my ex is a lunatic. A vengeful, cruel lunatic. I don’t think there’s any point in saying this to Jess. It’s clear her sympathies lie with Adam and she’s not in the frame of mind to hear it from my point of view. Instead I just add, ‘Yeah, we’re all sorted now.’
‘Good, you’ll both feel better for it. Now you can both move on.’ Jess’s tone is considerably brighter than I’ve heard from her in a long time.
‘I’ve already moved on,’ I tell her haughtily. Adam’s words, inaccurate and spiteful, have had a much bigger effect than they deserve; I feel irrationally narky. ‘I moved on weeks ago.’
‘Yes. Yes, you did and that’s why I hope you’ll have a think about what I want to ask you.’
‘What?’
‘Well, you know the invite to your wedding said plus one.’
‘Yeah.’ Please God, don’t let her ask that. Let me be wrong about what I’m sure is coming next.
‘Do you mind if I bring Adam?’ God, are you listening?
‘Bring Adam as your date?’ I ask, stunned.
‘No, no, no nothing like that. Adam isn’t ready to date, but bring him to help him get closure.’
If Adam were ready to date, is that what she’s hoping for? Jess wants to date Adam? I remember the first gig at Wembley, Jess turned up done up to the eyeballs. Lisa said Jess was hoping for a brief encounter with Scott, seems like we had that all wrong. Could she have been interested in Adam all along? How long? When we were all living together? Is that possible? I mull it over. It would explain why Jess has so suddenly and decisively distanced herself from me and why she’s been so keen for him to have closure. I distinctly remember her saying she wasn’t averse to sloppy seconds.
I feel terrible. Sick to the pit of my stomach. I don’t understand why. It’s not like I’m one of those people who doesn’t want someone but doesn’t want anyone else to have them either. It’s mean. It’s not possible that I still want him for myself. Why would I want that? I have Scott. Scottie Taylor. I have all of this. I cast my eyes around the manicured gardens; all’s quiet right now except for the sound of birds singing and the gentle whiz as the sprinklers discreetly do their job. The grass is lush and green, the sky is a vivid, vital blue; pretty soon I’ll see Scott drop from the sky in a helicopter – he’s just popped over to Mexico, as he’s buying a racehorse. While he’s there he will no doubt pick up shoes, bags and other treats for me. But. But I feel terrible.
I know why. For one thing I’d lose Jess’s friendship if she and Adam dated. Irretrievably. And for a second, well, it would be weird! Adam kissing Jess’s body. Adam meeting Jess from work. Adam patiently sitting outside the changing-room while Jess tried on dozens of tops in H&M. Adam and Jess doing all that everyday stuff that Adam and I used to do. That would be so weird.
‘I thought the phone call was for closure,’ I stutter.
‘Well, let’s hope it is.’
‘I’m not sure Scott would like Adam coming to the wedding,’ I stall.
‘But the church will be half full of his exes. How could he possibly mind?’
How indeed? And how could I? I take a deep breath, one from far down in my flip-flops. ‘Great, yes, invite Adam.’ He won’t come anyway. Will he? Why would he want to come? Other than for a free holiday in LA, with Jess.
Oh. My. God.
52. Scott
In absence of actual sex Fern and I turn each other on with our thoughts and words. We often talk through the night until the sun comes up. Ben joins us more often than not but that’s OK, he’s a great chaperone, and happily his presence doesn’t take anything away from the intimacy. We’re busy all day, doing our separate thing, but we come together at dusk like tired snow cranes flocking to watch the sunset. We three lie next to one another, outside in the hammocks or on the sun-beds, Fern and I holding hands across the gap. We listen to the sounds of Beverly Hills and watch the black sky turn purple, then red, then orange and finally a bright morning blue. I love studying the colours as they unfold. Ben says it’s like watching a bunch of flowers uncurl and bloom; Fern got that – they