come and sit down and relax with me and told her we have people who do that stuff but she just replied that I’ll get a big bum if I sit on it all day. Now, I’m relieved to note that my mum and Scott’s mum have retreated into the kitchen; I think my mum is washing up, Scott’s mum is drying. I don’t waste time considering whether this is appropriate or not, I just count my lucky stars Mum won’t witness the joints currently being rolled on the expensive side-tables. Not that she’d suspect there’s anything more than tobacco in the rollies, nor would she understand why all the bathroom doors are suddenly locked. I’m grateful to note that Saadi and her assistants have rounded up all the kids and packed them safely away somewhere but I’m irritated there are drugs in our home at all. How will Scott manage? Where the hell is Mark? I know he’d soon have this lot out on their ears.
It also comes to my attention that the fit semi-clad waiters are now wearing more clothes than pretty much anyone else. The roaring temperatures have encouraged models, groupies and desperate starlets to throw off sarongs, T-shirts and bikini tops. Near-naked bodies rub up against one another in a way that seems to me unnecessary and unseemly. I’m no prude but I want to ask people to get a room. There’s nothing remaining of the ice sculptures or the delicious chocolate fountains – except sticky, dark pools. The light is fading but the pink and purple all-weather light bulbs are casting vaguely menacing hues, not the lovely girly ones I expected. Someone is in the pool trying to have sex with one of the scarlet inflatable, giant ducks.
This is success.
Jess beams at me. ‘We’re going to go back to the hotel now. We might hit the bar and celebrate. We’d ask you along but no doubt you need an early night. Big day tomorrow, hey?’
‘Yes, big day.’ I plaster on my broadest smile. The Mondrian Sky Bar, in the hotel where they are staying, is stunning but I know my friends well. ‘You ought to go to the Standard if you’re peckish. They do the best fat chips ever,’ I advise.
‘Perfect, just what I fancy.’ Jess gently tugs on Adam’s arm and there’s a glint in her eye that makes me understand that chips aren’t just what she fancies.
We hug each other briefly and as Adam leans in to me he says, ‘For what it’s worth, I hope Scott stays sober and I hope you’re happy.’
I watch Adam and Jess weave through the drunken crowds. They make a really attractive couple. I take a deep breath but it’s like breathing in glass shards. I gasp and try to understand why Adam’s good wishes hurt more than any of his barbed comments or sullen monosyllabic answers. I guess he’s found closure if he can be so generous. Well, that’s good. Isn’t it? Surely. I don’t want him to fly into a jealous and angry rage. Surely.
Oh I do, I do, I do.
No I don’t, I don’t, I don’t.
I know what I need. Or rather who I need. I need Ben. If I ask him to, Ben will confirm that I was right in thinking Adam and I were treading water. Ben’ll remind me that I was fed up with Adam. That I left him because right now – and I’m sure that it’s the cocktails and wedding nerves – but suddenly I’m baffled as to how I could ever have thought Adam unchallenging and lacklustre. I’ve even started to look back at his magpie clutter with affection.
As I pick my way through writhing bodies I hope to hell Ben doesn’t have one of his honesty bursts and insist on reminding me that, up until about a week before my thirtieth birthday, Adam and I were perfectly happy. It’s bad enough that I’ve remembered this myself.
65. Fern
The house is no longer cool and calming, the party has spilt into here too; it’s noisy and chaotic. In the hallway I bump into a woman throwing up in our umbrella stand. I console myself with the fact that I never liked it much anyway. I call for one of the maids and ask her to get the girl a cab and hurl the hurl bucket. I also track down one of Saadi’s assistants and instruct her to get my mum and dad back to their hotel as quickly as