mean he wants to listen to it. I take a deep breath. ‘He’s really special and special people are always complicated. I want to help Scott deal with the whole enormous adulation thing. Maybe he can be the pop exception and just come through as a normal human being. He’s clean, now,’ I insist.
I stare right at Scott as I deliver this speech defending his honour. I really want him to see that I’m innocent and hopeful and loyal. My views are different from Jess’s. I’m different.
‘He’s clean right now, maybe,’ says Jess.
Abruptly Scott gets up and walks away; he’s heard enough. Neither my best smile nor my pleading eyes can persuade him to stay. It’s probably a good thing. While I want to demonstrate that I can be totally honest in front of him I also know that Jess wants to say her piece and it will be very awkward when they meet if he’s sat and listened to what she thinks.
Once he’s safely out of earshot I round on her. ‘Jess, despite the fact that he’s a ludicrously wealthy pop star, who has travelled the world, met interesting people and slept with them, and I’m a painfully skint florist, who has travelled Zone 1 and 2 by tube, met the same people again and again and slept with a few of them – we are a lot alike. I’ve never been happier. Why can’t you be happy for me?’
‘I don’t believe in fairy tales.’
‘I thought you did.’
‘No. I believe in dreams coming true. It’s a different thing.’
‘Being with Scott has reminded me that life is supposed to be utterly splendid. We’re meant to enjoy as much of life as we can.’
‘Yeah, without hurting anyone.’
‘Goes without saying.’
‘But as you’ve run off with Scott you’ve hurt Adam.’
‘Are you suggesting that I should have stayed with Adam to save his feelings? What sort of relationship is that? Adam had his chance. I wanted to marry Adam. I wanted to move things on to a more serious and committed level. I wanted him to propose. But he didn’t.’
‘What if he had? Would you still have left him for Scott Taylor then?’ demands Jess.
‘He didn’t,’ I reply firmly.
Suddenly my mouth tastes metallic; a taste I normally associate with waiting to see if my card will be rejected at the till point or going to the dentist – fear generally. That Buck’s Fizz I had earlier must have been off. What have I got to be afraid of? A third long silence stretches between me and my best hate – sorry, I mean best mate. But honestly! Couldn’t she have pretended to be happier for me? What would that have cost her? I can feel every one of the 5,456 miles that separates us. I want Scott to come back. I want him to put his arms around me; maybe then I’d have the guts to hang up on my old life, although there probably isn’t any need. If Jess’s reaction is anything to go by then I think my old life will hang up on me pretty damn soon. Why does it have to be like this?
‘You need to call Adam. You see it as a done deal.’
‘I told him it was a done deal.’
‘You were both drunk, he didn’t take you seriously. He thought it was a fight you’d get over by the next evening.’
‘Well, I’m sure he sees things differently now,’ I say with a frustrated sigh. ‘He does read the papers.’
‘You owe him a proper explanation, at least that much after four years. He’s a good guy. You know that.’
‘OK, OK, if I agree to call him will you agree to talk about something different? Like bridesmaids’ dresses for instance,’ I bargain.
‘I am not wearing pink.’
‘Fine, how about mauve?’
For a moment I think she might show an interest but my hopes are dashed when she says, ‘He’ll be back in a few minutes, you can talk to him then. He’s just nipped out for a takeaway.’
He’s eating then. Not so heartbroken. I’ve had enough of this nonsense from Jess. She’s supposed to be my friend. Snippily I say, ‘He won’t want to have a big emotional talk and risk his pork chow mein going cold. Anyway, I’ve got to go now; I’m supposed to be somewhere else.’
I hang up. I don’t bother to explain to my naggy mate that my pressing engagement is dragging my sun-bed out of the shade (or watching someone else drag it, to be precise). Rolling