Part 29 (1/2)

'No.'

'I was just thinking about the seating plan for tomorrow.'

'Right.'

'I mean should I sit you with a bevvy of young lovelies and Jess with a throng of butch blokes or should I seat you together?'

'I see.'

'And that's the only reason I asked, really.'

'Right.'

'I mean it must be pretty intense, since you live together.'

'We've always lived together.'

'Yes, but before it was with me too. You haven't got anyone else in the flat apart from you two now.'

'And where exactly would that third person sleep, Fern? With me? With Jess? In the cupboard with the cornflakes?' Adam sighs impatiently.

Oh. I hadn't thought of that. I'd forgotten how small the flat is. I fall silent and consider what he's just said. A third person could have moved in, if Jess had moved into the double room with Adam but that is clearly not the case. Hurrah. Somewhere deep inside I'm singing and dancing an entire tap routine. Jess hasn't moved in with Adam!

Yet.

Music and dancing stop abruptly. Obviously that could change at any moment and, I remind myself, why shouldn't it?

'Oh well, at least my share of the rent will tide you over. Will you move?' I ask.

Adam looks exasperated. Funny thing is I've always thought of him as eternally laid back too laid back. Vexation and frustration were not part of his repertoire, except when the batteries ran out in the remote control and he had to get out of his chair to change channels that always caused him to huff and puff. But now he's snapping and sighing at me as though he's some sort of enormous steam-powered crocodile. He's changed.

'We haven't cashed your cheque, Fern. Although that was clearly a point of principle that has gone unnoticed so I'm beginning to regret it now. Especially as it's clear that for you coughing up the dough for a few months' rent is the equivalent to handing over the loose change you find down the back of the sofa. But we don't need your help, thank you, we're managing our money. We're both working a little bit longer and harder, remember that, Fern?'

I'm humming to myself in an effort to block out his sarcasm and anger but it doesn't work.

'I miss it, actually,' I confess. It's only now, when I'm articulating this, that I realize it's true.

'What, working?' Adam is incredulous, not surprisingly since he's the person I used to grumble to most when I had to get up at 3 a.m. to go to the flower market every other day.

'Well, yes. At least, I miss the shop and being surrounded by flowers. I really miss the flowers.'

'Heart bleeds for you, Fern.'

Why does he keep calling me Fern in that cross and impersonal way? But then what did I expect? Who'd have thought I'd hanker after 'Fern-girl'? Before I have to endure any more of his mockery I notice Jess approaching. I watch as she emerges from the crowd and makes her way towards us. She's hurrying but it's one of those weird moments where everything appears in slow motion. She's looking fabulous. I have time to note her gleaming hair, broad smile and effortlessly trendy jeans and skimpy top. I've always considered her the prettier of the two of us. But we are so dissimilar we never had to seriously compete or compare. I like dark-haired guys, she likes blonds. Guys who like brunettes went for her, blokes who liked blondes went for me. But, in the moment that she slips her arm through Adam's, I question whether those simple childish divisions still hold true. From where I'm standing I'd say she's quite keen on dark guys. My guy. My ex-guy, that is.

Jess and I hug one another; it would have been an awkward hug anyway even if she had let go of his arm.

'Did Adam tell you his fabulous news?' she gushes.

'No.' I smile and look at Adam expectantly.

'Well, it's not just your your man who was desperate to hear the chart position today. Adam was too. His band is number forty-eight in the singles chart,' squeals Jess. She jumps up and down and hugs Adam tightly. Her b.o.o.bs squash against his arm is that really necessary? He allows her to hug him for a moment or two before he gently disentangles himself and tries to shush and calm her. man who was desperate to hear the chart position today. Adam was too. His band is number forty-eight in the singles chart,' squeals Jess. She jumps up and down and hugs Adam tightly. Her b.o.o.bs squash against his arm is that really necessary? He allows her to hug him for a moment or two before he gently disentangles himself and tries to shush and calm her.

'Band?' I ask, confused. 'You're not in a band.'

'He's managing managing a band. They're called the Deputies. The hottest thing to come out of Wigan since, well, a band. They're called the Deputies. The hottest thing to come out of Wigan since, well, ever ever. Adam discovered this band and now he's managing them!' Jess is burbling delightedly. 'He's been brilliant for them. Changed everything around. Changed their lives imagine. They've got gigs and a deal and everything,' she prattles. I don't think I've ever seen her as excited before, not even when she was reading someone else's paper over their shoulder on the tube and she thought her numbers had come up on the lottery (they hadn't, she just needed new gla.s.ses).

Adam is fighting a slight reddening of the cheeks I don't think it's the sun.

Instantly I forget the sniping and griping and I'm just thoroughly, intensely, unequivocally pleased for him.

'Really? Wow, that's amazing!' I fold Adam into a big hug too, just as Jess did. It's freaky because my body seems to sort of remember his and smudges a fraction closer into him a fraction closer than I was planning. I leap away quickly. My body shouldn't be feeling like that. I I shouldn't be feeling like that. shouldn't be feeling like that.

But I am.

Oh G.o.d. I feel weak as my legs turn to liquid. This isn't right. This isn't good.

I rally. 'Hey, but don't you know the rules, though? All exes ought to have the good grace to be abject failures or at least not stunning successes.' I make myself grin and then I add, 'Seriously, this is brilliant news. Listening to all those demo tapes, knocking on all those closed doors of record companies has finally paid off. How fantastic,' I gush. I mean it, this is is amazing. I can't actually believe that Adam is managing a band; organizing gigs and record contracts. This is Adam we're talking about. amazing. I can't actually believe that Adam is managing a band; organizing gigs and record contracts. This is Adam we're talking about.

Adam shrugs; he's trying to hide his jubilation. 'Yeah, well, I said it was only a matter of time. What did you think? That I was going to be a rigger for ever?'

Yes. The thought punches me in the gut. I can't respond and I'm grateful when I discover he's not expecting me to.

'They are good guys. With a great sound. This first single of theirs is pretty much a statement of intent. It's full of beautiful chiming guitars, pop sensibilities and a hint of their widescreen ambition. We've nearly finished the alb.u.m, it's going to need just a few more weeks, I think.'

'My G.o.d, that's brilliant, Adam. So will your boys be fighting Scott for the number one slot?' I joke excitedly.

'They won't ever get to number one, you know. I'm saying that as their manager. I'm not being modest, I'm just being realistic. They're not commercial in the right way, the way that sells at the moment. We'd be delighted to get to the top thirty and to see a few more gigs. They'll have a year in the suns.h.i.+ne. They'll have fun and it will be long enough for them to get some money together, you know, make a start in life.'

'I can hardly believe you're saying this, Adam. You, who used to make veiled references to a non-existent drug habit, in a desperate effort to appear more rock and roll.'

'Yeah, well, I was stupid,' he says, with a big easy grin which makes me think maybe it was not just him who was stupid. 'I've decided I'm going to be the sort of manager who tells his bands to put their earnings into property, not to let them go up in smoke.'

'Is that what you are going to do? Buy a house?'

'Oh, Fern.' Adam sighs. It seems as though I've irritated him by bringing up purchasing a property. Is he still so allergic to a commitment of any sort even to a mortgage? That doesn't make sense in light of what he's advising his band members. I stare at him puzzled. He opens his mouth as if he's about to say something more but then he snaps it shut again and shakes his head. After a pause he adds, 'You know what? I'm going to care about my band. Radical, hey?'

Very.

'Besides, looking around here today at all this, I'm not sure if this is what I'd want for them. They are all really young, I'm not sure they could handle it. I'm not sure anyone can and this is it in the end, isn't it? This is rock and roll. This is success.'

I follow his gaze. It's weird, everyone has been having a fabulous time for I don't know how long hours? But suddenly the stylish and exciting party is morphing into something vaguely unpleasant and unwieldy under our gaze. Probably everyone should pack up and go home. I've only had a couple of c.o.c.ktails but I'm dizzy and confused. Nothing seems clear-cut; nothing is as I thought it was.