Welcome to the Real World (31 page)

C
arl and I spent the night together in my bed, but there was no more reference to our momentous conversation. As I lie in Carl's arms I'm not sure whether he seriously proposed to me or whether I seriously accepted.

Our breakfast arrives and we get up, sit in our sumptuous dining room with the whole of San Francisco spread before us and feast on pancakes laden with fat blueberries and heaps of maple syrup and double cream. Rupert has sent up champagne and orange juice, and we duly oblige him by downing it all. The sun beats down from an unbroken sky and, at this moment, I am the nearest I've come to happiness since Evan David went out of my life. Carl takes my hand and I push away the pangs of doubt that pinch at me. He looks like a man who's very much in love.

When the stylists arrive, I'm feeling very mellow and am more than happy to comply when they choose a white floaty dress for me. They give me white, hippy-chick mules adorned with charms and jewels, and armfuls of silver ethnic bangles. ThenI'm becoming accustomed to thisthey puff and preen and polish me to within an inch of my life until I'm looking fabulous.

'Man,' Carl says with a note of awe in his voice, 'you look like you're about to get hitched.'

'Not just yet,' I mumble.

He comes over and kisses me. 'You look great,' he says. 'How could I not be in love with you? How could anyone not?'

Then he flushes when he realises that his statement hits a nerve, but we're both saved from further embarrassment by the swarming stylists whisking him away to choose from their rail of clothes.

Carl gets a loose white linen shirt and jeans with designer repaired rips all over them because he's rock 'n' roll and can get away with it. We're singing Roberta Flack's song 'The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face' again, and this time I have my security blanket, Carl, backing me on acoustic guitar. Rupert has said nothing except that the gig is for a small, personal gathering. He must have his reasons and, no doubt, we'll soon find out what they are.

Carl takes two minutes to get ready and so he runs through the song, letting me warm up and calming the flutter of nerves that has started in my stomach. The two stylists have a tear in their eyes by the time we have finished and I love the way that this song seems to move everyone who hears it. Then Rupert turns up. He's all smiles and, after raving about my outfit, too, we hop into yet another limousine and are whisked through the streets of San Francisco once more.

Minutes later we pull up at a sumptuous mansion house somewhere in the heart of the city, which seems to take up half a block. There's a lush park opposite where people are walking dogs and a small group of elderly Chinese folks are practising Tai Chi. A row of picturesque painted clapboard houses lines the other flank of the green space, beyond which peeps the magnificent modern skyline.

'Wow,' I say. 'This is an amazing place.'

A white ribbon arch spans the gateway of the house intertwined with heavy white rose blooms, and a host of white balloons flutter in the breeze. Carl and I pile out of the limo.

'Come on inside,' Rupert says and hurries us to the door.

'You didn't tell us that this gig was a wedding.' I've been flown here in a private jet and have been paid an absolute fortune to sing just one song. The penthouse suite we're staying in is more than ten thousand dollars a night, and I wonder who on earth has the sort of money to be so lavish. It makes my recent good fortune pale into insignificance.

'Didn't I?' For some reason Rupert looks agitated.

I turn to Carl and a worried frown creases my brow. Does my friend know something that I don't? I look down at my dress. It's very bridal and I do hope that he's not trying to spring some awful surprise on me. And the truth of what I agreed to last night suddenly hits me.

'What?' Carl says when he sees me looking across at him.

'Is something going on here, Carlos?'

He shrugs. 'Not that I know.' And I have to say that he does look completely guileless. After all this time I'd know if Carl was lying to me.

Inside, the magnificent house is similarly decorated with bowers of white flowers. 'My God,' I whisper. 'Who owns this place?'

Carl gives me another bemused shrug. Who's the richest man on earth? It must belong to Bill Gates, I'm sure.

Rupert motions for us to go into a small drawing roomsmall being a relative word. 'We'll wait here until they're ready for you,' he says. 'Are you all set?'

Carl, who's tuning his guitar, and I nod. Rupert looks more nervous than the pair of us. I go over to the French windows and look out into the palatial gardens. 'This is one high-show wedding,' I say in amazement.

'Do you want some more champagne?' Rupert proffers a full glass of fizz, which I grab and throw down my neck. I'm going to be roaring drunk at this rate before I've even sung a note.

And then I get a funny feeling, a shiver as if someone has walked over my grave. I'm
not
mistaken. There's definitely something afoot here. The hairs on the back of my neck are pricklingjust like they do when there's a thunderstorm due. I put my hand on my hip and try to look threatening. 'Would someone mind telling me exactly what is going on here?'

Rupert flushes. 'I don't know how you're going to feel about this...' he says, nervously licking his lips.

A shard of terror strikes at my poor beleaguered heart. 'About what?'

Then a stressed-looking woman in a silk suit puts her head around the door. 'We're ready for you now,' she says. 'Would you like to come this way?'

'About what, Rupert?'

But my agent stands there looking like a fish out of water and simply says, 'All will become clear later, darling.'

Thoughts of explanations evaporate into thin air as we're whisked out of the drawing room and into the garden.

T
here are hundreds of guests at this wedding, and they're already seated in rows of dainty white chairs, all threaded with ribbons and flowers. The scent is heady and exotic. There's a piano playing and the gentle hum of pleasant conversation fills the air. Carl and I are escorted down the side of the garden among the trees, skirting the assembled throng, and guided towards a large bower that's been constructed in the centre of the lawn. Progress is slow as the heels of my lovely mules keep sinking into the grass.

He takes my hand. 'Nervous?'

'Yes.' For some reason, my heart is jumping all over the place.

Our escort stops when we reach the back of the low stage. 'If you could just wait here a moment please, and I'll let you know when to go.'

I nod to her and take the time while we wait to let my gaze wander over the audience. What a spruce bunch they areI've never seen so many designer labels in one place. If I crane my neck I could perhaps get a glimpse of the luckyand loadedgroom. I inch to the side and peer round a dozen white roses, and that's when I see him. I see Evan David and his best man standing in the front row grinning like a pair of loons and looking as proud as punch. He has never looked more handsome than he does in his morning suit. Evan's head swivels in my direction, but he doesn't see me. His eyes just look straight through me. I stagger backwards and Carl catches me.

'What?' he says with a note of panic in his voice. 'What's wrong?'

I can't speak and I feel as if I'm hyperventilating. My breath is high and ragged in my chest. I am here at the wedding of the one I love and the pain is indescribable.

'What?' Carl is filled with anxiety. 'Tell me what's wrong.'

But I can't. I simply point, and Carl's gaze follows my finger.

'Oh, Jeez,' he breathes when his eyes eventually alight on Evan David. 'This is Evan David's wedding?' He slaps his forehead. 'What the hell was Rupert thinking of? Why didn't he tell you? He knows that you love' And then he runs out of words abruptly.

I've started trembling violently, as if I've just been struck down by flu, and I can't stop. This is the nightmare to end all nightmares. I beg to some unseen God to please let me wake up and still be in my bed at my flat before it burned down and before we became pop stars and before everything that brought me to this point. I would give it all up not to be here right now.

'Fern.' Carl has gripped me by the shoulders and is shaking me ferociously. I can feel my eyeballs rotate. 'Fern, you've got to snap out of this.'

I have to get out of this place. There's no way I'm going to be able to sing for him. I turn and try to run, but my damn heels stick in the lawn, making me stumble again.

Carl grabs my hand and holds me firm. 'Oh, no, you don't,' he says. 'There'll be no running away from this one.'

Now that I'm coming out of shock, I'm ready to blub. 'I can't do this,' I gasp. 'I can't do it.'

Carl looks sternly at me. 'You can,' he insists. 'You
will
do this.'

'I can't.' I can barely manage to speak, let alone sing. My world feels as if it has crashed around my ears.

'Fern.' Carl is looking very fierce. 'You will
not
let me down. You are a professional singer. We've been paid a lot of money for this. You will dig deep and find whatever you need to get on that stage and sing.'

Who has paid for all this? The private jet, the penthouse suite. Evan can't have requested that I sing at his weddingthat would be too, too cruel. And I can't imagine that Lana Rosina would want me here for her big day, either. My head is spinning, and all I want to do is lie down and die. 'I can't.'

'This is not the time for female histrionics.'

Female histrionics?
If I wasn't so distraught, I might just punch Carl.

'Whenever you're ready,' the organiser says. If she's taken aback by my appearance, she doesn't say so, but she gives Carl an anxious glance. 'Take a moment if you need to.'

'We'll be set to go in one minute,' Carl tells her crisply.

In his dreams.

When she's gone, Carl takes the hem of my lovely floaty white dress and turns the fabric inside out, using it to wipe the tears from my eyes. 'Get through this, Fern, and you can get through anything.'

I nod blindly, my vision still blurry.

'I'll be with you,' Carl promises. 'Have I ever let you down?'

I shake my head.

'And I'll get you the biggest glass of champagne that I can find when you've finished.' He takes my hand. 'Ready?'

'Yes.' My voice sounds like a strangled croak, which is not what I was aiming for.

My dearest Carl tenderly helps me up onto the stage, and I walk to the microphone like a blind person. I try not to look at Evan, but I can't help it, and when I catch his eye, I see that his face is lit up with joy. He smiles widely at me, that most beautiful and rarest of smiles. I feel as if I could faint as I prepare to start my song. And I wonder what is going through his head right now and am very glad that he can't see what's going through mine.

At my elbow, Carl strikes up with the introductory chords to our number. I close my eyes and try to pretend that I'm somewhere else. It amazes me when my voice comes out clear and loud. I get a sudden surge out of nowhere that tells me that I can, indeed, get through this. I should try to block the lyrics from going through my mind, but I can't and I let the moving, haunting words flow over me. The words form colours and textures in my brain and I feel almost as if I'm hallucinating. I can barely hear Carl, but I knowas alwaysthat he's there for me.

The song, mercifully, comes to an end and I open my eyes. Tears are streaming down my face, and when I look up I see that tears are streaming down the faces of most of the guests. Evan's face is wet, too, and before I can turn away our eyes meet and I feel like he gets a glimpse into my soul. I step away from the microphone, my legs feeling like jelly, and a wave of nausea washes over me.

Then the familiar music of the 'Arrival of the Queen of Sheba' by Handel strikes upa very appropriate wedding march in my viewand the vision of Lana Rosina appears at the top of the aisle. She's wearing possibly the slinkiest wedding dress known to mana sheath of white raw silk that hugs her every curve and is probably a couture number by Vera Wang or someone swanky. Her mane of dark hair is piled on top of her head, threaded with pearls and held in place with a pearl tiara. A long veil stretches out for miles behind herno demure covering her face for Lana Rosina. She's carrying a bouquet of white Calla lilies. Truly, she has to be the most stunning bride I've ever seen. My insides are chewed up with jealousy. If I had a machine gun, I'd gladly use it.

The assembled guests stand and all heads turn in her direction. Evan David and his best man also stand, and it seems as if Evan is unwilling to look away from me. He mouths something to me that I can't understand and then he does turn his head to watch Lana as she sashays down the aisle. I think my heart may rip open with the pain.

I can stand this no longer. 'Come on,' I whisper to Carl. 'I've done my bit. Let's get out of here.' And I'm off the stage in a flash.

'We have to see this through,' Carl whispers back me. 'We can't leave now, Fern.'

But I'm already striding back up the garden. I see Rupert watching us with a worried frown, but that's his problem. I keep my eyes facing forward as I don't even want to look at what's going on.

'We should stay until the end,' Carl hisses at me. 'It would be rude not to.'

'Do I look like I give a fuck?' I snap. 'We're going straight to the airport to get on that bloody plane out of here.'

We're already at the door of the limo when Rupert catches up with us. 'You're leaving?' he gasps between breaths.

I get into the car. I'm so angry, so distraught, so fucking splattered all over the place that I don't even want to talk to him. He should have told me about this. He should have warned me. But then if he'd told me, I wouldn't have been here at all.

'We're going straight back to the airport,' I hear Carl say. Then he lowers his voice, but I can still make out his words. 'This has been a big shock for Fern. She just wants to get away.'

'Why?' Rupert is very concerned.

'Let's go!' I shout.

'You know how she feels about him, Rup.' Carl spreads his hands and glances anxiously back towards the garden. 'I don't think she ever expected that she'd be singing at his wedding.'

That's a typical Carl understatement.

'Evan David's wedding?' Rupert says.

'Can we just leave?' I'm sounding petulant and I hate myself.

Carl shrugs and slides in beside me, then the limo pulls smoothly away, leaving Rupert looking suitably dumbfounded on the pavement.