Husbands (38 page)

‘Not for
me
. I watch and monitor through jealousy.’

‘You what?’ I start to laugh, which possibly isn’t the empathetic and sensitive reaction Philip was hoping for.

‘I think Bella is having an affair.’

I stare at him with disbelief. ‘You’re losing your mind,’ I declare flatly.

Philip stares at me, evidently longing for reassurance. He looks like I often did when I asked Oscar to come up with innocent explanations for late nights in the office and lost weekends. I’m overwhelmed with pity and want to assure Phil that he has nothing to fear from Bella on that front. His case is quite unlike mine was with Oscar.

Simultaneously, I’m also pretty miffed with him for being so ludicrous. ‘Bella is devoted to you. She would never stray.’

‘I always thought so but she’s been so edgy and secretive recently. She keeps making calls when I’m in the shower or hanging up when I walk into the room.’

‘Who does she say she’s calling?’

‘Amelie.’

‘Well, in that case she’ll be calling Amelie, probably about watering the plants or something anal. You know what a perfectionist Bella is.’

‘I’d hoped this trip would be an opportunity for Bella and me to talk. I know something is bothering her and has been for a while. I wanted to find out what it is and put it right with her but she won’t talk to me. I’ve tried.’

‘Maybe she’s considering her next steps. You know, her career and everything. I think she wants to work it all out for herself without anyone’s help. She’s always been independent. That’s her style. She is supposed to be having time off to do some thinking, isn’t she?’

Philip shrugs sadly. ‘Maybe. I have considered that, but she is so distant and strange. The truth is I miss her. I sense she’s keeping a secret from me.’

‘It’s nearly your fortieth birthday. No doubt she has secrets,’ I point out.

‘But she’s moody, tearful and melancholic. She keeps calling off whenever we four are due to meet up, saying she’s tired. Have you ever known Bella to prefer to lounge around in her room rather than go out to play? And last night
she
didn’t come to bed either. She sat downstairs and had a drink at the bar in the garden.’

‘And that’s it? That’s your evidence for thinking my best friend is having an affair?’ I’m mortally offended for
Bella and pissed off at Philip. When did he turn into such a doubting Thomas?

‘It’s more evidence than you have to suspect Stevie, yet you’re suspicious of him.’

‘Yes, and you think I’m being ridiculous,’ I argue crossly. I instantly realize that part of me is narky with myself. Having heard Philip’s paranoid ramblings I’m embarrassed by my own: lack of trust is horrible to witness in a relationship. I’m also fed up because I know I am a bit circumspect about the longevity of relationships, but I mean
my
relationships, I firmly believe other people might thrive and I’m depressed to be faced with Philip’s qualms.

Philip can see my outrage and is hurried into an uncharacteristic confession. ‘She’s gone off sex,’ he mumbles into his glass.

I give this piece of information the consideration it deserves. I know it will have cost Philip dearly to confide such a thing. The truth is Bella has been acting weirdly for a number of weeks. She’s been snippy with me and Amelie but I’d put it all down to my meeting Stevie. Evidently that’s not so. Suddenly it dawns on me.

‘Oh my God, Philip!’ I yell. I can hardly believe I haven’t worked this out before. It’s so obvious. All the pieces fall together. ‘Don’t you see? She’s moody, secretive, exhausted and a bit lacklustre in the bedroom?’ Philip raises his gaze and waits for me to spell it out. ‘Phil, you’re going to be a daddy.’

Philip

Could Laura be right? Well technically, of course she
could
. It’s possible… Is it probable? Who knows? Maybe. I hum to myself as I shave and shower. Bella lies on the bed flicking through a million satellite TV channels, none of which seem to hold her attention. I watch her from the bathroom, as the door is ajar. There’s a large tin of jelly beans on the bedside table – she’s eaten two thirds plus she’s munched her way through a gigantic packet of crisps and half a Hershey bar. She doesn’t even like Hershey bars – could this be the start of eating for two? Shouldn’t she be eating fish or broccoli, something with more nutritional value and less gelatin?

As I towel myself dry I reflect on the past couple of months in light of Laura’s suggestion. Pregnancy would explain the mood swings and her resistance to settling on a career. She obviously doesn’t want to get her teeth into something only to have to start all over again. It would explain why she didn’t want to come on this trip – some women are nervous of flying in the early stages – and why she’s given up the booze; I did think a holiday was an odd time to ditch the poison. It would also explain why she hasn’t bought any clothes this holiday and the dizzy spell by the pool.

But if she’s pregnant, why wouldn’t she tell me?

She’s probably just being considerate to Stevie and Laura. She won’t want to steal their thunder, this trip is supposed to be about them, not us. Isn’t that just typically sweet of Bella?

The more I think about it, the more I see that it makes absolute sense. I am light-headed with relief and joy. It’s now ridiculous to think that last night I lay alone in bed and dwelt on terrible, ugly thoughts. How could I have imagined she was having an affair? Madness. We’re in the desert for God’s sake; the only people she knows in the state of Nevada are Laura, Stevie and me.

I emerge from the bathroom – a dripping cloud of love – with a towel wrapped around my waist. I’ve caught a few rays and Bella loves to see me wet and freshly shaved, she’s told me so on a number of occasions. I stride to the bed and then carefully lean in to kiss the top of her head. To think this woman is carrying my child! This amazing, beautiful, interesting woman is going to be the mother of my babies. I think I might explode with pride. I hover above her, waiting for her to turn away from the TV, and towards me, so that I can kiss her on the lips.

‘You’re making the bed wet,’ she mumbles, without taking her eyes off the screen. I look up to see what’s captivating her. A minute-long advert for kitchen knives? I pick up the remote and press the ‘off’ button.

‘I was watching that,’ she grumbles with undisguised irritation. She turns to stare at me crossly, which gives me the opportunity to plant a smacker on her lips. Bella allows the kiss but keeps her mouth firmly closed, which inhibits my seduction plans.

‘If you were drinking alcohol, I’d say this was a champagne moment, wouldn’t you, gorgeous?’ I ask. Then I grin and add, ‘But if you were drinking, it probably wouldn’t be a champagne moment.’

‘What are you talking about?’ asks Bella. She squeezes her hand into the tin of jelly beans and scratches around for another large handful. ‘I don’t know why I keep eating these. They’re making me feel sick.’

She feels sick! I could kiss her. I lie down beside her and prop myself up on one elbow, facing her. ‘I have something really funny to tell you,’ I say.

‘I could do with a laugh,’ replies Bella. But she doesn’t let me tell her the funny thing, instead she says, ‘I’m really tired, do you think there’s any way we could give tonight a miss?’

She stares at me. Her enormous brown eyes, framed with thick, long lashes, have never looked more beautifully Bambi-like. She’s exhausted. Confirmation of everything I’ve been hoping for. It’s as though she’s shown me the funny white stick with the blue line. A family is just what I want. What we want. I’m so thrilled, I could burst. Knowing her secret is enough to make me explode.

‘We can’t miss the show unless we have a really good excuse,’ I reply. ‘After all, the main reason we’re here is to support Stevie. We’re his guests. We can’t fail to show up at the dress rehearsal. Tonight will be important for his morale and confidence.’ I pause dramatically, ‘We’d need a really, really excellent reason to miss it.’

Like my wife is feeling nauseous carrying our first baby! I wait for her to confirm my suspicions but she doesn’t. Bella sighs and mutters something about the best reason
in the world. ‘What is it?’ I almost yell my question as excitement has made it impossible for me to control my voice. Bella looks startled.

She doesn’t answer, she just rolls off the bed and opens her wardrobe door. She pulls out a top – the first one that comes to hand. It’s unlike her not to spend hours agonizing over what to wear. Maybe she already knows that some of her clingy numbers won’t fit any more. Has she changed shape yet? Not to my eye, but then I’m not really sure when women start to ‘show’. Oh hell, this is exciting. My wife is going to bloom. I’m certain that she’s going to be one of those beautiful and serene mothers-to-be. I imagine she’ll glow rather than puke. But if she does puke I’ll be right by her side holding her hair. I want to be with her every step of the way. I want to massage her achy back and I definitely want to be at the birth. But most of all I want her to tell me she’s pregnant! I can’t wait another second. I want to start our future now.

‘Bella.’

She pauses at the bathroom door. ‘If we have to go to this thing I need to get ready.’

‘Bella, are you pregnant?’

‘What?’

I sit up on the bed and grin helplessly, waiting for her to make all my dreams come true.

‘I’m right, aren’t I? You’re pregnant. The tiredness, the dizziness, the moods. Not that I mind you being moody. I mean, I understand. It must be hormones.’ I’m gabbling because I’m deliriously excited but I don’t want to upset her, she has been
very
irritable recently, so I tread carefully. ‘
And
it’s extremely noble of you to wait until after the
competition to make the announcement, rather than stealing Stevie’s thunder. But, sweetheart, you can tell me! I’m so thrilled.’ I stop gabbling.

Bella is silent. She’s frozen, one hand on the bathroom door handle. She’s looking at the floor. ‘You’re mad, Philip. Insane.’

She pops my dreams. Like balloons jabbed with a pin, they bang and disappear.

‘You’re not then,’ I mutter, sadly.

‘No, of course I’m not. Whatever gave you that idea?’

I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. Of course Bella isn’t pregnant. She’d have told me if she was. She wouldn’t have cared about Stevie’s competition. In fact, I don’t think there is anything on this earth she cares
less
about than Stevie’s competition. How could I have allowed myself to get so carried away? How could I have imagined something so important to be fact, based on nothing other than flimsy hypothesis and conjecture?

Because I wanted to believe it. I want us to be a family so much – more than anything. More than common sense, or caution, can control.

Besides, if Bella isn’t pregnant then I am once again face-to-face with a number of very worrying issues. The alternative to pregnancy appals me.

I lie in silence except for the sound of running water as Bella showers. I hear her dry her hair and listen to the familiar sounds of her rattling around in her vanity case. I sit on the edge of the bed waiting for her. The sun is setting so the room is washed in a warm golden glow. The occasional reflection from the neon lights in the street darts crazily around the room, ricocheting off the
furniture. The warm glow and the coloured lights suggest we ought to be having a better time than we are.

It takes Bella longer than usual to apply her make-up, more than enough time for me to pull on some chinos and a shirt. When she emerges from the bathroom I see that the extra effort has been worthwhile.

I’m always proud of my wife. She’s strong, funny and gorgeous. But tonight she is something more; tonight she is dazzling. She’s wearing a casual enough get-up. A red, funky sheer top and a beige skirt. I bought both garments for her from Diesel one Saturday afternoon when we were killing some time in Covent Garden. I’ve seen her wear the outfit two or three times already and it’s ‘reluctantly sexy’ – it allows a flash of taut stomach rather than anything obvious – plus, she’s wearing high strappy shoes, always a winner. Her hair is glossy and straight, like a sheet of ice, and her fingernails are freshly painted a very obvious scarlet that she normally confines to her toes.

I know a lot of ‘stuff’ about Bella. Our friends often joke that we’d be really great candidates for that old show
Mr and Mrs
. We know all the trivia about each other, trivia that holds lives together and gives them some form.

She takes skimmed milk in her tea, semi on her cereal and the full-fat stuff in coffee. She wears a Jo Malone perfume, except it’s very trendy so it’s called cologne, not perfume. She uses Jurlique skincare products. Her favourite smell is basil. Her favourite cheese is Gorgon-zola. Her favourite dessert is a bowl of strawberries and melted chocolate. Whenever she buys a new outfit she absolutely
has
to wear it that night, even if she is just sat at home, with me, watching a DVD. She likes the feeling
of warm sand between her toes when she’s walking on a beach but prefers to sunbathe by a pool. She often laughs so hard that she is helpless and feels sick – although not that often, not recently. She loves being met at stations or airports. She gets a kick out of sticking her knife into a new jar of honey and eating from the blade, even though she knows she shouldn’t. She prefers instant coffee to filter because she loves to ‘pop’ the seal on a new jar of coffee. She could recite a similar list of my preferences too. I know she could, because the fridge always boasts my favourite foodstuffs, her arse is often to be found in the lingerie that I find sexiest. She buys me video games I haven’t got but do covet, she can choose me a book or a tie and knows all the names, ages and birthdays of my nieces, nephews and godchildren.

But suddenly, I’m paralyzed with fear because I wonder is this all I know? ‘Stuff?’

I’m not so sure I know any of the big things about Bella, the things that give a life meaning. We have form but no meaning. How does she vote? Would she even get off her backside to cast a vote? Probably, for general elections but maybe not for local ones. How shocking. Does she want four kids? Does she want one? Why can’t she figure out what she wants to do from nine till five? Is it really
that
hard? What’s making her sad at the moment? How is it possible to know so much about a person and yet know nothing at all?