Husbands (42 page)

‘You lousy sod! I said that without any knowledge of the actual situation. You’re a pathetic bastard, trying to offload this crap on me.’ Spot on.

This is a difficult conversation and it becomes almost impossible when I get to the bit where I snogged Bella. Laura’s intelligent, she wouldn’t believe me if I said it had been solely the result of too much alcohol and, besides, that isn’t true. On the other hand, I don’t want to give the impression that I am still infatuated with Bella.

‘Who did you bring here? Me or her?’ Laura asks suddenly.

‘You. I brought you. I didn’t want to bring Belinda, Bella. That was your idea.’

‘More fool me.’

‘You’re no fool.’

‘I am. I bloody am.’ Laura looks away and I catch the grief and regret in her face, just punishment for what I’ve done.

‘When I first came to Vegas I didn’t want to start anything up.’ My voice cracks and squeaks reflecting how important the clarity of this explanation is to me. ‘The
opposite. I wanted to draw a firm line under everything between me and Bella. I wanted to end it.’ My breath stumbles in my chest, making it difficult for me to breathe, I so want Laura to believe me. I so want my explanation to add up.

‘I was having such a marvellous time. I thought we were falling in love but all along you were hankering after an old flame. How is that possible?’ asks Laura, miserable and confused. ‘You’ve ruined everything. Pissed on everything. This hasn’t been our story. It hasn’t been about our beginning. Even if I believe you, this is Bella’s and your end.’

‘It can be both things.’

‘No, it can’t.’

Laura stood up, zipped her suitcase and walked towards the door. ‘I’ve booked my own room for tonight. I imagine it goes without saying but I won’t be staying for the final. I’m going to try to change my ticket so that I can fly back tomorrow.’ She glances around the room. ‘If I’ve forgotten anything post it to me. I don’t want to see you ever again, Stevie. Do you understand? I
never
want to see you again.’

The door bangs behind her. A dull, definitive bang.

Saturday 10th July, 2004

Laura

I spent the night crying. Not only is it traditional but it’s also my due. I cannot believe the scale of the deceit that has been played out in front of me. I called the travel agent and the airport and got my ticket transferred so that I could fly home today. After sobbing and pleading and ‘holding the line’ for over an hour, it was confirmed that I can fly home today as long as I’m prepared to transfer in Amsterdam. I’d transfer in Timbuktu if it was a speedy way to exit this hellhole. I call Amelie to tell her my change of plan.

‘Why are you coming home early? Have you had a row with Stevie? Is everything OK?’ she asks. I almost melt at hearing her concern ooze down the telephone line. I am so glad that I have sensible Amelie to comfort and help me. I can’t wait to curl up on her comfy, squashy settee and spill out my news. I can already imagine her outrage on my behalf.

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ I reply.

‘I think I might,’ she sighs.

There’s something in her tone, sad acceptance perhaps, that makes me ask, ‘You know?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I’ve known all along.’

I hang up. Amelie knows, she knew
all along
. Amelie, who is decent and honourable and I thought was my friend, was part of this foul sham and she didn’t think to tell me, to warn me. She is not decent, or honourable, or a friend. I am so alone. Once again, I have no one to turn to and I am so sick of having to stand on my own two feet.

I don’t call Oscar to tell him that I’m coming home early. I still have a smidgen of pride and I can’t bring myself to admit to him that the man I’ve been dating, who I thought was the man of my dreams, was actually my best friend’s husband. I’ll leave Eddie with him until Monday as planned, even though I ache to wrap my arms round my little boy. I know that I’ll be comforted by the smell of his hair and skin and the warmth of his clumsy, casual hugs.

The thought of my journey home is depressing. I had imagined that by the time Stevie and I flew back to England we would be sweet as. We would sit back in our comfy, up-front seats, sipping free champagne, confident in the knowledge that we had exchanged promises of love. Do I ever learn? I know it’s dangerous to project. So what was I thinking of when I allowed myself to indulge in fantasies where Stevie and I would drive to Oscar’s to pick up Eddie? I’d taken great pleasure in imagining Oscar’s face as I introduced him to Stevie. I confess I got a certain amount of satisfaction envisaging my average ex, shaking hands with my gorgeous present.
That’ll learn me! I’d been especially excited anticipating the pleasure on Eddie’s face as he unwrapped the mountain of pressies that Stevie and I have chosen for him. Now, I’m not even certain where those pressies are, I left Stevie’s room in such a hurry.

Stevie’s room.

Because it doesn’t feel like mine any more. In fact, the truth of the matter is, nothing is mine. Nothing ever was. Bella wasn’t my friend and Stevie wasn’t my boyfriend – he’s Bella’s husband, so even the memories aren’t mine.

My head aches with lack of sleep and excessive bawling. My eyes sting and my throat is raw. I am famished, yet I feel sick when I try to eat. I can’t think how to fill my day. Stevie and I had talked about sightseeing. We were going to do either the Hoover Dam or the Grand Canyon. I guess I could go on my own but I can’t rally. I have a lifetime of doing things on my own ahead of me. I don’t see the rush.

I don’t want to sunbathe, or drink, or gamble. Vegas truly is a desert.

I sit in the lobby café and sip coffee. I buy myself an enormous slice of carrot cake but don’t touch it. Yesterday, I walked past the café several times and coveted the delicious cakes stashed behind the glass counter. Stevie and I had promised to indulge ourselves on the way home from last night’s gig. We’d thought that the cream icing and the light sponge would be perfect for soaking up the champagne that we would have drunk. How can things change so dramatically in such a short space of time? One minute, so close it’s almost impossible to know where
one person’s dreams, thoughts and laughter start and the other’s end, then the next – total strangers.

‘Hi, Laura, I’ve been looking for you.’

‘Oh God, that’s all I need. Bella Edwards, or should I call you Belinda McDonnel?’ I say without turning to face her. She slips on to the stool in front of me.

I’m surprised she’s hunted me down. Clearly, she’s underestimated my murderous feelings towards her. I kind of admire her audacity for meeting me face-to-face; on the other hand after hearing of her antics over the last eight years, and in particular the last few months, her audacity can’t be hyped.

‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘Bit late.’ I force myself to look at her. She’s blushing, furiously. Good. Hope she spontaneously combusts.

After about two billion years of silence Bella drags her gaze to meet mine. Bugger me, she looks awful. Good. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get a decent night’s kip. I’ve never, ever seen her look so dog rough. My first instinct is to feel sorry for her and then I remember how much I hate her. I wonder what Phil has made of her frolics? Poor man, he’s in a worse position than I am. Maybe I should call him. We could appear on one of those awful daytime TV programmes together.

‘Shouldn’t you be talking to Phil?’ I ask.

‘Yes.’ Her hands are shaking. I watch as she tips three sugars into her coffee. Normally she doesn’t take sugar. ‘I really wanted to talk to him last night but he couldn’t face it.’

‘Well, you’re no longer the one calling the shots are you?’

‘No, I’m not,’ she admits. ‘We’ve an appointment, at noon, to talk.’

‘How very civilized,’ I mutter.

I think back to the night before. I thought
I’d
reached new levels of maturity when I’d only flung insults and expletives at Stevie. If I’d been in my own apartment, or his, I would have flung an entire dinner service, lamps, books, you name it. As it was, nearly everything in THE Hotel is pinned down or prohibitively expensive to replace. How can Phil and Bella be so grown-up that they pre-book their rows? Doesn’t Phil want to wring her scrawny neck?

‘I’m sorry I’ve ruined everything for you and Stevie,’ says Bella. ‘I never wanted to.’

‘How do you know you have?’ I demand. ‘Maybe we’re going to muddle through.’ I don’t think this for a nanosecond but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s ruined my life.

‘I saw Stevie this morning. He seems to think things between you are pretty bleak.’ I glare daggers. How dare she sit there and add insult to injury? Where does she get off on telling me she’s still having cosy little one-to-ones with Stevie? Hasn’t she done enough damage?

‘Stevie is truly sorry,’ says Bella. ‘None of this is his fault.’

‘Don’t sweat it, forget it,’ I mutter, with more bravado than I feel. ‘He’s a bloke, invariably they lob-in to a girl’s life bringing with them a shitload of trouble, it’s almost to be expected.’

‘He didn’t mean to let you down.’

‘Let’s put Stevie to one side, shall we, Bella? I want to
talk about you and about how
you
let me down.’ Bella looks like an accident victim, traumatized and stressed.

Bewdy. It’s undoubtedly really ignoble that I want her to suffer – so hang me. ‘How could you have done this to me? Why didn’t you tell me who he was when you first saw him at The Bell and Long Wheat?’

‘I thought I’d get away with it.’

‘I admire your honesty,’ I comment sarcastically. Then a thought strikes and saddens me. I drop the sarcastic tone. ‘Oh, shit, Bella, I’ve always admired your honesty and now it turns out that you haven’t any. I based our friendship on the knowledge you gave me of yourself, which, I think you will agree, was at best sketchy.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she repeats.

I swear if she says she’s sorry one more time I’ll ram the ashtray down her throat. Neither of us smokes anyway – she can have it as a souvenir. I take a deep breath and make a mental note to buy some Bach Flower Remedies. I understand they’re good for nervous tension.

‘You were insulted that it took me five days to tell you I’d had a brief encounter on the Piccadilly line but it’s taken you
three years
to mention that you’re married!’

‘Look, Laura, I didn’t plan any of this and I am as sorry as I can be that you got hurt. I know things are tough for you, what with you bringing up Eddie on your own and everything. I never wanted to make it harder.’

‘Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,’ I hiss. ‘I’m so sick of your obsession with my single-mum status. I’m exhausted by being defined that way. You’d think in the twenty-first century everyone would have got over it a bit. So my marriage didn’t work. So what? My kid is
fantastic. I’ve moved on and for that matter, I’ve moved up too. I wish everyone else could move on. If I was a nubile twenty-year-old supermodel with three trust funds, your betrayal would be just as bad. Why can’t you see this is about your actions, not my circumstances?’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ admits Bella. ‘I never wanted to come to Vegas,’ she stutters.

‘I’m surprised. I’d have thought Vegas would be the perfect place for you. A place where it’s legal to plight your troth on a bungee jump, in a drive-thru chapel or in a hot tub. You could have got married a couple more times.’ It’s a cheap shot, therefore irresistible. No one has yet mentioned the fact that her situation is not only immoral, it’s illegal.

‘I wish you hadn’t invited me,’ she groans.

I wish I hadn’t invited her too, so at least we agree on that.

‘It wouldn’t have mattered,’ I say. ‘You’d still have been married to my boyfriend. I just wouldn’t have known it. Have you any idea what you’ve done to Phil and me?’ She doesn’t get it, does she? She still thinks the issue here is that she was caught out, not that she has done a terrible thing. She is eternally elusive. ‘Oh my God, the peony dress. It was a guilt purchase,’ I cry.

‘No. I wanted you to have something nice.’

‘I had Stevie!’

‘I tried to explain,’ she stumbles.

‘You sound like him. You’re well suited.’

Bella takes a deep breath and then says, ‘No, we’re not. Listen to me, Laura, we don’t match any more. We disagree about everything: Elvis, Vegas, travel, sushi,
ambitions, money, people. We don’t want to live our lives in the same way. He’s gorgeous, and once upon a time I loved him very much. A little bit of me will always love him.’

I mash my carrot cake with the back of my fork. I long to be doing something more menacing, mashing her face perhaps. I have no sympathy for her even though it’s clear she’s fighting tears.

‘But we’re not right for each other
now
and he knows it.’

I look around for something to throw or somewhere to run. I don’t want to hear this.

‘He suits you, Laura, and I suit Phil. You’re Stevie’s. He’s not mine and, believe me, I so wanted him to be mine. I wanted something from Kirkspey to be mine. But he’s not.’

‘What is it with you and your hometown? Don’t you know that everyone has a love/hate relationship with their hometown? It’s part of growing up.’

‘Mine’s just hate/hate.’

‘You have serious issues. You have no idea when to let things go, yet you’re incapable of tackling anything head-on. Instead, you duck, dive or dodge.’

I expect Bella to wave away my observation, to duck, dive or dodge it but she surprises me by asking, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, besides the entire Stevie episode and your prolonged loathing of your hometown, there’s the issue of how you constantly focus on everyone else’s problems rather than deal with your own.’

‘I don’t.’

‘You do. You’re always asking Amelie how she is.’

‘That’s because I care,’ says Bella, with indignation.

‘I know you do, but what can she say to you? She’ll tell you she’s fine and clearly she’s not. If she ever wants to talk she calls you. I just think that sometimes she’d like to talk about something other than losing her partner. Sometimes she doesn’t want to feel like a victim. Ditto me with the single-mum thing.
And
why the hell can’t you just decide which office you want to go to during the week and just go there like everyone else?’