Part 9 (1/2)

'I'm trying to put her off him before she gets in too deep,' I reply. Amelie stares at me as though I've lost my mind. 'Well, they haven't had s.e.x so it's not serious.'

'You are kidding, right?' asks Amelie. 'They might not have had s.e.x but it is obvious that it is serious. She calmly referred to Oscar as Eddie's dad. That's more serious than s.e.x. She's besotted with Stevie to the extent that she's already feeling less bitter about Oscar.'

'So you think Stevie is a rebound thing? A way to get over Oscar?' I ask hopefully.

'No. The osteopath was the rebound thing and he didn't help her get over Oscar anyway. I'm saying that Stevie must be the real thing.'

'No,' I yell, frustrated and angry with Amelie, Stevie, Laura and myself. Mostly myself.

'This is such good news,' says Amelie with a beam.

I can't share her enthusiasm. 'I'll have to move quickly to split them up.'

'I can't believe you're even thinking it. You of all people. How could you be contemplating something so cra.s.s and selfish?'

'Survival,' I mutter.

'Laura was a messy heap when you met her. She embodied meltdown. She'd still be shuffling about in her cardy and maternity slacks if you hadn't befriended her. You gave her back her confidence and hope. You did such a good thing, Bella. How could you be thinking of doing such a terrible one now?' I hate it that Amelie thinks she's a good enough friend to give it to me straight. 'Sorry to sound harsh but what are friends for if not to keep you grounded?'

I want to say friends are there to discuss the idiosyncrasies of fas.h.i.+ons with. Friends are there so you never have to drink copious amounts of vino alone, but I can't be flip.

'I've never seen Laura so cheerful and confident. She's glowing and I hope I don't sound too tactless he seems pretty keen on her too.'

I stare at Amelie, horrified. 'Do you think so?'

'Yes. He is taking her to see Chicago, for goodness' sake. You have to recognize that as an act of devotion.'

'He'll tell her,' I mutter ominously.

'You have to tell her first. And you have to talk to Philip.'

'No,' I shout. Again, dozens of necks snap in our direction. We are definitely the floor show at the Palais, this lunchtime. 'There has to be another way.' I ponder for a moment. 'Maybe I should talk to Stevie.'

'It's a start,' concedes Amelie.

'I could get a divorce, a quickie. They only take about two minutes nowadays, don't they? After all, we've been separated for an age there must be grounds. Then I can tell Philip that he and I are not quite legally married.'

Amelie scowls. 'I can't see the ambivalence of the situation. You are either married or you're not.'

'Well OK, we're not,' I admit reluctantly. It breaks my heart. I want to be married to Philip. I feel married to Philip. 'But it will be better than telling him now because I won't have to say I'm married to someone else. I could just tell him there was a legal technicality: that the paperwork for our wedding was filled out incorrectly. It's not even a lie.' I allow hope to glimmer for the first time in six days.

'It's hardly the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He'll expect you to be specific. He's not the sort to be fobbed off with vagaries. It would be better to come clean,' argues Amelie.

'I'll fudge, I'll get round it.' I've been burying my head in sand for years; I have no intention of emerging now. 'And then Philip and I can get remarried, quietly. No one need ever know. And Laura and Stevie can do, well, whatever they want to do.'

I see this as the ultimate in self-sacrifice and magnanimity. I may not want Stevie now but gift-wrapping him for someone else is still hard. Deep down, somewhere untouchable, I had furtively believed that he was mine. He always has been, in a forever since the start of time sort of way. I may not have seen him for eight years, I may not even have thought about him for months on end but somewhere in my subconscious Stevie registered as mine. Amelie clearly doesn't see my sacrifice, because she pulls the face she normally reserves for Freya and Davey when they are squabbling.

Laura returns to the table. Her newly acquired glow has dimmed. I wonder if she was expecting a call and he hasn't rung or maybe he's just sent her a blowout text. Goodo. If he ditches her I won't have to meet him.

'Anything wrong?' I ask.

'Odd that you should ask me that, I was just going to ask you the same thing,' says Laura. 'Are you OK? You've been acting very strangely today.' I look at her blankly, not daring to allow any expression to flicker across my face. 'Look, I want you to be honest with me. What is your problem with Stevie?'

'I haven't got one,' I mutter.

'Good, because if you have, you should tell me. I know you objected to him being a busker but he isn't a busker.'

'Yes, you said, a teacher. That's great.'

'If you know of any real reason I shouldn't be going out with Stevie, then as a mate you should tell me now.'

This is my moment. I could confide in her as I have done with so many other, admittedly smaller, issues in the past. When I took slimming tablets Laura was the only person I told, and of course she convinced me that they were nonsense and sent me to the gym. When I missed my period just before Philip and I got married it was Laura who sat outside the bathroom door and waited for the results of my peeing on to a stick. It was a false alarm, stress had sent my body into disarray. Laura knew about the men I'd stood up, men I'd waited by the phone for. She knew when I highlighted my hair and that I always wore a Wonderbra on a first date. She knows everything about me well, practically she's been firmly ensconced on my side for three years now, I want to keep her there.

Fleetingly, I consider whether if I come clean Laura will conspire to keep my secret from Philip. Maybe I could persuade her to. But what if I can't? What if she is angry and confused at the situation, not an unreasonable response, and what if she insists on exposing me to Philip? I feel Amelie holding her breath, willing me to fess up, do the right thing. But I can't, daren't, do it.

My own plan has to work.

I shake my head, sick with shame. 'I'm just worried about you,' I mumble, which is true. The more shaming bit is I'm more worried about myself. 'I don't want to see you hurt,' I add. And I don't want to see Laura hurt. She has been through one ma.s.sive break-up, which nearly killed her, and Amelie is right, she's fallen for Stevie. If I could put the bigamist thing to one side and think about Stevie and Laura as a couple I'd have to admit that they suit one another. I want my new plan to work, for everyone's sake.

'I'd like to meet him properly,' I say.

'You would?' Laura's former radiance reappears.

I smile despite myself. 'Yes. This whole thing has got off on the wrong foot.' That much is true. 'Why don't you and Stevie come to supper this Sat.u.r.day?'

'That would be great. Oh, he has a gig then, a wedding. Can we make it the week after?'

I wonder how much damage can be done in a week. But, as I have no choice, I agree.

'He'll be so pleased,' enthuses Laura. 'He's dying to meet you. I've talked about you a lot.'

I take this comment and Stevie's keenness to meet Laura's friends at innocent face value because considering the alternative that he might have an inkling that I am Belinda McDonnel from Kirkspey and not Bella Edwards of Wimbledon, would turn me to stone.

'And you'll come too, won't you, Amelie?' I offer.

'Wouldn't miss it for the world,' says Amelie.

Whereas I, on the other hand, would give the world not to have to throw this particular supper party.

18. Tonight is So Right for Love.

Friday 4th June 2004.

Laura.

'Is he asleep?' I ask, as Stevie enters the kitchen.