Part 14 (2/2)

I'm so excited by the perfectness of the plan that I barely consider how forward I'm being in asking Stevie to give his prize to my friends. In a split second I reason that they will soon be his friends; all the sooner, if we go away together and have a gas. It's my hospitable Aussie spirit taking control; it's ebullient and extends to being hospitable with other people's treats.

'Besides, most importantly you'd have a chance to get to know them better,' I plead.

'I don't know,' says Stevie slowly.

'Can you think of one good reason why not?'

Stevie looks blank, almost scared. For goodness' sake, my friends aren't scary. But he doesn't answer me. I take his silence to mean that he's agreed to my plan and then I pull him towards me and kiss his lips.

Enough talking for one night.

25. Trouble.

Tuesday 15th June 2004.

Bella.

'Going away with him is a ridiculous idea,' says Amelie. We are in my local Costa Coffee. I've called an emergency meeting. I gaze out of the window: rain is las.h.i.+ng down and a.s.saulting pedestrians as they scuttle to find shelter. A depressing state of affairs in January, let alone June. Last week I was wearing a T-s.h.i.+rt and contemplating shorts, albeit long ones, and this week I can't leave the house without an umbrella and a raincoat. This tedious situation is only somewhat relieved by the fact that my raincoat is a Burberry raincoat. Christmas 2003's 'must-have' fas.h.i.+on item. I might be cold and wet but I look chic.

Amelie is right, of course, going away with Stevie is a ludicrous idea.

'I know, but I wasn't given any choice in the matter. Laura called and spoke to Philip who, naturally, thought it was a brilliant idea that we join them on an all-expenses-paid trip to Las Vegas. He accepted before I was even consulted.'

'Didn't you try to get out of it?'

'Of course, but he said I've been tetchy for the last three or four weeks and a break would do me good.'

'He knows you well,' observes Amelie.

I scowl. I have been tetchy and both Philip and Amelie have repeatedly commented on it, which naturally has done nothing to alleviate the feelings of irritability. Of course I'm p.r.i.c.kly. Who wouldn't be when they are married to two men who are mixing in the same social circles and a disastrous exposure seems at every moment probable? No doubt Laura has noticed that I'm being grumpy too, but she has tactfully opted not to discuss the matter with me. I know she's reached her own conclusion i.e. that I don't like Stevie and therefore I am being difficult. She is one hundred per cent correct and one hundred per cent wrong at the same time.

'If you have any suggestions as to how I get out of the trip I'd love to hear them,' I mumble.

'Tell the truth.'

'Any realistic, likely or at least non-suicidal suggestions,' I clarify.

'No.'

'Well, maybe you should keep out of this, Amelie. This isn't a game. This is serious.'

'You've noticed.' Amelie holds my glare longer than I'm comfortable with; I break first and look away.

I wouldn't normally dream of speaking to Amelie so rudely but I'm at snapping point. It's over a week since I met Stevie. Since then, with his agreement, I have made an appointment with a solicitor, which is a step forwards, and I have been roped into spending four days away in Las Vegas with my best friend and both my husbands, which is a step backwards. A whole quantum leap backwards, actually. I'm terrified by the prospect.

'I wonder what on earth made Stevie agree to you and Philip joining the Vegas trip,' muses Amelie.

'He was probably railroaded by Laura.'

'That, or he wants to make you sweat,' points out Amelie.

'No, he wouldn't do that. Why would he do that?' I ask.

'Because you've treated him terribly. You secretly married him, you deserted him and now you want to divorce him. Besides this, you are insisting that he lies to his girlfriend and becomes embroiled in all sorts of potentially explosive skulduggery,' states Amelie.

I'm really beginning to dislike her. I realize that this dislike is fuelled entirely by my own inadequacies, which simply makes it more intense. Her goodness makes me feel like the devil has bought my soul. The thing about goodness is that it is only nice to be around if you are good. If you are not good, and right now I'm not, then it's just b.l.o.o.d.y infuriating.

'I'll ask him what the h.e.l.l he's playing at when I see him tomorrow,' I say.

'Tomorrow?'

'Yes, we're meeting up again.'

'Why?'

'So I can give him a progress report.'

'I thought you said there hasn't been any progress.'

'Well, there will have been by tomorrow. I'm seeing the solicitor in the morning.'

'Couldn't you send him an e-mail with an update?'

'Too risky.'

'Why? Don't you trust him?'

'No, it's not that. He said he'd help me, so he will. Stevie's a man of his word. But e-mails can be seen by the wrong people.'

'You might be seen meeting him, surely that's more risky,' argues Amelie.

'No, we've picked a venue off the beaten track. Neither of us is in any danger of being spotted.'

'How very clandestine,' she mutters, raising an eyebrow to effectively communicate her distrust and displeasure.

'I'm not enjoying this, Amelie.'

'Make sure you don't. Another coffee?'

I agree, mostly because I want Amelie to leave me alone for a while even if it's only for the few minutes it takes her to order and collect two lattes. I'm beginning to regret confessing my awful predicament to her. She's behaving like my own personal Jiminy Cricket.

I glance around the coffee house. Normally I love it here. Often, I wander down the high street at about noon and find myself ambling into Costa. Their sandwiches are yummy and I prefer to buy one here than eat alone at home. Usually, I stretch out on one of the big brown leather sofas and sip my coffee while reading a novel. Having been a waitress for more years than I care to add up, there is no other single pleasure quite so great as putting your feet up and taking your time over a cup of coffee. I like to dip amaretti biscuits into my latte. They are expensive and some would argue that they taste like cardboard but I still consider them to be symbolic of urban living and that alone has an overwhelming pull for me.

Only a month ago I remember popping in here for a spot of lunch following a fairly rigorous exercise cla.s.s and thinking to myself that my life was d.a.m.n perfect, utterly, totally enviable. My body felt nicely stretched from my visit to the gym. My stomach felt a little stretched too (skinny cafe latte and a mozzarella, sun-dried tomatoes and pesto sandwich, tasted all right, a wee bit too salty). I had nowhere I needed to be. No one I owed money, apologies or a time sheet to. I remember thinking that life could not get more ideal. Now, I think my lot is on a par with Job's and Amelie is macabrely expert as Job's comforter. As if to underline my point Amelie returns to the table with three lattes and a smiling Laura.

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