Part 15 (1/2)

'Guess who I persuaded to join us?' she beams.

I jump to my feet and hug Laura with mixed emotions. Her beam and cheerful demeanour are, and probably always will be, a pleasure. The guilt that grabs and tugs at my innards, like a bad case of food poisoning, is less welcome.

'What are you doing here?' I hope I sound delighted and curious rather than wary and anxious.

'Amelie texted me this morning that you were getting together and I ought to join you. You don't mind, do you?'

Laura looks momentarily apprehensive. It's a look she used to constantly sport but now is, more or less, banished. It's distressing to see it flash across her face again. She looks uncertain of her welcome and her worth. I'm utterly sorry, particularly because as far as I'm concerned, she is unwelcome: through no fault of her own.

'It's fantastic to see you,' I hug her and try to believe what I've said. 'Where's Eddie?'

'At his dad's.'

I wait for a tirade about Oscar. Usually she can't resist recounting the latest insensitivity. There's always something. Besides leaving Laura and Eddie, Oscar's crimes against humanity include repeatedly failing to buy the correct flavour yogurt for Eddie, allowing him to fall off a climbing frame (while everyone knows that Eddie might have fallen no matter who was looking after him, the point is, it happened while he was in Oscar's care), failing to be responsible about bedtime curfews, feeding Eddie goodies packed with salt and additives (which Laura is also guilty of, but...), being away for Eddie's birthday, buying Eddie extravagant pressies to try to compensate for the absences... I fear and imagine the list is endless. But, today, Laura appears not to have anything to say on the matter of Oscar.

'I can't think of anything except Vegas. To think, in three weeks and a day we'll be on the plane.' She giggles.

'It's always on my mind too,' I admit.

Laura beams and breaks into song. She does a pretty good rendition because she has the singing voice the angels were supposed to give to me.

Laura is glowing and grinning; she has no idea she is grinding me down. I know I should be delighted that she's finally found someone she cares about, someone who cares about her. But all I can see are the problems it will cause. This is never going to go away. Even if Stevie and I manage to secure a secret divorce, and by some amazing stretch of good luck Philip believes my story about sketchy paperwork and we remarry, my life will still be spoilt because Laura is in love with Stevie. And deep breath what if Stevie is in love with her too?

It dawns on me that there is a possibility that one day they might want to get married. If they do there will be more paperwork, more questions. Stevie will have to declare that he's been married and that will lead to difficult questions. Even if we negotiate that th.o.r.n.y issue, there will be others. I won't be able to attend their wedding because Stevie's mum will recognize me. How do I explain that to Laura? By the same token Laura and Stevie will never be able to attend any family event I host in case my father or brothers bother to turn up and recognize him. I wonder what scale of miracle I'll need to manage to tiptoe my way through the next forty years to avoid a catastrophic revelation. I don't tell Laura this, instead I say, 'I wondered if you wanted to come over and pick out some clothes for the trip.'

'That's lovely of you, Bella,' grins Laura, 'but you know what? I splashed out.'

'You did?' I'm amazed.

'Yep. I hit Mango and Top Shop. You don't have to spend a fortune. A few T-s.h.i.+rts, a bikini, a little skirt. It's all in the accessorizing.' Then, suddenly, her expression changes to one of concern. 'Isn't it terrible about poor Freya?'

'What about her?' I ask, concerned.

'I haven't had chance to tell Bella,' says Amelie.

'Tell me what?'

'Freya is being bullied at school.'

'She is? By whom? Have you been in to see her teachers? Why didn't you tell me?' I'm outraged on Freya's behalf.

'You've got other things to worry about. Besides, I don't think it's a big deal. She's a strong girl, physically and mentally. I'll keep an eye on it.'

'Amelie!' I'm outraged. Isn't a mother's job to fight their child's battles? How can she be so calm? 'Tell me the details,' I demand.

'One little girl pulls her ponytail and says it looks silly. She's snapped her pencils, that sort of thing. She's bitten her too, which is unacceptable at their age. But the teacher is aware of it. Luckily, Freya has no issues about being a gra.s.s. Freya was upset but after a day or two, she decided it was best to wear plaits.'

'Kids can be so cruel, can't they?' I mutter. 'School playgrounds are jungles. I mean, how many adults have bitten you in the last week?' Laura blushes. 'I don't mean in a s.e.xual context,' I snap. 'I mean when they bite and tell you that you smell or ask if your clothes were bought from a jumble sale.'

'Freya has the sense to know this is only about jealousy,' says Amelie. 'It's a storm in a teacup.'

I feel anger sizzling and spitting inside me. Clearly Amelie has never been bullied because if she had she'd want to rip off the head of the ponytail puller.

'Has this bullying started since Ben died?' I ask.

'Why do you think it's related to losing Ben?' asks Amelie.

'Just a guess.'

'Did things get bad for you after your mother died?' asks Amelie, who is perceptive to the point of being smug.

'We're not talking about me,' I reply, and we're not, but it surprises me to note that tears are welling in my eyes.

'I think we are,' states Amelie, calmly.

'I was a popular kid.' This isn't strictly true. I wasn't always popular.

'So you did the bullying?' asks Amelie. She's pretending to be nonchalant by stirring sugar into her coffee but I know she doesn't take sugar.

'No. Definitely not.'

'Well then, you must have been bullied. That's the jungle law, you just about said as much yourself.'

'I don't want to talk about my past.' I glare at Amelie, silently begging her to drop the subject. Why is she pus.h.i.+ng this?

'Did you feel abandoned when your mum died?'

I don't move. If I so much as nod the tears will overflow. I'm not going to cry about bullying and neglect that happened over twenty years ago. That would be stupid. The pressures in my life, right now, must be making me feel vulnerable.

'I'm sure your dad and brothers did their best but it must have been difficult growing up in a house full of men.'

Their best was p.i.s.s-poor actually but I'm not going to say this. The kids used to say I looked like a boy. And I probably did as I wore lots of my brothers' cast-offs. Money was so tight because Dad couldn't work after Mum died not because he was looking after us kids or because he was grief-stricken he couldn't work because he was always drunk. The kids said I smelt of dirty boys and beer. They were probably right about that too.

'Who saved you, Bella?' asks Amelie.

'I don't want to talk about this.' I force myself to look at Amelie. She does, at least, have the decency to blanch when she meets my gaze but she's a very determined woman.

'Why not? In all our conversations about my losing Ben, never once have you said, ”I relate to that,” but you must, mustn't you? On some level? When you lost your mum you must have felt as f.u.c.king miserable, angry, and scared as I did when I lost Ben.'

'I was just a kid.'

'You must have felt worse because you were just a kid.'

I slowly draw a deep breath. I need to calm down. I need to remain cool. This isn't the moment to share. I know what Amelie is trying to do and all credit to her for her amateur psychoa.n.a.lysis. From the things I've told her in the past and, more potently, the things I haven't told her she's worked out that I had a b.l.o.o.d.y miserable time as a kid from the day Mum's cancer was diagnosed. Until then, my childhood was fantastic, because it was average. I had my fair share of triumphs and disappointments, jelly and ice cream, homework and chickenpox. I was the first kid in my village to have a Raleigh bike. And when I was eight I owned a Cabbage Patch Kid doll, with adoption certificate and everything. It's astounding that you often don't know how wonderful something is until you lose it.

Then Mum got ill. And then she died. I will not talk about it. I will not dwell. It is enough to say the following seven years were filthily sad. I existed in a state of perpetual misery and I would probably still be drowning in that isolated h.e.l.l if Stevie had not moved to our village. Stevie reintroduced me to kindness and happiness. Stevie.

Clearly Amelie has pieced this much together. She's giving me an opportunity to explain to Laura what I did and why but I wish she'd just back off. Get the h.e.l.l out of my mess. I don't want to tell Laura any of it. Or Philip. I've been very careful to make light of my father's drinking habit, never labelling it alcoholism. I've kept Philip away from my hometown where all he'd see is poverty, grime and, worst of all, my family's indifference towards me. I don't want it revealed, shared or explained. I simply never want to feel scared again.