Part 28 (2/2)

'I couldn't get out of it. Phil insisted,' Belinda shrugs.

'Phil did?'

Yes.' Belinda catches sight of my face. 'Oh, no. You thought I'd chosen you?' she asks carefully. I nod. Belinda looks mortified. 'I'm sorry, Stevie. It's not a choice I can make.'

She's holding the long stem of the champagne gla.s.s, I notice that the liquid is moving she's shaking, ever so slightly. She looks directly into my eyes and I know what's coming. Way back in Blackpool she wasn't able to look me in the face. She could not finish us cleanly, let alone battle for us. I always thought that was the worst thing about our break-up. I respect her for doing it differently this time.

'If I could turn back time, if I'd had more confidence in you, things might have been different,' she says slowly. 'But it's too late now. Too late for us.'

These are the most desolate and cruel words in the English language, naturally, they were always going to end up in our relations.h.i.+p at some point. Too late.

'Oh, this is such a mess and it's all my fault,' she cries, frustrated.

I'm not going to argue with her.

She stutters on with her explanation. 'It's not that I'm choosing Phil over you, Stevie.'

'It seems that way.'

'I've been thinking about this all afternoon. In theory we could just walk away legally you are my husband we could just run away and start up again as a married couple. At the very least we'd avoid all this mess, and isn't running away my forte?' I sense a but coming. 'But we'd never recover. We'd feel too guilty. The past always catches up. I've learnt that much.' Belinda is still staring directly into my eyes, she isn't ducking this one. When I try to look away she takes my face in her hands and forces me to hold her gaze. 'It's not a level playing field. I can't hurt anyone else. I can't hurt Phil and I can't hurt Laura.'

'But it's OK to hurt me.' I know I sound petulant; a silly, sulky boy, but no one likes being brushed off. 'Don't tell me I'm too good for you.'

'I wasn't going to.' She grins. 'I've hurt you so much already but largely you were over it. This unfortunate shove down memory lane has been disturbing and distressing, but it's not real. It's a flirtation, or a letting-go ritual, or something but it's not real.'

I consider what she's saying and a tiny part of me, buried about five fathoms deep, reckons that she might just be talking sense. Unprecedented but not impossible.

'What you have with Laura is real. You said yourself she adores you, tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor. She's interested in your music. You both like travelling. The same things make you laugh. I think you have a promising start. And what I have with Phil is-'

'Patchy,' I point out because someone has to.

We were making real progress along the road of 'tell it how it is', up until a moment ago. I feel duty bound to shove her a few more steps along the path. I'm bound through love. I'm not sure I can categorize the love I feel for Belinda, this mixed-up beauty. I'm not sure if love ought ever to be labelled and put in tidy boxes. I might love Belinda because she is an old flame and we have so much shared history. My love might be attributable to friends.h.i.+p. Or she might just appeal to the macho bit in me, the bit that wants to help out a confused but attractive woman. I don't know. Right now, it hardly matters. Belinda, the vulnerable, neglected, grief-stricken girl floats in front of me. Bella the woman, the survivor and product of all that has gone before, is sitting with me too. I like them both. It's a revelation.

It's almost indiscernible something in the eyes, perhaps, or a s.h.i.+ft in the demeanour but slowly the woman starts to emerge and grow in front of me and the girl is fading away. This is the natural order of things.

'Come on, Belinda, you're kidding yourself. Philip doesn't know anything about you. Your entire relations.h.i.+p is based on a huge lie.'

'And good intention,' she defends.

'It doesn't cut it. You don't cut it as his wife.' I'm being cruel to be kind and she seems to understand this.

'I will, though, Stevie. If I get the chance.'

I look at my wife across the table, nervously sipping champagne to buy time time that is priceless to her and I see that she means this with every fibre of her soul. She means it so much that in that instant my wife vanishes and my ex-wife with all the closeness and distance that that implies shrugs at me.

'You have to tell him about your past, Bella. About me and about your dad. You have to talk to him about how much you miss your mum and why you're scared of having babies. You have to tell him that as a young kid you were bullied at school. You have to tell him everything and give him the chance and honour of knowing you in your entirety. Because, if you don't, none of this makes any sense at all and the pair of you won't make it.'

43. That's When Your Heartaches Begin.

Bella.

Stevie's right, of course. Despite the fact that this salient piece of advice is delivered to me by a man wearing a flared, beaded catsuit and stick-on sideburns, I recognize that it's the best advice I've had for a long time. I determine to do exactly as he suggests and I would have if, at that moment, our table hadn't been invaded by my worst nightmare. In a rush similar to that of the opening of the doors to Harrods on sale day we are suddenly deluged with company.

Laura and Phil have come back. Laura is holding her wrap and Phil a gla.s.s of whisky, a double by the looks of it. And Neil Curran is holding court.

'b.l.o.o.d.y cheek of them! Said I was p.i.s.sed. Put me under lock and key, they did. That's an infringement of my human rights, that is. I'll b.l.o.o.d.y sue. Every b.u.g.g.e.r is suing every other b.u.g.g.e.r over here, aren't they? Well, I'll b.l.o.o.d.y sue them.' Neil's indignation dissolves when he lays eyes on Laura. He always was a dirty old flirt with a keen eye for a pretty lady. 'Aren't you going to introduce me to your lovely friend, Bel-Girl?' he asks me.

I struggle to find words because I know that everything is now out of my hands. I sink back into my chair and watch in amazed horror; aware that the situation is past rescue.

Laura beams at Neil and says, 'I'm Laura Ingalls. Hold the name jokes.' She puts up her pretty hands and metaphorically brushes away the expected jokes. She's obviously got Neil's number and knows he'll tease her mercilessly about her name. 'You, on the other hand, don't need any introduction.' She knows instinctively that the compere is someone an Elvis-wife/girlfriend ought to befriend. Funny, as I'd always found it easier to be rude to Neil Curran. 'You are the infamous compere, Neil Curran,' she says with her widest beam.

'Not so infamous, darlin'. Just a bit fond of the bottle. But, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, la.s.sie, I'm on holiday. Well, as near as d.a.m.n it.' He plonks himself into a chair next to mine, then asks Laura the question I'm dreading: 'So, how do you know this lovely couple?'

Laura looks a wee bit confused that Neil has referred to Stevie and me as a couple. In the longest moment of my life I see her decide that the drunken compere has jumped to a conclusion, then she strives for what she believes is clarity. 'Bella's my best friend and I'm Stevie's girlfriend.'

'f.u.c.king h.e.l.l. Pardon my French,' says Neil, spluttering. 'That's all a bit cosy, isn't it?'

'Philip Edwards,' says Phil, holding out his hand for Neil to shake. 'Bella's husband.'

Weakly, Neil shakes it and turns to stare at Stevie and me. 'Who the h.e.l.l is Bella?'

I think he knows.

'I am,' I mutter. Choiceless.

'But you're married to Stevie,' says Neil, 'not this one.' He points at Phil.

'No, no,' giggles Laura. 'Stevie and Bella have just met through me. Bella is with Phil, I'm with Stevie.'

I can see her trying to be patient she thinks he's still under the influence. Sadly, I know that Neil Curran has never been more sober. I daren't look at Stevie but I sense movement. I think he is dropping his head into his hands, adopting the pose common to utterly and completely f.u.c.ked members of mankind.

'Er la.s.s. I don't know what's the do 'ere, but as true as I'm standing in front of you, I can tell you Belinda McDonnel and Stevie Jones are married. They told me so. We're old mates, you see. We go back over a decade.' Maybe Neil thinks Laura is trying to pull his leg and while Neil likes to dish out the gags, he doesn't like to be the b.u.t.t of others' jokes. He becomes more adamant. 'Couple of lovebirds these two. Even after all these years. I caught them canoodling in the diner next to the Elvis-A-Rama Museum, just today.'

'What's he talking about?' Laura throws the question at Stevie and me. 'Tell me he's wrong. Tell me he's lying. He's drunk, isn't he?'

'I'm sorry, I-' I stop. I can't very well say, 'I'm sorry, I can explain.' My actions are beyond explanation.

'You are married to my boyfriend?' asks Laura, incredulous.

I nod my head, too ashamed to speak.

As it happens, Laura doesn't require me to say anything more, she flings the contents of the nearest gla.s.s over me and charges out of the room, sobbing. Stevie follows her.

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