Part 30 (1/2)

'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 s.h.i.+tload 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 ign.o.ble 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, s.h.i.+t, Bella, I've always admired your honesty and now it turns out that you haven't any. I based our friends.h.i.+p 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 circ.u.mstances?'

'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 G.o.d, 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, sus.h.i.+, 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, mas.h.i.+ng 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 relations.h.i.+p 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 h.e.l.l can't you just decide which office you want to go to during the week and just go there like everyone else?'

I'm not sure where all this resentment has come from. I thought I was angry with Bella for being married to my boyfriend but it appears my irritation and frustration are much more far-reaching. I'm angry with her because she refuses to grow up.

'What do you want, Bella? I just want a healthy child, to travel a bit, to fall in love. You know, the usual stuff. Not to have an absolutely boring time at work. But you! You want all sorts of ill-defined illusions. Fame, glamour, guarantees, stupendous wealth. I'm not sure they'll ever add up to happiness. I think that's why you can't stick a job for more than five minutes. You want to be running the company before you've discovered how to work the photocopier. You want to control everyone and everything but you abdicate all responsibility in your own world.'

It's a strange beast, female friends.h.i.+p. We are so embroiled in one another we can psychoa.n.a.lyse with ease but we struggle to be straight with one another. Why, in all our years of friends.h.i.+p, hadn't I said any of this to Bella before? Had I p.u.s.s.yfooted around her because I was eternally grateful for her friends.h.i.+p and didn't want to upset the apple cart? Was I scared of hurting her? Or just scared of her? Did I love her too much? Or not enough?

'What do you want?' I yell.

Bella looks wounded and startled but remains silent. For a moment I a.s.sume she's not going to answer. But then she does, and her answer knocks me for six. 'I just want to feel safe.'

I don't yell at her any more because fat tears are rolling down her cheeks. I get up and walk away. I'd prefer to spend my last few hours in Vegas at the airport than drown in Bella's self-pity.

47. Stranger in My Hometown.

Bella.

I splash cold water on my face and stare at myself. Not a pretty sight. My skin is grey and drawn. My eyes are wee, nasty, red slits. My lips are white. I consider hunting for a lipstick in my handbag. I know Phil always likes the fact that I make an effort but I can't muster the necessary boldness. I'd rather tackle this one barefaced, naked, stripped. It seems more appropriate.

Oh my G.o.d, what is Phil going to say to me? Laura has already put me through the emotional mill, justifiably throwing acute observation and brazen home truths. I'm not sure I can take much more.

But wasn't that her point I don't deal with things. Could she be right that I only involve myself with other people's lives as a sophisticated avoidance technique?

I straighten my shoulders, puff out my chest and exit the cloakroom. I have an appointment to meet Phil in the hotel restaurant at noon. The chosen time puts me in mind of shoot-outs at the High Chaparral. Despite this, I know that I have to keep to the arrangement. I can't run away this time. Indeed, it is possible that Phil is testing me. I expect he knows it's fifty-fifty whether I'll turn up at all, but he's always been a bit of a gambler. He took me on, didn't he?

Will Phil press charges? It's possible; he's so upstanding and correct about everything. Ironically it's one of the many things I love about him. I have broken the law, he might feel obliged to turn me in. Oh f.u.c.k it. I might as well be in prison if I haven't got Phil or Laura or Stevie or Amelie.

I tell the maitre d' that I have a reservation under the name of Edwards and that I'm meeting my... who? I think I'm meeting my husband. But he's not that any more. Strictly speaking he never was. I say I'm meeting a friend. I'm told that I'm the first to arrive and I'm shown to my seat.

The restaurant is already busy as Americans tend to eat lunch earlier than Europeans. I'm grateful for the crowds. I know that Phil won't want a scene so our discussion will be just that and not a bunfight. I think it's unlikely that Phil will arrive with a gang of police officers because he doesn't like drama.