Part 30 (2/2)

I'm grateful he decided that it wasn't sensible to talk last night. Anything said in haste would, likely as not, be d.a.m.ning. I admired his dignified silence and respect the fact that he needs time to think about our situation. We both needed some thinking time. I used every moment of mine. Last night I wanted to roll into a ball of self-pity, turn out the lights and simply wait until the morning when the maid would knock on my door and announce that the longest night of my life had been endured, but I realized I didn't have a moment to waste. I had to try to order my thoughts and to understand my actions.

When Phil is fifteen minutes late for our appointment, I start to panic. He prides himself on his punctuality. Does he want to make me sweat? It would be understandable. I wait another ten minutes. Maybe he's not going to show. He might want to give me a taste of my own medicine. Would he do that? No, it's not his style, he isn't vindictive. I pull apart a bread roll and drink two large gla.s.ses of iced water but there's still no sign of him. If we don't talk soon I'll implode. Another five minutes later he finally joins me at the table.

'Oh, thank G.o.d. I was imagining something terrible had happened to you,' I gush.

'More terrible than my wife being a bigamist?' asks Phil.

I blush. 'I was about to start calling hospitals.'

'I'm not the type to self-harm,' he observes.

'No, I didn't mean that. I thought you might have been run over or something.'

'Life isn't that convenient, Bella,' states Phil. He sits down and carefully lays his napkin on his knee.

This conversation definitely hasn't got off to the start I was hoping for.

The waiter appears, he gives us our menus and runs through the specials. I have no idea what is on offer, although Phil asks what the vegetables of the day are. I marvel at his presence of mind. He says no to the wine menu, and when I order a gin and tonic he asks for lemonade. I change my order to a tomato juice.

'Drink what you like, Bella,' he says. 'It's all the same to me.'

Is it? How depressing. 'I owe you a clear head,' I mutter.

Phil orders two courses, for which I'm grateful. It appears that he intends to hear me out. Of course he does. Phil is a gentleman. I tell the waiter to bring me whatever Phil's ordered, until Phil points out that I don't like bean sprouts. Embarra.s.sed, I scan the menu and select something else, I have no idea what.

'Do you want to lay out the facts for me, Bella?' asks Phil.

I do exactly that. I resist justifications, excuses, defences, apologies or pleas. I stick to dates, times and geography. I tell him when and where I got married and how far along I am in the process of getting divorced. I tell him about all the meetings I had with Stevie and, although it is an uncomfortable confession, I tell him that I let Stevie kiss me once.

When Phil is in possession of the facts, he asks, 'And why do you think you got yourself into this mess?'

I'm taken aback. I hadn't ever considered that I'd actively got myself into this mess. 'I didn't choose it. It happened to me,' I say.

'That's not true, is it?' He forks a pile of bean sprouts into his mouth and chews.

'I'm not great at dealing with trials and tribulations, I see that now. Laura said I dodge them and Stevie...' I steal a glance at Phil. He doesn't falter but continues chewing. I can't decide if his cool, calm and collected response is good news or dire. Is he jealous, or angry, or just curious about my muddled life? I plough on. 'Stevie thinks I have a lot of unresolved issues with regard to my mum's death and my home life.' I choose formal distancing words but Phil sees through my ploy.

'What do you think?' he asks.

'It's possible.' I pick up my tomato juice and sip.

'Has it ever crossed your mind that the thing that attracts you to Stevie is that he is a little piece of your home?'

'Way off mark,' I say dismissively. 'There's not a single thing I like about my home and-'

'And you like Stevie?'

'Yes.' It's difficult to admit but impossible to deny.

'How much do you like him, Bella?' Phil has asked this question without skipping a beat but there's something about the area below his eye that gives him away. It contracts a fraction, betraying that my answer is important to him.

'I know that I felt comfortable exploring my past with someone who knew who I'd been before. You don't know me, Phil. I didn't even want you to know me.' This confession costs.

'Are you so terrible?' Phil tries to grin but since he thinks I am pretty terrible, his grin is weak.

So I tell him. I tell him everything. I tell him that my dad thinks I'm unlucky to the point of doomed. I tell him that as a child I thought he was perhaps right maybe my misdemeanour of combing my hair when the boat was at sea did have something to do with my mother's death.

'You don't believe that now, do you?' he asks.

'No. I'd have to be certifiable. But I felt sad and guilty for the longest time.'

I tell him about the outside khazi and my brother's criminal record. I tell him that I resent everyone in Kirkspey for their lack of ambition and I hate myself for being no different I'm just as unfocused, only I wear designer clothes. I tell him that I have no sense of self. I'm not even sure if I have opinions because that would mean I had beliefs and, most importantly, that I had self-belief.

'I disagree, Bella. You are extremely opinionated about a number of subjects.'

'Name one.'

'You think smoking should be banned in public areas.'

I do. But would I tell a cab driver this if he asked me? Not if I thought he was a smoker. I wouldn't want to offend him.

I notice that Philip has stopped eating. He lays his knife and fork neatly across his plate and gives me his undivided attention. It takes hours to recount the lost memories, the buried embarra.s.sments and my countless failures and disappointments. I describe jobs I walked away from, was sent away from and the interviews I forgot to turn up for.

'I'm not very good with numbers or deadlines, people management, customer complaints or schedules,' I admit, with a sigh.

Phil waves his hand with a dismissive air. 'Schedules are for those who can't handle spontaneity. You might appear to be a flake, but really, you're mult.i.tasking at levels that most people don't notice,' he says kindly. How is it possible he thinks that there's anything good about me under the circ.u.mstances?

I keep talking but pause, several times, to check if he's bored. He always shakes his head and urges me to carry on. At first, the recounting is awkward and self-conscious. I struggle with chronology and self-pity but, in a peculiar way, talking is a relief. I'm exhausted with pretending to be something and someone I'm not. The waiter clears away our plates and we order coffees, but I don't stop talking. He wanders by with a heavily stacked dessert trolley, we wave it away and I'm still talking. The truth of me, unabridged and with gory detail, spills out on to the table between us.

Eventually, I run out of relevant anecdotes, I take a deep breath and ask, 'I bet you're glad you're not married to me, now you know I'm not what you thought I was.'

'You're exactly what I thought you were, Bella, except that there's more of you,' replies Phil. 'I can't see what has made you so sad and ashamed. So your family was strapped. So what? Lots of people are poor, Bella. It's not a crime. It's just a shame. You've got to roll with the punches and accept that some hands that are dealt are pretty miserable. You know, all low numbers from different sets.'

'Which only works if you are playing Twenty-one,' I say, picking up on his gambling a.n.a.logy.

'See, that's a good att.i.tude,' he smiles. He seems pleased with me, which is of course impossible. 'That hand wouldn't win if you were playing poker but it would if you were playing Twenty-one. It depends on your game.'

'It wasn't just that they were poor. My father and brothers loathed me. I was just a scruffy nuisance, who was forever in the way. My father's greatest filial ambition for me was that I'd get out the road or disappear altogether.'

'Which you did, when you married Stevie.'

'The funny thing is my father liked Stevie. He'd have approved of the marriage, if he'd known.'

'Did you keep the wedding quiet to punish him?'

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