Part 34 (1/2)

'But doc.u.mented,' she points out, quite correctly.

'That's all it is. A couple of pieces of paper.'

'What changes as you get older?' she asks.

'I'm choosing you. I've had a look around, a fairly extensive look, actually, and I'm choosing you above all others and I'm asking you to choose me,' I say.

'What do you mean?'

Deep breath. 'I want you to marry me, Laura.'

'For f.u.c.k's sake, what is it with you two? Why do you have to keep getting married? Why can't you be like a normal person and just say you want to be with me?' she demands crossly. Her outrage at my suggestion has at least and at last drawn her from her desk seat. She marches around to my side of the reception desk. She's within grabbing distance.

'Do I take that as a no?' I ask. I hope she can't hear any self-pity in my voice.

She pauses. 'No, don't take that as a no. It's definitely not a yes, though. It's not even a maybe. It's a...' She looks around her, perhaps searching for inspiration or clarity. 'I'll think about it. Because while part of me hates you and is furious with you, another bit still thinks you're the best thing ever.'

I'm not sure who's clapping. It might be any one of the three old dears. It might even be the nurse or the doctor, both of whom have ventured out of their office to discover why their patients have dried up. It might even be me. I pull Laura towards me and kiss her. It's a good kiss. Strong, certain, pa.s.sionate. It goes on and on and on. It's the sort of kiss I want never to end.

Eventually, Laura breaks away and says, 'I'll want a copy of the letter, though. And some a.s.surances. A little more detail about the last few months. But yes, OK, you can buy me lunch.'

And I grin at her, helplessly, because I am one hunk of love.

Epilogue.

Tuesday 7th December 2004 Bella I married Phil yesterday. We carried through my initial plan, in so much as we haven't told anyone that our first marriage wasn't legal. We're going to let the vast majority carry on in blissful ignorance. So, it was unlike our first wedding. We did not have two hundred guests; we had two witnesses. Amelie and a guy called Freddie, who is Phil's solicitor. For the last few months Freddie and Phil have been working on the legalities of my situation. Understandably, Phil was keen to ensure that our marriage was legal this time. Me too. My crime had to be reported but, luckily, neither Phil nor the police wanted to press charges so I don't have a record.

We married in a registry office, not a church. I wore a red trouser suit. There were no large hats, no morning suits, no confetti, no bridesmaids or pageboys in cute kilts. I did not throw a bouquet. It was a perfunctory affair. It did not have the illicit excitement of my marriage to Stevie, or the splendour and romance of my first ceremony with Phil, yet it felt more serious and important than either of those occasions.

We had a sensational celebratory lunch in Claridges, just the two of us. Amelie couldn't join us because she had to collect the kids from school and Freddie had to get back to the office. We drank plenty of champagne and there were big, white lilies on the table. We married for the second time exactly a year after the first. So we'll have the same anniversary, just a different year, which will hardly matter by the time we reach our ruby wedding anniversary. And we will make our ruby anniversary, I'm sure of it. Because, while all the details are different when comparing our first wedding ceremony to our second, one fundamental thing has not changed. I love Phil. I want to be his wife, more than anything I want that. I love him more than I did before. I value, trust and appreciate him. Also, we both know a lot more about me so our love is deeper and more complete.

Since meeting Phil I've suspected that I'm the luckiest woman on the planet and yesterday proved that to be the case.

Laura and Stevie are an item again. I understand from Amelie and Phil that Laura made him sweat for a month but in the end her optimism at life in general and her love for him, specifically, won the day. She lost interest in being peeved; she just wanted to spend some time being happy. In the New Year they are going to Australia together, to live. Oscar got a job in Singapore so Laura is no longer tied to London. She admitted to Stevie that her wanderl.u.s.t was exhausted and that she was ready for a bit of homespun support and affection from her family. I guess the events of the last few months had taken their toll. According to Amelie, a reliable source, Stevie begged to join her. Laura nearly burst with joy. Apparently, she'd been thinking about moving back to Oz since July but couldn't bring herself to go without having sorted things out with Stevie.

It looks like Laura's got her happy ending, which is good news. And Stevie too, he's found someone who appreciates him and wants him just the way he is. That person was never going to be me. I'm not the type of girl to share my man's love with a dead rock 'n' roller, even the King of rock 'n' roll.

So the tangled mess I caused is being resolved. The bewilderment is fading, the hurt receding. It hasn't been easy. But then nothing of any true value is ever easily attained.

When Phil left me to my gooey gateau in the restaurant in THE Hotel, in Vegas, I was hardly able to breathe for shame, sorrow, grief and regret. I thought my world had ground to a halt. I could not imagine a time when the pain would stop, my pain and everyone else's. Unsurprisingly, I did not eat the cake. I left the dining room and I wandered around the hotel garden. When I'd pa.s.sed every tree and bush about fifty times, I walked along the Strip. I'm not sure how far I walked or for how long. I had nowhere to go and no one to go to. I'd never felt so alone. The loneliness chilled me to my core.

I had very little money on me and after I'd bought a bottle of water I was flat broke. It struck me how easy it would be to just drop out, to become nothing, to disappear altogether. I had run away and reinvented myself once before, but this time I did not have the buoyancy to run towards a new life or even the grim determination, born from dissatisfaction, to run away from an old life. Without Phil I had nothing. I had no career, no sense of purpose, direction or self. I had no friends, no family, no money, and no home. Worse, I realized that even if I had a career, money and home, without Phil I still had nothing.

I stood on the walkway surrounded by neon lights flas.h.i.+ng, promising wealth, s.e.x and helicopter rides and I almost laughed at the weirdness of a life where everything can be bought, except for peace of mind. I had learnt to live with a certain amount of confusion, I'd almost become anaesthetized to it, but suddenly the enormous mess I'd made of my life hit me and threatened to knock me out cold.

My eyes fell on a tramp shuffling along searching trash cans, presumably for food and bottles that he could collect a dime on. I'd seen a number of people in similarly desperate circ.u.mstances in Edinburgh, London and every other city I'd ever visited. I'd seen them but I'd never really noticed them before. He was wearing plastic bags on his feet and, even though Vegas is hot all year round, he was dressed in layer after layer of filthy, tatty clothes. Wherever he walked people made s.p.a.ce for him as they moved away from his smell and poverty. I wondered how he'd fallen so low? It was easy for me to imagine a million ways to mess up. He sensed me staring at him, turned, glared and then erupted into furious yelling. He didn't want my pity.

In that moment I saw what I wanted from my life and found the energy to fight for it. I turned and started to dash back to the hotel. I rushed through the hordes, refusing to be distracted or delayed by ambling tourists or pushy touts, I ran back to my love.

When I opened the door of our room Philip had his back to me. He was looking out on to the dazzling lights below, watching hundreds of cars moving up and down the Strip. He was watching people shouting, laughing, crying, drunken people, sober people, the happy ones and the heartbroken. He didn't turn to face me, although he must have heard the key in the lock.

'Give me one more chance, Phil. I know I don't deserve it but I'll make sure you never regret it. Please, Phil,' I blurted.

I was prepared to humiliate myself, over and over if necessary. I'd plead, pet.i.tion, reason, explain and even fight tooth and nail if I had to. I was determined I would not lose Phil. I refused to be that unlucky. You have to make your own luck in this world.

When he turned to me I saw he'd been crying.

He gave me the chance I didn't deserve, because love allows that to happen.

When we got back to England, Phil suggested I see a counsellor. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, as if I hadn't been through enough shocks! Philip Edwards suggested a counsellor, like he was a woman or one of my gay friends. I said no and insisted we'd sort it out between us. He argued that we might be able to sort ourselves out but then he asked, 'What about all the other issues, Bella?'

'What issues?' I replied, disingenuously. After all, I'd been burying my head in the sand for years; I was the reigning champion of avoidance.

Phil pointed out that as we'd got a second chance perhaps everyone deserved the same, even my father. He was getting carried away. I really can't envisage a big Surprise, Surprise type of family reunion, even after intensive therapy, but I saw that a counsellor might help me find a way to reconcile myself with my past. That would be enough. That would be a lot, because maybe then I would be able to move on into my future. A future with a career, and babies, and opinions that I express honestly and openly. Even to taxi drivers.

Phil looked a bit nervous when I told him that was one of my aims but I think he'll be supportive, even in the mini cabs.

I'm retraining. Again. I'm doing a degree in child psychology. No one believes I'll finish the course, except Phil, and I'll prove him right. I'm determined to.

It turns out that I was wrong about what makes you a grown-up. It's not keeping spare loo rolls in the bathroom cupboard and light bulbs in a box in the garage. It's about being comfortable with yourself. I've finally realized that being grown up involves having the guts to make a difference and the humility to accept that it will mean making mistakes. Growing up means living a full life; having the courage to own up, stand up, shout up, calm down and go down on bended knee if necessary. Yesterday at our simple marriage ceremony I felt entirely grown-up.

There's only one more thing I need to do. I pick up the phone, speed-dial number 1.

'h.e.l.lo, Laura, it's me, Bella.'

Great. Even my opener sounds dubious. Will she be kind and understand that I'm telling her it's Bella because we haven't spoken for so many months and I'm neurotic that she'll have forgotten my voice, or will she be harsh and a.s.sume I'm distinguis.h.i.+ng between Bella and Belinda?

For several moments she says nothing at all.

And then, at last, 'Hi.'

'How are you?' I ask lamely.

'Great, thanks.' She's not cutting me any slack.

'Me too.' Not that she asked.

'And the reason for your call is...?'

I like the fact that's she's so gutsy and tough. It shows she's recovered from her three-year confidence crisis. It's ironic though, isn't it, that I did everything to bring her out of that pit when we were friends and it turns out all I had to do was be married to the love of her life. Just kidding.

'I wanted to tell you that Phil and I remarried.'

'I heard you were going to.'

'Right.' I pause again.