Husbands (16 page)

I heard lots of laughing and splashing from the bathroom and when I went in to retrieve grubby clothes, the floors and walls were drenched; clearly bathtime is a much more boisterous occasion with Stevie than it is with me, no wonder Eddie was giggling so hard. I listened as Stevie read familiar stories in an unfamiliar way. He used different voices for characters and he insisted on acting out the swashbuckling scenes. I thought that Eddie would never settle, far too excited and enjoying the unfamiliar surge of testosterone in our home, then I heard Stevie sing a lullaby in a quiet, melodious tone. I had to swallow hard so as not to do anything really stupid like cry into the vegetables. It’s not as though I was chopping onions, nor is it a particular time of the month.

I’ve promised Stevie a very special meal in tonight. We’ve had a night out this week and I wasn’t happy about getting another babysitter. Stevie offered to pay, he said it was only fair as it was half the cost of the date. I explained it wasn’t about the money, I just didn’t feel right leaving Eddie again. It has been an exceptionally busy fortnight for us all and we need some chill time. I promised Stevie a home-cooked meal and I explained that while I didn’t want to blow my own trumpet, I am pretty confident that my steak with rosemary will be the best he’s ever tasted.

Besides the babysitting I have another important motive for staying in, lurking around my murky mind – I still believe that good cooking is the way to a man’s heart. Put plainly, I hope that my steak and veg will be a way to Stevie’s meat and veg.

It’s the strangest thing. I am pretty sure that Stevie likes me – really likes me. After all, we’ve spent almost every evening together since we met. So, it’s a little embarrassing to report that tonight, a whole fortnight after The Bell and Long Wheat gig, Stevie and I still have no carnal knowledge of one another. Absolutely none. We haven’t even indulged in tonsil tennis. I’m at a loss.

I’m aware that my boobs have competitively challenged one another to a race to reach my waistline and I have crow’s feet around my eyes (and God knows they can’t be laugh lines because even Coco the Clown hasn’t laughed enough to have that many lines). That said, I’ve caught Stevie looking at me with what I believe to be good old-fashioned craving. He couldn’t take his eyes off my legs when I wore a micro-skirt to visit London Zoo last
Saturday – he missed seeing most of the animals. I’m pretty sure I don’t repel him physically, and as he’s spending all his free time with me he can’t hate my company, which makes the whole abstinence-non-sexual-dating thing even more unfathomable. He’s not shy. He’s not inexperienced. To my knowledge, he doesn’t have any awful diseases. So I’m at a loss.

I’ve considered calling Bella. She’s normally so good at reading men. She doesn’t see them as the alien species that I know they are. Besides, I always turn to her if I have a problem. Anything from not being able to get my meringue peaks to stand up high enough (her helpful advice was buy them at M&S), to how to handle my ex-in-laws, my ‘out-laws’, as she calls them. Yet I haven’t rung her. The problem is, while we’re all getting together tomorrow evening, and she says she wants us all to be friends, I don’t believe her. I wish I did.

In the last two weeks I have seen Bella once and we have spoken on the phone twice. Both calls smacked of the perfunctory as we made arrangements for her supper. There’s something wrong between us. I don’t know what I’ve done to upset her. I get the distinct impression that she doesn’t like Stevie, but that’s impossible because she hasn’t even met him.

Anyway, as I can’t discuss Stevie with her, I’ll have to rely on my own instincts. The conclusion I might have drawn in the past is that he has fallen for me, but not Eddie. As a single mum I make it clear that Eddie and I come as a job lot. I’m not looking for a father for Eddie – he has one of those – but, whoever I date has to be aware of my responsibilities and that the little man in my
life comes first. It takes a special kind of guy to be so unselfish. But Stevie
has
fallen for Eddie. After lengthy internal debate and a brief bout of self-doubt, followed by several firm talking-tos, the only conclusion I can draw is that Stevie has not had the opportunity to get rude and cheeky with me. I’m not absolutely convinced by this but, for lack of any other reasonable explanation, I’m going with it.

I’ve decided to create an opportunity for him to make his move. I’ve pulled out all the stops. Besides the fine cooking, I’ve dimmed the lights, put on some soft music (a Costes CD bought especially for the occasion, even I could see Barry White was overdoing it) and lit dozens of candles. I have no shame. Blow it, I’m not trying to be subtle. I considered lying down naked in the pitch-black on the off-chance that he’d accidentally stumble across me. My patience is running short.

I’ve dressed to impress or, more accurately, I’ve dressed to be undressed. On Thursday after lunch with the girls, I nipped to La Senza, the normal girl’s Agent Provocateur. I settled on a lacy underwired bra and matching hot-pant knickers. In red. I had a moment of panic when I wondered if the effect was a bit tarty. Eventually, I decided that wasn’t a bad thing. As I said, I’m not going for subtle.

I follow Stevie through to the sitting room and stare at my feet, not quite brave enough to meet his eye as he confronts the music and more candles than Westminster Abbey burns at Christmas. Still, there’s no place for last-minute nerves now. I collapse on to the settee, pat the cushion next to me and I wave the empty wine glasses I’m carrying. ‘Come over here with that wine, I’m parched.’

Stevie obliges, sits next to me and pours the wine.

‘What shall we toast?’ I ask.

If that’s not an all-time great opener I’m going to retire from this game, because while I haven’t been dating for, well… too long, I remember endless occasions when I’d ask some guy that question, and he’d say, ‘Us.’ That’s the script. It never failed. And, after the clink, he would lean in to kiss me. ‘Us.’ Clink. Kiss. Every time.

I carefully glance at my watch. The steak needs to marinate for another forty-five minutes. It is possible that we’ll have got down and dirty before we even eat, which is favourite because my stomach will be flatter.

‘Elvis,’ says Stevie.

‘What?’ I gasp my disbelief. I start up from my slouched recline. That’s it, I’m out of here. I
am
going to retire from the game. I am wearing red lacy underwear and shiny red lipgloss. I’m fluttering my eyelashes enough to cause a serious draught and I’m flashing a healthy dose of cleavage and he wants to toast
Elvis
.

‘Let’s toast Elvis.’ Stevie has a huge grin on his face and if I wasn’t choking on disappointment I might concede that he has never looked cuter. ‘I’ve been dying to tell you. There’s this annual competition. An Elvis Tribute Convention and Competition to find the King of Kings in Europe. I’ve already got through the UK heats. Babe, you might not have known it but I am the UK King.’ His words are tumbling out in an excited cascade. I grin manically, trying to take it all in. ‘But I never expected this. I’m in the final! And it’s taking place in Las Vegas.’ I smile and nod but can’t get a word in edgeways. ‘Vegas – can you believe it? Normally the convention is held
somewhere like Blackpool or Newquay. But as it’s the anniversary of what would have been Elvis’s sixty-ninth birthday, there’s been all this special sponsorship money thrown at it.’

‘Why not wait until the seventieth anniversary, more of a round number?’ I ask.

‘To avoid confusion, because next year there will be a global event and the European one would be swallowed.’

‘I didn’t realize it was such a serious business.’

‘But the very best bit is I get to take three other people with me. All expenses paid for a long weekend. Can you believe it? Dave and John are well up for it. What do you say?’

‘That’s fantastic.’ It would be impossible not to be pleased for him. ‘Is your mum chuffed?’ I ask.

‘My mum?’ Stevie pulls away from me. In all the excitement I hadn’t realized just how close his face was to mine. Just millimetres away. ‘I haven’t called her. Yeah, she’ll be chuffed.’ He sounds a bit confused.

‘Has she travelled much?’ I doubted it. Stevie comes from a background where there isn’t much money spare for things like foreign holidays.

‘God, I feel like an absolute shit,’ says Stevie; his excited face folds like a pack of cards.

‘Why?’ I ask.

‘I hadn’t thought of taking my mum. Isn’t that terrible of me? I was hoping you’d come.’

‘Me?’ I grin, astonished.

‘But if you think I should take my mum…’

‘Oh, no. Well, yes. Obviously, if you want to.’ I try to swallow back my disappointment. Why couldn’t I have
kept my big mouth shut? I steal a glance at Stevie, he’s grinning.

‘Actually, she isn’t too keen on long-haul travel. She thinks a train trip to the nearest market town is a major expedition and needs several weeks to prepare. Nor does she like the sun. Whereas I imagine you’d feel great stretching out by the pool, soaking up some rays.’

‘Oh, I would, I would.’ I laugh. ‘But what about Eddie?’

‘Couldn’t his dad look after him? They’d have a bit of boy-to-boy bonding time. Or one of your mates – Amelie? Bella? They’d help out. You deserve a holiday.’

I
do
deserve a holiday. Or at least I want one so very much that I’m prepared to justify it on just about any grounds. I’m sure Oscar would have Eddie for a few days, Amelie would certainly pitch in. Bella too, of course. Probably. Besides, this isn’t any old holiday. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It’s free and it’s with Stevie. He’s inviting me on holiday. He wants me there to support him in this competition.

‘I’d love to go.’ I grin, ‘If you are sure.’

‘I’m positive. Is that a deal then?’

‘It’s a deal. Shake on it.’ I hold out my hand for Stevie to shake.

He takes hold but doesn’t shake. He turns it over, then carefully traces one of the lines on my palm that curves around the fleshy bit underneath the thumb and then slowly up my forearm.

‘The thing is, Laura, I was hoping we could seal the deal with something a little more intimate than a handshake.’

Yesssssss.

Saturday 5th June 2004

Bella

‘Amelie, do you think this is a stupid thing to do?’ I hiss-whisper the question. We are in my kitchen and Philip is in the cellar choosing wine for tonight’s supper party, but you can never be too careful. I am of course referring to inviting my ex-husband, or more pertinently my non-ex-husband, around for dinner.

‘You’ve done the stupid thing already, marrying two blokes,’ Amelie whispers back, with her signature brutal honesty.

I am disheartened. Doesn’t she know that a girlfriend’s role in life is to make the other girlfriend feel better, no matter what? Didn’t she ever watch
Sex and the City?
She must have noticed that I’m less than happy with the situation because she adds, more sympathetically, ‘Oh, Bella, what a mess. Still, at least you’re trying to fix things now, aren’t you?’

We stare at one another, trying to hide our fear and desperation. Amelie is a big one for fixing things. She’s often sending flowers or chocs to cheer people up or to say sorry. Not that she ever has to apologize for anything worse than forgetting someone’s birthday. But even
Amelie must see that Interflora isn’t going to help here.

‘Are you sure you don’t just want to tell Philip?’ she asks.

‘Certain,’ I reply forcefully. The idea of having a
tête-à-tête
with Stevie is horrible – my stomach has been churning all week – but it is nothing in comparison with having to come clean to Philip. He’d never forgive me. He wouldn’t, couldn’t understand. I don’t really understand it myself.

‘The man doesn’t even cheat in Monopoly. He never returns to the same parking meter within the specified time, he sends his self-assessment tax return in
early
. He breaks out in a rash if he doesn’t get his DVD back to Blockbuster on time. He is not a man who breaks laws,’ I point out. ‘He wouldn’t take this well. Who would?’

Amelie nods patiently. ‘I know but—’

‘There are no buts. I got myself into this mess and I’ll get myself out of it. I can do it. I have to.’

I realize that I have gone for the high-risk option. When I open the door to Stevie this evening he’ll get a hell of a bolt. I’m hoping he’ll be too shocked to say anything that will give me away until I’ve had chance to beg him not to. I turn back to the preparation of supper and put my energy into chopping the peppers as finely as possible. I try to blank out everything else – after all, I’m practised at that.

I wonder if Stevie will like fresh linguini with Roquefort sauce. When we met, his diet consisted entirely of Findus crispy pancakes, the chicken variety, with baked beans and brown sauce. His tastes weren’t much more sophisticated by the time I left him. I wonder if he’ll be impressed
that I can cook now and that I have a six-ring Aga. Or will he think I’m a snob? The worst condemnation we lobbed at anyone way back when.

I shake my head and try to banish this thought.

Of course I’m not. I’m sure he’ll be pleased I’ve done so well for myself, or at least I’m sure he would have been, if we’d met under different circumstances.

‘What can I do to help?’ asks Philip, as he emerges from the cellar, carrying several bottles of wine. He puts the two white ones in the fridge, then uncorks a red to allow it to breathe.

‘You could pour some drinks,’ I reply.

He pours me a gin and tonic and Amelie a vodka and cranberry: our preferred tipples.

‘So what’s this chap of Laura’s like?’ he asks.

‘No idea. I haven’t met him,’ I say hastily.

‘Well, he must be pretty special if we’re going to all this effort for him. Oysters, fresh linguini, chocolate and orange soufflé,’ observes Philip. ‘And you, my darling, look fantastic. Is that dress new?’

I blush. ‘I bought it ages ago,’ I lie, wishing for the first time that Philip paid me less attention. Right now, I could do with one of those guys who think their wives are invisible.