Husbands (22 page)

‘When Oscar left, I was determined to hold on to the apartment, mostly because the thought of moving
terrified me,’ I blurt. I haven’t said much about Oscar to Stevie. It’s too easy for me to be angry and people like their lemons bitter, not their ladies.

‘Why was that?’

‘I don’t like legal documents, not to mention the scary language exclusive to surveyors and I couldn’t face trotting around other people’s homes trying to find somewhere suitable for Eddie and me.’ Stevie stays silent, which is all the encouragement I need. ‘I’ve house-hunted in the past and the vendors always make an unnatural effort to present their homes and families as perfect.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They brew Brazilian coffee, bake bread and give an extra squirt of the potpourri-scented air-freshener. They have vases of freshly cut flowers on every surface. The wives try to be smiley and accommodating, the husbands strive to be at their most witty and affable. I couldn’t face it.’

I draw up short of blurting that Eddie and I didn’t seem to add up to much of a family without Oscar. Obliterated, we couldn’t take on the smell of baked bread and the show of family perfection.

‘How did you manage?’

‘I bought Oscar out of his share of the apartment by begging the bank to give me a bigger mortgage. We halved our savings, which turned out to be embarrassingly modest, and called it a day.’

‘Did you have a good solicitor?’

‘I didn’t use one. I wanted to make as swift and dignified an exit as possible.’

At the time I’d said there was no point in going to a
solicitor because I didn’t care about money. Six months later, I realized that it’s only people with loads of money who can say that they don’t care about it. Anyway, even if I don’t care about money, the gas, water and electricity boards do, the council tax collector does and Visa card do, to name but a few. While it is possible that money doesn’t buy happiness, it definitely pays for decent substitutes. I don’t say any of this to Stevie, all I mutter is, ‘Thank God for Bella.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘She helped me out so much.’

She made me get a haircut and buy new clothes; again I keep this information sacrosanct. I don’t want to leave Stevie with the impression that I was a smelly, self-neglecting trollop, however accurate. Bella listened to me churn, over and over again, the details of my split from Oscar. She allowed me to rant, weep and despair. Then she encouraged, cajoled and reasoned with me for endless hours. I was a stranger to her and definitely not at my best but she didn’t seem to care or even notice. Her heart had room for me. She helped me to find some sort of a sense of humour and sense of self. I limit my explanation to, ‘She helped me get my finances in order. She worked out how much I owed and how much money I had coming in, then helped me find a job that covered the shortfall but worked around childcare. Most of which she did anyway.’

‘She looked after Eddie?’

‘Yes. You sound surprised.’

‘She just didn’t come across as the kid-loving type.’

‘Oh, she is. She’s great with kids. Eddie adores her.’
I want to explain that I adore her too. Everyone does. Stevie would, if only he knew her. ‘You definitely didn’t see her at her best on Saturday night. I can’t tell you how fabulous she is. I really want you to get to know her better.’

Stevie looks away. Despite agreeing to give Bella a chance, I don’t get the impression he’s totally convinced. Suddenly, I have the most amazing idea.

‘Let’s ask Bella and Phil to come to Las Vegas with us.’

‘
What?
’

‘You said yourself that the tickets and the hotel room would just go to waste and I can’t tell you how much it would mean to me to do something nice for Bella. She’s always buying such extravagant gifts for Eddie and my drinks and paying restaurant bills.’

‘She can afford to, by the looks of it.’

‘But even before she married Philip she was incredibly generous. Not just with cash but with her time. I never have the means or opportunity to pay her back and this would be perfect.’

I’m so excited by the perfectness of the plan that I barely consider how forward I’m being in asking Stevie to give his prize to my friends. In a split second I reason that they will soon be his friends; all the sooner, if we go away together and have a gas. It’s my hospitable Aussie spirit taking control; it’s ebullient and extends to being hospitable with other people’s treats.

‘Besides, most importantly you’d have a chance to get to know them better,’ I plead.

‘I don’t know,’ says Stevie slowly.

‘Can you think of one good reason why not?’

Stevie looks blank, almost scared. For goodness’ sake, my friends aren’t scary. But he doesn’t answer me. I take his silence to mean that he’s agreed to my plan and then I pull him towards me and kiss his lips.

Enough talking for one night.

Tuesday 15th June 2004

Bella

‘Going away with him is a ridiculous idea,’ says Amelie. We are in my local Costa Coffee. I’ve called an emergency meeting. I gaze out of the window: rain is lashing down and assaulting pedestrians as they scuttle to find shelter. A depressing state of affairs in January, let alone June. Last week I was wearing a T-shirt and contemplating shorts, albeit long ones, and this week I can’t leave the house without an umbrella and a raincoat. This tedious situation is only somewhat relieved by the fact that my raincoat is a Burberry raincoat. Christmas 2003’s ‘must-have’ fashion item. I might be cold and wet but I look chic.

Amelie is right, of course, going away with Stevie is a ludicrous idea.

‘I know, but I wasn’t given any choice in the matter. Laura called and spoke to Philip who, naturally, thought it was a brilliant idea that we join them on an all-expenses-paid trip to Las Vegas. He accepted before I was even consulted.’

‘Didn’t you try to get out of it?’

‘Of course, but he said I’ve been tetchy for the last three or four weeks and a break would do me good.’

‘He knows you well,’ observes Amelie.

I scowl. I have been tetchy and both Philip and Amelie have repeatedly commented on it, which naturally has done nothing to alleviate the feelings of irritability. Of
course
I’m prickly. Who wouldn’t be when they are married to two men who are mixing in the same social circles and a disastrous exposure seems at every moment probable? No doubt Laura has noticed that I’m being grumpy too, but she has tactfully opted not to discuss the matter with me. I know she’s reached her own conclusion i.e. that I don’t like Stevie and therefore I am being difficult. She is one hundred per cent correct and one hundred per cent wrong at the same time.

‘If you have any suggestions as to how I get out of the trip I’d love to hear them,’ I mumble.

‘Tell the truth.’

‘Any realistic, likely or at least non-suicidal suggestions,’ I clarify.

‘No.’

‘Well, maybe you should keep out of this, Amelie. This isn’t a game. This is serious.’

‘You’ve noticed.’ Amelie holds my glare longer than I’m comfortable with; I break first and look away.

I wouldn’t normally dream of speaking to Amelie so rudely but I’m at snapping point. It’s over a week since I met Stevie. Since then, with his agreement, I have made an appointment with a solicitor, which is a step forwards,
and
I have been roped into spending four days away in Las Vegas with my best friend and both my husbands, which is a step backwards. A whole quantum leap backwards, actually. I’m terrified by the prospect.

‘I wonder what on earth made Stevie agree to you and Philip joining the Vegas trip,’ muses Amelie.

‘He was probably railroaded by Laura.’

‘That, or he wants to make you sweat,’ points out Amelie.

‘No, he wouldn’t do that. Why would he do that?’ I ask.

‘Because you’ve treated him terribly. You secretly married him, you deserted him and now you want to divorce him. Besides this, you are insisting that he lies to his girlfriend and becomes embroiled in all sorts of potentially explosive skulduggery,’ states Amelie.

I’m really beginning to dislike her. I realize that this dislike is fuelled entirely by my own inadequacies, which simply makes it more intense. Her goodness makes me feel like the devil has bought my soul. The thing about goodness is that it is only nice to be around if you are good. If you are not good, and right now I’m not, then it’s just bloody infuriating.

‘I’ll ask him what the hell he’s playing at when I see him tomorrow,’ I say.

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Yes, we’re meeting up again.’

‘Why?’

‘So I can give him a progress report.’

‘I thought you said there hasn’t been any progress.’

‘Well, there will have been by tomorrow. I’m seeing the solicitor in the morning.’

‘Couldn’t you send him an e-mail with an update?’

‘Too risky.’

‘Why? Don’t you trust him?’

‘No, it’s not that. He said he’d help me, so he will. Stevie’s a man of his word. But e-mails can be seen by the wrong people.’

‘You might be seen meeting him, surely that’s more risky,’ argues Amelie.

‘No, we’ve picked a venue off the beaten track. Neither of us is in any danger of being spotted.’

‘How very clandestine,’ she mutters, raising an eyebrow to effectively communicate her distrust and displeasure.

‘I’m not enjoying this, Amelie.’

‘Make sure you don’t. Another coffee?’

I agree, mostly because I want Amelie to leave me alone for a while – even if it’s only for the few minutes it takes her to order and collect two lattes. I’m beginning to regret confessing my awful predicament to her. She’s behaving like my own personal Jiminy Cricket.

I glance around the coffee house. Normally I love it here. Often, I wander down the high street at about noon and find myself ambling into Costa. Their sandwiches are yummy and I prefer to buy one here than eat alone at home. Usually, I stretch out on one of the big brown leather sofas and sip my coffee while reading a novel. Having been a waitress for more years than I care to add up, there is no other single pleasure quite so great as putting your feet up and taking your time over a cup of coffee. I like to dip amaretti biscuits into my latte. They are expensive and some would argue that they taste like cardboard but I still consider them to be symbolic of urban living and that alone has an overwhelming pull for me.

Only a month ago I remember popping in here for a
spot of lunch following a fairly rigorous exercise class and thinking to myself that my life was damn perfect, utterly, totally enviable. My body felt nicely stretched from my visit to the gym. My stomach felt a little stretched too (skinny café latte and a mozzarella, sun-dried tomatoes and pesto sandwich, tasted all right, a wee bit too salty). I had nowhere I needed to be. No one I owed money, apologies or a time sheet to. I remember thinking that life could not get more ideal. Now, I think my lot is on a par with Job’s and Amelie is macabrely expert as Job’s comforter. As if to underline my point Amelie returns to the table with three lattes and a smiling Laura.

‘Guess who I persuaded to join us?’ she beams.

I jump to my feet and hug Laura with mixed emotions. Her beam and cheerful demeanour are, and probably always will be, a pleasure. The guilt that grabs and tugs at my innards, like a bad case of food poisoning, is less welcome.

‘What are you doing here?’ I hope I sound delighted and curious rather than wary and anxious.

‘Amelie texted me this morning that you were getting together and I ought to join you. You don’t mind, do you?’

Laura looks momentarily apprehensive. It’s a look she used to constantly sport but now is, more or less, banished. It’s distressing to see it flash across her face again. She looks uncertain of her welcome and her worth. I’m utterly sorry, particularly because as far as I’m concerned, she
is
unwelcome: through no fault of her own.

‘It’s fantastic to see you,’ I hug her and try to believe what I’ve said. ‘Where’s Eddie?’

‘At his dad’s.’

I wait for a tirade about Oscar. Usually she can’t resist recounting the latest insensitivity. There’s always something. Besides leaving Laura and Eddie, Oscar’s crimes against humanity include repeatedly failing to buy the correct flavour yogurt for Eddie, allowing him to fall off a climbing frame (while everyone knows that Eddie might have fallen no matter who was looking after him, the point is, it happened while he was in Oscar’s care), failing to be responsible about bedtime curfews, feeding Eddie goodies packed with salt and additives (which Laura is also guilty of, but…), being away for Eddie’s birthday, buying Eddie extravagant pressies to try to compensate for the absences… I fear and imagine the list is endless. But, today, Laura appears not to have anything to say on the matter of Oscar.

‘I can’t think of anything except Vegas. To think, in three weeks and a day we’ll be on the plane.’ She giggles.

‘It’s always on my mind too,’ I admit.

Laura beams and breaks into song. She does a pretty good rendition because she has the singing voice the angels were supposed to give to me.

Laura is glowing and grinning; she has no idea she is grinding me down. I know I should be delighted that she’s finally found someone she cares about, someone who cares about her. But all I can see are the problems it will cause. This is never going to go away. Even if Stevie and I manage to secure a secret divorce, and by some amazing stretch of good luck Philip believes my story about sketchy paperwork and we remarry,
my life will still be spoilt because Laura is in love with Stevie. And – deep breath – what if Stevie is in love with her too?

It dawns on me that there is a possibility that one day they might want to get married. If they do there will be more paperwork, more questions. Stevie will have to declare that he’s been married and that will lead to difficult questions. Even if we negotiate that thorny issue, there will be others. I won’t be able to attend their wedding because Stevie’s mum will recognize me. How do I explain that to Laura? By the same token Laura and Stevie will never be able to attend any family event I host in case my father or brothers bother to turn up and recognize him. I wonder what scale of miracle I’ll need to manage to tiptoe my way through the next forty years to avoid a catastrophic revelation. I don’t tell Laura this, instead I say, ‘I wondered if you wanted to come over and pick out some clothes for the trip.’