Husbands (48 page)

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 passed 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 flashing, promising wealth, sex 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 circumstances 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 space 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, petition, 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. Bloody hell, 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.

‘Hello, 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 assume I’m distinguishing 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.

‘You want me to say congratulations?’ she asks.

It is traditional. ‘I don’t mind. I just wanted you to hear it from me.’

‘Everything has turned out OK for you, hasn’t it, Bella?’ She doesn’t sound thrilled about this.

‘I understand things are good for you and Stevie too,’ I point out.

‘Oh, they are,’ she says, with a gush of genuine enthusiasm, then she checks herself and adds, ‘no thanks to you.’

‘I suppose not.’

This conversation is agony. No matter how many times I’d prepared for it with my counsellor or practised it in my head I could not have anticipated how bad Laura is making me feel. In the past, we only ever made each other happy.

A fat tear falls on to the magazine that is propped, unopened, on my knee. Oh God, I am so weepy at the moment. I really don’t want to cry in front of her. That would be so mortifying, so indulgent.

‘Are you crying?’ she demands.

‘Yes,’ I mutter, reluctantly.

‘Are you pregnant?’ she asks, with the intuition of a best friend.

‘Maybe,’ I admit. I snuffle and laugh down the phone. ‘You’re the first person I’ve told, I haven’t even done a test yet and I haven’t mentioned it to Phil. I didn’t want to get his hopes up but—’

‘Oh my God, that’s amazing!’ Laura laughs. ‘Isn’t it?’ she adds, a little more cautiously, but reasonably, considering the views I’ve articulated to her on motherhood in the past. The conversation is a rollercoaster. Neither of us is sure of the other, but we are heading in the right direction. I’m not certain how long I need to apologize for; Laura is not firm about how long she needs to stay angry with me.

‘Yes, it is amazing. I really want to be pregnant,’ I assure her and I’m blubbering again. It might be at the idea of a baby and all that means – or because I can hear genuine warmth in Laura’s voice.

‘But what about your course as a child psychologist?’

‘Have you been keeping tabs on me?’

‘Well, obviously,’ she giggles.

‘I’ll still do the course even if I am pregnant. Part time, if necessary. It will take longer but people manage these things. You do your course, with Eddie and a job. I’ll be fine. How is Eddie?’

‘Really great.’

Dare I tell her that I miss him loads? Or did I relinquish that right?

Suddenly, we have run out of things to say. I could ask what her plans are for Christmas or how things are at the surgery, but in this case I think small talk would do more harm than good. We both know what I need to say.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yes, I imagine you are.’

We hesitate, allowing those two sentences to settle into our history.

‘So, you’re off to Australia.’ I try to inject as much eagerness as I can into my comment. The thought of her leaving makes me feel incredibly sad but I can see why it’s the right thing for her to do.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you think we might e-mail?’

I don’t want to lose contact with her. Bella Edwards has spent a lifetime losing people and leaving people behind but I suddenly want to hold on to Laura, very tightly. ‘We’ve got so much history,’ I mutter.

‘In this case I think there might be too much history,’ says Laura. ‘I still can’t quite believe that you were once married to my Stevie.’

‘It was a long time ago. Everything changes. We’ve moved on,’ I remind her.

‘I’m beginning to get that,’ she admits. ‘I’ll say one thing. It’s been one hell of a ride knowing you, Bella.’

I don’t know what to say. Am I consigned to the past tense for her? ‘We’ll send each other Christmas cards,
though? Hey? And photos of Eddie and Baby Edwards, as and when?’ I ask desperately.

‘That would be OK,’ concedes Laura. She adds, ‘I think you’ll have a girl.’

‘Or a boy,’ I suggest.

‘Yes.’ Laura giggles again. We’ve both always thought old wives’ tales for predicting a baby’s sex were ridiculous. I mean, it’s going to be one or the other, isn’t it?

‘I know it can never be the same,’ I state. ‘I’ve made that impossible.’

‘It would be difficult. I can’t imagine inviting you and Phil over to visit me and Stevie.’

‘No. But, wherever you are, Laura, I hope you’re happy.’

‘Yes, you too.’ And now Laura sounds as though she’s choked up as well. ‘Before you ask, I’m not pregnant,’ she sniffles down the line, ‘just moved.’

We talk for a few minutes more. We chat about Eddie, my counsellor, whether she is going to sell or lease her flat, about our plans for Christmas. I ask her what haulage company she’s using because I know someone who is in the business who can probably do her a deal. We amble in and out of the conversation the way we have, almost daily, for the last three years.

And finally we say goodbye. And I don’t know if that’s the end, or just the beginning of another chapter.