by Adele Parks
‘What’s he talking about?’ Laura throws the question at Stevie and me. ‘Tell me he’s wrong. Tell me he’s lying. He’s drunk, isn’t he?’
‘I’m sorry, I—’ I stop. I can’t very well say, ‘I’m sorry, I can explain.’ My actions are beyond explanation.
‘You are married to my boyfriend?’ asks Laura, incredulous.
I nod my head, too ashamed to speak.
As it happens, Laura doesn’t require me to say anything more, she flings the contents of the nearest glass over me and charges out of the room, sobbing. Stevie follows her.
‘There’s never a dull moment around you two, I’ll say that for you,’ says Neil. His eyes are twinkling. ‘I best be on my way. Likely as not, you’ve a bit of explaining to do, Bel-Girl.’
And so he shuffles off, leaving me alone with Philip.
44. Heartbreak Hotel
Philip
I’d guessed. About eighteen minutes before the brassy compère confirmed the status quo, I’d guessed that there was something between Bella and Stevie. I hadn’t thought they were married. No. No, that was too much for my imagination to conjure. But as I’d watched Bella watch Stevie sing ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’ I’d reached the conclusion that they were probably going at it like rabbits behind Laura’s and my backs.
Sorry to be vulgar. But it throws a man, somewhat, hearing that his wife is a bigamist. Quite an assault on my dignity, I think most would agree. And needless to say there’s the little fact that my life has been snatched away. My being crushed.
‘Get your wrap, Bella,’ I instruct. She does so without argument or attempting an explanation. For this, at least, I’m grateful. I’d rather we played out the rest of our drama in private. I wait for her to return to the table with her wrap. For a fleeting moment I consider there’s a real possibility that she won’t return. Bella has a history of walking away from problems. An extensive history, from what I can gather. She does, however, reappear at my side. She looks tiny and transparent as she hovers waiting to catch my attention. Which is ironic, no? The one thing she’s definitely not, is transparent. I finish my whisky, as I anticipate a need to fortify myself, and then we thread our way through the tables to the exit and catch a cab back to the hotel.
45. My Baby Left Me
Stevie
Laura can really move. She’d slipped through the crowds and outside into a waiting taxi within moments of Neil Curran’s horrendous revelation. I try, but miserably fail, to keep up with her. What is it with me and women slipping from my grasp at the final of the annual European King of Kings Tribute Artist Convention and Competition? Except, this time, I know that Laura didn’t so much slip from my grasp. The most charitable description is that I carelessly dropped her – some would say I flung her away. I tell myself not to make flip comments about déjà vu, not even to myself, it’s mindless and disrespectful. I deserve this lousy predicament but Laura doesn’t.
I run back to the hotel – I might move faster on foot than she will in a cab and maybe I can head her off, although I’m not sure what I can say or do to fix this situation. Belinda was right – she’s finally started to talk some sense – this whole crazy episode has been a diversion but it’s not real. When I said that stuff to Belinda in the diner I was talking idiotic, indulgent crap. It’s not as though I thought of her every day for years and years. If we hadn’t come on this holiday together I wouldn’t have thought of kissing her and I wouldn’t have missed kissing her. But I’m missing Laura already.
Laura’s taxi beats me back to the hotel and by the time I push open the door to our suite, she’s packing.
‘Don’t go,’ I plead.
‘Fuck off,’ she says. Neat, succinct, to the point. ‘You miserable, lying bastard,’ she adds, in case there was any need for clarity.
‘Laura, please. I am so sorry.’ I rush towards her, but she backs away, glaring.
Her patent disgust turns me to stone. I decide against trying to put my arms around her, instead I drop into a chair in the corner of the bedroom. For some minutes I am silent, trying to gather my thoughts. In the meantime she dashes around the room, grabbing knickers off the floor and tiny tops from drawers. She bundles them into her case, not giving a thought to creasing. At this rate she might have moved out before I’ve built a compelling defence. What am I talking about? She might have married someone she hasn’t even met yet before I build a reasonable defence. I start blathering, all I have as a vindication might not be too compelling or reasonable, because even the truth exposes me as an arse, but I have to try.
‘I am so, so sorry.’ I sound like Bella. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ That old cliché. ‘I didn’t plan any of this. It just sort of happened.’ I sound pathetic to me too.
‘What sort of happened?’ screams Laura. ‘You stupid wanker. Are you saying you sort of married my best mate? I’m right, aren’t I? You are married to my best friend?’
‘Technically,’ I admit.
‘A bona fide, full on, one hundred bloody per cent commitment.’
‘Yes.’
‘Fuck! It’s one up on an affair. You almost make Oscar look like a good guy.’
‘Sorry.’
‘But Bella is married to Philip.’ The good news is Laura has stopped packing. Her outrage at the complex state of affairs has, at least, distracted her from that.
‘Not technically.’
‘How long have you been married?’
‘Erm, eleven years, I suppose.’
‘Holy fuck. An eternity. But it was one of those passport marriages or something, right?’
I can hear the hope in her voice. I wish I could justify it. ‘No.’
‘You bastard. Are you saying it’s a love match?’
‘Yes. Was. It was.’
‘I hate you,’ she says. Simple enough.
‘Please, please let me explain, Laura.’ I jump up from my seat and move towards her. ‘This is why you and I had such a slow start. I was trying to find a way to describe my weird marital status. I wanted to tell you on the very first night. I tried to but you didn’t let me – you rushed ahead with your own assumptions.’
‘Don’t you dare try to blame this on me, you twat.’
‘No, no, I’m not trying to blame you. Of course I’m not.’
I can’t help but notice how determined and confident Laura is. I’ve seen flashes of this in her before and I’ve always found it attractive. I know it’s an inapt thought but I find I’m turned on by the fact that she’s giving me a hard time and fighting her corner with such steely fortitude. I can’t help but admire her. Not that it will do me any good. I realize the time for my cashing in on admiration for Laura is long gone. I’ve blown this. I have no chance of winning her back. I daren’t even hope for that. Right now, I just want to apologize.
‘And that bogan drongo said you were acting like a couple of lovebirds today. What did he mean?’
‘We bumped into him at a diner.’
‘You’ve been rooting us both all along?’ Her disgust whips me.
‘No! For a time I got muddled and last night I kissed Belinda. We needed to talk about it so we met up today.’
‘You’ve been kissing who?’
‘Bella. She was called Belinda when I knew her. She changed her name.’
‘That scheming bitch.’
‘Please let me explain,’ I implore. I don’t know how it happened but I’m on my knees, prostrate in front of Laura, literally begging for a chance. This might seem ridiculous considering I’m wearing a skin-tight, sky-blue, catsuit, but I don’t have much right to dignity at this precise moment in time.
‘Explain,’ instructs Laura.
It’s the first time, since Neil Curran’s revelation, that she’s said something to me without feeling the need to cuss or yell. I see this as progress of sorts. Laura flops on the edge of the bed. She looks so miserable, lost and wounded. Again this is something I have caught a glimpse of in the past. Occasionally, when Laura has talked abou
t Oscar and how badly he let her down I’ve seen the same expression of sorrow flicker across her face. I used to burn with fury against a man I’d never met because he’d hurt Laura. Watching her pain now is about a million times worse because I know I caused this. More than anything I want her pain to stop.
I present the facts of Belinda’s and my story as fairly and honestly as I can. I take care not to imply that the entire sorry mess is Bella’s fault and take full responsibility for my part in it. I make a big blunder when I point out that I’ve always been uncomfortable with the situation and only backed Bella’s plan because Laura had begged me to give her friend a chance.
‘You lousy sod! I said that without any knowledge of the actual situation. You’re a pathetic bastard, trying to offload this crap on me.’ Spot on.
This is a difficult conversation and it becomes almost impossible when I get to the bit where I snogged Bella. Laura’s intelligent, she wouldn’t believe me if I said it had been solely the result of too much alcohol and, besides, that isn’t true. On the other hand, I don’t want to give the impression that I am still infatuated with Bella.
‘Who did you bring here? Me or her?’ Laura asks suddenly.
‘You. I brought you. I didn’t want to bring Belinda, Bella. That was your idea.’
‘More fool me.’
‘You’re no fool.’
‘I am. I bloody am.’ Laura looks away and I catch the grief and regret in her face, just punishment for what I’ve done.
‘When I first came to Vegas I didn’t want to start anything up.’ My voice cracks and squeaks reflecting how important the clarity of this explanation is to me. ‘The opposite. I wanted to draw a firm line under everything between me and Bella. I wanted to end it.’ My breath stumbles in my chest, making it difficult for me to breathe, I so want Laura to believe me. I so want my explanation to add up.
‘I was having such a marvellous time. I thought we were falling in love but all along you were hankering after an old flame. How is that possible?’ asks Laura, miserable and confused. ‘You’ve ruined everything. Pissed on everything. This hasn’t been our story. It hasn’t been about our beginning. Even if I believe you, this is Bella’s and your end.’
‘It can be both things.’
‘No, it can’t.’
Laura stood up, zipped her suitcase and walked towards the door. ‘I’ve booked my own room for tonight. I imagine it goes without saying but I won’t be staying for the final. I’m going to try to change my ticket so that I can fly back tomorrow.’ She glances around the room. ‘If I’ve forgotten anything post it to me. I don’t want to see you ever again, Stevie. Do you understand? I never want to see you again.’
The door bangs behind her. A dull, definitive bang.
46. I’m Leavin’
Saturday 10th July, 2004
Laura
I spent the night crying. Not only is it traditional but it’s also my due. I cannot believe the scale of the deceit that has been played out in front of me. I called the travel agent and the airport and got my ticket transferred so that I could fly home today. After sobbing and pleading and ‘holding the line’ for over an hour, it was confirmed that I can fly home today as long as I’m prepared to transfer in Amsterdam. I’d transfer in Timbuktu if it was a speedy way to exit this hellhole. I call Amelie to tell her my change of plan.
‘Why are you coming home early? Have you had a row with Stevie? Is everything OK?’ she asks. I almost melt at hearing her concern ooze down the telephone line. I am so glad that I have sensible Amelie to comfort and help me. I can’t wait to curl up on her comfy, squashy settee and spill out my news. I can already imagine her outrage on my behalf.
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ I reply.
‘I think I might,’ she sighs.
There’s something in her tone, sad acceptance perhaps, that makes me ask, ‘You know?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve known all along.’
I hang up. Amelie knows, she knew all along. Amelie, who is decent and honourable and I thought was my friend, was part of this foul sham and she didn’t think to tell me, to warn me. She is not decent, or honourable, or a friend. I am so alone. Once again, I have no one to turn to and I am so sick of having to stand on my own two feet.
I don’t call Oscar to tell him that I’m coming home early. I still have a smidgen of pride and I can’t bring myself to admit to him that the man I’ve been dating, who I thought was the man of my dreams, was actually my best friend’s husband. I’ll leave Eddie with him until Monday as planned, even though I ache to wrap my arms round my little boy. I know that I’ll be comforted by the smell of his hair and skin and the warmth of his clumsy, casual hugs.
The thought of my journey home is depressing. I had imagined that by the time Stevie and I flew back to England we would be sweet as. We would sit back in our comfy, up-front seats, sipping free champagne, confident in the knowledge that we had exchanged promises of love. Do I ever learn? I know it’s dangerous to project. So what was I thinking of when I allowed myself to indulge in fantasies where Stevie and I would drive to Oscar’s to pick up Eddie? I’d taken great pleasure in imagining Oscar’s face as I introduced him to Stevie. I confess I got a certain amount of satisfaction envisaging my average ex, shaking hands with my gorgeous present. That’ll learn me! I’d been especially excited anticipating the pleasure on Eddie’s face as he unwrapped the mountain of pressies that Stevie and I have chosen for him. Now, I’m not even certain where those pressies are, I left Stevie’s room in such a hurry.
Stevie’s room.
Because it doesn’t feel like mine any more. In fact, the truth of the matter is, nothing is mine. Nothing ever was. Bella wasn’t my friend and Stevie wasn’t my boyfriend – he’s Bella’s husband, so even the memories aren’t mine.
My head aches with lack of sleep and excessive bawling. My eyes sting and my throat is raw. I am famished, yet I feel sick when I try to eat. I can’t think how to fill my day. Stevie and I had talked about sightseeing. We were going to do either the Hoover Dam or the Grand Canyon. I guess I could go on my own but I can’t rally. I have a lifetime of doing things on my own ahead of me. I don’t see the rush.
I don’t want to sunbathe, or drink, or gamble. Vegas truly is a desert.
I sit in the lobby café and sip coffee. I buy myself an enormous slice of carrot cake but don’t touch it. Yesterday, I walked past the café several times and coveted the delicious cakes stashed behind the glass counter. Stevie and I had promised to indulge ourselves on the way home from last night’s gig. We’d thought that the cream icing and the light sponge would be perfect for soaking up the champagne that we would have drunk. How can things change so dramatically in such a short space of time? One minute, so close it’s almost impossible to know where one person’s dreams, thoughts and laughter start and the other’s end, then the next – total strangers.
‘Hi, Laura, I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Oh God, that’s all I need. Bella Edwards, or should I call you Belinda McDonnel?’ I say without turning to face her. She slips on to the stool in front of me.
I’m surprised she’s hunted me down. Clearly, she’s underestimated my murderous feelings towards her. I kind of admire her audacity for meeting me face-to-face; on the other hand after hearing of her antics over the last eight years, and in particular the last few months, her audacity can’t be hyped.
‘I wanted to talk to you.’
‘Bit late.’ I force myself to look at her. She’s blushing, furiously. Good. Hope she spontaneously combusts.
After about two billion years of silence Bella drags her gaze to meet mine. Bugger me, she looks awful. Good. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get a decent night’s kip. I’ve never, ever seen her look so dog rough. My first instinct is to feel sorry for her and then I remember how much I hate her. I wonder what Phil has made of her frolics? Poor man, he’s in a worse position than I am
. Maybe I should call him. We could appear on one of those awful daytime TV programmes together.
‘Shouldn’t you be talking to Phil?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’ Her hands are shaking. I watch as she tips three sugars into her coffee. Normally she doesn’t take sugar. ‘I really wanted to talk to him last night but he couldn’t face it.’
‘Well, you’re no longer the one calling the shots are you?’
‘No, I’m not,’ she admits. ‘We’ve an appointment, at noon, to talk.’
‘How very civilized,’ I mutter.
I think back to the night before. I thought I’d reached new levels of maturity when I’d only flung insults and expletives at Stevie. If I’d been in my own apartment, or his, I would have flung an entire dinner service, lamps, books, you name it. As it was, nearly everything in THE Hotel is pinned down or prohibitively expensive to replace. How can Phil and Bella be so grown-up that they pre-book their rows? Doesn’t Phil want to wring her scrawny neck?
‘I’m sorry I’ve ruined everything for you and Stevie,’ says Bella. ‘I never wanted to.’
‘How do you know you have?’ I demand. ‘Maybe we’re going to muddle through.’ I don’t think this for a nanosecond but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s ruined my life.
‘I saw Stevie this morning. He seems to think things between you are pretty bleak.’ I glare daggers. How dare she sit there and add insult to injury? Where does she get off on telling me she’s still having cosy little one-to-ones with Stevie? Hasn’t she done enough damage?
‘Stevie is truly sorry,’ says Bella. ‘None of this is his fault.’
‘Don’t sweat it, forget it,’ I mutter, with more bravado than I feel. ‘He’s a bloke, invariably they lob-in to a girl’s life bringing with them a shitload of trouble, it’s almost to be expected.’
‘He didn’t mean to let you down.’
‘Let’s put Stevie to one side, shall we, Bella? I want to talk about you and about how you let me down.’ Bella looks like an accident victim, traumatized and stressed.
