Husbands. Part 26

'Where are your bags?' Phil and I ask in unison again. I'm pretty sure the same reasoning does not motivate our curiosity. I'm keen to see the fabulous stuff she'll have bought. Phil will be worrying about his credit-card bill.

'I didn't find anything I liked,' says Bella.

'Nothing?' I'm stunned.

'You've been shopping all morning and most of the afternoon and you haven't bought a single thing?' asks Phil. He can't believe his ears. Or his luck.

'That's right.' Bella drops into the sun lounger next to him. 'I think I'll go and change into my swimsuit and take a dip,' she says. But she doesn't make a move. Instead she waves to a waiter and orders an orange juice.

'Still not drinking?' I ask.

'No.'

'Detoxing?'

'Hmmm,' she murmurs but she doesn't tell me what programme she's on.

'Very sensible,' I comment. 'I felt as rough as a badger's a.r.s.e all morning.'

Actually, I find Bella's sudden sober behaviour rather irritating. It's as though she's determined to have as little fun as possible on this holiday. Also, it's embarra.s.sing that she can remember more than me about my singing 'My Way' in the bar at the MGM Grand last night. What possessed me? Daft question, lots of alcohol possessed me. When I'm sober I can hold a tune; I'm not so confident about my abilities when I'm under the influence.

'Are you excited for Stevie, Laura?' asks Phil.

'Yes, very,' I pause. 'Well, mostly. A little bit of me is dreading the shows,' I confess.

'Are you worried he'll be disappointed if he doesn't win?' enquires Phil sympathetically.

'He'll win,' I say with a confident grin. I'm a big one for positive thinking. 'No, it's not that.' I sigh and then admit, 'I'm getting a bit fed up of the groupies. I found their constant presence a little overwhelming last night.' I've been waiting for Bella's return to air my grievances, but I put on my sungla.s.ses because I'm not sure I can cope with even her seeing my eyes as I say what I need to say. 'I can't put my finger on it but last night we had all the ingredients to have a stupendous time and yet the evening was more... fair to middling.'

'I thought you were having a brilliant time,' says Phil, clearly hurt.

'Oh, Phil, don't get me wrong. I loved the venues you picked, the food was delicious.' I turn to Bella, 'And please don't think I'm undervaluing your generosity because the dress is stunning. I love it.'

Bella waves my comments away and stares back out to the pool. She's intently watching a group of kids horse about pushing and splashing one another.

'But that's my point. We're in Vegas, I was with my best mates in all the world, wearing the most gorgeous dress I've ever worn...'

'You did look hot,' confirms Philip.

That's the kind of interruption I like. 'Yet at times I felt Stevie gently drift away from me.'

'Rubbish,' says Phil, who knows nothing about these things.

Bella, who knows everything about these things, stays silent. I continue, 'It felt a bit like discovering your new Louis Vuitton handbag is an imitation. One moment you think it's the most fab thing on earth, the next it's slightly shaming. It's the same bag but you can't carry it around with the same swagger when you know it's not the genuine article. Last night Stevie was mostly attentive, kind, funny and considerate but on occasion, without any perceivable provocation, he became distant, distracted, discouraging.'

'Nonsense,' says Philip again. 'If he is at all distracted it's probably because the big compet.i.tion is coming up tomorrow. He's just nervous, right?'

I want to believe this so much. Too much.

The thing is, and there is no way I can say this in front of Phil, last night Stevie did not want to come to bed with me. Despite my peony dress. Hasn't he read the script? Cinderella gets to go to the ball in a pretty gown, the prince falls in love with her and they live happily ever after. I'd make do with the modern equivalent. Cinderella gets to go to the ball in a pretty gown, the prince falls in l.u.s.t and can't keep his hands off her. After several months of hot s.e.x they move in together because they can share the washing-up and it cuts down on phone bills. Some would think it's a sad day when even your daydreams take on such a practical skew but I'm more comfortable with realistic aspirations. The days of dizzy dreaming are long gone for me. Either way Stevie hadn't read the script. Last night he walked me to our room, came in, changed out of his Elvis costume then made up some story about wanting to clear his head.

Was I born yesterday? I've always believed that no man turns down a warm bed unless he has another waiting. Is that very paranoid of me, just a little bit paranoid or sound judgement?

'Last night he sneaked off at some ridiculously late hour. He said he had this pre-gig lucky-habit thingy to do. He had to have a walk late at night and do some voice exercises. He said I couldn't go with him because he'd be self-conscious about doing tongue twisters in front of me. I'm not convinced. Could it be true?'

'Yes!' says Bella, with huge conviction. 'Creative types do have their good-luck routines and funny rituals. I once read that Mariah Carey insists on having Labrador puppies in her dressing room before every performance.'

I instantly feel better. For about a moment.

'Look over there.' I hiss and nod my head sidewards in the direction of a skinny, toned blonde, one of the groupies who had practically s.e.xually a.s.saulted Stevie last night. Right now, she is ma.s.saging sun oil into some other guy who just happens to have a quiff and is wearing large gold sungla.s.ses.

'She's one of those hussies from last night. Look at her she's as good as having s.e.x on a sun lounger.'

'Don't be silly,' says Bella. But she is straining to see over Phil's shoulder.

I turn just in time to see the hussy whip off her bikini top. She is uncomplicated s.e.x on a plate. A fabulous dish, most men would agree.

'That could have been Stevie,' I screech.

'But it's not,' points out Phil, calmly.

'Those women don't even care which Elvis they get to s.h.a.g!' I yell indignantly.

'You don't have to worry about Stevie.'

'Of course I do, Philip. He's a man. Be honest! If you were single and you were offered no-strings-attached s.e.x, would you turn it down?'

'Stevie is not single,' says Philip. 'He's seeing you. And, for the record, yes, I might turn it down. Men are not all led by their p.e.n.i.ses, despite what popular culture would have you believe.'

'Under what circ.u.mstances would you say no?' I ask, wanting to see a glimmer of hope.

'Well, if the lady in question was nuts or ugly, then I'd pa.s.s.' Philip takes a sip of his water, he clearly thinks he's being rather n.o.ble. I'm not so sure. But then, I'm not thinking straight about anything much.

Am I being ridiculous? This morning I lay pretending to be asleep as my boyfriend sneaked around the bedroom, getting showered and dressed as quietly as possible. At one point it was obvious he had lost something. I guessed it was his wallet and I knew it was in the top drawer of the dressing table, I'd watched him put it there the night before when he finally returned from his walk and practising his voice projection. I'd pretended to be asleep then too. Stevie searched in his jacket pocket, his jeans pockets and his bedside drawer before he found the wallet. Why didn't I ask what he was looking for and point him in the right direction to save him several minutes of panic? The answer is: I was scared.

I did not want to talk to Stevie this morning because I am scared of what I think he has to say. I don't want to hear it.

'I'm not sure Stevie's good for me,' I say.

I don't mean this. I'm being dramatic. I always feel blue after I have had a skinful. I think Stevie is remarkably good for me. But I care so much that I'm madly jealous.

'I've started to watch other women all the time. I notice how they wear their jeans, if they have jutting-out hip bones, if they have shining hair, clear skin, big t.i.ts. I couldn't admit this to anyone other than you two but I'm almost overcome with curiosity and jealousy. A consequence of my relationship with Oscar, no doubt. It seems foolish to trust a second time but then it would be more foolish never to trust again, wouldn't it? I'm losing my mind. The truth is I am so head over heels into him, you know? I don't want to think about ever losing him.'

'Bella, are you OK, darling?' asks Philip.

I follow his gaze. Bella is a putrid shade of green.

'It's sticky out here,' she says. She tries to stand up and stumbles. 'I need shade.' She straightens up. Philip rises to follow her, but she brushes him aside.

'Stay with Laura. I'll be fine, really, it's nothing.'

He drops back into his sun lounger, defeated, and watches Bella as she heads for the hotel.

'Do you think-'

'What?' I ask.

'Oh, nothing.' He waves to a waiter and orders two G&Ts. I don't object, despite my plans to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tonight. That conversation has left me in need of a drink. We are lost in our own thoughts and say nothing to one another until the drinks arrive. Philip picks up his drink and swizzles the ice around his gla.s.s. I know something is bugging him when he fails to say cheers. Philip is a stickler for form and has impeccable manners.

'Do you think Bella is OK?' he asks.

I glance in the direction she bolted. 'Yeah, she'll be apples. She doesn't like the sun much. She just needs to cool down, like she said.'

'You don't think she's been behaving oddly recently?'

'No.' My answer is automatic and not absolutely honest. She has been behaving like an impossible sn.o.b with her loathing of Elvis impersonators and all a.s.sociated, but that's not something I'd feel comfortable discussing with Philip.

'If there was anything wrong and she'd confided in you, would you tell me?' he asks.

The truthful answer to this question is, 'No.' I'm not sure if keeping my best friend's secrets makes me a terrible person or an excellent one.

'Of course,' I lie because Bella hasn't confided anything in me so this is an academic exercise. It's on a par with your boyfriend flipping his lid because you want a free pa.s.s to sleep with Robbie Williams or some other A-lister. It's daft, since there's no real possibility of it happening.

'Can I talk to you about something?' asks Philip.

'Fire away.' He doesn't and I listen to the people around us having a good time, splashing, laughing, chatting. Phil's stillness is heightened by contrast.

Eventually he says, 'Look, I don't want you to think I'm crazy but, well, I wouldn't have said anything except I thought you might understand.'

'What?'

'That thing you said about watching other women all the time... well, I do it.'

'Philip!' I'm shocked and don't bother to hide it.

'Not other women,' he adds hastily. 'Other men.'

'Philip!' I'm doubly shocked.

'Not for me. I watch and monitor through jealousy.'

'You what?' I start to laugh, which possibly isn't the empathetic and sensitive reaction Philip was hoping for.

'I think Bella is having an affair.'

I stare at him with disbelief. 'You're losing your mind,' I declare flatly.

Philip stares at me, evidently longing for rea.s.surance. He looks like I often did when I asked Oscar to come up with innocent explanations for late nights in the office and lost weekends. I'm overwhelmed with pity and want to a.s.sure Phil that he has nothing to fear from Bella on that front. His case is quite unlike mine was with Oscar.

Simultaneously, I'm also pretty miffed with him for being so ludicrous. 'Bella is devoted to you. She would never stray.'

'I always thought so but she's been so edgy and secretive recently. She keeps making calls when I'm in the shower or hanging up when I walk into the room.'

'Who does she say she's calling?'

'Amelie.'

'Well, in that case she'll be calling Amelie, probably about watering the plants or something a.n.a.l. You know what a perfectionist Bella is.'

'I'd hoped this trip would be an opportunity for Bella and me to talk. I know something is bothering her and has been for a while. I wanted to find out what it is and put it right with her but she won't talk to me. I've tried.'

'Maybe she's considering her next steps. You know, her career and everything. I think she wants to work it all out for herself without anyone's help. She's always been independent. That's her style. She is supposed to be having time off to do some thinking, isn't she?'

Philip shrugs sadly. 'Maybe. I have considered that, but she is so distant and strange. The truth is I miss her. I sense she's keeping a secret from me.'

'It's nearly your fortieth birthday. No doubt she has secrets,' I point out.

'But she's moody, tearful and melancholic. She keeps calling off whenever we four are due to meet up, saying she's tired. Have you ever known Bella to prefer to lounge around in her room rather than go out to play? And last night she didn't come to bed either. She sat downstairs and had a drink at the bar in the garden.'

'And that's it? That's your evidence for thinking my best friend is having an affair?' I'm mortally offended for Bella and p.i.s.sed off at Philip. When did he turn into such a doubting Thomas?

'It's more evidence than you have to suspect Stevie, yet you're suspicious of him.'

'Yes, and you think I'm being ridiculous,' I argue crossly. I instantly realize that part of me is narky with myself. Having heard Philip's paranoid ramblings I'm embarra.s.sed by my own: lack of trust is horrible to witness in a relationship. I'm also fed up because I know I am a bit circ.u.mspect about the longevity of relationships, but I mean my relationships, I firmly believe other people might thrive and I'm depressed to be faced with Philip's qualms.

Philip can see my outrage and is hurried into an uncharacteristic confession. 'She's gone off s.e.x,' he mumbles into his gla.s.s.

I give this piece of information the consideration it deserves. I know it will have cost Philip dearly to confide such a thing. The truth is Bella has been acting weirdly for a number of weeks. She's been snippy with me and Amelie but I'd put it all down to my meeting Stevie. Evidently that's not so. Suddenly it dawns on me.

'Oh my G.o.d, Philip!' I yell. I can hardly believe I haven't worked this out before. It's so obvious. All the pieces fall together. 'Don't you see? She's moody, secretive, exhausted and a bit lackl.u.s.tre in the bedroom?' Philip raises his gaze and waits for me to spell it out. 'Phil, you're going to be a daddy.'

40. Suspicious Minds.

Philip.

Could Laura be right? Well technically, of course she could. It's possible... Is it probable? Who knows? Maybe. I hum to myself as I shave and shower. Bella lies on the bed flicking through a million satellite TV channels, none of which seem to hold her attention. I watch her from the bathroom, as the door is ajar. There's a large tin of jelly beans on the bedside table she's eaten two thirds plus she's munched her way through a gigantic packet of crisps and half a Hershey bar. She doesn't even like Hershey bars could this be the start of eating for two? Shouldn't she be eating fish or broccoli, something with more nutritional value and less gelatin?

As I towel myself dry I reflect on the past couple of months in light of Laura's suggestion. Pregnancy would explain the mood swings and her resistance to settling on a career. She obviously doesn't want to get her teeth into something only to have to start all over again. It would explain why she didn't want to come on this trip some women are nervous of flying in the early stages and why she's given up the booze; I did think a holiday was an odd time to ditch the poison. It would also explain why she hasn't bought any clothes this holiday and the dizzy spell by the pool.

But if she's pregnant, why wouldn't she tell me?

She's probably just being considerate to Stevie and Laura. She won't want to steal their thunder, this trip is supposed to be about them, not us. Isn't that just typically sweet of Bella?

The more I think about it, the more I see that it makes absolute sense. I am light-headed with relief and joy. It's now ridiculous to think that last night I lay alone in bed and dwelt on terrible, ugly thoughts. How could I have imagined she was having an affair? Madness. We're in the desert for G.o.d's sake; the only people she knows in the state of Nevada are Laura, Stevie and me.