‘Thought it’d just complicate things. And anyway, I’d forgotten all about it by the time we met.’
‘Are you being serious?’ he says, his voice all puffed up.
‘His name’s Matthew Hollis. An Australian. Opposite of you in almost every respect – charming, faithful, fantastic lover.’
‘Look, I’m really sorry this has happened to us, but youshouldn’t do anything on the rebound. You’re not planning on marrying him, are you?’
‘No need. We’re already married,’ I say. I watch his face melt in confusion.
‘You get drunk and go to Vegas last night or something?’ he laughs.
‘We never formally divorced,’ I say. ‘Technically, we’re still married. In my defence, though, I thought he was dead.’
Stephen stomps from one side of the room to the other, pulling a face and shaking his head as if this is all too much for any man to understand. ‘What about our marriage, though?’
‘Why does that matter to you?’
‘We’ve been married for seven years, Lalla.’
‘You’ll be pleased to know our marriage doesn’t exist. It’s void.’ I stare at him and he stares back, open-mouthed. ‘Of course, we still exist, all our special memories and all that, but it doesn’t count. Like a no-ball in cricket – you can score runs but you can’t be bowled out.’
The cricketing simile captures his attention and he nods. ‘You always have something. I’ve never really known you, have I? So how does our divorce work?’
‘You don’t need one, because we’re not married.’
‘So, I can just marry Georgie? I don’t even need to divorce you?’
‘Yes. I have no claim on you. No legal rights to your money.’
‘You’re not entitled to anything?’ There’s a hopeful twang to his voice. Not quite heartbroken by this news, it would appear.
‘The only child in you quickly rises to the surface, doesn’t it?’
‘Mum’s going to love this!’ he says, standing. ‘Georgie’s going to be thrilled.’ He shakes his head in disbelief, takes his phone out, and leaves. I feel something lurch in my stomach, but I try not to take it too badly that he seems delighted that our seven years together can be popped like a balloon.
I reassure myself that he’s lost a great deal more than he’s about to gain. I outscore Georgie on beauty, intelligence, wit, spontaneity, humour, physical attractiveness, ambition, drive, and even kindness. She outscores me on only two things – skiing, and resemblance to a horse.
Chapter77Proposal
Monday, 27 January
I expect our celebration drink to be somewhere rather special as Hollis sent a car for me, but the Mercedes deposits me outside a dreary pub near the river. I feel overdressed and unimpressed. ‘The Last Post’ is the ominous name that hangs in gloomy light over the door.
I don’t really know if the pub is simply run-down or if this is what passes for chic these days. It smells of stale beer with top notes of cider and is populated by bald men watching football on a large telly, sipping at their pints and making unnecessary comments.
I look out of place in my rather revealing outfit and cause something of a fuss. My dress is low cut, my hair is freshly blow-dried and I’m looking absolutely drop-dead, red-carpet gorgeous. I wanted to appear to Hollis as a sparkling gift. In these surroundings, I’m more like a Quality Street dropped onto a turd, if that helps capture the moment.
I spy Hollis with his wheelchair tight against a dilapidated table staring at a pint. I have a feeling that he’s expecting rejection. I will try to convince him that I love him, and not because he’s a billionaire, but because of the depth of our love.
There are comments and noises from the men as I sashay over the sticky wooden floor. I’m glad to give them something to think about when they crawl back to their illegal dogs and tattooed wives.
‘Hello, you,’ I say, giving Hollis a kiss on his head. ‘Are we staying?’
‘Just for one,’ he says. ‘What’ll you have?’
‘Something from a bottle that remains in a bottle,’ I say.
Hollis raises a finger to the barman. ‘A Peroni, no glass.’ He turns back to me. ‘You look absolutely stunning.’
