‘I don’t have a boyfriend, but thank you so much for bringing that up.’
‘Chris!’ moaned Gina. ‘You douche. You’re so insensitive! Obviously she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Do you see one here? She’s alone.’ The couple maintained a continuous squabble as the table was lifted higher, whilst Bernadette kept her lips pressed firmly together, a wounded martyr.
The canyon floor dropping away below looked like it was awash with flame, as though an artist had taken watercolour paints and tried his hand at a great inferno. ‘I don’t think I can do this!’ Lauren cried, clutching Radley’s hand. ‘What if something goes wrong? What if there’s a screw loose?’
‘You’ve got a screw loose,’ muttered Bernadette to herself. But finally they were up and settled, and Lauren seemed to have calmed down. The warm night air puffed gently past them, and the table did not budge. They dined grandly in the French style: a crisp salad, excellent sole, blanquette de veau, a fruit tart, and a large selection of cheeses, all accompanied by superb wines. As they were finishing, drinking strong coffee and talking loudly, an incredible pyrotechnic display lit up the air above them, causing gasps of delight. It looked as though the sky were raining coloured stars all around them.
‘Who’s a clever girl?’ said Radley, turning to smile at Bernadette.
She smiled back at him and shrugged. ‘Thanks for forking out all the cash.’
‘It was money well spent,’ he replied, turning to look at Elizabeth, who was laughing, the colours of the night sky reflected on her shining face.
The next day was dedicated to spa treatments for the girls and a trip to the gun range for the boys. ‘Sweeping gender generalisation,’ said Lauren to Bernadette. ‘I would have thought you would have known better.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bernadette suspiciously.
‘The guys get sent to the gun range while we sit around and have manicures? Really? Wouldn’t you rather be there pumping lead with the menfolk?’
‘No,’ said Bernadette. ‘Absolutely not. I abhor violence.’ She looked around the spa at the three other women. Elizabeth was having a shoulder massage whilst someone painted her toenails, and Gina and Stephanie were deeply engrossed in conversation over their respective manicurists.
‘Ladies,’ said Bernadette, loudly, ‘would any of you have preferred to go to the gun range?’
They looked up at her blankly. Gina shook her head firmly and said, ‘No, duh,’ before returning to her conversation.
‘I think I called it correctly,’ said Bernadette, turning to Lauren with a supercilious smirk.
‘I just didn’t think you would be so generic,’ said Lauren, emphasising some meaning of her own.
The group re-formed, both genders, for lunch at a poolside cabana. The dynamic had been established the previous evening, and conversation was quick and littered with easy laughter. They drank a lot of white wine. Radley looked dashing in an open-necked white shirt and taupe slacks. Bernadette felt bubble-headed and hot.
‘A toast,’ said Radley, as they neared the end of lunch. ‘I’d like to make a toast to my darling Elizabeth.’
‘Whoop whoop!’ cried Chris, who was immediately silenced by a stern look from his wife.
‘Elizabeth,’ Radley continued, addressing her with a raised glass, ‘it is clear to anyone who knows you what an incredibly unusual human being you are. You represent everything I most admire—’
‘Rad!’ Elizabeth interrupted, laughing and blushing to the roots of her hair. ‘Cut it out!’
‘I’m serious, Lizzie. Your empathy and sobriety are unsurpassed. Your goodness of heart is almost unbelievable. It is your quiet guidance that has kept me safe all these years, my dear, and I thank you sincerely from the bottom of my heart. And now you are to be married, and I don’t think I can imagine any person better suited to the institution than you—’
‘Okay, okay,’ cut in Bernadette, unable to cope any longer. ‘I guess I’d better say something good about Tim too. A wedding isn’t just about the bride, you know!’ she said, turning and hiccoughing in Radley’s direction.
‘Thank you,’ whispered Elizabeth, visibly grateful to Bernadette for coming to her rescue and saving her from too much unwanted attention. Radley, however, glowered menacingly, unconvinced that her motive was quite so selfless.
‘Tim,’ Bernadette went on, undeterred by Radley’s dark looks, ‘Tim, Tim, Tim. What can I say?’
Tim began to look a little apprehensive. ‘Bernie, you’ve had quite a bit of wine there. You don’t have to say anything …’
‘No, no. I want to.’
‘Okay.’ He gulped nervously.
‘Tim. You are great. That’s it, really … You’d think I’d be more eloquent, given what I do – but I’m not. That’s it. You’re great. So great that words don’t work for me any more. I just look at you, and I’m speechless.’
Stephanie giggled. Mason giggled too. Bernadette bowed solemnly and sat down. ‘Speechless!’ she added, for emphasis.
‘That’s quite enough of that,’ said Radley, removing Bernadette’s wine glass from her hand as she tried to take a swig.
‘Thank you,’ said Elizabeth, leaning over to speak quietly to Bernadette. ‘You’re so sweet. I hate it when everyone’s looking at me – and I know Tim can feel a bit overwhelmed by all this wedding chat. And Rad can be intense!’
Bernadette nodded sagely. ‘You’re welcome.’
It was decided that after lunch they should retire to the penthouse and rest, in preparation for the long night ahead. A languor had overtaken the whole party due to the copious wine and the oppressive heat of the midday sun, and they retreated with relief to the joys of the air-conditioned mega-suite. Stephanie and Mason made their way out to the hot tub on the terrace, Mason grumbling that he would rather have gone to have a lie-down and watch the golf. Gina and Chris soon joined them, and the two couples splashed and frolicked at an affable low tempo, sipping from rum cocktails.
Elizabeth went to have a nap, and Bernadette decided to do likewise. The two of them slipped out of their dresses to lie on the queen-sized bed in their underwear, Bernadette quietly rejoicing at her own flat stomach and unlined thighs.
‘Can I ask you something personal?’ Elizabeth murmured.
‘All right,’ said Bernadette, cautiously.
‘Why don’t you love Radley?’
Bernadette stiffened at the question, and Elizabeth quickly continued, ‘I’m sorry, sweet girl, I don’t want to push you. But I just find it so hard to understand.’
‘Radley isn’t in love with me,’ said Bernadette, choosing her words carefully, ‘so it’s a somewhat moot point.’
‘He is in love with you!’
‘No, he thinks he’s in love with me. There’s a difference. Trust me, I know. Everyone thinks they love me, at first.’
‘Is that the only thing holding you back?’
‘No. But I can’t tell you the other thing, so please don’t ask me.’
‘Of course,’ said Elizabeth, thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I just care for you both, very much.’
‘I know.’
Elizabeth tactfully turned on her side, and within a very short time she was asleep, dreaming peacefully. Bernadette lay restlessly on the large bed, her legs tangled in the sheets and her brain busy with hope and speculation. It was impossible to sleep after all; her mind would not allow it, despite the heat and the soporific effect of the alcohol.
She dressed quietly, and tiptoed round the bed to stare down at Elizabeth’s face. She looked so peaceful and pretty in this dim, artificial environment, with the blush of sleep upon her and the air-conditioning blowing strands of her hair back from her face.
Bernadette exited the bedroom, with no definite plan, although a vague sense that she might seek out Radley. She padded softly across the marble floor into the main living area, but stopped short when she saw Tim, sitting alone.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hi.’ H
e looked distracted.
‘Anything wrong?’
He looked around. The two playful couples were still in the hot tub; they could be seen through the sliding glass doors, the splashing at a minimum but the drinking still going strong. Lauren and Radley were nowhere in sight.
‘Do you want to take a walk?’ Tim asked.
‘Sure,’ she said, surprised.
Tim had a key and Bernadette said she didn’t need to fetch anything, so they set off immediately, exiting the suite without telling anyone where they were headed.
Bernadette could tell something was afoot, and she kept pace with Tim in silence, not daring to break the spell that allowed her this unexpected tête-à-tête. They went down to the lobby and snaked through the gaming machines, before emerging into the Vegas heat. Tim found a bench by the lake and sat down. Bernadette hovered for a moment, and then decided to sit next to him.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘I’m just … I’m having doubts.’
Bernadette’s heart leapt into her throat. ‘Doubts about the wedding?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
‘I guess. I mean, nothing too serious.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Nothing catastrophic. I just … Something doesn’t feel right.’
Bernadette was paralysed with terror. She knew exactly what to do in theory: she should lean in now and kiss him. It would be the most natural thing in the world, and she could tell it would not be unwelcome. But she couldn’t do it.
‘I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be saying this – to you of all people!’ he continued.
‘I think you’ve chosen to tell me precisely because it’s me,’ she said softly.
He looked at her, his clear blue eyes framed by the palest lashes, his glasses gleaming in the sun. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I should have known better than to try and pull one over on you, the Man Whisperer! Something just doesn’t feel right … and it was you I wanted to tell.’
‘Why?’
‘That part I don’t know. I’m sorry, Bernie. I’m a royal fuck-up.’
‘You’re not a fuck-up,’ she said, cautiously reaching for his hand. ‘You haven’t done anything … yet …’
She let the last word trail into nothingness, dancing with possibility around them. He didn’t correct her, nor did he try to pull his hand away. His hand was big and cool despite the heat. His long fingers grasped hers and held on tightly.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Bernadette whispered.
He turned to her almost accusingly. ‘I thought you would. I thought you would know,’ and then he stopped himself, inhaling quickly. ‘I’m sorry! This is so wrong of me.’
She realised that he was floundering, too scared to initiate anything irrevocable. He wanted her to take the lead. Usually these things came so easily to her, but she felt as though her body and brain were being controlled by some greater force. ‘You don’t have to make any quick decisions,’ she cooed, as if talking to a frightened horse. ‘You’ve not said anything wrong, or done anything wrong. Everyone gets nervous before their wedding.’
‘Yes,’ he said, dejectedly.
She knew he was disappointed. He had given her enough of an opening, and had expected her to pounce immediately. But she could not. ‘This isn’t the time—’ she continued.
‘I know!’ he interjected. ‘I know! Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.’ He stood, his shoes scuffing gently on the pink gravel path, ‘I knew you wouldn’t really want me. Not when it came down to it.’ He smiled and shrugged, hurt with a hint of anger.
Bernadette was nearly speechless. ‘But it’s you,’ she said. ‘Of course I want you!’
Tim looked hard at her, blinking in the sunlight, and then turned and walked away, back to the hotel, a mirage on the near horizon. She couldn’t follow him. Instead she stared out across the artificial lake, wondering what unseen force had suddenly prevented her from taking what she wanted.
At eight o’clock that evening, the group was assembled and ready to go. The guys looked handsome, and the women looked like exaggerated versions of themselves, with outlined eyes, coloured lips, and clothes designed to entice. They ate at the hotel restaurant and Bernadette gorged herself on steak and red wine, careful always to avoid Tim’s eye. For his part, Tim was being overly attentive to Elizabeth, who basked in his affection like a cat in the sun.
Radley was seated next to Bernadette, and at a noisy moment he shifted so his hand was on her bare knee. She gasped at the contact. He leant in close to her and whispered, ‘Doesn’t Vegas inspire you to be your very naughtiest self?’
‘Not at all. In fact, quite the contrary. I seem to be most reserved in Vegas.’ She smiled a secret smile, and Radley looked at her thoughtfully, removing his hand.
It was at the nightclub, where she danced with abandon, her senses dulled by too much drink, her balance affected by absurd high heels, where she tottered and swayed, and laughed without reason, that Bernadette discovered the true reason for Lauren’s animosity.
Lauren had been hanging off Radley for most of the evening, but Bernadette had become accustomed to the sight and wasn’t rushing to his rescue. When she excused herself from the group and headed to the restroom, Lauren followed her, and, catching up, slyly slipped her hand into Bernadette’s.
‘We’re not friends,’ said Bernadette, looking to pull her hand away, but Lauren was surprisingly strong, and wouldn’t let go. Bernadette was stopped from further reaction by Lauren suddenly kissing her full on the mouth. It was a fine kiss, as kisses go, but Bernadette was too confused to register much of it.
‘God, you’re hot,’ Lauren breathed, pulling back to look Bernadette in the eye.
Bernadette couldn’t respond, and Lauren laughed, moving to kiss her again. Bernadette was more sensible of the experience the second time round, and noted Lauren’s firm, thin lips and slender jaw.
‘I thought you wanted Radley. You can’t take your eyes off him. Or your hands,’ she said, suspiciously.
‘Radley Blake is a fucking genius! He’s super fucking famous! Of course I can’t stop staring at him. Why, are you jealous? It’s you I want to fuck.’ Lauren went to kiss her again, but Bernadette put up a warning hand.
‘I’m not attracted to you.’
‘You’re not gay? But Radley said you were bored with guys.’
‘I am bored with guys, but that doesn’t mean I’m attracted to you.’ She couldn’t help adding, ‘You’re not my type.’
‘What, a woman?’ asked Lauren.
‘A bitch,’ clarified Bernadette.
Once the group had tired of the club, in the early hours, a cab dropped them back at the hotel in time for one of the quarter-hour lake shows, with dozens of dancing fountains slipping across the water in an impressive aquatic display.
‘Oh look!’ cried Bernadette. ‘It’s beautiful!’
They all ran to the railings and leaned over, enjoying the lights and the music and the falling water. But looking was not enough for Bernadette. Before anyone could guess what she was about, she’d climbed over the railing, skidded down a garden slope and leapt into the lake. She gasped as the water hit her. It came up to her knees and was colder than she had expected. She began to wade further out towards the fountains.
Her friends left behind were speechless. The wider crowd of strangers gathered to watch the fountain show had spotted her and were cheering her on. Camera flashes exploded around them, and Bernadette turned to wave.
‘That chick is insane,’ said Mason, shaking his head, dumbfounded.
‘Totally,’ added Lauren bitterly.
Within seconds, hotel security – two guys in dark jackets with ‘Security’ emblazoned across the back – was upon them. ‘Is that lady a friend of yours?’ asked the leaner of the two guards. ‘She belong to one of you?’
‘Yes,’ said Radley. ‘She’s mine. If you’d be so kind as to hold on one moment, I’ll go and get her,’ and with that, he too hopped over the railing. Th
e security officer sighed a heavy sigh.
Radley slid nimbly down the slope in three bounds, and jumped into the water. ‘Fuck! It’s cold!’ he exclaimed. Bernadette turned at the splash and stood still, allowing him to wade out to her.
‘It isn’t working, you know,’ said Radley as he got close. ‘This kind of display. Making a spectacle of yourself. It isn’t Tim’s kind of thing at all.’
As he reached her, he noticed she was shivering. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his warm body. The watching crowd cheered.
‘You’re turning him off, if anything,’ Radley continued, ‘And you drink too much, do you know that?’
Bernadette looked up at the sky and then kissed his chin affectionately. ‘The part about the drinking is probably true,’ she acknowledged. ‘Given my current predicament. The cold water sobered me up pretty fast, but it seemed like such a good idea. Romantic, you know?’
‘I’m the man around here that enjoys theatrics. But it isn’t me you’re trying to impress, is it?’
‘No,’ she said, staring deep into his eyes. ‘It isn’t.’
8
Bernadette had a special relationship with New York City. She loved the romance of the place. New York was a crossroads for the world, an ever-changing metropolis with the weight of history behind it. It was the American city she found most comparable to London, and in that sense it was home. Unlike LA – the sprawling sunny suburb of a city – New York was a proper urban land, with an unrivalled cityscape of jagged modern spires and glass-and-steel powerhouses. Its lights were beacons, the shapes of the tall buildings against the night sky could be observed by all five senses, and the tap of her heels on the sidewalk marked her as the owner of it all. It was London, but more. It screamed louder, smelt stronger and felt hotter. The extremes of temperature and of mindset matched her own mercurial personality. And the city’s acceptance of neurosis – with an ever-present Woody Allen voice-over – made it the only place in the world she felt sane. Her Irish blood was stirred by the thought of her Celtic ancestors coming ashore here, and her green eyes shone brighter in the New York sun.
Acts of Love Page 20