Page 22 of A Midlife Gamble

‘What for? Not laughing at my joke?’

‘No. I mean…’

‘The smell,’ Caro interjected. She glanced at Helen, who barely met her eye before turning away.

‘Yes,’ Helen said. ‘It was insensitive of us.’

‘We weren’t thinking,’ Caro murmured.

‘No,’ Helen echoed, still looking away, ‘we weren’t.’

Kay watched them. Who were they kidding? She could almost hear the donning of kid gloves as they stumbled over themselves in the hurry not to offend either her, or each other. When had Helen ever apologised for telling a joke? When had Caro ever even been aware ofnotthinking? A lack of smell she could cope with, but not this loss of the comfortable space between them all. The space that had accommodated their friendship perfectly, custom built as it had been. That had held so much. Humour, ribaldry, sympathy, support and, so recently, that most demanding of guests, forgiveness. It was fragile. And with every anxious apology and over-fussed explanation she could feel the foundations shake. Soon enough they would all be shying away from saying anything that might hold a seed of possible offence. And then what the hell would they talk about? The three of them, for whom nothing had ever been off-limits? Yes, she was dying – albeit slowly – but right now her sense of humour was still alive and kicking and would (she was determined) be the last bloody thing to go. She didn’t have time for this. Unconsciously her fingers folded the note into a tinier square. Hopefully Marianne would turn up soon.

‘Sooo.’ Bridging the silence, Caro stretched the word out. ‘Has Marianne arrived?’

Kay held the paper up. ‘She’s here, but she’s gone out again. She left a note.’

‘Gone out?’ Helen said.

‘To see a friend.’

‘A friend?’ Caro pushed her hair behind her ear as she looked around the foyer. ‘Who does Marianne know in Vegas?’

‘Good question,’ Kay answered.

And then Helen yawned, stretched her arms to the ceiling and said, ‘Breakfast?’

‘Another good question,’ Kay said, ‘I’ve been here for five minutes, and the smell of the buffet is driving me crazy.’

And she didn’t imagine it: Caro and Helen exchanged another small, uncomfortable glance.

‘Enough!’Kay raised her hand. ‘Can we get one thing straight? I’ve lost my sense of smell, not my sense of humour. Right,’ she paused. ‘Breakfast.’

10

Red hair, blue hair, no hair. Laced up, zipped in, spray-tanned. Off the shoulder, slashed at the stomach, backless, braless, strapless. Bride to Be, 21 Today, Last Night Of, First Time In. Burgers on trays, meat in mouths. Plastic cups, paper straws, cardboard trays… slurping, burping. Midnight shades. Angel wings. Knee-high boots, plastic boots, peep-toe boots. Wood chip soil. Crooked legs, one eye, no hope, one-dollar water…

Helen stoodon one of the many pedestrian bridges that crossed Las Vegas Boulevard and looked down at the human flow of the sidewalks below, at buildings that sprouted from buildings, towers that started parallel but arched toward different suns, at 3D digital billboards, so lifelike they had her ducking for cover. At a city as smooth as a smart phone. At shiny buses with fluorescent lighting. Neon walkways and canopied entrances. At surfaces that reflected and multiplied with almost as much frequency as the four words that had taken residence in her head the moment she’d heard them.

It was a mistake.

It was a mistake.

They were a kaleidoscope, every bit as colourful and vibrant as Vegas itself. They had set in motion a whirling wheel of images where she had been unable to find a north or a south, a way in or a way out. Scenes from the early days of her marriage when she’d been happy and she really thought Lawrence had. From further back, at university with Caro and Kay, when they all had definitely been happy. Scenes that had taken place in her home, occasional looks between Lawrence and Caro she’d intercepted and dismissed hours later at the kitchen sink, always reaching the same comfortable conclusion. Because although the fact that Caro had once had a thing for Lawrence was unspoken common knowledge between them, all of them had grown up and moved on. Lawrence had married her, and Caro had begun a thoroughly rewarding and exciting life that Helen had admired and envied andlovedto hear about. Stunted in her own world, she’d been genuinely proud of Caro and her transformation from a debilitatingly shy student into a confident woman. And until so very recently, grateful to have her as a friend. The one who got away, who kept coming back to tell them what it was like on the other side of marriage, and motherhood.

She spread her elbows wide and, resting her head on her hand, leaned on the parapet and watched Vegas go about its business.

Happy Hour, All Day, Pre-dawn, After Sunset, One Day Only, As Much as U Like, Whenever-U-Like. Casual Dining, Late-Night, Patio-Side, Celebrity Chef, In-Room, Grab & Go. Ice-cream, Frozen Yogurt. Fat Tuesdays, Best Buds, Shrimp Co, I Love Sugar, Burritos, Sushi Sliders.

The anger she’d felt that day had gone, replaced by something that was proving harder to live with. A terrible disappointment.A dreadful searing disappointment. Not with her husband. Helen had neither the will, nor the energy, to go rummaging through the past for answers to questions about their marriage she’d never thought to ask, and had no use for anyway. If Lawrence considered their twenty-five-year union a mistake, then so be it. This was the only sane approach she could take. No, the weight she carried now was bound up with Caro. How could she have behaved so deceitfully? What kind of person canoodles up to the soon-to-be-free husband of a friend one minute, and then presents an all-expenses-paid trip for the same friend the next? It almost took her breath away, this capacity Caro had to put her needs first. They had fallen out over it in Cyprus, with Caro, fifty years old, intent upon having a baby that wasn’t genetically hers. And, although Helen still thought it was selfish, they had managed to get over it. They had even managed to get over what had happened in August. But this?

For Kay’s sake, cancelling the trip had proved impossible. Every time she had picked up her phone to ring Kay to tell her she was sorry, she couldn’t come, she’d ended the call before it had begun. Because what kind of an excuse was going to wash? She wasn’t cancelling a dinner party, or a shopping trip; she would be cancelling the dream of a lifetime. Kay’s dream. And what would she say anyway?Let’s go next year! Let’s go without Caro!Caro, who had arranged and paid for it all, who had, Helen knew, gone to huge efforts to make sure everything went smoothly. Who’d taken it upon herself to talk with Kay’s doctors to check she could make the trip, crossing everyTand dotting everyIregarding Kay, whilst ignoring the great slashing mess she’d scrawled through their own friendship. No, for Kay’s sake, and Kay’s sake alone, she had determined she would go, papering over cracks with Caro that were actually chasms. But never had she been less enthusiastic about a holiday. And after… well, who knew how long Kay had left. A lot longer, Helen felt sure, than she and Caro had left. And that she really didn’t want to think about, because the future looked very lonely without them.

Her feet, in foolhardy wedge sandals, throbbed like a frog’s throat. Her diamante-studded t-shirt sagged hopelessly, as if in the face of Vegas-style bling it had given up even trying. The morning was as stuffy and warm as a twelve-tog duvet and sweat was already rippling down the ample padding of her back and under her arms. Pushing a sticky clump of hair back from her forehead, she looked down at the eight lanes of traffic below and whispered a prayer of thanks for the fact she was wearing leggings with an elasticated waist. Nearly twenty-four hours since they’d left home, and she’d done nothing but eat. It was, she supposed, what happened if you didn’t sleep.

Because much to Helen’s surprise, the flight had been too wonderful to sleep. The only thing that had been asked of her was that she kick back, watch TV, eat and drink. Withrealcutlery andrealglasses. And ironically all her anxiety about facing Caro had been diluted by the bustle of the airport, the novelty of the executive lounge, where she was sure she’d spotted an actor from EastEnders, and by Caro herself, who had seemed distracted. So much so that, turning three hundred and sixty degrees through this new and exclusive world, a glass of champagne in one hand and a prawn cracker in the other, Helen had had plenty of time to think about the travelling she’d done over the years. The kids and dogs, the anoraks and holdalls, the sandwiches and thermos flasks, the tent poles, damp towels, stained car seats, and of course, the husband. All those journeys that had ended somewhere as damp and overcast as where they’d started. But business class! She hadn’t wanted to get off! The whole experience had been such a revelation that, when the plane had taxied to a halt, she could have quite happily levered her seat back and stayed on. Like those people who spend all day on buses, just for something to do.

And now she was here and it was so much more than she could ever have imagined. The Great Pyramid of Giza, the Eiffel Tower, a New York skyline. Vegas was like something out of a storybook. She turned to look up at the peppermint- and emerald-green gridlines of the MGM hotel, then turned the other way to where the Disney turrets of the Excalibur rose corn-blue and peach. Yes, exactly like a storybook.

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