Made in Heaven (15 page)

‘Do you admit it? D'you admit I'm right? About the wedding? It's our day, Adrian.' She was speaking quietly now, to calm both of them. It was a technique that sometimes worked with fractious children. Was she really going to have to treat her husband-to-be as though he were a bad-tempered kid? Apparently she was. What she wanted to say was:
Your bloody bossy mother wants it her way to impress the people she knows and not my friends. Not even our friends. I'm not having that
.

‘I suppose so. I admit I don't want to spend the evening
fighting with you. That's the main thing I admit. Come over here and let's make up.'

‘This was a row, wasn't it? Our first row?' Zannah seized on his change of mood and went to sit next to him on the sofa where he'd flung himself. He'd made the admission. She had every intention of holding him to it.

‘I suppose it was. Not bad, really. Only one row in six months.'

‘But I'm right, aren't I?' She started to stroke his hand. ‘You can't really want that sort of thing, a huge affair filled with faces you've never seen in your life?'

‘Haven't given it much thought. All I've been thinking about is you. Come here.'

‘You're a useless person to have a row with,' Zannah said, relaxing into his embrace. ‘You never listen properly. You just get hold of a point and bring it out again and again. Sometimes you don't even change the words. You just repeat yourself.'

‘What's the point of changing the words if it's the only thing you want to say?'

‘Never mind,' said Zannah. ‘I give up. We'll just have to steer clear of rows from now on.'

‘Fine by me,' said Adrian. He started to kiss Zannah just under her ear, and she closed her eyes. ‘Whatever you decide is okay. Really. Am I forgiven?'

Her answer might have been influenced by his hand, which had found its way under her skirt and begun stroking her thigh. She looked into his eyes, at his face. He was so handsome and so contrite that she could literally feel her heart jumping a little in her chest and there was that hand, moving over her skin. She said, ‘Of course you're forgiven. But I'm not going to change my mind.'

‘I don't care,' said Adrian. ‘You can fight it out with my mum. You're what I want. Just you. Always. I love you, Zannah. D'you love me?'

‘Yes,' said Zannah. ‘You know I do.'

She closed her eyes as she spoke. She loved him, of course she did, but she had always had a problem with those three words. Saying them, because they were so weighed down with meaning, with a special importance, made her feel insincere and actressy even when she was loving most passionately. She and Cal had talked about it once and he'd agreed with her. He said that those three words had been used too often, that that particular currency was debased. Also, she remembered, he'd told her it didn't matter. There were ways of showing your love. There were even words that expressed the emotion without using what everyone else used. He'd had a few funny ones.
I want to be the person who finishes your chips
and
I'll never allow anyone else to scrub your back for you
. For a split second Zannah felt something like a sharp pain all over. How come thinking about Cal could still do that to her sometimes? It was as though her body was remembering a sorrow it was meant to have forgotten long ago. Pull yourself together, she thought. You're lucky to have Adrian. Lucky to be having a new start, a new marriage and a perfect wedding day.

Adrian was kissing her, and making moaning sounds in her ear, and soon they were naked together on the sofa and the quarrel was forgotten. Everything she'd been thinking was swept away by the smell of him, his mouth on hers, his hands touching her where she needed to be touched.

Much later, Zannah lay in bed suffering from Wedding Head. The ‘head' was a Gratrix family tradition, started by Joss. When one of her daughters found it hard to fall asleep, she'd say: ‘Oh, you've got Exam Head.' Or ‘you've got Christmas Eve Head'. Or ‘Boyfriend Head'. Anything that filled the space in your mind and prevented you relaxing was labelled in that way. It felt to Zannah like an endless loop of thoughts going round and round in her brain, repeating themselves over and
over, which she couldn't stop. Since her engagement, Wedding Head had been responsible for quite a few hours of lost slumber.

There was nothing to do for this condition but live through it. She tried to distract herself by thinking about Adrian's bedroom. No expense had been spared but it wasn't to her taste. In her opinion, it said ‘debonair bachelor about town' far too loudly. There was an awful lot of maroon. Those curtains, for example, wouldn't have been out of place in the kind of corporate hotel she hated. She didn't altogether trust Maureen's taste, although you couldn't fault the quality of what she'd chosen. The most expensive wasn't necessarily the most beautiful. Zannah was sure, though they hadn't discussed it, that they wouldn't stay here after they were married. For one thing, there wasn't a bedroom for Isis. No, they'd have to find a house, and she was determined to oversee the decoration. She'd consult Adrian, of course, but he wasn't really interested in such things and, best of all, he wouldn't keep going on about how much things cost. Briefly, she wondered about their bedroom, its colours, then firmly put any such daydreams out of her head. One thing at a time, she told herself. I have to concentrate on the wedding.

She looked at the curve of Adrian's shoulder in the bed beside her and touched it gently. He wouldn't wake up, she knew. No Wedding Head for him. She remembered their lovemaking. The sex they had was always athletic, imaginative and thrilling. She sometimes found herself at odd times of day, even when she was in the middle of teaching, remembering something from the previous night then feeling herself blush. Her bloody redhead's skin could be a real pain sometimes.

Now Adrian was out for the count and she was awake with her mind racing. She turned on to her right side and wondered about Isis. What sort of an evening had they had together, she and Cal? And had
Em met someone fantastic at the party she'd gone to? She deserved a really, really special boyfriend, Zannah thought, and slid at last into sleep.

‘If this is what we have to do now, imagine what it's going to be like in 2012 when we're actually celebrating the Olympics,' said Zannah, who was standing rather precariously on a desk in Louise's classroom, helping to take down the banners, streamers and balloons that the children had stuck up everywhere before the previous day's announcement of London's win. She'd agreed to help with the clearing-up over break, which Louise conceded was a sign of true friendship.

‘Nearly finished,' Louise said. ‘If we're quick, there'll be time for a coffee in the staff-room before the next lesson.'

Suddenly, the head came into the room. Mrs Greenford was the kind of woman who never ran, who was never flustered, yet she came bursting in without knocking and in what for her was a hurry.

‘Zannah, there you are. I've been looking for you. There's a Mrs Parrish on the telephone. She says she's been trying to get you on your mobile, but they're all down at the moment. There's been … well, it's an emergency. I've told the rest of the staff a moment ago, but of course you two are here … '

Zannah climbed down and picked up her bag from the chair where she'd left it. ‘What emergency?'

‘They've closed the Underground. The police are speaking of bombs. No one has many details yet, but
we've been told to stay with the children until their parents come to fetch them.'

Bombs on the Underground
 … Zannah felt cold. Em … Adrian! No, Adrian was in Edinburgh. He'd flown up last night. He was coming back tomorrow. Adrian was safe, from whatever it was. How odd … Being frightened and no longer being frightened had happened to her at exactly the same moment. She hadn't known she was scared till the fear had left her.

In her head, a thousand questions immediately appeared. She didn't seem able to articulate them as words, but they were like a mist in her head, a confusion, a muddle. She was conscious of Mrs Greenford walking behind her down the long corridor to her office. My mobile … Em might have tried to leave a message. And Cal. Where would he be? At work? Where were the bombs? What was happening?

In the office, she picked up the receiver.

‘Charlotte? It's me … '

Zannah closed her eyes and listened to Charlotte's voice, explaining, reassuring, setting out all the facts, one after another. ‘And now that I've spoken to you, Zannah, I'll phone Joss again and tell her you and Isis are safe at school.'

‘Thanks, Charlotte. And I've just remembered, Em was supposed to be going to a fashion shoot in Chelsea.'

‘She got as far as Euston and was turned off the bus. She rang from a phone box. She's walked home, apparently. And she's rung your parents, so they know we're all safe.'

But Cal … Where was he? She said, ‘Thanks, Charlotte. I can't tell you how grateful I am to you for this. I'll phone Ma and Pa later. And Maureen and Doc. Bye.'

‘Sit down, dear,' said Mrs Greenford, unexpectedly. ‘Use this phone. There are all kinds of problems with
mobiles. Come and tell me in the staff-room when you've finished.'

As soon as she was alone, Zannah scrabbled in her handbag for her mobile and found it nestled next to her book. She always turned it off during school hours. Now her fingers were almost out of control and she nearly dropped it in her haste to turn it on again. Five new messages. They must have got through before all mobiles were turned off, or scrambled or whatever had happened. Adrian: ‘
Darling, are you all right? Phone as soon as you get this
.' Ma: ‘
I've just spoken to Charlotte. Em's all right. Ring me
.' Tears in her mother's voice. Em: ‘
I'm at home. Phoned Ma and Pa. Ring when you get this
.' Maureen: ‘
Please ring us, Zannah. Hope you're all okay. Adrian is so worried about you
.' And Cal. ‘
Zannah? You and Isis okay? And Em? Please phone. I'm in Hampshire at Mum's but trying to get back to town soonest. Hope you're at school, Zannah. Please phone
.' A long silence on the line. ‘
Couldn't cope without you, you know
.'

Zannah used the school phone to dial Cal's mobile. No signal. She'd have to try again later. Or perhaps he was at the office. She dialled his work number and managed at last to get put through to his desk after speaking to three different people. He answered almost at once as though he'd been waiting with the phone in his hand for her to ring.

‘Oh, Cal … '

‘Zannah.' A long exhalation, as though he'd been holding his breath. ‘You and Isis okay?'

‘We're fine. At school. I thought you might be down there … in the City, near all this … '

Tears of relief came to Zannah's eyes. She wouldn't have to tell Isis her dad was hurt. Or dead. Some children would hear bad news tonight. How did the men who made the bombs and thought so carefully about their dispersal look their own children in the eye? Sleep?
Live? She listened to Cal's voice telling her to take care. Then she rang off and dialled Adrian's number.
Couldn't cope without you
 … Cal had said. Why was she so pleased about that? Ridiculous, after all this time since the divorce. Before she rang Adrian, a thought flashed through her mind: I rang Cal first. I phoned him before I phoned Adrian. What does that mean? It means I was thinking of Isis, that's all. Her father. She took a deep breath and dialled the Edinburgh number he'd given her.

‘Adrian? Darling, it's me. Yes, we're fine. At school. Yes … yes, we'll take care. You take care too.'

One phone call after another. Ma, Em, Maureen. At last Zannah stood up and made her way to the staff-room. Isis, all the other children, everyone who'd been so happy celebrating the Olympic win only yesterday. They'd have to be told something. They'd have to be shielded from the pictures. There were sure to be pictures everywhere. She rang Em as she walked along the corridor.

‘Em? Take the fuse out of the TV plug or something before we get home. We can put it in later when Isis is in bed … Yes, I know she's got to see something some time, but not tonight, okay? Not till I've tried to explain it. Reassure her a bit. Just for tonight, okay? We'll tell her the TV's broken. I don't care what kind of a fuss she makes. She won't, anyway. She'll be fine. Ta. See you soon.'

They'd all know soon enough, the children. There would be no school tomorrow, but Mrs Greenford would say something about it in assembly on Monday. Zannah had no idea how she would do that without terrifying the kids. And Isis will want to know everything, but tonight I'm going to lie to her if I have to, Zannah thought.

*

‘But what if,' said Isis, sitting up in bed and looking
serious, ‘the bombs start a fire in the Tube and it just rushes down the tunnels to where we are? To our Tube station? Maybe there are tunnels under this house. It could come right up to the houses, couldn't it?'

‘No, darling. That won't happen, I promise,' said Zannah, trying to sound braver than she felt. It sounded an altogether logical idea to her: fire whooshing out of control, fanned by the draughts … there were always draughts down there … licking through the darkness, leaping up and up to reach the houses, a conflagration, an inferno. She said, ‘No, it's okay now, really. The police and the firemen have got everyone out and some people are in hospital, but no fires any longer. They've all been put out now. Really.'

‘Are you sure? No more fires?'

‘No,' said Zannah. ‘No fires. You go to sleep.'

Isis lay down and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Finn said some people died. Is that true?'