Made in Heaven (31 page)

‘If I say yes, Gray, and if we wait till after the wedding, what does it mean? We can't meet. It would feel … wrong. Deceitful. Underhand. I hate the very idea of hiding away, fearful of getting caught … but how … ' How will I survive without you for nine months? How will I get through the days? It struck her suddenly that some people were better at adultery than others, and she was very bad at it. She'd watched many of her friends conduct casual affairs without any apparent guilt on the principle of ‘what they don't know can't hurt them'. Was she a coward, fearful of discovery, or did she really inhabit a moral high ground? She suspected that the truth was much simpler. She had the kind of imagination that was always working overtime and she knew, from the way she felt when she had found out Gray was married, that her head was constantly full of pictures she couldn't erase and which tortured her. If she suddenly learned that Bob had been unfaithful to her over a long period of time, what would hurt would be that the whole of the life they'd lived up to this point would become a lie. Every memory she had of their marriage would be somehow falsified.

Gray broke into her thoughts. ‘We're being deceitful now, my darling. Underhand. D'you regret the last two nights?'

She shook her head. Already, at half past five in the afternoon, she was wishing away the hours till tonight, and at the same time wanting it never to come. Tomorrow would be their last night together. After that, the future was like an empty desert of nothing but wanting him. Wanting to be with him. She said suddenly: ‘I don't regret anything. And I will marry you.' As she spoke the words, she felt faint. This wasn't like adultery. This was commitment. ‘But we must wait until the wedding's over. Then we'll be together. I promise.
And until that time we can write. And we can phone sometimes, when we're sure it's safe. I won't lose you. I can't. It'll be okay. I have to believe it will be okay.'

He stood up then and leaned over the small table so that their faces were very close together. Without a word, he kissed her, and Joss allowed herself to dream, for just a second, of a time when they might go out of a room like this together. As it was, he went by himself, leaving her trembling. She had a sudden vision of tears, anguish, recriminations, fights, silences, reproaches and even though it cost her some effort of will, she pushed all of that, all those hideous things, out of her mind. I'm not going to think like that, she told herself. I don't have to deal with any of it for a long time. She packed her papers into her bag, and a feeling of lightness and elation washed over her. In a way, this was a return to being young and full of possibilities. There would be letters and emails and phone calls. Already, she could imagine the things they would write to one another and beyond that, she could see it clearly: a mirage at the far-distant edge of the very same desert she'd been picturing a moment ago. A house. Not her house, not Gray's house, but theirs. Their home.

*

‘Zannah, have you read Ma's book?'

Emily was lying on the sofa. Zannah was sitting on the floor, drawing in the wedding notebook. Isis's designs for bridesmaids' dresses lay all over the coffee table and Zannah had promised to boil down her daughter's ideas into one sketch of a supremely pretty dress that would flatter both Isis and her friend Gemma, who was about the same height but a little stockier. Something simple was best, she was quite sure. The dress she'd ended up with had sleeves that reached to just above the elbow and were frilled like the petals of a sweet pea. There was a wide ribbon-sash at the waist with the ends floating down at the back. But pink was
impossible. The girls would have to be talked into a pale green … pistachio ice-cream green was how she thought of it … that would go well with her old-ivory lace. Watermarked silk taffeta. Once they saw what she had in mind, she was sure Isis and Gemma would love it. They could hold little round bouquets of bright pink or perhaps dark red, almost black roses and very dark green foliage. Maybe before she got carried away she'd better ring up the flower lady Louise had recommended, who might have other ideas for her to consider. The one thing she was firm about was no white lilies. No lilies at all because they were for funerals. She tuned in to what Emily was saying and found she hadn't heard it.

‘Sorry, what was that?'

‘I asked if you'd read Ma's book of poems.'

‘I've had a look. Read a couple, I suppose. Not sure that I know what I think about modern poetry, to tell the truth. Any good?'

‘Yes,' said Emily, ‘but they're very … Well, they're surprisingly sexy.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes. Quite a few are about love.'

‘Lots of poems are about love, aren't they? Most, even,' said Zannah. ‘Nothing strange about that.'

‘No, but these are passionate. You'd think the poet was madly in love with someone.'

‘I expect Ma does love Pa passionately,' Zannah said. Once she'd said the words out load, she wondered if they were true. Perhaps her mother would be capable of having an affair without telling any of them. She was always wary of talking about her feelings.

‘Oh, God, Zannah, you cannot be serious!'

‘I am. Why shouldn't I be? They've been married for ever.'

Emily sat up and said, ‘That's exactly my point. You clearly haven't been paying attention. They've been
together so long that they hardly ever have a proper conversation. As for what happens in bed … '

‘I don't fancy thinking about that, thanks very much.' Zannah wrinkled her nose. ‘But they must love one another, even though we don't like to think about it.'

‘Have a look, though. This book is full of stuff. Burning and melting and comparing herself to water and his hands touching her and all sorts of things. These poems are not written to Pa, I'm convinced of it.'

‘She can't be having an affair, can she? I can't believe that. Ma? She wouldn't.'

Emily thought for a moment. ‘Then is all this in her imagination? She's pretending?'

‘She must be. We can ask her.'

‘I'm going to,' said Emily lying down again and picking up
The Shipwreck Café
. ‘Next time we see her.'

For a few minutes, there was silence in the room. Then Zannah said, ‘Anyway, who on earth is there for Ma to have an affair with, even if she wanted to? She never meets anyone new, does she? All day at work and back home at night. I can't somehow see any of the regulars at the library melting her heart and turning her into this erotic creature you're describing. I'm sure she's, well, indulging in fantasies. I mean, it's out there in a book, where anyone can read it including Pa, so she's clearly not trying to hide it.'

‘Can you imagine Pa reading poems? Even Ma's?' Emily laughed. ‘Of course you can't because he wouldn't. He'd look as though he was but his mind wouldn't be on them. Not for a second. I love him to bits but he's not exactly a whiz when it comes to poetry, is he? Anyway, I'm going to try to forget what I've read. I liked it better when I didn't know what was going on in Ma's head.'

Only September, Joss thought, and already it's frosty at night. She drew the duvet up over her naked breasts and lay staring at the tulip patterns on the cupboard door, touched by the moonlight that was coming in through a gap in the curtains. Beside her, Gray was already fast asleep. His side, his thigh, his leg, the whole length of him was touching her. She could move away, turn over and go to sleep, but she chose not to. She chose instead to be awake, to taste each separate minute of this night, close to him, safe with him, happier than she'd ever been and also sadder, because this was the last night. The last time.
Don't say that. Don't say last time
, he'd told her earlier, murmuring the words into her hair and breathing them on to her skin, as his hands stroked her and touched her and opened her and his arms brought her so close that all she could feel was their hearts beating together and then she couldn't hear anything any more and she thought she must be dying, overcome with pleasure, and she cried out and she'd never cried out before, never been the sort of person who lost herself entirely in lovemaking and he'd covered her mouth with his hand, murmuring
Hush my darling hush
. She'd always kept something separate, watching, assessing, but this was more: this was taking her like a wave and a cry rose unstoppable in her throat and her body arched itself into a madness of sensation she
couldn't contain and which came out of her mouth as a groan and a shuddering series of sighs and then it ebbed away, leaving her soft and slick with sweat, her breast heaving with sobs and then he was brushing away the tears and his mouth was on hers kissing her and kissing her and saying,
Don't cry my darling please don't cry
and her saying,
I'm not I'm not crying I love you I can't I won't
 … .

Earlier that day, they'd gone to the Shipwreck Café again. The visit was supposed to bring back happy memories for them, but it didn't. Joss tried to be as joyous as she had been for the last four days and couldn't. Could you be nostalgic about something that wasn't even over? She thought of the last few afternoons when it had been enough just to sit on a bench together outside the house. She'd managed to go through the motions during workshops, during meals, and reckoned that no one could tell she was in a kind of fever. Every night, by the time the knock came at her door, and she ran to open it, she was in such a frenzy of desire she could scarcely speak.

They'd walked back to the house almost silently. Everything had been said. There was nothing to add. They would phone one another on the silver phones whose numbers were known only to the two of them. It wasn't much, but it was, as Gray said, something. And he spoke again about the divorce, about leaving Maureen, about how in the end it was the right, the moral thing to do. He'd almost convinced her, too, but she knew that once Bob was back from Egypt, there in the house with her, everything would be harder. She'd feel guilty because she wasn't very good at breaking rules, at misbehaving, and his presence might shake her resolve. Today, in the café, Gray asked if she could ever get away on her own.

‘We could meet from time to time,' he said. ‘In a hotel.'

‘I love hotels,' said Joss, ‘but what reason could I give for going to one by myself? When I'm in London, I stay with Zannah and Em.'

‘What about the prize-giving? For the Madrigal Prize?'

‘Bob won't want to come to that with me, I'm sure, but it's in London, so both girls will be there. Isis, too, if it's early enough in the evening.'

‘Can't you make something up? Tell Zannah and Em that your publisher's paying for a posh hotel and you don't want to miss out on the treat. They'd understand, wouldn't they?'

‘He's offered. My publisher, I mean. Mal knows I've got family in London, but I suppose I could say that the spare room was already taken … '

‘There you are, then,' said Gray, looking properly happy for the first time since they'd sat down. He picked up the teapot and refilled his cup. ‘Something to look forward to. November the twenty-eighth. I'll make sure to fix things at the hospital. I wish I could come to the ceremony, but I'll meet you later at the hotel. Can't wait.' He squeezed her hand.

‘How d'you know the date? I'm sure I didn't tell you.'

‘I looked it up on the Madrigal website.'

Two months to go, almost exactly, Joss thought now, staring at the curve of Gray's back under the duvet. She turned on her side and slid an arm round his waist, pressing herself to him. He stirred and murmured and she clung to him.

‘What's the matter?' He was suddenly awake, speaking in an almost normal voice. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Nothing. Go back to sleep.'

Too late. He'd seen that she was wide awake and unhappy. He whispered. ‘Come here,' and she came to him, burying her face in his chest.

‘I don't want this night to end ever. Ever,' she said.
‘What'll I do? How will I get through the time, Gray?'

‘We'll think of one another,' he whispered. ‘We'll write and phone, and soon it'll be November. And then May and after the wedding, however hard it might seem, in the end, it'll be you and me.'

He started to kiss her.

‘We can't,' Joss whispered. ‘It's nearly morning. There's no time, Gray … '

‘Don't speak.'

She closed her eyes, and as he touched her she had a vision of herself as nothing more than the separate strands of her desires and needs: wound up, urgent, tangled into a knot that he was unravelling, smoothing out. Her darling. Her darling Gray. Hers.

‘I'm not very good at this, Gray,' Lydia said. However hard he tried, he couldn't call her Joss, couldn't think of her as that because the name went with Gratrix. ‘Some people must have a talent for adultery and I haven't. I feel … I feel terrified. I thought we wouldn't be seeing one another till November. I'd have had time to get used to it. As it is … '

‘I know. We said goodbye, didn't we? And now, here we are, barely forty-eight hours later. Amazing stroke of luck.'

‘I'm so on edge, Gray. What if someone I know sees us?'

They were in the dining room of the Malmaison Hotel in Manchester. Lydia had phoned him as soon as she got home on Saturday night with the news that Bob had been held up and would be in Egypt for an extra two weeks. He'd lied to Maureen and told her he had an important meeting at Wythenshawe Hospital on Monday and of course there'd be a dinner afterwards. He'd persuaded Lydia to meet him at the hotel for dinner. It had taken a great deal of effort. His room was upstairs, empty. There was no one waiting for her at home. He hadn't said a word about wanting her to spend the night with him, but he could hardly eat with wondering what the end would be to this meal.