Made in Heaven (38 page)

‘Exactly. You took the words right out of my mouth,' Cal said and he and Em laughed together. Isis wasn't quite sure what was so funny. Taking words out of people's mouths sounded horrible to her. If you could really do it, they'd come out covered in slimy spit. Double yuck! ‘I'm going to change,' she said. ‘I'll be back in a minute.'

*

Emily had been looking forward to tonight. She'd just been through an extremely tedious photo session. People who in an ideal world should have had better things to do were moving tubs of butter-substitute around a table, adding this or that prop, changing the colour of the background, adjusting the light and generally jumping at the promptings of a director who clearly thought he was making something only marginally less significant than the next Tarantino movie.

‘I'm exhausted,' she said, sinking down on to the sofa, ‘but it'll be great to go and have a meal at Luigi's. Nice treat for us.'

‘And for me.' Cal flung himself into the armchair next to the TV. ‘Isis seems very excited about all this wedding stuff.'

‘Well, she's eight.'

Cal caught her eye and they both burst out laughing at the same time. At last, Emily thought. Someone who also thinks the wedding nonsense has a seriously juvenile side to it. Why weren't the men she went out with on her wavelength in the way that Cal seemed to be? There wasn't one who'd have understood what she meant without her having to explain. She said, ‘Actually, there are times when Zannah isn't as thrilled about everything as you'd expect.'

‘Has she said? Some particular thing?'

‘Lists at the moment. Poor old Adrian. He thinks they're going to have a nice romantic evening.'

‘Isis was telling me about lists. Sounds mad to me.' Cal was still looking at the flower drawings in Zannah's sketchbook. ‘She's good, isn't she? I never thought I'd find flower pictures beautiful, but these are, aren't they?'

‘Yup,' said Em, feeling unworthily jealous. Why shouldn't Cal praise her sister's drawings which were, indeed, exquisite? You want him to say something nice about you, she chided herself. That's what it is. You want him to think about something … someone … other than Zannah and he doesn't seem able to. She said, ‘Cal, are you going out with anyone?'

Bloody hell, where had that come from? How had she found the nerve to say it? Emily knew she was blushing scarlet and would Cal wonder why? Perhaps he wouldn't notice. She added quickly, ‘God, sorry, it's really none of my business. Don't answer if you don't want to.'

‘I don't mind. No one at the moment.'

‘But you've had … I mean, since you and Zannah split up … relationships with other people?'

‘Well, yeah, but nothing serious … you know. How about you? Mr Right come along yet?'

‘No, but I live in hope.'

Cal beamed. ‘The wedding! That's where you'll meet him. It's one of the main wedding clichés! Who's Adrian's best man? He'll be the one. Wait and see.'

‘Not if I've got anything to do with it. All his pals are either bankers or stockbrokers or else people he plays squash with or was at school with. Too much money and not enough chin. Not my scene. No way.'

‘You don't know. Cupid lets his arrow fly in the most extraordinary places. All the romantic novels I've ever read say so.'

‘How many have you read?'

‘None.'

They started giggling again. Just then, Isis came back in jeans, pink trainers and a matching pink jacket. She said, ‘What's funny? Tell me.'

‘It'd take too long to explain,' Cal said. ‘Let's go and eat.'

*

‘As far as I can see,' said Adrian, pulling up the duvet and settling down against the pillows, ‘we have to choose between John Lewis and Harrods. Or possibly Peter Jones.'

Zannah propped herself on her elbow and began to trace circles on his chest. He bent over and started kissing her. She pulled away and said, ‘Concentrate, Adrian. I really need to talk to you about this and you're distracting me. We can't get carried away. I'm hungry for one thing.'

‘I know, I know … but it's been ages, hasn't it? You can't believe how I'm longing to be married to you. Bloody sick of counting the days till I see you.'

‘Me too. But Adrian, we've got to talk about lists.'

‘Fire away, then. I've laid out the parameters of the discussion. Up to you now.'

‘Parameters … Well, I don't know about that. We have to go back to basics.'

‘Really? What're the basics?'

‘I'm pretty sure I don't want a list at all.'

It was Adrian's turn to sit up in bed. ‘What? Why on earth not? Everyone has lists. How else d'you get the presents you want? I'm going to assume you've taken leave of your senses temporarily and you'll soon be back to normal.'

‘No, I'm quite serious. Look, we've got all the crockery and cutlery we need. We can't ask people to buy the sort of thing they'd choose for a couple setting out to furnish their first house, can we? And besides, if you do the presents that way, it's so much less … personal. How can you remember whether this person bought that cruet set or that person came across with a toaster?' Zannah paused for breath but Adrian didn't look as though he was about to speak so she plunged on. ‘Also, even if you could remember, I don't think it's right to be able to check exactly what this or that friend forked out for you. I'd never use a list to buy a wedding present, so I think it ought to work both ways. I reckon our friends should use their imagination.'

Adrian made a sound that was almost ‘Pah' but not quite. It sounded crosser than that and Zannah was quick to insert herself into the curve of his arm and snuggle close as she said, ‘Don't be angry. Humour me. Everyone'll manage perfectly well and we won't have to stand around in John Lewis for hours deciding on things we want. Yes?'

‘Oh, God, I suppose so. I can't win when you dig your heels in, Zannah. You know that.'

‘Am I so bossy?'

‘Yup. But so's my ma and I'm going to have to break the news to her.'

‘She won't mind, will she?'

‘Probably. But I'll blame you. How's that?'

‘Okay … '

He was kissing her again. Zannah closed her eyes and allowed herself to be carried along in a stream of
desire. It was only after they'd got up and dressed and started looking for something to cook for supper that Zannah remembered about tomorrow night and the conversation she and Emily were going to have with their mother. God, it would be difficult. She sighed and Adrian said, ‘Something wrong?'

‘No, darling,' she answered. ‘Nothing, really. I love you.'

‘Me too,' he said, and slid his hands round her waist.

‘Go away, please,' Zannah said. ‘Or this food will never be ready.'

‘I don't care. Do you?'

‘Yes, I do. I'm hungry.'

‘Okay, okay. I'll wait till after supper.'

Zannah smiled. ‘I've got to go home after supper.'

‘Not at once.'

‘No, not quite at once. God, you're greedy.'

‘You're greedy too. Admit it.'

Zannah grinned. ‘I suppose I am.'

‘This is lovely, isn't it? It's so long since it's been just the three of us together. Years, really.'

Joss took a sip of wine and smiled across the table at her daughters, happiness rising in her, flooding her with an almost physical love for them both. Zannah had bought lots of delicious food (‘All M&S, though. Can't do cooking on a school night. Not proper cooking.') and during the meal they'd laughed and she'd described the lengths to which their father had gone to avoid accompanying her to the places she'd wanted to visit.

‘Mostly shops, I suppose, but also the Palais de Cluny to see the Lady and the Unicorn tapestries. They're my favourite things in the whole of Paris and he only came with a moan and a sigh, muttering about “that unicorn novel you ladies were all so keen on”. I did point out to him that there's more to the past than Egyptian mummies, but he wasn't happy. You could tell. His attention span, for a scholar, is dreadful if he's not actually studying the thing that's in front of him. Never mind … It was lovely, really. A wonderful break.'

Zannah and Em said nothing, which surprised her. Surely they couldn't tell, from that anecdote, how difficult some parts of the last couple of days had been? True, there had been good times: pleasant meals when she and Bob had started to speak to one another in a way that Joss had almost forgotten was possible: as though
they were single people without jobs or children. Bob talked about Egypt. She tried to talk about her poems, but it was hard to articulate how she felt about them and it was clear that he wasn't interested, even though he made an effort to pretend to be. After about a quarter of an hour, though, Joss noticed that they always went back to discussing the girls (their name, still, for Zannah and Emily) and Isis and Bob's work. The wedding. A long debate about the music for the service took up the whole of one lunch and that was the nearest Joss came to forgetting about everything else. The rest of the time, she felt as though she were carrying a burden and couldn't identify what it was, but only knew she couldn't put it down.

Each night, Bob had made love to her, in the same way he had made love to her for over thirty years: gently, pleasantly, kindly. Joss grew to dread bedtime, but she couldn't refuse him and, in a way, she didn't want to. She was used to him. It was soothing to be held and kissed, even absent-mindedly. She closed her eyes and went through every kind of mental contortion to stop herself thinking about Gray. She did what men were always advised to do, to defer their orgasms: she made lists. Lists of flowers she would have in the bouquets, if it were left to her. Things to do when she got home. People to whom she had to send postcards. Anything to distract her mind and body from the weight that had taken up residence in her being: her love for another man. The heaviness, she knew, came from uncertainty and doubt about the wisdom of leaving Bob and everything she'd known for so long to live with Gray. When she thought of the two families being broken up, it was a visual image of ruined buildings and smashed wooden beams that came to her mind, just like the pictures that followed a bombing. It wasn't like the ships on the walls of the Shipwreck Café. Those were going down, broken into pieces, but they were alone and separate. She was
going to help explode two entire families … Was she capable of doing that?

‘Ma?' Zannah had sat up in her chair and adopted a pose that Joss recognized from her daughter's earliest childhood: a sort of alertness, a neatness, the hands clasped together in front of her on the table. It was the way she always looked when she wanted to broach a difficult subject. Joss glanced at Emily. She was staring down at her plate, and to anyone other than her mother, the tension in her wouldn't have been apparent.

‘Yes?'

‘We … I mean, there's something we've got to ask you and I don't want you to be cross. D'you promise?'

‘That's a bit much, isn't it? I don't know what you could possibly ask me that would make me cross, but I don't know if I can promise.'

‘Okay, then, but be calm. Right?'

‘Now you're worrying me. What is it, Zannah?'

Zannah and Emily looked at one another and Zannah took a deep breath. Then she said, ‘Ma, are you having some kind of relationship with Graham Ashton?'

Here it is, Joss thought. Okay. She took a deep breath. Her heart was thumping so loudly that she heard its beat in her ears. Blood rushed to her face and she knew it must be scarlet. Part of her was detached from what was happening, as though she were floating above herself, but she was aware of something like an explosion taking place where only she could feel it, deep within her. There was a sudden, agonizing pain in her stomach, which she recognized as fear. Was her love for Gray capable of standing up to this sudden exposure? She knew, with a certainty that surprised her, that she wasn't up to it. Couldn't cope with the girls knowing. And, it occurred to her, if they knew, others might also have found out. I can't do it. I must give him up. I'm not brave enough to leave Bob. But I can't … I can't live without Gray. Can I deny everything? She took a deep
breath. How many seconds had passed since Zannah had asked her question? Don't panic, she told herself. Must be calm. Mustn't say anything I'll regret. Play for time. Stall. Think. When she spoke she was conscious of picking her way from one word to the next, as though they were unsteady stones in a stream: wobbly footholds that might collapse beneath her and plunge her into disaster. At last, she said, ‘Well, we know one another, of course. I mean, not only because of the wedding … because of you and Adrian. He … I mean, he writes poetry and he came on my course. The Fairford course.'

‘But you know what I'm asking, Ma. I don't just mean that. I saw the way he looked at you in the restaurant. And Em saw you saying goodbye to him. It didn't look … I mean … '

‘Yes,' said Joss. Perhaps she ought to tell them everything? But if she spoke now, what about Zannah's wedding? She was determined not to jeopardize that. And she couldn't, she didn't have the strength to face the breakdown of her family, and Gray's family, without any kind of mental preparation. Perhaps she never would. For one blind moment, she was ready to renounce Gray and never see him again just to have a bit of space in which to think. In the few seconds before she spoke again, she'd arrived at a compromise. Would it be enough for the girls? Keep them from worrying? Put them off the scent? For the first time in their lives, she was going to lie to her daughters, or at least not tell them the whole truth.

‘Well, if you must know … this is a bit embarrassing. He … he's rather keen on me.'