Made in Heaven (14 page)

Maureen leaned over and kissed him. She'd clearly been aiming for his mouth but hadn't quite made it, which didn't seem to worry her.

‘Night, darling,' she said. ‘I'll think about your idea. I like it, but I just hope Zannah won't object.'

She turned out the light on her side of the bed and lay back on the pillows. Canapés and table decorations would fill her dreams, Gray knew. As for me, he thought, as he turned off his own bedside light, I hope I'm exhausted enough to fall asleep at once. Lately, this had been hard work and there were often nights when what he saw as he closed his eyes was Lydia's face. Lydia's smile. Now he had to imagine her sitting at the same table as Maureen in a few days. How would she feel about that? He imagined her brow furrowing with anxiety, her beautiful mouth tightening with the tension. God, her mouth. He could taste it. He closed his eyes. He had never felt less sleepy in his life. How long, he wondered, is this torture going to go on?

*

Emily opened the door to the flat as quietly as she could. Zannah was with Adrian and wouldn't be back tonight and Cal had been babysitting for Isis, as he often did. Whenever he stayed over, he slept in the lounge on the sofa, which pulled out into a fairly reasonable bed. Emily fully expected to find the room in almost complete darkness, with only the landing light to guide her upstairs to her bedroom, but as soon as she put her head round the door, she saw that the sofa was still in sofa mode and Cal was stretched out on it, reading a novel with the kind of moody, blue, dramatically lit cover that shouted ‘non-cosy thriller' right across the room.

‘Oh,' she said. ‘I thought you'd be tucked up and asleep. What are you doing up so late?'

‘It's not that late, is it? I was reading. Can't-put-it-down stuff, this.'

‘Hmm.' Emily sniffed. ‘Did you and Isis have fun?'

‘Yup. We always do. She's great. We watched a DVD of
Singin' in the Rain?

‘Your choice, right?'

‘She loved it. It's my duty as a father to bring her up to appreciate proper movies. She can watch
Finding Nemo
and the
Princess
thingummies with other people.'

‘I'm going to have a cup of tea,' Emily said. ‘How about you?'

‘God, I've been dying for one.'

Emily didn't bother asking why he hadn't made it for himself. He'd been waiting unconsciously for someone to come along and do it for him. Cal, unlike Adrian, knew his way round a kitchen and especially this one, which had, after all, been his once. But whether they were dab hands or totally useless, men's longing for a thing always seemed to grow amazingly when a woman was around to hand it to them. Cal followed her into the kitchen and sat down to wait for his tea. Emily opened the cupboard and took out the chocolate Hobnobs.

‘Hobnobs! Great!' Cal took one out of the packet at once. He continued to speak through a mouthful of biscuit. ‘I had a look in Zannah's studio after I'd put Isis to bed.'

‘Are you allowed in there?'

‘Why not? It's not private, is it? She is my ex-wife, you know.'

‘Then I'd say it probably is private. The ‘ex' counts for more than the ‘wife.' If you see what I mean.'

Cal considered this. ‘Okay. Sorry. No harm done, though, so don't let on to Zannah. No need to get her in a tizz over nothing.'

‘Right.' Emily thought Cal looked very young. He
was now on his second biscuit. She felt like putting out a hand and brushing his unruly hair away from his eyes. Should she tell him he really did need a haircut? No, it wasn't her business and she liked it anyway. One of the best things about Cal was that he didn't give a damn how he looked. She said, ‘There's not much in there these days. Just a whole load of wedding stuff.'

Cal sighed. Biscuit number three was being eased out of the packet. He bit into it and said, ‘Can you work out what's going on in her head, Em? I can't. I think she's completely crazy. I think you all are, actually.'

‘Not me. Count me out. I've spent hours trying to talk her out of all that palaver. I've even suggested a flight to Las Vegas, a chapel with Elvis playing and attendants in white-fringed leather suits. She's not having it. She wants a proper wedding and she's not going to be dissuaded. They're all in it – Adrian, his mother, even Charlotte, for heaven's sake. They're itching to arrange and fix up and sort out and hire and decide and send out invitations, you name it. It's exhausting and we're still more than ten months away. I don't know how I'm going to survive it.'

‘What about your parents, though? They've got more sense, surely. And they're the ones who're going to have to pay for most of it, too. Isn't it traditional for the bride's lot to foot the bill?'

‘Ma, I'm sure, thinks the whole thing's mad, but she's not saying a word. She doesn't want to annoy Zannah. And although he keeps going on about how silly it is, Pa's secretly rather enjoying it, I reckon. You know how keen he is on tribal rituals etcetera. They'll chip in, I expect. Adrian's folks. He's loaded, you know.'

‘Must be what Zannah sees in him. Can't be his looks. Or his scintillating conversation.'

Emily was surprised. It was the first time she'd heard him express any kind of opinion about Adrian. And that stuff about his looks. He could only have seen him
in photographs Isis had shown him. Cal was jealous. He must be, or he wouldn't have sounded so bitter, so unlike his usual self.

‘He's very handsome, Cal. Everyone says so. And what do you know about his conversation anyway? You've never met him.'

‘Makes no difference. I know his sort. He's not nearly as charming, funny and altogether delightful as me, I bet. Is he? Be honest.' He helped himself to another biscuit and added, ‘Put these away, Em. I can't stop myself.'

As Emily returned the Hobnobs to the cupboard, she thought about what Cal had said. It was true. No one was as charming, funny and delightful as he was, but she couldn't say so. She couldn't confess to anyone her most deeply buried secret wish: that when he knew Zannah and Adrian were married, when he realized they were idyllically happy together, he'd move on. Start looking for someone else in a way he hadn't seemed able to while Zannah was still single. When that happened, Emily wanted to be there. She'd be the first person he saw when the spell was broken and he'd suddenly grasp that it had been her, Emily, all along … she was the one for him. It was this fantasy that had persuaded her to support Zannah in her wedding plans even more quickly than she otherwise would have done. What Emily truly wanted was to see her sister married as happily and speedily as possible to the man of her dreams, leaving the field clear for her. What a ridiculous idea it was! Dreams were rubbish and this one was a bigger load of crapola than most. She knew full well that there was more chance of Cal falling over a precipice than falling for her. Never mind, she told herself. I'm not going to lie around languishing on a sofa, pining away. She squared her shoulders and began to hum ‘I Will Survive' under her breath.

‘I think,' she said, sitting down opposite Cal, ‘that
what Zannah and women like her really want is to be the star of their very own spectacular theatrical production. They want the drama. They want costumes, a set, props, music, lights … the whole caboodle. Photographers. Make-up artists. Hairdressers. And Zannah's worse than most because she wants to design things as well. Not only her dress, Isis's dress and the decorations, but she's developing views on things like food. And flowers. And what kind of stationery they ought to have. She's got a list of hates too. That's fun. I'd like to add to it, but don't dare.'

‘What's on the hate list?'

‘Peach. Persil white rather than Chinese white.'

‘What's that when it's at home?'

‘Don't ask. It's a kind of white that doesn't dazzle and sparkle … sort of understated. Silver bells on anything. Cake icing like plaster. Bride and groom statues on the cake. Glitter on anything. Bare shoulders. Mendelssohn's
Wedding March
. Motorway hotels for the reception. Pink invitation cards. That sort of thing.'

‘Bloody hell,' said Cal. ‘It's a minefield, isn't it?' He frowned. ‘Em, can I ask you something?'

‘Go on.' Emily held her breath. What was he going to say?

‘Is Adrian okay? I mean … you know I asked you to look out for Isis … what's been happening on that front?'

‘He's okay. Really. You don't have to worry, Cal. Zannah would never get involved with someone who didn't get on with Isis.'

Cal took a sip of his tea. It was obvious that he was making a real effort to say nothing. She prompted him. ‘Why're you being so quiet? It's quite worrying when you do that. You don't think I've neglected to do what you asked?'

‘No, of course not. Just that I sense a kind of … I dunno … a reserve in Isis when I try to talk about him.
She's probably doing it for my benefit. She's very keen to tell me every detail of the wedding arrangements but when I ask her about Adrian she just says, ‘Oh he's okay' and changes the subject. She doesn't sound that enthusiastic'

‘Well, she wouldn't be to you, would she? It's obvious, Cal. She'd see it as disloyalty if she praised Adrian to the skies.'

‘Really? At her age? Are children so subtle?'

‘It's not subtle, Cal. She knows you'd be a bit jealous if she enthused too much. And you would. You'd hate it if all she did was talk about how wonderful Adrian is. She's a clever girl and understands an awful lot, you know.'

‘Yes, you're quite right, Em.' He put out a hand and squeezed her arm. ‘You're clever too. But you tell me … he's not wonderful, is he? Adrian?'

‘I don't think so,' Emily said. ‘But, then, I'm not marrying him.'

‘Zannah does think so is the implication.'

‘It's quite normal, you know. It's what you're supposed to think about your fiancé.'

Cal sighed. ‘Quite right. I'm off to bed now, Em. Ta for the tea and biccies.'

He stood up and blew a kiss in her direction, then disappeared into the lounge. Emily could hear the sofa being transformed into a bed. She took the cups to the sink and decided to leave them unwashed till morning. Why, she thought, as she made her way upstairs, do I suddenly feel a bit gloomy? She shook her head. No good reason. Things would seem better in the morning. She sat on the end of her bed, sighed and kicked her shoes off, then lay back on the pillows staring up at the ceiling, suddenly drained of every bit of energy. I must make a point of watching Isis more closely next time Adrian's around. Of course, it was natural for Cal to be concerned, but Emily was sure everything was okay, really. Zannah would be the first to notice if it wasn't.

*

‘You're not listening, Adrian. How many times do I have to say it? You just keep going round and round in a bloody circle and saying the same things over and over again. I am not prepared to get married in a castle. Or in a public place of any significance. And I don't want a hundred and fifty people at our wedding. Seventy-five is the limit. Fifty would be better. Where were you when I explained this to you?'

Zannah understood perfectly at that moment why cartoons of married people often showed the wife wielding a rolling-pin and advancing on her husband. If she'd had such an implement to hand, Adrian would have been in trouble. They were, she realized with something of a shock to the heart, having their first row.

‘It's not just your wedding,' said Adrian. ‘It's mine as well, or had you forgotten that?'

‘No, I hadn't. We've discussed it at length and you never uttered a squeak about castles and lakes and Kew Gardens. Never once. This is all your mother's idea. You're speaking for her, aren't you?'

‘So what if I am? She's allowed a say, isn't she?'

‘Maybe. I'm not sure she's allowed even that, if you really want to know, but what she isn't allowed is a decision. The numbers, for instance. You can't pretend we've got a hundred and fifty friends. We haven't.'

‘You've got to take into account my family's friends. Doc's colleagues. My mother's friends. My colleagues. Your parents', too, come to that.'

‘I'm not having a wedding filled with stuffed shirts from your bloody bank, or my pa's university, or your mother's tennis-club cronies, or the massed ranks of medical staff from Doc's hospital.' Zannah was shouting now. ‘You've taken leave of your senses. I want you, our families, our friends and their children. And that's it. That is
it
! I haven't got seventy-five friends. I don't
know if this wedding's going to happen at all, the way you're going on and on about it. You're talking about a completely different occasion.'

‘It's a family occasion.' Adrian was evidently trying to keep a grip on his temper.

‘It is, of course it is, but a family occasion doesn't mean what you think it means. It's about having your family around you when you celebrate getting married. It's not about impressing every single person you've ever come across in your life, most of whom you'll never see again.'

Zannah stopped herself saying:
And about whom I couldn't give a damn
.

‘Well, I know it's not
about
impressing people, but what if you can impress people while you're getting married? What's so bad about that?' He was yelling at her now.

‘What's bad about it is that it's ridiculous. This is supposed to be
our
day. Ours and the people we love. D'you love your colleagues? Do you even know who half of them are? It's pathetic!'

Adrian let out a long breath and threw his arms into the air. ‘Fucking hell, Zannah, you don't half dish it out! Just calm down, okay? I'll talk to my mother. Better yet, you talk to her when she comes round to see you. I don't see why I should take the flak.'