Made in Heaven (46 page)

Adrian smiled over his shoulder at her. ‘Never mind. Just enjoy the view. And in a few minutes you'll be gazing at a very beautiful gin and tonic'

They walked along together without speaking. Dusk was falling and the Cotswolds were already shrouded in mist. The sky was darkening to mauve and the first stars were out. Even though it was February and spring was supposed to be just round the corner, it was cold and their breath curled into white mist in front of their faces. Zannah sighed.

‘Is anything wrong? You sound … well, a bit down, darling.'

She laughed. ‘No, I'm fine. I was just feeling … I was missing Isis, actually.'

‘Not seriously?' Adrian laughed. ‘I'd have thought if anything, you'd be getting ready to miss me. I'm the
one who's off to the States for a fortnight on Monday morning.'

‘Of course I'll miss you too, but it's not the same thing. Isis is … much younger, for one thing. And besides, for the last eight years I've spent practically my whole waking life with her. For most of that time, I was on my own. When she was little, she drove me mad some of the time, but I'm used to being with her.'

‘But she's not little any longer, is she? She's getting on for nine. And I should think you'd be glad not to have to worry about her for a bit.' He added magnanimously, ‘I expect her other granny's enjoying having her to stay for half-term. And her dad. And you, my darling, deserve a combined birthday and pre-Valentine's Day treat.'

‘That's lovely of you. She does get on my nerves sometimes and I know I get cross with her, but I'm always glad to see her when I pick her up.'

They were nearly there. The windows of the hotel shone a yellow light into the gathering darkness at the end of the tree-lined drive. The gravel crunched under their feet. Then Adrian stopped and reached for her hand. He said, ‘Darling, it's probably not a good time to raise this, but it's been on my mind for a bit and as we're on the subject … '

‘What subject?'

‘Isis. I want to talk about Isis. Well, you and Isis, really.'

Zannah felt faint. She thought, maybe I should have brought some Kendal Mint Cake out with me. I expect it's hunger that's making me weak. She said, ‘Isis and I are fine, Adrian. I just said I'd be glad to see her again. That's all.'

‘I think you're a bit … I think she's too dependent on you and you're too dependent on her. Not good for either of you.'

‘What are you saying?'

‘I think Isis should be learning to … separate herself from you a little.'

‘Separate?'

‘Well, obviously not separate in that sense. Of course not. I don't mean that. It's very important for children to have close ties with their parents, I know, but still, I reckon it'd do her a world of good to go to boarding school. Jon and I both went and we loved it, as you know. I think it she'd love it, too.'

There was a bench under one of the trees along the drive. Zannah walked towards it and sat down. Adrian came after her and sat beside her. He said, ‘Zannah, don't be angry for God's sake. I'm thinking of Isis's welfare. Truly. And our lives together. Just give it a bit of thought, that's all I'm asking. Nothing more at this stage. You probably think boarding schools are for older children, but there're plenty of junior ones as well. Paul Claythorpe's kid goes to one near Haslemere and she loves it. Made fabulous friends. Goes on amazing trips. It's incredible. Really. Isis'd have a great time. And our sprogs, too, when they're old enough.'

Zannah knew that if she spoke at once, she would regret it. She sat and stared at her knees. One of Em's presents for Isis at Christmas had been a bag full of plastic strings to weave into bracelets. She'd had good fun with them, but the last time Zannah saw them, they were all tangled up in the bottom of a carrier bag in her cupboard, a mess of fluorescent colours like thousands of thin worms twisted up together. That's what my head's like, she thought. I don't know what I think any more. Does Adrian understand the meaning of what he's just said?

‘Adrian,' she said at last, ‘I'm going to ask you something. Please answer me honestly. Okay?'

He nodded.

‘Is this about getting Isis out of the way? This boarding
school stuff? Tell me I'm wrong. Please tell me I've got it entirely wrong.'

‘You have and you haven't. Didn't I just say that I'd like our kids to go too? You can't say I'm wanting a boarding-school education for Isis because she's not mine. But you've asked me to be honest, so I'm going to be. And please, Zannah, don't bite my head off, right?' He rubbed his hands together.

We ought to have worn gloves, Zannah thought. It's so cold. I'm cold all over.

‘Right. Okay. I can't pretend I'm a hundred percent happy about living with another man's child. Much as I like Isis … that's got nothing to do with it. Only, I feel that … well, I reckon we need a balance between time we have with Isis and time we have on our own. There's nothing wrong with that, surely?'

‘You're saying you'd rather she lived somewhere other than with us, is that right?'

‘Well, not lived, perhaps. Just maybe spent a bit more time with her dad. Or, as I said, at boarding school. I know Cal's often out of the country.'

‘I don't want to hear “boarding school” again, Adrian. I mean it. I'm not sending my daughter away and that's that. I'm also not sending away any children we have. D'you understand? Promise me you won't say another word on the subject.'

‘God, Zannah, don't get so shirty. There's no harm in discussing it, surely?'

She stood up and shouted, ‘There is harm! I suppose you think you're talking about education but you're not. You want to be rid of Isis. I don't know how I didn't see that before. You wish she wasn't around. You've been so happy these last couple of days, much happier than you ever are in London and I thought it was me, but it wasn't. It was Isis not being here. That's what makes you happy. Deny it – go on! Say I'm wrong. Say it!'

‘I do like being alone with you! And I don't deny it
– why should I? I love you and I like being together without having to worry about the needs of a child, who, let's face it, has been spoilt rotten. She's had nothing but total love and attention from you since the day she was born.'

‘That's what she's meant to have!' Zannah yelled. ‘She's my daughter. What else am I supposed to give her if not unconditional and total love and care always? And I do not spoil her. How can you say that? She is not spoilt. She's normal, and I should know – I'm a teacher, for God's sake. D'you want to know what your problem is? Because I'll tell you.
YOU'RE
the child.
You
have to be the centre of attention.
You
have to get any unconditional love that's around. It's because your mother's made you believe you're king of the world. I haven't noticed you objecting to her total obsession with you. You just can't bear the competition.'

She walked away from him very quickly, seeing nothing, stumbling in the darkness. Tears sprang into her eyes. Could they ever recover from this? How would they make it up after what they'd said to one another? How was she going to marry him now? Live with him for the rest of her life? And would he still want to marry her? She wasn't going to compromise where Isis was concerned. Adrian would have to take back every single word. Would she be able to believe his apologies? She knew he would come after her full of remorse, regret and blandishments. But even if I said I forgave him, could I really? One thing was certain: she'd never forget what he'd said. Another man's child. That was the bottom line. That was what he thought in his deepest heart. If we have a child together, he'll favour that child over Isis. There was no way in the world that wouldn't happen. Adrian wouldn't even bother to pretend that both children were equally loved. He'd told her often about how badly he and Doc, as he called him, had got on during his own childhood. Why did I think my
lovely Isis would be one of the exceptions? One of the few children to be truly, truly loved by a step-parent? Because I love her so much, that's why. But I'm a fool, Zannah told herself, as she went upstairs to their bedroom. Naïve and stupid.

She went into the bathroom and locked the door. He couldn't follow her in here. She sat on the edge of the bath, and the cold she'd felt outside was still with her, even in this heated room. Get a grip, she told herself. Pull yourself together. She closed her eyes. I'm not going to do it again. I'm not going to let myself disintegrate. No way. Suddenly, a longing to be out of there, away from Adrian, seized her. Thank heavens they'd driven here in her car. She opened the bathroom door and there he was, his mouth open ready to apologize.

‘Adrian,' Zannah spoke quietly. ‘I'm afraid I have to be alone for a bit, so I'm going now. I'm taking the car. Do you mind getting the train back to London?'

‘But you can't! We've still got a whole day here. Not to mention dinner tonight.'

‘I don't care about any of that. I'm leaving. I have to think.'

‘Darling, please … '

‘Don't, Adrian. I'm going. Don't try to stop me. Please.'

‘Then let me at least come with you. I'll drive you home.'

‘No,' she said. Then, more quietly, ‘I want to be by myself, okay? Please just leave me alone, Adrian. I have to pack. Go down and have a drink or something.'

When he'd gone, Zannah took her suitcase out of the cupboard and started to throw into it everything she'd brought for the weekend. Like someone in a movie, she thought and nearly smiled. She remembered the standing joke between her and Em, who always said that Zannah was so tidy she'd be folding clothes and layering them with sheets of tissue paper even if she
was on the run from the police. See, Em? You're wrong. She couldn't even cry. Somewhere – in her head? Her heart? Her stomach? She had no idea, but somewhere in her body – there was what she imagined as a kind of twisted knot, pumping anguish through her veins, mixing it with her blood.

*

‘Zannah? Is that you? Listen to me, Zannah. Calm down.'

‘Cal? Oh, Cal, I'm sorry. I don't know what to do.'

‘Take it easy. Where are you? Just tell me where you are.'

‘I'm in a service-station car-park. I was coming to find Isis. I wanted … '

‘Start again, okay? Just put the phone down for a second. Count to ten. Then tell me what's happened. Right? I'll wait. Don't rush.'

Zannah put her mobile on the seat beside her and took a tissue out of her bag. She blew her nose, wiped her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Cal was waiting till she could speak to him. She imagined him in the living room at his mother's house, maybe on the sofa. Sitting forward. I phoned him, she told herself. Not Em, not Ma, not Charlotte, but Cal. I did it without thinking. Maybe because I was driving to his mother's house. She picked up the phone. ‘Cal? Are you still there?'

‘Yup. What's going on, Zannah?'

‘I ran away. From Adrian.' Saying it made her realize all over again what she'd done and she paused to collect herself. Part of her wanted to scream and bang her head on the steering wheel till the pain stopped her thinking altogether. She took another deep breath and felt a little better. ‘We were at a hotel in the Cotswolds,' she went on. ‘We were having a lovely time and then we had a row and I left. That's it. Then I started crying in the car and I couldn't see to drive so I turned into a services … ' Her voice faded away.

‘Right. Tell me exactly where you are … Okay, I know where that is … I'm coming to fetch you. Just lock up the car, go into the café and get yourself a hot drink with something to eat. Promise me, Zannah. A bun. A sticky sweet, one, okay? Don't move from there. I'll be with you in about an hour, I think. You'll be okay for that long, won't you?'

‘I'm fine. I'll be fine. Thanks, Cal.'

‘See you then.'

Zannah felt anaesthetized. She was still aware that, somewhere, the pain was as bad as ever, but it had been dulled by a thick layer of numbness. Cal had done that: made her think she'd be okay, till he got there. Made her feel as though she was about to be rescued. Also, he hadn't asked what the quarrel was about. He'd just got on with what needed to be done. That was why I phoned him, she told herself. Because he wouldn't get into a flap. Because he'd know the best thing to do. I'll do exactly what he said.

She got out of the car, locked it, and went into the café. Then she sat waiting in front of a cinnamon Danish and a cup of coffee that was mostly froth. She wasn't doing anything as coherent as thinking, but questions flickered in and out of her head. Why hadn't Adrian driven after her? Tried to stop her more forcefully? You had the car, came the answer. You wouldn't speak to him. What was he meant to do? Something, she thought. He ought to have done something. He hadn't even texted her, let alone tried to phone her. Why? He's angry with you. He reckons you're behaving stupidly. Making a lot of fuss about nothing. He thinks he deserves an apology.

Zannah took a sip of beige froth and sat up straight. If he thinks that, he can go and get stuffed, she thought. I'm the one who needs an apology and he has to take back what he's said about Isis and start all over again. She bit into the cinnamon Danish and didn't taste it. Could she believe him if he did that? There would
always, she knew, be the suspicion that he was only pretending to like Isis for Zannah's sake. He can't, she reflected, summon up a store of love out of nowhere. And if he doesn't really feel it, hasn't felt it so far, why should it suddenly come to him now? No way. The whole thing was impossible. Zannah felt something like panic creeping in at the edge of her thoughts. The tears were gathering in her eyes and she blinked hard. I'm not going to cry, she told herself. I'll just sit here and Cal will be with me soon. Less than an hour. She looked at the clock. It wasn't even eleven. There weren't that many people around but those who were here looked washed out, miserable and grey because of the hideous lighting. The fixtures and fittings, the cutlery, the decor, everything, every single thing in this place, was ugly through and through. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, willing the time to pass quickly.