Made in Heaven (47 page)

*

Isis woke up suddenly and pushed at the duvet with her toes to see if Hamish was still at the end of her bed. Yes, there he was. He was her favourite of the two cats, even though Isis loved Mister loads as well. Mister was the shy one. He kept himself to himself, that was what Granny Ford said. Maybe Hamish's snores had woken her up. He was a very loud snorer, but Isis didn't mind. You're honoured, Dad had told her. He never sleeps on anyone else's feet. Isis heard the floorboards squeaking outside her room and sat up in bed.

‘Dad?' she called. ‘Is that you?'

The door opened and his black shape was outlined against the light. ‘How come you're still awake, Icey? It's late.'

‘I heard something.'

‘Sorry.' He came into the room and sat on her bed. ‘It was me. I've got to go out for a bit. I'll be back soon, though. You'll see me when you wake up in the morning. Okay?'

‘Okay. Where are you going, though?'

‘I'm going to fetch someone. I'm bringing them back here, and you'll see them tomorrow. It'll be a surprise.'

‘Nice surprise?' Isis felt her eyelids drooping.

‘Pretty good, yup.'

‘Okay. I'll go to sleep now.'

Even though her eyes were closed, Isis could tell that Dad had shut the door and now it was quite dark in the room. Hamish, who'd woken up for a bit when the light disturbed him, had uncurled. Now he'd curled up all over again, and was purring. The noise made Isis think of a car engine. Dad's car engine … Maybe it was a car engine she could hear and not a purring cat. She fell asleep before she could work this problem out.

*

Zannah looked at Cal, sitting across the table from her. His hair was sticking up at the back and he was wearing a jacket she recognized from when she'd first met him. Could that be? She'd just told him exactly what had happened. She hadn't left out a single detail. It had poured out of her, and she hadn't realized till she'd finished how angry she was, how hurt, and also how much there was to tell. Part of her was shocked by the ease with which the words had flowed out of her: as though she'd been bottling up resentments for months. That couldn't be true, could it? Only yesterday, she had been in love. She'd been happy. Could something change in such a short time? Or had she been deluding herself? Not seeing things about Adrian that she didn't want to see, not wanting to acknowledge his faults because she was too caught up with the wedding. Was she as idiotic and criminally frivolous as that? Thinking this, Zannah was aware that tears were threatening to overwhelm her again.

‘Cal, I feel awful. Everything I've put together over the last few months is disappearing. Sliding away from me and vanishing. I've spent ages getting everything
ready, dreaming about it, longing for it and now … I can't bear to be the sort of person whose main worry is stuff like that. Oh, God.'

‘You're talking about the wedding, right?'

Zannah nodded. ‘I know you think the whole thing's ridiculous, but I wanted it … I want it still … so much. How'm I going to tell everyone? Cancel everything? Oh, Cal … '

‘Don't cancel anything, Zannah. This can all change. You mustn't do anything till you've discussed it with Adrian. He deserves that, doesn't he? You can't just … I mean, you love him, don't you? That's what you have to answer honestly, Zannah. Do you really love him?'

‘No!' she said. ‘Yes, of course I do … I don't know. I really don't know. I thought I did but now … I feel as though he's not the person I loved yesterday. I think he's become a different person. Or I'm different, or looking at him from another place. I don't know.'

She wasn't expressing it well. Adrian was still in possession of all the qualities that she'd fallen in love with, wasn't he? What were they? He was handsome. She loved looking at him. She loved making love to him – he was different from Cal, more demanding, more exhausting. Zannah blushed. It had been some time since she'd thought about what sex with Cal had been like. For a long time after the divorce, she'd obsessed about what they'd had together and now that he was right in front of her, memories of those nights came unbidden into her head and she had to make a real effort to push them away, to think of something else. Adrian. Did she love him? He was generous. He was fun. He loved her. If she married him, she could ask for almost anything she wanted and he'd see that she got it. That was an unworthy reason to love someone, wasn't it? For his money? She had to confess, though she'd never have told a single other person, not even Em, that, yes, the money did come into it. It wasn't the most important
thing about her love for Adrian but it counted for something.

She looked up at Cal and said, ‘I don't know if I should spend the rest of my life with someone who's admitted, who's actually said, that he doesn't love Isis. That's what's important. I don't know if I can separate that from the rest of what I feel about him. What's going to happen? What about the wedding? So much time and effort – and the invitations have gone out and everything.'

‘They don't matter a damn, Zannah. You have to do what you think's right, that's all. You mustn't do anything quickly. Promise?'

Zannah nodded. ‘Okay … I suppose so. But what now, Cal? Who should I tell?'

‘No one. Not yet. Come back with me. I'll drive behind you if you feel you're up to it. Otherwise, we can leave your car and fetch it tomorrow … '

‘No, I can drive. I'm okay. A bit shell-shocked, but okay. What's the matter with me, Cal? Why can't I do relationships properly?'

‘It's not you, Zannah. You're not to blame. None of this is your fault. If the wedding goes pear-shaped, well, things like that happen. No one's been injured. No one's lost their life, nor their livelihood. It's arrangements, that's all. You might lose money, I suppose, but that's it. It's inconvenient. A lot of boring work, getting in touch with everyone and explaining till you're blue in the face, but nothing you can't do if you have to. And you're not going to do anything for the moment. The pressure's off. My mum's longing to see you. She'll feed you up and take care of you and you don't have to hurry to get back to London, do you? It's half-term.'

He put out a hand to help her to her feet and Zannah held it till she reached her car. She got in and wound down the window, about to say something, though
thank you
was inadequate to convey how she felt: as
though someone had lifted a huge burden off her back and left her lighter. Cal reached in and gently moved her hair off her forehead. ‘Drive carefully,' he said, and smiled at her. ‘I'm right behind you, don't forget.'

She saw him walk back to his car and drive it to where she was. Zannah waved at him as she moved out into the traffic. There he was in her wing-mirror, in his rackety old Fiat, riding shotgun, taking care of her. It was like having a police escort, but much more comforting. For the first time since she'd left the hotel, she began to feel as though she might get through this without falling apart. Her mobile started ringing and she didn't answer. It was probably Adrian. He could leave a message. She wasn't in a fit state to talk to him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was driving a car. I can't speak to him yet, she thought. What would I say? Tomorrow. I'll speak to him before his flight. I'll know better what to say to him in the morning. Zannah concentrated on the road spooling out in front of her car like a length of silver ribbon.

*

‘They're asleep,' Cal whispered. ‘Come in here for a minute, though, and let's have some tea. I'm freezing.'

They tiptoed into the small living room, where the remains of a coal fire were still burning. Mister was curled up on the hearthrug, and the clock, up on the mantelpiece between the two china creatures who resembled him and Hamish, struck one. Their entrance disturbed the cat to the extent of making him raise his head, but he soon sank back into a purring sleep.

‘You sit there,' Cal said. ‘I'il bring in the tea.'

Zannah listened to the comforting sounds he was making in the kitchen: crockery being arranged on a tray; the kettle boiling. When he appeared, he put the tray on the coffee table and sat down next to her on the sofa. She took a cup of tea from him. Cal said nothing.

‘I feel so safe, Cal,' she said. ‘I wish I could stay here
for ever. It's warm, and there are cats, and I know Isis is upstairs and you're looking after me … ' Her voice faded away as she realized that she was describing a scene that would have been routine, normal, everyday if she and Cal were still married. Would he notice? Pick up on what she'd said? He put out a hand and picked up a strand of her hair, twisting it gently and tucking it behind her ear. His hand lingered on her neck and she shivered. It's still there, she thought, what I used to feel about him. What's the matter with me? I'm supposed to love Adrian and now I'm wishing Cal would kiss me. I want him to. What would I do if he pulled me towards him? She bent her head to her teacup and took a sip.

Cal said, ‘I can't stop feeling it's my job to look after you and Isis.'

‘Isis, of course, but me … '

‘Never mind, Zannah. It's okay. You're tired. Go and have a bath. I've put towels in my room. You're in my bed tonight.' He laughed. ‘That didn't come out right, did it? What I mean is: I'll sleep down here on the sofa.'

‘Oh, Cal, I could have slept down here … I don't mind where I sleep, honestly.'

‘Mum would want you to have my room. I wasn't going to fight about it. You go up now. Go on.'

‘Thanks,' Zannah put her cup and saucer on the tray and stood up. ‘Thanks for everything. I don't know what I'd have done without you. Really.'

He took her hand, brought it to his face and kissed it. The kiss was so gentle, that she was barely aware of it, yet the warmth of his lips on her skin made her feel … how did it make her feel? Unsettled. Strange. Comforted.

‘Good night, Zannah,' he said. ‘Sleep well.'

*

Zannah lay in the narrow bed that had been Cal's since he was a boy. She closed her eyes. The room was
completely dark. Thick curtains, no street lamps and a carpet that didn't allow even a glimpse of the landing light made for a blackness that was oddly soothing.

I'm not tired, Zannah thought, and immediately corrected herself. I'm totally exhausted but I can't sleep. She lay flat on her back and wondered whether she was strong enough or brave enough to confront the truth that had, she felt, been growing inside her like a tumour. She didn't love Adrian enough to marry him. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life with him. She sat up in bed at once, turned on the bedside light and whispered, ‘I don't want to marry him.'

Once the words were there, in the air, out in the open, Zannah started to cry. She wanted to ring Em and speak to her. Or Ma. Or she could get up and walk downstairs to where Cal was sleeping and tell him … No. No, of course she couldn't. She wiped her eyes and tried to pull herself together. She was being hasty. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe when Adrian came back from America, she'd see things differently. There was almost two weeks that she could use to get back to normal: to feeling the kind of love for him she'd felt till yesterday. Was it possible to love a man on Saturday and stop loving him on Sunday? Did people really do that? Nothing in the way he behaved towards her had changed, so was she overreacting? Would a more sensible person overlook what he'd said about Isis and muddle through the rest of their lives? Lots of people did. Maureen had done exactly that and it hadn't seemed to worry her. A dull pain somewhere in Zannah's stomach told her that she wasn't capable of it. If she married Adrian, however well he treated Isis, she would know that his irritation was there all the time, whether he showed it or not. He'd start to dislike Isis, she thought, instead of just not liking her, and that dislike could spread to me, because I'll take her side in their quarrels. Everything she'd had with Adrian was now tarnished, spoilt beyond repair.
What she now felt about him was muddied, as though ink had been spilt in clear water.

Zannah was filled with a peculiar mixture of terror and embarrassment that she'd never encountered before. What everyone would think, what they'd all say, how she'd be thought of – a flibbertigibbet, a woman who didn't know her own mind, frivolous, unkind – was almost as bad as the dreadful thing she was about to do to Adrian. He loved her. What would he say? What would happen now? She didn't know which awful bit of the situation to concentrate on: telling everyone that the wedding was off; cancelling the arrangements – and what about the dress? I'm keeping that, whether I ever wear it or not. I love it so much. And what about the ring? The ruby on her left hand. She'd have to give it back to Adrian, wouldn't she? What was the right thing to do? The magazines never mentioned the possibility of such an eventuality. Their business was happy marriages following perfect weddings. She wasn't going to be having anything like that in her life.

She had to tell Adrian before she talked to anyone else. But was it fair to do something like that when he was on his way to America? She didn't want to spoil his trip. She'd turned off her phone. By now there would be a few messages from him, she knew. Tomorrow, she thought. Time enough to listen to them then.

Perhaps, she told herself, as she lay down again and switched off the light, I can let Ma and Em know. Just them. I'd make sure they didn't say a word to anyone else, but at least I'd have someone to talk to. Then I can meet Adrian at the airport. Once he knows, it can all begin, the unravelling of everything that's been put together over the last nine months.

Sleep wouldn't come. Do I love Adrian? Zannah wondered. I must still love him a bit. What'll I miss about him? She tried to conjure up his face, his voice. She thought about getting up, finding her phone and
listening to him in the dark, then decided not to. She closed her eyes. I'm so tired, she thought. The mess of emotion and anguish in her head subsided a little as her body relaxed, and as she drifted into sleep, an image of Cal came to her, touching her hair, touching her neck. Suddenly she was wide awake again. ‘I wish I was still married to Cal,' she said, aloud, and felt worse than ever. She had no right, no right in the world, to wish such a thing. I'm going to forget I even thought it, she told herself. He's been so kind, but it was just kindness, wasn't it? Nothing more than that, surely? Kindness and shared memories of their past together. She turned over and buried her face in the pillow. Oh, God, she thought,
Cal
. Was he going to become another source of pain; something else to contend with, along with everything else?