Made in Heaven (51 page)

Gray slipped out of bed and went to have a shower. As the water poured over his head, he rehearsed what he'd say and everything sounded wrong. Well, it would come to him. He felt uncertain and jittery. Go on, he told himself. Say it. You're terrified. This is what stage-fright must be like. I've got to get it over with. Soon.

When he came into the kitchen, the sun was shining on to the table. We could, he thought as he sat down, be in a Sunday supplement as an advertisement for domestic bliss. Maureen was taking the croissants they always had at weekends out of the oven. She knew it was ‘heart-attack food', but was also a great believer in a little bit of what you fancied doing you no harm.

‘Maureen?' Gray said tentatively.

‘What's the matter?' She must have caught something in his tone, though he was sure he'd sounded perfectly normal. She sat down opposite him and made no move to help herself to anything. ‘What's wrong?'

‘I have to say this, Maureen. I've thought for days
about how to do this and there's no other way. I've got to … I'm in love with someone else. I want … I'm asking you to give me a divorce. I'm so sorry.'

Maureen laughed. There was no mirth in the sound. It was a high-pitched, rather hysterical screech. She said nothing and just sat there, staring at him. Gray could see the colour draining from her face and reached over to take her hand. She pulled it away at once. ‘How dare you?' she hissed. ‘How dare you say such things and then do that? Take my hand like that? Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me again. Are you waiting for me to cry so you can put your arms round me and make yourself feel better? Well, I'm not going to. I wouldn't give you the satisfaction, you bastard. You're a complete bastard.' Her voice shook a little as it rose into a shout. She was leaning across the table now, red in the face and yelling at him. ‘A complete fucking
SHIT
! How can you sit there and just
TELL ME
such a thing? How can you? Who is it? Go on. Who is it? Is it someone I know? A nurse? Is she younger than me? Prettier? Better in bed? What does she let you do? Are you going to tell me? No, don't. I don't want to know. But who is it? You've got to tell me that.'

‘Maureen, please … '

‘Shut up! Shut up and don't you dare tell me to be calm. I don't want to be calm. I want to kill you. Who is it?'

‘You won't like it.'

‘Oh, I see. You've chosen the one person I'd object to and anyone else would have been just fine? Is that it? You're mad. You must be mad.'

‘It's Ly … Joss Gratrix.'

Maureen gave a cry like someone being stabbed. A cry halfway between a moan and a shriek. Then she put her head down on the table and started to sob. Her hands … she was flailing about with her hands and the plate of croissants crashed on to the floor. Gray tried to keep
his voice even. ‘I met her at Fairford Hall, on a poetry course, long before Adrian got engaged to Zannah. We … we tried … but … '

Maureen looked up. ‘What if those two had got married? Had you thought of that?'

‘We've thought of little else since the engagement party last year.'

‘You've been screwing her all that time? While I … You … you … I haven't got a word that's strong enough.'

‘No … no, that's not how it is, Maureen. I promise you. I haven't … I mean, I haven't even seen her or spoken to her since November. She … I'm not doing this very well. She doesn't know about this. It's actually not to do with her, or not really.'

‘Crap! You expect me to believe that? You're a fool as well as a bastard. I bet you've been seeing her all the time.'

‘I haven't. I swear. Why would I lie to you?'

‘Then what's the rush to leave me? Why, if you're not even fucking her at the moment?'

‘I think she'll agree to see me again if I'm not married. And, Maureen, I mean it when I say it's not all about Lydia … I mean Joss. I feel it's not fair to you to stay with you when I'm in love with someone else. That's all.'

‘Well, that's hunky-dory for you, then, isn't it? Never mind about Adrian. Never mind about me and the hours and hours I've put in over the last few months arranging the bloody wedding. If it'd been left to Joss Gratrix, her daughter wouldn't have had a wedding at all. That cow's about as much use as a chocolate teapot.'

‘Don't say that, Maureen … it's not like you. You're upset … '

‘It
is
like me and I am upset! I've got every right to be. I told you when Zannah threw Adrian away like a used Kleenex that there was something wrong with
that family. The aunt spending time in jail, and even now living with someone who stuck a knife into her husband. I knew nothing good would come of it, but I never said a word because poor Adrian was so much in love. They're all completely horrible. I've got a bloody good mind to pick up the telephone and speak to Bob, or whatever his name is, and wipe the smile off their faces once and for all. Does he know you've been fucking his wife?'

A white mist of rage rose in front of Gray's eyes, obscured his vision. He grabbed Maureen's wrist and she cried out. ‘Leave me alone, you bastard. You're hurting me.'

‘If you so much as
whisper
a word to anyone in that family, Maureen, I swear you'll live to regret it. I mean to make sure you won't lose out financially in this divorce. This house. I intend to put it in your name at once, but if you start making mischief, well, it's going on the market and we'll divide the proceeds. D'you understand what I'm saying?'

‘Only too well, thank you. You've tied my hands there, I see. Never mind. That whole family can go to hell, for all I care. I'm not wasting my time with any of them ever again. You can relax. I shan't mess up your sordid little affair. That's what it is, you know, a hole-in-corner, shabby, sordid,
disgusting
little affair. I expect you think of it as a grand, romantic passion, don't you? Typical!'

Maureen stood up and began to gather the croissants off the floor and on to a plate. She went to the silver bin in the corner and swept them into the rubbish. Then she held the plate crushed against her chest and started to weep. Gray struggled to understand what he was feeling: a peculiar mixture of anger (wanting to hit her, shut her up) and regret over what they'd had that had disappeared. Worse, what they'd had that he'd destroyed, all by himself. Madly, he wondered if there was any way he
could go back, undo everything, say he didn't mean it, but then he remembered what he'd decided and knew it was right. The guilt he was feeling was natural after so many years but he couldn't let it change what he knew he wanted to do. He
had
to leave her. He looked at her, about to say something gentle, something conciliatory and as he met her eyes, he flinched at the fury he saw in them.

‘That's it,' she said. ‘That's what I feel like. Like rubbish. Fine as long as you want me and then chucked out. Pushed into the bin. I don't want to look at you, Graham. Leave now. At once. I'll get your stuff packed up. Tell me an address too, or I'll send every one of your possessions to that bitch. Mrs Butter-wouldn't-melt. Wispy little Joss who writes those oh-so-exquisite poems and wouldn't hurt a soul but didn't mind a bit fucking someone else's husband. I don't want to see you again. And you can find yourself a lawyer because I'm phoning Mr Bartram as soon as I hear your car going down the drive. Go. Go on! Go and don't come back.'

Her voice was rising, moving towards hysteria. As he left the room, the plate she'd been holding flew past his head and crashed to the floor where it shattered into pieces. It could be worse, he told himself. I'm glad she's filled with anger and not grief. I'm glad she's chucking plates at me. He'd got off rather more lightly than he'd feared. Maureen would calm down. Mr Bartram, their supremely soothing and clever lawyer, would help her. She'd start demanding money, setting conditions. She'll be okay, he thought. She's going to get over this. He went upstairs slowly, looking around him at the house he'd taken for granted for so long. It was beautiful. She'd made it what it was and he'd scarcely noticed. A pang of regret for all the days and nights: for the life he and Maureen had lived together came over him. He felt as though he'd pulled the plug on a huge mass of water which was now swirling down the drain. He couldn't
stop it. It was too late now and in a moment of panic he wondered, Am I doing the right thing? Will Lydia want me? He sat down on the top step, just outside his study, and took deep breaths to steady himself. He needed to pack. And leave.

This time next week he'd be on his way to the South Bank for Lydia's poetry reading. Where had the time gone? Gray walked over to the window and gazed at Highgate Wood. The young man from the estate agents who'd brought him to look at this apartment had been surprisingly tactful and allowed him to walk round it on his own.

In the weeks since he and Maureen had split up, ever since he'd walked out of their house in Guildford, he'd been trying to imagine where he and Lydia might live and this was it, exactly. His job at the Whittington Hospital, though perhaps not as satisfactory as the one he'd left, was fine for the moment. He'd been surprised by how sad he'd been to leave his old hospital, and saying goodbye to his colleagues had been harder in many ways than walking out on Maureen. What did that say about the quality of his marriage? This street was perfect: elegant stuccoed houses, painted white, neat front gardens full of hydrangeas and azaleas and now, in late April, lilac beginning to blossom behind low walls. He saw happy children emerging from sparkling cars in the care of mothers who seemed glossy and prosperous, like the women you saw in advertisements.

The apartment was on three levels, almost as though these rooms were part of a house. Gray had liked it at once. He walked in through the front door, and there
was a small bedroom on his left. Then up the stairs to the bathroom (lovely; newly decorated) and the kitchen; up more stairs to the half-landing and then up again to the big bedroom and the surprisingly large and high-ceilinged living room. Best of all was the small but elegant roof terrace that faced south and which he knew Joss would love better than all the other features of the property. Gray suppressed an impulse to say, ‘I'il take it … Please wrap it up for me,' to the young estate agent. The golden parquet floor was so smooth he wanted to stroke it.

He went to find the young man. ‘Can we go back to your office? I want to make an offer.'

‘Fantastic,' he said, practically bouncing with suppressed excitement. ‘That's great.'

As they left the building and walked out into the spring sunshine, Gray imagined Lydia in that bedroom; that living room. Looking out of that window. What if she hates it? The thought crossed his mind and he dismissed it. She'll love it, he thought. I know she will. And anyway, she might not even want to cross the threshold. This place is mine. I'm the one who's got to live here, so I'm the one who has to be happy with it. And I am. More than happy.

*

Isis was thrilled to discover that there was such a thing as magic after all. She didn't tell anyone about it, but it had to be true. She'd been wishing for her mother and father to get back together again for ages and ages and now they were going to and it was the best thing that had ever happened in her life. It was better than all her birthdays, Christmases, parties and outings rolled up together. And, best of all, there was still going to be a wedding and she was still going to be a bridesmaid. Dad was going to join in. He did a lot of grumbling about it, but he was doing it anyway to please her and Mum. He groaned every time anyone mentioned how
funny it would be to see him in a proper suit with tails and a flower in his buttonhole and everything. Even Em had laughed at that, when Mum and Dad told her about the wedding.

Isis couldn't understand why Dad didn't come and live in Mum's flat now but he didn't want to. They were going to find a house with a garden and, once they were settled in, Isis had made up her mind that she would ask for a kitten. Or maybe two kittens, so that they'd be company for one another. She'd even decided on their names: Holly and Mimi. Now Mum and Em were washing up and Dad was phoning someone called Mattie in New York to see if he would fly over to be the best man.

‘It's a long way to come,' Isis said, ‘just to go to a wedding. Don't you know anyone who lives here?'

‘Lots,' Dad said, ‘but Mattie and I were at primary school together and he was my best man last time your mother and I went through this process. I think he'd be hurt if I swapped him for someone else, don't you? Now, just hang on a mo while I try to get him on the phone.'

Isis went to lie down on the sofa and tried to get lost in her book, but there were too many things to think about. Next week they were going to Miss Hayward's again, to see how she was getting on with the dresses. Gemma was coming too. Then the person Mum and Dad called the Rev. Geoff, who was the vicar at the church, wanted to show everyone what they had to do during the service. Mum and Dad had to talk to the organist as well.

When Dad put the phone down, he was smiling. ‘Want to hear what Mattie said about the best man thing?'

‘Go on, then.'

‘He said he'd be thrilled to bits. He kept going on and on about me coming to my senses at last. Sends you a big hug, Zannah, and says he can't wait to see you. He's
going to come over a couple of days early, too. Good, eh?'

‘Cool,' Isis said, and went back to her book.

The doorbell rang then and Em went to see who it was. A man came into the room and she introduced him to everyone. ‘This is Alex Rivera,' she said. ‘He's the
best
photographer. Come and sit down, Alex. This is Zannah and Cal. And that's Isis, my niece.'