by Adale Geras
‘No, I think everyone should know. Ma is sharing some of her Madrigal money with me and Zannah, which is more than nice of her. Thanks, Ma.’
‘It’s a pleasure,’ Joss said.
‘I tried to talk her out of it,’ said Bob. ‘I said she ought to keep the whole lot, but she wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘Can we change the subject, please?’ Joss said. She’d decided to give her daughters five hundred pounds each almost as soon as she’d received the cheque. Zannah, she knew, from the relief and delight on her face as she’d opened the envelope, would probably use it for something specific, her wedding dress perhaps. She’d told Joss that it wouldn’t cost more than a thousand pounds. She’d explained about her savings and her special fund, but since she was a teenager, Zannah had been so clever about fudging, concealing and downright lying about the cost of things that Joss didn’t believe her. With the bridesmaids’ dresses, fifteen hundred could be considered a bargain. What Emily would spend her share on, she didn’t know.
‘Look, everyone!’ Adrian said, as Joss was cutting the Christmas pudding. ‘My mother’s sent some photos from South Africa.’
‘Fantastic,’ said Zannah.
‘Let’s have a look,’ said Bob. The silver rectangle was passed round the table and finally reached him. ‘God, what amazing definition. Must see about getting one of these, Jossie. I could send home photos of the desert when I’m away. Here, have a look, darling.’
He held out the phone so that she could see it and helpfully scrolled through the pictures for her. A couple of Maureen in a swimsuit, irritatingly glamorous. Good figure. Good skin. She seemed to be shining. Suntan oil, Joss thought, but she took in the gold chains round the neck, the manicured hands and the smile, lipstick carefully on, even though Maureen was by a pool, for heaven’s sake. She was meant to be swimming, not at a cocktail party. There was a shot of Gray, looking slightly away, almost in profile. Then one of him staring straight at the camera. Joss’s heart thudded in her chest and seemed to be growing, expanding to take up all the air so that every breath she took was difficult. She closed her eyes. Gray. At that precise second, she would have given anything, anything, to transfer those two images to her laptop. To make them hers. She wanted to skip the jolly games they’d be playing after lunch, run to her study, stare at the screen and kiss his picture, like a soppy sixteen-year-old. She had to clench her hands under the tablecloth and smile inanely to deflect the sharp glance she could feel Charlotte giving her across the table. I’m not cured, she thought. I’m as bad as I ever was. I want him. I want to be with him. At that point, she was almost ready to stand up and announce to the lot of them that she was leaving, going to be with Gray, however it might affect other people’s happiness.
Then Bob clicked through to the next shot, and everything changed. There was Gray again with his arm round Maureen and they looked … they looked happy. They looked like lovers. They looked together. Joss felt nauseous. She couldn’t bear to think of them like that. They couldn’t – Gray couldn’t – put on such a show of marital bliss unless it was at least partly true. Maybe he still thought of her sometimes. Maybe in the dark hours of the night he regretted the way he’d walked out on her, but here was the proof that he was perfectly composed. He was unmarked by the experience. He didn’t seem to be suffering in the very least. He appeared carefree.
South Africa was only a couple of hours ahead of Britain. What were they doing now? Would they make love tonight, all cosy and comfortable and happy after Christmas dinner with the wine flowing? I must stop, she told herself. I must stop thinking about it. She wished she could do what Isis had done and ask to get down from the table. As it was, she had to go on sitting there, eating Christmas pudding which might have been baked cotton wool for all the pleasure it was giving her.
*
Technically, Boxing Day was already here. It was three o’clock in the morning and Joss was wide awake. The whole house was full of people: Bob in their bed, Zannah and Adrian in Zannah’s old bedroom, Em in hers, Charlotte in the real spare room and Isis on the divan in Joss’s study. She’d gone downstairs at about two, after lying staring at the ceiling for hours, using all the relaxation techniques she could remember, and trying to block out the sound of Bob’s rather snuffly light snores. Nothing helped. Her head was full of rags. That was what it felt like: someone in there stirring up everything and leaving it in chaos.
She went downstairs to sit in the dark living room. The fairy lights on the tree had been turned off and Joss wondered whether she should turn them on, but decided against it. The light from the street was quite bright enough to see by and if she turned anything else on, her wakefulness would be official. As it was, she hoped she might just float into sleep by stealth, curled up on her favourite chair.
Christmas was over. Joss had always felt it ended at midnight on the actual day. Boxing Day was like an even more Sundayish Sunday as far as she was concerned, not part of the holiday at all. While the girls were living at home, they’d insisted that decorations stayed up till Twelfth Night, but to Joss they looked used and over almost by the time the turkey was eaten. If she’d had her way, everything Christmassy would be cleared away by lunchtime tomorrow. Today, she corrected herself. It’s today already.
So far, also, there had been no quarrels, though Joss was rather dreading Cal coming to fetch Isis. Would he and Adrian have to speak to one another at any length? There had been a few moments when she could see that Isis was being irritating. Zannah had got annoyed with her once or twice and Adrian, though he tried not to show it, had been a little fed up with her exuberance. What would it be like after he and Zannah were married? Sometimes it seemed that her daughter would have two competing children to deal with. Step-parenting was difficult, whoever you were, and Adrian didn’t appear cut out to be indulgent to another man’s child. But perhaps, she thought, I’m being unnecessarily alarmist. Cal was very easygoing. It’d most likely be fine and she made up her mind to be there when the two men met, to take the edge off any tension that might arise.
Every other year since the divorce, Cal had come up to Altrincham on the day after Boxing Day to pick up Isis and drive her to Hampshire to visit his mother. When he didn’t come to them, Zannah drove down to the Ford house. They took it in turns to make the long journey. They always exchanged gifts. Bob and Joss – but really only me, Joss told herself: the Fords had long ago passed out of Bob’s sphere of interest – sent down a present for his mother. This year, Joss had baked two batches of lemon biscuits and wrapped them in tissue, then put them into a beautiful hand-painted cardboard box she’d found in the craft shop at the Royal Exchange in Manchester. Cal would arrive bearing clotted cream, flowers and home-made jam. The contact pleased Joss. One of these days, she thought, I could go down there and visit her. In the spring, perhaps. She tried to conjure up the pretty garden in Hampshire; the rowan tree by the front gate. Surely there must be a way of superimposing good, pleasant thoughts over the images that had invaded her head and prevented her sleeping. I must go back to bed, she thought. There’s still time. If I go on like this, my eyes’ll be red when everyone wakes up. Will I be able to get through the day if I haven’t slept at all?
She knew she had to pull herself together, but she sat on in the armchair, conscious that every single part of her was hurting. She hid her face in her knees, willing herself not to cry. Gray had forgotten about her, and she would learn to forget about him. It might take a long time, but she was determined to do it.
Tuesday
The whole picking up and taking Isis to Hampshire thing, Emily thought, should have been arranged differently. Ever since Zannah and Cal had divorced, they’d taken it in turns to do what the family called the Transfer. There didn’t seem to be any other way of achieving this while Isis was still young. Everyone had got into the routine. Transfer Day was the day after Boxing Day and Isis stayed with Cal and his mother till just after New Year. This year Cal was driving up north and there was no way he c
ould just turn round and go back without so much as a cup of tea.
In the weeks before Christmas, Emily and Zannah had discussed it for hours. Various desperate and silly suggestions had been made, like taking Isis to a motorway service station and doing the swap there, but in the end sense had prevailed. Cal would come to the Gratrixes’ house like a civilized person. Adrian would be there. He’d meet Cal. Cal would meet him. They’d have to speak. What would happen?
‘Nothing’ll happen. They’re not kids,’ said Zannah. ‘Each of them’s going to have to come to terms with the fact that the other exists.’
‘That’s in theory,’ said Emily. ‘In practice, they’ll hate one another. They’re bound to. And it might just be … I don’t know … a bit awkward. Can’t you do the driving this year?’
‘No, I can’t. I’ve promised Adrian we’d go back to London first thing tomorrow. Some bigwig from the US branch of his bank is here for a day or so and he’s keen for us all to have dinner together. Can’t get out of it.’
‘Okay, but then you’ve got to be prepared for a few “More tea, Vicar” moments. I know they’re not going to hit one another.’
In the event, there were so many people in the hall when Cal arrived that everything went quite well, at least on the surface. Perhaps Ma had been a little too fulsome in her greeting, but Adrian wouldn’t be jealous of that, would he? Emily hadn’t noticed any signs of a real relationship between her mother and Zannah’s fiancé. One of these days, she thought, I’ll have to ask Ma what she really thinks of him. Or maybe I’d better not.
‘Darling Cal,’ Joss said, kissing his cheek. She was looking properly happy for a change. Emily had noticed that their mother was a little subdued this Christmas whatever she’d said, and wondered whether it might have anything to do with the Graham Ashton thing. Surely not. She’d been quite upbeat that day and denied that there was anything for them to worry about. She’d promised them. No, perhaps it was just the strain of having a full house at Christmas. She was talking to Cal still. ‘Have you had a good drive? Come in, sit down, let me take your coat.’
‘Hello, Joss,’ said Cal. Isis was clinging to his arm. She’d gone out into the drive and flung herself round her father’s neck as he stepped out of the car. ‘Hi, Bob,’ he added, stepping up to shake Pa’s hand. ‘And Charlotte, how lovely to see you. Hiya, Em!’
He gave her a big hug, and she hugged him back, blushing. When was she going to be able to be cool around him? ‘Hi, Cal,’ she said, aware that Zannah was standing right behind her in the crowded hall. She could feel him looking at her sister over her shoulder and she stepped out of his arms to let him greet her.
‘Hello, Zannah.’ Formal, not kissing or touching her because, next to her, even more of an alpha male than usual, was Adrian.
Zannah, Emily could see, was a little agitated. She was pink in the face and she stumbled over the introduction. ‘Adrian, this is Cal,’ she said.
‘Hi,’ said Cal.
‘Hello,’ said Adrian, stepping forward and putting out his hand. You had to hand it to the public schools, Emily thought, they certainly taught you how to be smooth in difficult social situations. Adrian was smiling, but Emily could see how stiffly he was holding his whole body. The physical difference between the two men was striking. Cal was in jeans, with an ancient grey Aran sweater over a red shirt. Adrian was in dark moleskin trousers and his shirt, discreetly checked, a beige and brown pattern, was as smoothly ironed and smart as his work shirts always were. Adrian didn’t really do casual. He looked like a model in a Boden catalogue: dressed up even for his time off.
They moved into the living room, where Charlotte and Ma brought in tea and Christmas cake and the talk was of Pa’s next trip. Good old Pa. He was clever at steering his way through choppy conversational seas as though there were no subtexts.
‘I’m off straight after the wedding,’ he declared to Cal. ‘Very convenient timing, I call it. Fascinating excavation near Luxor. I expect I’ll need the rest after all the excitement … ’ He chuckled. Was he aware that he was talking to Zannah’s ex-husband about her impending marriage to someone else? Cal, to do him credit, didn’t bat an eyelid but started asking intelligent questions about Egypt, what the politics were like these days, security concerns, guiding Pa skilfully away from anything to do with weddings.
‘Daddy,’ said Isis, ‘I want to show you my presents.’
‘Not now, Icepop,’ said Cal, smiling at her. ‘Plenty of time to do that at Granny Ford’s. She’s longing to see you. And I’ve got a basket in the car, Joss, for all of you. You know my mum. Jam, clotted cream, a cake or something. She doesn’t believe in supermarkets.’
‘Lovely, Cal. Thanks so much. I’ve got a parcel for her, too. Isis, did you pack the presents for Granny Ford?’
Isis nodded. Zannah was restless, pleating the fabric of her skirt and fiddling with the collar of her blouse. Emily could see that she was counting the minutes till this would all be over. Cal, perhaps becoming aware that Adrian was sitting around not saying much, started talking to him about boring bank-type stuff. It always surprised her how well informed Cal was about all sorts of things. He was making an effort for Zannah’s sake and Emily loved him for it. He must be able to see how uncomfortable she was feeling. Before too long, Adrian had relaxed a bit, and was answering him as though he were any old person in the world and nothing to do with Zannah. Good old Cal. There was also the fact that men were like that … they were always able, it seemed, to rise above the emotional content of any situation and concentrate on other stuff: sport, geography, hill-walking, whatever. And Adrian, to give him credit, was even asking Cal the odd question back. Charlotte was throwing in the occasional remark, Joss was giving everyone more cake, and even Zannah was almost normal. The Transfer was going better than Emily had expected.
Adrian was quite tactful when Cal and Isis left. He disappeared halfway through all the farewell hugs and kisses. Emily smiled at Zannah and winked. She smiled back but, oddly, she was starting to look anxious again. Why was that? Have I missed something? Emily asked herself. From the hall window, she watched Cal’s car disappearing down the drive. Isis was in the back, with her cassette tapes, ready to play, in the pretty bag Emily had given her for Christmas. She wished she could be in the car with her and Cal, driving down to Hampshire. At least she didn’t have to go back to the flat just yet … no work till January.
The hall was empty. She could hear Ma and Charlotte in the kitchen, getting supper ready. Pa must be in his study. Where were Zannah and Adrian? Up in Zannah’s room, probably, having a bit of a snog. Nothing more, she was sure. There must be something very off putting about sharing a bed in what used to be your childhood bedroom. I couldn’t do it, she thought. Just the idea makes me feel about as sexy as a frozen fish. She was almost sure Zannah would agree with her.
*
‘I saw you, you know. You thought I’d gone back into the living room but I saw you.’
Adrian was stretched out on the bed. Zannah was sitting at the dressing-table which she remembered wanting almost more than anything else in the world when she was about twelve. She’d been given it for Christmas after waging a six-month campaign of hints and nagging. She still remembered how happy she’d been that day. She’d gazed at the lace-trimmed skirts that hung down from the shiny glass surface; the bevelled triple mirror; the drawers with their little gold-tipped knobs, and the brush and comb set that Charlotte had given her at the same time, and felt nothing but the purest joy. She could even remember Emily coming in and announcing, in her bumptious, eight-year-old way, that it was ‘silly’. She’d been quite right, Zannah now saw. Silly was exactly what it was, and off the twee scale altogether. She’d never choose a pink like this nowadays. She said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What did you see?’
‘I saw you kissing him goodbye.’
‘Cal, you mean.’ She turned to face Adrian. ‘I cannot believe you’re saying that. Are you telling me you’re je
alous? Honestly?’
Nothing from Adrian. He simply lay on the bed, frowning. Zannah sighed. What a waste of time this was! Now she’d have to persuade him there was nothing to be jealous about. She got up and went to sit next to him. ‘You’re going to have to get used to him, you know. He’s Isis’s dad. He’ll be coming to pick her up and bring her home. I was just about to congratulate you on how well you behaved. How well you seemed to get on, the two of you.’
‘Glad you noticed. He’s not as bad as I feared, actually. Can’t think what you ever saw in him, though. Not exactly an oil painting, is he? A bit scruffy.’
‘If that’s the case,’ said Zannah, ‘there’s nothing for you to be steamed up about.’
‘I’m not really steamed up. I just … I didn’t like to see you kissing him. That’s all.’
‘It was hardly a snog, was it? Just a kiss on both cheeks. If you were really looking, you’d have seen that.’
‘He put his arms round you.’
‘Doh!’ Zannah said, and as she said it, she remembered that yes, Cal’s arms had gone round her briefly and she also remembered how good it had felt, how grateful she was for his affection. ‘You can’t really hold your hands at your sides when you’re kissing someone goodbye.’ She stood up suddenly. ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation, Adrian. Really. Just grow up.’
‘Come here, then. Come here and give me a proper kiss.’ He sat forward on the bed, took her hand and pulled her down to where he was. Zannah closed her eyes as he began to nibble at her lips, touch her breasts. ‘It’s going to be so great,’ he murmured, ‘being on our own for a bit. I can’t wait to have you to myself. No family to bother us. No children to interrupt all the time.’
Zannah wanted to pull away and defend her daughter. No way did Isis interrupt them all the time. She got on his nerves sometimes but she wasn’t always under their feet. What could Adrian mean? I’ll ask him later, she thought, and kissed him back. She, too, would be happy to be away from this house now that Christmas was over. They’d twice made love in her childhood bed and it felt very odd. Between having to be quiet, because of everyone else so close by, and the strangeness of doing anything so grown up in this room, she’d felt inhibited and slightly foolish both times. Never mind, they’d be alone soon. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on Adrian, his lips, his hands, but found that part of her was thinking of Isis and Cal in the car, driving down to the Fords. What were they talking about? Was Isis missing her? Whenever she was away from her daughter, the initial euphoria of not having to take her needs into consideration, of being free to please herself entirely and selfishly, gave way after a while to missing her. I love her more than anyone, Zannah reflected. That’s the truth. She’s the one I can’t live without.