Made in Heaven

by Adale Geras

  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.

  *

  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.