by Adale Geras
Zannah watched as Cal went over to Isis, who was standing on the stairs. She was carrying one of the toys that had lived on her bed since she was a baby: a pink rabbit that used to be furry but was now totally bald and missing one of its ears. She looked half asleep. He picked her up and brought her over to the sofa. He said, ‘We’ve been talking.’
‘It didn’t look like talking. It was snogging. I’ve seen snogging. Mummy does it with Adrian sometimes.’
Zannah sat forward and said, ‘Isis? Are you properly awake? Can you listen carefully while I tell you something?’
‘Something bad?’
‘No … ’ Zannah made a face at Cal over Isis’s head and he went on.
‘Mummy and Adrian have broken up, Isis. They’re not going to be married after all.’
‘But what about the wedding? Won’t I be a bridesmaid? I wanted to so much. And what about Gemma?’
Zannah almost laughed. Nice to know that Isis had her priorities absolutely clear. She said, ‘No, there’s going to be a wedding. I won’t be marrying Adrian, but you’ll still be a bridesmaid. Gemma too.’
‘Good.’ That seemed to satisfy her until suddenly, as though the thought had only just occurred to her, she said, ‘But there’s no one to marry, Mummy, if you’ve split up with Adrian.’
‘What about me?’ Cal touched Isis on the shoulder, to attract her attention. ‘Have you forgotten about me?’
‘But … you and Mummy split up as well, ages ago. I don’t understand. What about Adrian? Who’s he going to marry?’
‘I don’t know about Adrian but your mother’s going to marry me again, Isis. We’re all going to live together. What d’you think of that?’
Isis looked from Zannah to Cal, then back to Zannah. Her face changed. Her lips began to tremble and soon she was sobbing. She flung herself into Cal’s arms.
‘Icey, why are you crying? What’s the matter?’
Isis pulled away from him and wiped her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her nightie. ‘Is it true? Mummy? Daddy? Are you really …’ She struggled to speak through her tears. ‘Will you come and live here, Daddy? With us?’
‘For a bit, I suppose, after the wedding. We’ll have to find a house somewhere in the end. But we can think about stuff like that later.’
Zannah said, ‘Are you ready to go back to bed? Will you sleep better now?’
‘Can I have a drink?’ said Isis. ‘And a biscuit?’
‘Why not?’ Cal said. ‘We should celebrate. Apple juice and chocolate Hobnobs all round.’
As Cal and Isis went out to the kitchen, Zannah leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Isis is properly happy, she thought. She hasn’t been like this all the time I’ve been with Adrian. She sighed, because there he was, in her mind again, and she had no desire to think about him at this moment when she felt as though her life was suddenly, wonderfully, starting all over again. She, too, like Isis, was happy. The fears she’d had about the rightness of leaving Adrian were gone. Vanished into thin air. Still, a part of her shrank when she thought of what Maureen might be saying to her son at this very moment.
*
‘She’s asleep,’ Cal said, coming to sit down on the sofa again. ‘What did I do with my shoes, Zannah? It’s late, isn’t it? I ought to go home.’
Zannah watched as he peered down at the carpet. ‘They’re by the door, Cal, but you shouldn’t drive. We’ve had too much to drink. You can stay the night.’
He sat up and looked at her, saying nothing. Then he took her hand and held it, running a thumb over her palm, raising a kind of delicious gooseflesh on her arms. What would he do? What would he say? I want him not to go, she realized. I want him near me tonight. I want …
‘Are you sure?’ Cal interrupted her thoughts. Zannah stood up and went to the foot of the stairs. Cal came to stand beside her. He put his arms round her and whispered in her ear, ‘What about Isis?’
‘Fast asleep,’ Zannah whispered the words against his lips. ‘She won’t wake up.’
‘What about the morning?’
‘What about it? It’ll be fine … You’re her dad.’
‘I’ve got to get going early anyway.’ Cal sounded short of breath, as though he’d been running. His hands were inside her blouse, caressing her back, and he was kissing the hollows at the base of her throat. We’re wasting time, Zannah thought. His fingers had found the fastening of her bra. ‘Let’s go up, Zannah,’ he murmured.
They stumbled together up the stairs to her bedroom. As soon as the door shut behind them, they moved towards the bed and Zannah sighed with pleasure. She lay on her back and the soft puffiness of the duvet rose up round her. She closed her eyes and let Cal kiss her, and gradually her skin, her flesh, began to remember how it used to be. How it was going to be from now on. She wrapped her arms round him and he buried his face in her long hair and whispered her name, over and over again.
Sunday
Gray lay in bed, aware of Maureen still sleeping beside him. When he had been a more junior member of the hospital hierarchy, he’d been full of admiration for those doctors or surgeons who routinely broke the worst sort of news to the loved ones of their patients. Telling someone that their child had died; their parent, their sibling, their spouse – how did they do it? Where did they find the words? More recently, there had been a couple of occasions when, distraught with grief, someone who’d been recently bereaved had asked to see him, trying to find out the answer to impossible questions like why and how. He’d always tried to concentrate on explaining the scientific detail as plainly and kindly as he could. If relatives knew precisely what had happened on the operating table, that was something. Very often a death was no one’s fault. His words were not a consolation, but at least they were the truth. He dreaded facing anyone who was still raw with grief, whose eyes were red from crying, who was teetering constantly on the verge of hysteria, but he did it when it needed to be done.
And now this: he had to ask Maureen for a divorce. He’d been putting it off for some time and had tried to tell her on a couple of occasions before without success. It wasn’t really comparable to breaking the news of a death. Divorce, though it was hard, was far less of a trauma than bereavement, wasn’t it? Particularly for someone of Maureen’s temperament. She was an optimistic person and had a good opinion of herself. She was confident and efficient: not a candidate, surely, for pining? Even though he’d decided on this course of action long ago, the reality was hard. They’d been together for so many years and had so much shared history that the break would be painful. He, too would have regrets, but he loved Lydia and that was the difference. He had the hope that one day they would be together. Maureen would be alone. She would keep the house.
He had agreed, without saying a word to Maureen, to take up a job at the Whittington Hospital in London and intended to give in his notice as soon as he’d done this … broken up his life with his wife. Then he would find somewhere to live. He’d already looked up a few estate agents on the Internet. There was this advantage to leaving Guildford, too: he wouldn’t risk bumping into Maureen in the street or at parties given by their friends. Her friends. Gray was sure of one thing: most of their friends would become hers. She’d been the one who cultivated people, invited them to parties and meals and they’d support her in the face of what would undoubtedly be seen as his treachery. He couldn’t blame them, but he wouldn’t miss them. He was pretty sure his colleagues wouldn’t react like that. Several had married for a second time and they wouldn’t cast him into the outer darkness, even though they might regret the fact that he was moving to another hospital.
She’ll have all the money she needs, he thought. I’ll see to that. Adrian’ll be there to comfort her. The fact that the two of them were going to Barbados on the honeymoon tickets was a bit of luck. In a few weeks, Maureen would be lying in the sun. Gray thought that the sudden, unexpected announcement that Adrian and Zannah wouldn’t be getting married after all was a good thing. He wasn’t certain
how it would affect his plans with Lydia, but surely it ought to make matters easier. They wouldn’t be related. They’d be unattached to anyone else, or to any other problems, and able to be together, alone, in a much more satisfactory way. The separation would be more … well, more separate. He imagined Maureen recovering quickly from their divorce, getting to know other people, branching out in all sorts of directions, but he realized that this was probably wishful thinking. She’d be hurt, and he was the one who’d be hurting her. He couldn’t put it off much longer. I’ll tell her at breakfast, he decided. That’ll give us the whole day together if she needs to talk to me. Or I can go out if she wants to be alone. Yes, breakfast. He brought to mind again his colleagues, or policemen, or priests breaking bad news. There was only one way to do it: simply and quickly with no hesitation. He’d look her straight in the eye and speak.
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.
APRIL/MAY
Tuesday
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.