‘What do you think?’ Charlotte stood in the hall and peered into the mirror. ‘Is this formal enough?’
‘You look lovely as usual, dear. Don’t worry.’
‘Yes, Charlotte, have a good time,’ said Edie. ‘And give dear Joss our best. How wonderful if she wins!’
Charlotte was pleased with her reflection. She was wearing a blue woollen two-piece and had a smart black coat to go over the top. Joss and Bob were coming down on the train and meeting everyone at the venue. Zannah, Emily and Isis were going with Adrian in his car and the Ashtons were driving up from Guildford and picking her up en route to the restaurant. She’d have been quite happy to get a taxi, but it had been a kind thought, and however much she didn’t want to discuss wedding arrangements with Maureen, Charlotte felt that the subject was bound to come up. Never mind, she thought. It’s not too long a ride. She’d have been happy to attend the poetry award itself, but tickets were limited to five for every poet and, of course, Bob, Zannah, Emily and Isis had a prior claim on them, and Adrian could hardly be asked to wait outside like a chauffeur, so he had to be there too. Actually, Charlotte would have bet good money that neither Adrian nor Bob was particularly exercised about whether or not they attended the ceremony, but she couldn’t say so of course. Never mind. The girls would give her a good account of the occasion, and besides, Charlotte wouldn’t have enjoyed the tension before the announcement. It wouldn’t have been good for her blood pressure.
‘They’re here!’ Edie had stationed herself at the hall window and was now waving frantically. Charlotte stepped out into the porch and found that Graham Ashton was already holding the back door of his car open for her.
‘Hello, Mrs Parrish,’ he said. What a lovely smile he has, Charlotte thought.
‘Charlotte, please.’ She smiled back and said hello, and settled herself on the back seat, not forgetting to wave at Edie and Val, who could be seen, as the car rolled away, framed in the window.
‘Well,’ said Maureen, ‘I’m getting quite excited. Imagine if we had a prize-winning poet in the family! Though of course, she might not win. Mustn’t forget that.’
As she talked – and when Maureen talked, there was little that could stop her – Charlotte had a good view of Graham’s profile. His mouth was clamped shut and he looked as though he was driving to some sort of trial or ordeal instead of a convivial dinner in an Italian restaurant. Who had told her that he wrote poems too? Joss, she thought, or maybe Zannah. She couldn’t remember.
‘You write poems yourself, don’t you, Dr Ashton?’
He glanced back at her, smiling again. ‘You must call me Graham, please, if you’re to be Charlotte. Yes, I do. I write a bit. Nothing like the success … er … Joss is having. That’s wonderful. I hope she wins, I really do.’
He meant it. And he was blushing. Why was that? Charlotte would never have been able to tell anyone exactly why, but she had the distinct impression that Joss’s failure or success meant something to him. She wondered about it. As far as she knew, they’d not spoken or met since the day when Joss had run away from the engagement party. And he called her ‘Joss’. Maybe, she reflected, that was simply because Maureen never stopped mentioning her name. Still, when you also considered the tone of the poems in The Shipwreck Café perhaps there was more here than met the eye. Could her niece be somehow involved with Graham Ashton? How could that be? Surely Joss would have mentioned knowing him if she’d ever met him before the engagement party. A mystery. She made up her mind to reserve judgement and be alert this evening.
*
For a few moments, Emily couldn’t think what the poets, standing in a line on the stage, with the Madrigal organizers already in full flow at the lectern, reminded her of. Then it occurred to her that it was the TV coverage she’d seen of the declarations from town halls all over the country at the time of the general election. All four looked nervous. Ma was white. One of these days, Emily thought, I’ll have to have a serious talk to her about blusher. Still, if this was a beauty contest, she’d have won, hands down. The other shortlistees were all most unprepossessing. One was clearly fond of the bottle. His nose was like an enormous strawberry. Another was stick-thin and almost as pale as Ma, but not as well dressed. In fact, he looked as though someone had pulled him out of bed five minutes before bringing him here. The other woman might have been quite striking once, but had retained, almost unaltered, her hippy attire: cheesecloth and sandals in November, not a good look, particularly when worn with shoulder-length hair that was crying out for the attentions of a talented hairdresser. Ma, on the other hand, if you didn’t count the pallor, had made a real effort. She was wearing a dark red dress which was just the right length, the right fabric, the right style for this sort of occasion and at this time. Who’d helped her to choose it? Emily wondered. Could she have been looking at magazines? And her hair, fortunately, was so thick and glossy that it didn’t really matter that the style hadn’t changed for years and years.
The chap at the lectern was still droning on and on. Mal, Ma’s editor, was staring at the floor, biting his lip. Emily wished Zannah, Isis and Adrian were standing near her so that at least they could have exchanged a look or a shrug. Isis was being very good, considering how boring the event was. Her hair was held back with butterfly slides and she kept smoothing the skirts of her party dress, knowing, Emily was sure, how pretty she was. Zannah, as usual, looked fabulous. Emily had long ago realized that it was pointless to envy her sister’s effortless beauty. Tonight she was wearing a long dress in pleated kingfisher-blue silk. I look, Emily thought, like a magpie in black and white. She’s like a heron.
‘And the Madrigal Prize,’ said the man at the lectern, interrupting Emily’s thoughts, ‘for 2005 has been awarded to Lydia Quentin for The Shipwreck Café which, in the unanimous opinion of the judges, is one of the most accomplished and elegant first collections we’ve read in a long time. Many congratulations!’
It took Emily a second to grasp that Lydia Quentin was her mother, and when she did, she leaped into the air, shrieking as though she were at a football match. Zannah and Isis, she could see, were also jumping up and down and Pa, who’d been standing at the foot of the stage, punched the air. Mal looked as though he’d won the prize himself, which, in a way, Emily supposed, he had. Ma was now no longer pale, but scarlet. She was being led to the lectern to say a few words, and Emily could see that she was wishing she didn’t have to do that. At last, a hush fell on the crowd.
‘Thank you,’ Joss said, her voice quiet in spite of the amplification. Flashbulbs were going off in her face and she was trying, Emily could see, not to blink or look disconcerted. A couple of the photographers had come up on to the stage and positioned themselves near the lectern as she began to talk. ‘I haven’t prepared a speech because I didn’t think I’d be winning today, but I would like to thank the judges. Thank you very much to them, and to my family. Thank you.’
Well, Emily thought, she’s no Churchill, but on the other hand she’s not Gwyneth Paltrow, for which we must all give thanks. A skeletal bloke in a suit that looked as though it had recently been excavated from one of Pa’s Egyptian burial chambers tottered up to her and handed her a cheque. Joss stepped away from the mike holding the piece of paper in one hand and not knowing what to do with it. Mal came to her rescue and tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket. Emily smiled. Ma’s going to forget all about it, she thought, but I’ll remind her. Then the besuited skeleton took her elbow. Together they made their way down the stairs at the side of the stage. Pa, Zannah, Isis and Adrian gathered round her and Emily pushed through to join them. By the time she reached Joss, everyone else had kissed her, and hugged her and congratulated her.
‘Clever old Ma!’ Emily said, throwing her arms round her mother. ‘I knew you’d win.’
‘No, you didn’t, silly,’ Joss said, hugging her younger daughter, ‘but it’s lovely of you to say so. Em, will you text Charlotte for me? She’s driving to the restaurant with Maureen and — with the Ashtons. She’ll be anxious. Tell her the good news, d’you mind? You’re the fastest texter in the family.’
‘No problem.’ Emily fished in her handbag for her mobile, turned it on and sent a message to Charlotte. She could see her father coming towards her, purposefully. ‘Faster than the speed of light, me! Hiya, Pa!’
‘Hello, my darling. How are things with you? Hungry? I’m starving. I thought that organizer bloke was never going to shut up.’
*
Zannah took a spoonful of zabaglione and looked round the table. The talking hadn’t stopped since they’d sat down. Toasts had been drunk to Ma, to the Madrigal Prize, to poetry, and everyone was very merry indeed. Isis was next to Pa, and the two were having what seemed a high old time, giggling away together. It had taken Isis a while to get used to it all, and she’d been overawed at first by her surroundings, which she pronounced ‘easily the poshest restaurant I’ve ever been in’. She soon relaxed, however, and having established that she could indeed order what she still called ‘forgetti Bolognese’ (’Don’t be silly, Mummy. I know that’s not its proper name’), she settled down to eat and drink and exchange jokes with Pa.
Zannah wished that things had been arranged so that she hadn’t had to sit with one Ashton on either side of her. The table was round and, in theory, everyone could have chatted to everybody else, but in practice, you were stuck with your immediate neighbours and that was it, really. So, because Charlotte and Emily were in conversation with Graham, Maureen was the person she’d spoken to for most of the evening. They’d discussed flowers, and her future mother-in-law had talked at length about how wonderful Genevieve’s food for the wedding would be. Now, thankfully, she’d turned her attention to Adrian, who was sitting between her and Joss and was being charming and attentive to both of them. He was at his best on occasions like this, and even more handsome than usual. He made it seem as though the conversation was exactly what he wanted to hear. For a moment, Zannah tried to imagine Cal in his place and smiled to herself. He’d have been totally out of his element. He regarded long meals in restaurants as a bit of a waste of time and wasn’t good at the kind of inconsequential chat … not exactly small-talk but not deep discussion either … that was happening round this table. Emily was laughing at something Isis had just said, which Bob was relaying to everyone. Zannah was quite enjoying not talking to anyone for a bit and used the time to study her mother. They’d not had much chance to say anything to one another before sitting down but Ma looked … How did she look? Not as happy as someone who had just won a prestigious prize ought to look. Feverish. Smiling, but nervously. Whatever was the matter with her?
‘Excuse me,’ Ma said, and pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Zannah, rising to her feet. She smiled at Adrian and bent to kiss the top of his head as she passed his chair. ‘Won’t be long.’
She followed her mother into the ladies’. As they were standing at the washbasin staring together into the mirror, Zannah said lightly, ‘In Cagney and Lacey the two of them always used to go into the loo to have revealing conversations, didn’t they? D’you remember?’
‘Nothing to reveal,’ Joss answered, speaking cheerfully enough but, Zannah thought, with a shifty air. She said, ‘You’re looking shifty, Ma. Are you quite sure nothing’s the matter? You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if anything was wrong? If anything was bothering you?’
‘You’ve got enough on your plate with the wedding, darling.’
‘Is that a yes, then? There is something worrying you?’
‘No, no, really. Not a bit of it … Honestly, Zannah. It’s wonderful … this prize. A great surprise. I suppose I’m wondering a bit if my life will change now because of it. I don’t think it’ll make much difference, but you can’t help feeling a little nervous.’
She was still washing her hands. At last, she straightened up and said, ‘I don’t know why they put such ghastly lighting in these loos. I look like a ghost. And so do you, which is more surprising. Isn’t Isis enjoying herself? Let’s go back, if you’re ready.’
‘Are you looking forward to the hotel? Paris?’
‘Oh yes … You know I love hotels. And Paris … yes, I’m longing for that. It’s years since I was there. Always lovely to be in France.’
She sounded sincere but still, Zannah was uncertain of her mother’s state of mind. It was almost as though she was under strain. But what on earth could possibly be stringing her out and stressing her at such a convivial party? A mystery.
Their table was on the far side of the restaurant and Zannah followed her mother towards it. Her gaze fell on Graham Ashton … She’d been looking in Em’s direction, wanting to catch her sister’s eye, wanting to convey something of her unease about their mother and she happened to intercept … What was it? What had she seen? Had she really seen it, even? She sat down, without a word to anyone, and tried to relive the last few seconds in slow motion. Graham had been gazing at her mother as they approached the table, Zannah was sure of it. She saw … she’d thought she saw a slightly raised eyebrow, perhaps a hint of a smile, she wasn’t quite sure. What she was a hundred per cent certain of was the force of his gaze and the emotion behind it. You didn’t send such a glance to a near-stranger. The love she thought she’d seen … but how could it be? It was impossible … shining out of his eyes for a few seconds was evidence of some kind of relationship, and Zannah was pretty sure that Ma hadn’t even seen Graham Ashton since May.
I’ve had too much to drink, she thought. They hardly know one another. I’m imagining it. She addressed a remark to Graham, and he answered in his usual voice, completely normal again. He hadn’t seemed in the least normal a few moments ago. He had been … What was the right word? Transfigured. That was it. Different. She’d forgotten to look at her mother. Had Joss seen Graham staring at her like that? Had she caught the smile, the raised eyebrow? Had anyone else noticed anything? Now Ma was talking to Pa, but there were two spots of colour on her pale cheeks that hadn’t been there before she came out of the loo. How Zannah wished the evening was over! What she most wanted to do now was get home and discuss everything with Em.
*
Isis was nearly asleep in the back of Adrian’s car. It was the latest she’d ever been up in her whole life. The street lights, traffic lights and neon signs, in lots of different colours, were streaking past the car windows very fast, looking like fireworks. Mummy was sitting next to Adrian in the front and she and Em were in the back. Isis leaned on her aunt’s shoulder and said, ‘I’m not really sleepy, just resting.’
‘You go ahead,’ said Emily, and she tucked her soft woolly scarf round Isis’s neck. It smelled lovely, just like her. Adrian was talking about how well the evening had gone and the murmur of his voice and her mother’s voice soothed Isis and her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Adrian couldn’t help it, she decided. He was nice really, but sometimes he just had to be bossy, even when he didn’t need to be. I wasn’t being naughty, she reflected. I was just laughing a bit loudly, that’s all. He didn’t have to say what he did. The others thought it was a good joke. He’d leaned across the table and smiled straight at her.
‘Don’t you know the old saying, Isis?’
She’d shaken her head instead of answering. She had no idea what he was talking about.
‘Little children should be seen and not heard.’
He’d laughed then, and some of the others round the table laughed too. Isis blushed and couldn’t think what to say. Mum would be cross if she was rude, and Granny’s evening would be spoilt if she burst into tears. In the end, it was Grandpa who came to her rescue. He said, ‘Isis isn’t a little child. She’s wise beyond her years as befits a goddess. Aren’t you, my dear?’
Everyone thought that was quite funny and then the waiter came and gave them some food and that stopped the others looking at her. She bent her head and didn’t say another word till the meal was over. She just listened to the grown-ups. It wasn’t very interesting and she was quite glad when they finished and got into the car to go home. Adrian was giving them a lift. Mum isn’t speaking to him now, Isis noticed briefly before her eyes closed altogether. Maybe she’s cross with him for being so horrid to me. Maybe she’ll tell him off. The lights travelling past the window grew blurred and fuzzy and she fell asleep, still dimly aware of the movement of the car.
*
‘Just going to have a quick bath, Bob,’ Joss said. ‘I’ll be with you very soon.’
‘Righty-ho,’ Bob called. ‘I’m perfectly happy, darling, soaking up all this unaccustomed luxury. Exploring the mini bar, actually. Take your time.’
Joss sank into the scented water and leaned back with her eyes closed. She felt, still, as though she were being slowly torn in two. All day long, she’d both wanted the day never to end, and longed for it to be over. Winning the Madrigal … She’d been so worried about the dinner, seeing Gray, coming here with Bob and then going to Paris with him for two whole days, that the poetry prize and whether she might win it or not had receded to the back of her mind. When she won, a great wave of joy and elation took hold of her and she almost stopped fretting about what would happen when she was sitting with Gray in the restaurant.
The round table meant that they were all quite close to one another. She was actually opposite Gray and it took some effort not to catch his eye. Maureen was sitting on the other side of Adrian, but still, Joss heard ‘Graham and I and ‘my husband’ far too often for comfort. If someone burst into the bathroom now and asked her what she’d had to eat, she would have had to make an effort to remember. She’d spent most of the meal in a sort of daze. She’d drunk more and more wine, to give herself the courage simply to keep on sitting there. She made a point of watching Isis, to be sure that she was all right and enjoying the evening. Adrian was being charming to everyone, from what she could see. It was difficult not to like him, Joss reflected, and he was certainly handsome, but she didn’t feel she knew him very well yet. Zannah and he hadn’t visited Altrincham together. She must try to arrange something. From time to time, she lifted her eyes to see who Gray was talking to: Em, Zannah … that was all right.
Then she’d gone to the loo, and Zannah came with her. She’d guessed that something was up, of course, but Joss was reasonably certain that she’d reassured her. Then on the way back to the table, she’d caught Gray’s eye and seen … She’d seen everything in his gaze that she hadn’t even realized she’d been waiting for: love and admiration, passion and dismay. A tiny smile, a raised eyebrow: an acknowledgement that the feeling between them was there, like an invisible rope binding them together. She smiled back at him. She couldn’t help it. It had been such a relief to her that he knew. That he understood how she must be feeling. That he was experiencing, as she was, anguish and desire and a love he had no way of expressing.
There had been the usual press of people around the cloakroom, as everyone was handed coats and scarves and Adrian his briefcase. They had milled around the door of the restaurant and walked together to where their cars were parked. Joss frowned as she reconstructed the choreography of their farewells. The Ashtons were taking Charlotte home again. Adrian was giving Zannah, Emily and Isis a lift. Kisses were exchanged. Maureen kissed Zannah and Emily. Then she kissed Isis. Zannah, Emily and Isis got into the car. Maureen kissed Adrian. He got into the driver’s seat. Then Maureen kissed Joss and Bob and got into the passenger seat of Gray’s car. Then Charlotte kissed Joss, murmured ‘Bon voyage’ and got into the back seat of the Ashtons’ car. Then … Bob had shaken Gray’s hand and moved away. She and Gray were alone together on the passenger side of the Ashtons’ car. He leaned towards her, and kissed her cheek, politely, suitably, but his hand found hers and squeezed it so hard she almost cried out and she couldn’t stop herself: she brought his hand up a little and pulled it into her waist, as though she was reluctant to let him go. Their hands were still clasped together tight, so tight, and then he leaned forward suddenly and whispered in her ear. ‘Text me. Please …’
She’d nodded. She couldn’t speak. There wasn’t time and the words were on her lips and she moved them silently. I love you … Had he seen? Did he know she’d said it? She’d held on to his hand as long as she could, but the whole exchange couldn’t have taken longer than a few seconds. Adrian’s car was already moving as Gray was kissing her goodbye. No one in Gray’s car could see them, Joss was quite sure. They’d been shielded by the bulk of the taxi that Bob had ordered to take them back to their hotel. Bob himself was settling down in the back seat, waiting for her to get in. Both Maureen and Charlotte waved gaily out of the window as they drove off. Gray’s eyes had been fixed on the steering wheel. They were safe. No one knew what had passed between them.
She sighed and got out of the bath. I have to enjoy this, she told herself. I wish I was anywhere but here. I wish I was at home. I must put Gray entirely out of my mind for the next few days, or I shall go mad. Bob’s waiting. My husband. Father of my children. The man I’ve loved for more than thirty years. He loves me. He’s arranged this treat for me. She fastened the towelling robe provided by the hotel around her waist and tried to pull together all the love that was there, somewhere, she knew it. It was a love she’d relied on for years and years, a love that had nothing to do with Gray and what she felt for him. This was a different emotion altogether and Joss set herself to find it, to remember it and to show Bob that she was still a good wife. It must still be there, somewhere.
*
It was touch and go. Either Maureen was saving his life with her incessant chatter or she was slowly killing him. The irritation he felt every time he tuned into what she was saying was certainly raising his blood pressure, but the good thing about Maureen was that you didn’t have to listen to much. As long as you put in a non-committal remark from time to time, she was exactly like one of those toys that you wound up: she would buzz around in ever-decreasing circles and only come to a full stop at bedtime.
‘ … not a bad place, really. Lasagne maybe not quite up to scratch, but of course they haven’t got enormous amounts of money and it was rather a romantic gesture from Bob Gratrix, wasn’t it? To take his wife off to a hotel for the night and then to Paris. I wish you’d do something like that, Graham.’ She sighed theatrically. Gray was just about to say something that would, the way he was feeling, have come out sounding even crosser than he felt, but no, she was off again. About the clothes, this time. Here he really tuned out and almost immediately wished he hadn’t because what was in his head was such torture that he’d almost have preferred to listen to Maureen.
He could imagine everything. The room, the bed … Would they be in it already? Had he torn off her clothes the minute the door was closed? No, speaking to Bob, looking at him carefully, as he’d done tonight, the man didn’t strike him as the tearing-off-clothes type. For long minutes across the table, he’d watched him. He couldn’t see anything about Lydia’s husband that was in the least remarkable. He seemed pleasant enough, not good-looking, but okay. It was now, because he’d heard him speak, watched him chatting to his wife, very much easier to see the two of them as they must be at the moment, or very soon would be. Unthinkable that Bob wouldn’t want to make love to her on the night of such a triumph. Gray shivered. Stop thinking about it. He tried to turn his mind to other things which led him to Paris. He made a huge effort and tried instead to picture himself, there in Paris with her. A café on the Left Bank, holding hands across a marble-topped table. Walking along the streets together. His imagination wasn’t up to much except fantasies of the two of them making love then making love again. Waking up together. Sleeping together. Together. The thought of it made him grind his teeth in frustration and he concentrated on changing gear.
Maureen had moved on from discussion of this evening’s party to the wedding. She was talking about flowers. He glanced at her.
‘Mmm,’ he said, as a kind of encouragement. For a mad second, he thought of interrupting her. Maureen darling, I’m in love with someone else and I want a divorce. What a relief it would be, to have everything out in the open! He stopped himself. He’d promised Lydia that they’d wait till after the wedding. How would Maureen take the news? Would she cry? Hit him? Yell at him? And what would she feel, really feel? After she’d got over the pain that hearing such words would cause her, Gray comforted himself that she’d be okay in the end. She was a survivor. She always had an eye to the main chance. She was a good-looking woman still. It was hard to believe that she wouldn’t find someone else, if she wanted to. Gray indulged himself in a short fantasy of Maureen swanning off on a Caribbean cruise, surrounded by hordes of admiring suitors, beating off requests for a dance, a kiss, a marriage. Who was he trying to kid? He was using these daydreams to comfort himself. She’d be devastated, of course, but perhaps he would cushion the blow a little by leaving her the house, just moving out. He would also, as he had told Lydia, have to provide for her generously.
‘I’m going to make a cup of tea, darling,’ Maureen said, as they turned into their drive.
‘Right,’ said Gray. ‘I’ll put my stuff away in the study and I’ll be down in a moment.’ He raced upstairs and took out the phone he used only for his conversations with Lydia. There was a text message waiting for him.
I’m thinking only of you. Love you.
He sat down and punched in a reply:
Me too. Will wait for you.
He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, which was: I’m trying not to think about you because I can’t bear it. What are you doing now? Are you in his arms? Kissing him?
He walked downstairs to the kitchen, wishing it was tomorrow. As soon as he woke up, he’d be able to work all hours in the hospital and not think about a single thing to do with Lydia, but there was the rest of the night to get through first.
*
‘I’ve already told you what I saw,’ Emily said. ‘Ma kind of pulled his hand towards her and kept on holding it for longer than she needed to. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but after what you’ve just said …’
Zannah sighed. ‘I think she’s having an affair with Graham Ashton. It’s the only explanation. But how? And when? They hardly know one another …’
‘You’ve forgotten what happened at your engagement party. Remember how she rushed out like that and made Pa drive her home? That was a bit strange.’
‘But Em, they’d never met before then, had they? I don’t know what I think.’
‘We’ve gone over and over this. My head feels like scrambled eggs, Zannah. Can’t we leave it?’
‘But what if it’s true?’
‘I don’t see how it can be.’
‘But what if it is? Ma having an affair. What’d happen? What about Pa?’
Emily picked up a cushion and punched it. Then she put it behind her head and leaned back. ‘I reckon,’ she said, ‘that we should talk to her. Ask her straight out.’
‘And what if she says she is? What then?’
‘I don’t know. It’s late, eh? Let’s go to bed. We’ll talk about this later. Ma and Pa are in Paris now … They’ll be living it up. We’re stymied till they get back …’
‘So we might as well forget about it? Are you saying that?’
‘No, not at all,’ said Emily. ‘But we can’t do anything now.’
‘I know. I know. You’re right. And there’ll probably be a completely innocent explanation. Let’s go to bed.’
‘I’m off,’ said Emily. ‘Night, Zannah.’
Zannah stared after her sister, who, it seemed to her, was escaping with unseemly haste from a conversation she found uncomfortable. And I’m being a control freak as usual. What if Ma is having an affair? Is it anyone’s business but Ma and Pa’s? Yes, it is, she told herself. It’ll affect us all. Not just me and Em but Isis …
She stood up and turned out the light. Then she went upstairs to her bedroom and sat on the bed. Emily must be right. It was completely unlikely and all the evidence … Well, what evidence was there? A half-smile intercepted. But that look in his eyes … what about that? A raising of an eyebrow. An extra squeeze by her mother of Graham Ashton’s hand. Oh, and the way she had left the engagement party. They had to remember that as well, but they’d never met at that time so it couldn’t count. So it was nothing, really. They hardly knew one another, so it was impossible. They’d met once, so briefly that the meeting couldn’t be called a proper meeting at all. The whole thing was one great big zero. She undressed, washed, got into bed and stared at the ceiling. Then something she’d forgotten floated into her mind. Zannah sat up in bed, feeling faintly nauseous. She pulled back the covers, got out of bed and walked along the corridor to Emily’s room.
There was a line of light showing under the door. Zannah knocked and opened it at almost the same time. ‘You’re not asleep, are you?’
‘No, but …’
‘I know, I know, it’s late and we’ve got to get up for work, but I have to tell you this.’ As she spoke, Zannah flung back the bedclothes near Emily’s feet and settled herself at the bottom of the bed, facing her sister across an expanse of duvet. ‘We used to do this all the time, remember? When we were kids. I’m sorry, Em, but I’ve got to ask you what you think.’
Emily leaned back against her piled-up pillows. ‘This is about Ma again, right? Her so-called affair with Graham Ashton.’
‘Yes … But the thing is, when Adrian and I were staying at the Ashtons’, I went into Graham’s study and The Shipwreck Café was lying on the desk. I actually saw him stroking it.’
‘So?’ Emily sounded bored. ‘It’s on sale, isn’t it? And Graham writes poetry. You told me that. Or Ma did.’
‘The book on its own isn’t the point. Don’t you see? It’s the combination of all sorts of things.’ Zannah ticked them off on her fingers. ‘The love of poetry, the kind of poems they are. Have you forgotten, well, how sexy they are? Plus there’s the fact that he had Ma’s book on his desk, and this is the clincher. Where was Ma while Pa was in Egypt?’
‘Doing a poetry course at Fairford Hall.’
‘Exactly!’ Zannah sounded triumphant. ‘That was where they met. Properly, I mean. I’ve worked it out. It’s logical, isn’t it? He likes writing poetry, she’s teaching a course, she’s going to be related to him … What could be nicer than booking a place on her course? Opportunity, motive, method … everything.’
‘It’s not a murder, Zannah. You sound like a detective.’
‘Tomorrow, I’m going to find out. I’m going to phone Fairford and ask.’
They’ll never tell you who was on the course.’
‘I’ll pretend to be Maureen … make it something financial. Don’t worry … I’m good at stuff like that. I bet it was there that they got closer to one another. You know what Ma’s told us. They’re a hotbed of lust, those courses.’
‘You’ve not taken account of one thing, though.’
Zannah smiled. ‘Go on, then, clever-clogs. What’s that?’
‘Ma. Her character. She wouldn’t … well, you know. She wouldn’t be unfaithful to Pa. It’s just not like her. She hates rocking the boat. She’s quiet. She’s not … well, I don’t know … but would you honestly say she was tempestuous? Passionate? Impulsive? In spite of the evidence of the poems, which can’t be all that recent, so they sort of don’t fit in to your solution, do they? The Fairford course was only a couple of weeks ago.’
Zannah buried her face in the duvet and thought that she would never have chosen such a pattern. Very minimalist: white, with small black gatherings of squares dotted here and there. She said, ‘Well, you’re right in one way, of course. I wouldn’t have said Ma was passionate, really, but then I read the poems and they’re quite different. I mean, what I get when I read them is someone not a bit like Ma.’
Emily frowned. ‘Well, yes, but if she wrote them before she met Graham Ashton, which she must have done, then they’re just a kind of pretending, aren’t they?’
‘I thought so, till tonight. Anyway, we’ve got to ask her. In confidence. D’you think she’d stay over with us on their way home? They’re back on Thursday night and I know Pa has to be up north by Friday, but maybe Ma would stay and we could ask her …’ Zannah’s voice faded away.
‘I don’t fancy that much, do you? I mean, what are we going to say?’
‘We’ll just ask her straight out. Are you having an affair with Graham Ashton?’
‘Brilliant! What if she doesn’t tell us?’ Emily said. ‘She could take offence and storm out.’
‘Ma’s not a stormer-out.’
‘You thought she was someone who’d never have an affair, too, and now you’re changing your mind about that.’
Zannah said, ‘What happens if she denies it? Will we believe her?’
‘We have to, don’t we? We can’t start assuming she’s a liar as well as an adulteress.’
‘Don’t call her that … it’s horrible.’
Emily leaned forward and took Zannah’s hand. ‘It’s not horrible, Zannah. People do it all the time. Lots of them. That doesn’t make them bad people. Look at Cal, for instance.’
Tears came to Zannah’s eyes. ‘It’s because of Cal that I’m so … well, so upset about this. I felt … well, you know how I felt when all that happened. I can still make myself miserable if I think about it too much, even now.’
‘And you’re worried that if Ma’s having an affair, it’ll hurt Pa?’
Zannah was silent for a long time. Of course it was mainly Pa she was concerned about, but she realized that her own security would be shaken if anything was wrong between her parents. She said, ‘I’ve never really thought about Ma and Pa’s relationship. I suppose it would be Pa who’d be most affected if they split up but there’s also us, and Isis and …’
‘God, Zannah, you’re letting your imagination run away with you! We don’t even know there’s anything going on yet. And as for Ma and Pa’s relationship, well, quite honestly, I never think about it. They’re just there, in Altrincham, leading their life like they’ve always lived it. That’s all.’
‘That’s not all. Maybe they have … I mean, what d’you think their sex life is like, after all these years?’
‘No, Zannah, I’m absolutely NOT going there! Ugh! I’ve never wanted to picture such a thing and I refuse to start now. And as for Ma with Graham Ashton … that’s just as bad. I’d rather not imagine Ma having sex at all. Nor Pa, either.’
Zannah nodded. She didn’t relish the notion any more than Emily, but nevertheless, she couldn’t help wondering. She said, ‘They’re sort of settled in their relationship, aren’t they? D’you reckon they ever row? I’ve never heard them. Pa goes off in a sulk if he’s cross and then he calms down and sort of wanders in again expecting everything to be all right. And Ma well, she presses her lips together and gets on with it. Have you ever heard her shout?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Maybe settled and calm is boring. Maybe Graham Ashton is a more … I don’t know. A more lively person.’
‘A better lover than Pa, d’you mean?’
‘I never said that,’ Zannah murmured, but Emily had set her mind on a path that it seemed to be following whether she wanted it to or not. She had a sudden vision of her mother and Graham Ashton in the throes of passion … she closed her eyes against this image and tried hard to think about something else.
‘We’re not going to get any further with this, Zan,’ said Emily. ‘And my eyes are closing. You go on and do the detective work. Your whole theory falls down if Graham Ashton wasn’t at Fairford Hall.’
‘Right,’ said Zannah. ‘I’m going. Ta for listening.’
‘No problem. Night.’
‘Night.’
Zannah went back to bed and lay staring at the ceiling. She thought of her mother possibly having an affair and didn’t know exactly what she felt. Was it a possibility? They’d find out soon enough, but she thought that if it were true, then the discovery would upset Em more than it would her. She’d be worried about Pa. Well, so would I, Zannah told herself, but not to the same extent. She’d often wondered in the last couple of years whether her mother was truly happy, and now she felt guilty for not having spoken properly to her for so long. These days, she reflected, I mainly talk to Em but it’s been years and years since we did that: sat in the same bed discussing things. For a moment, she felt nostalgic for her childhood, when she and Em used to spend hours tucked up at either end of one of their beds. Would Isis ever have a sister to share that with? Zannah thought of Adrian and wished he was here with her. She wouldn’t have dreamed of talking to him about her mother, and wondered why that was. Surely if she was going to share her life with him, she should be able to tell him everything. She was almost certain that she would have been able to confide in Cal about something like this, but in Adrian’s case, not only was he close to his mother, he was not nearly as friendly with Ma as Cal had been. Zannah didn’t feel she could take the risk of any of this speculation getting back to Maureen. Also, he wasn’t too keen on his stepfather and she had no wish to make things difficult between them. No, she was determined to keep her thoughts to herself, but how comforting it would be to have his body next to hers, his arms round her. At last, she drifted into sleep.