Free Made in Heaven by Adale Geras Page B

changed my mind, Gray. I’m not getting back into what we used to do. It’s over. You’ll get one email from me telling you when I’ll be in London and that’ll be it. D’you understand?’
    â€˜I’ll see you again. That’s what I understand.’
    â€˜I’m going to ring off now. Goodbye.’
    â€˜Goodbye, my darling.’
    Silence. More silence. Gray listened and heard nothing but the dialling tone. He turned to call history and deleted the call, which had used up most of the money on his phone. Never mind, only a few more days and then he’d see her. He’d be able to hold her. Kiss her. She’d relent when she saw him. She must. He could feel the blood moving more swiftly through his veins as he walked towards the car-park. Better get home before Maureen put lunch on the table.
    *
    â€˜So how did it go, then, the family get-together?’ Cal said.
    â€˜Don’t ask. Really, don’t ask. I can’t go into it now.’ Zannah looked round and saw that they were alone. Emily was still in the shower and Isis was getting ready to go to Wimbledon Common with her father.
    â€˜Bad as that, eh?’
    Zannah did sometimes wonder at Cal’s tolerance. He was perfectly happy for her, it seemed, to go out with Adrian, to fall in love with him and now even to marry him. How come he didn’t loathe the very idea? How come he wasn’t even the least bit jealous? She could stillbring back feelings of searing pain just thinking about Cal and his Russian lover and she wondered how long she’d have to be with Adrian before the pain disappeared completely. And however hard she tried, she found it impossible to dislike her ex-husband. Her college friends, her friends from home weren’t always available for confessions and discussions, so she relied on Claire and Louise, her fellow teachers. They’d become very close over the last couple of years. They sat in the staff-room at school and one of the things they often talked about was amicable divorce. The others didn’t believe in it, and maintained that the phrase was a contradiction in terms.
    â€˜Wanting to strangle your ex goes with the territory,’ said Claire, who taught Year Four.
    â€˜That’s my experience,’ Louise said firmly, and when Zannah objected that Claire was happily married and Louise far too young and still single so how could she possibly know what she was talking about, they shook their heads, tucked into their sandwiches and declared that it was a matter of observation. You only had to look around you and it was obvious to anyone who had more than two brain cells to rub together: when love died, that was it. You hated the person who’d let you down, and if you were the one who’d done the letting down it didn’t seem to make any difference.
    â€˜I don’t hate Cal,’ Zannah told them. ‘Sorry. No one could hate Cal. Most people love him.’
    They raised their eyebrows and muttered about ‘denial’. They were wrong. Cal Ford was lovable, and that was that. For two pins, Zannah thought, I’d pour out my heart to him right now and tell him about Ma and what happened yesterday and even pick his brains about wedding venues. He looked just the same as he always had: like a large, rather friendly dog. His brown hair was shaggy without actually covering his eyes. They were brown too, and looked out at the world ina trusting way. He didn’t care about grooming, and although he practically lived in the shower, his clothes were haphazard and he wore them to keep him warm and cover him up. Zannah never failed to be amazed that a journalist on a national newspaper could be so ignorant about matters of design and fashion. Cal claimed he never registered advertisements even when they were right there in front of him, and when Zannah had chided him for his ignorance, he would shrug and smile and say, ‘Who gives a shit about