Chapter 22
22
Zoe sat in the quiet of the bathroom and stared at her phone. Over the course of this afternoon and evening, she had sent Rafi six WhatsApps, four texts, even an email and a message on Instagram. She’d tried to call him twice and left one voicemail… but there was still no sign of a reply.
She had no idea what was going on. This was so unlike him. So out of character that she wasn’t sure whether to be worried that something had happened, or just furious that he wasn’t responding.
What was really going on?
‘What is he thinking, baby girl?’ she asked her bump in a low voice. ‘Does he want to be with us? Does he want to be on his own? I just don’t know.’
The pregnancy had been unplanned.
There, she had to admit that. Even if she was never going to tell anyone else in the world, including her daughter, she had to admit it to herself.
So the pregnancy months so far had been about catching up with herself. Getting to grips with the fact that this was going to happen, and sooner than she might have wanted. And, although she had realised that Rafi was behind her in terms of getting to grips with it, she had thought he would get there eventually. And she really had believed that they would at least move in together.
But ever since he’d said no to buying this latest flat and no to attending her dad’s wedding, well, she had felt serious doubt begin to creep in. Nothing had changed between them, nothing at all. But… but… but… she was having a baby. This monumental change was coming to her life and she needed him to accept the changes too and start planning for the future of their little family.
Maybe, despite all her protestations, maybe her mum was right; maybe she did need a commitment of some kind from Rafi.
And if not…
‘Well,’ she told her bump, ‘you and me will just have to come through for each other. Somehow, we will just have to do this, together.’
She had loving parents, she had great friends, she loved her work colleagues too. Somehow, if she had to do this all without Rafi, well, she would.
She would… she would… but… She gave a big sigh at the thought and could feel a small, sad tear slip from the corner of her eye. It was terrible to be at a perfect wedding like this, watching Jacasta and her dad radiate so much love and happiness towards each other, and feel so alone and so questioning about how much the love of her life loved her back.
That was all she had been able to think about as she watched her dad and Jacasta make their vows.
Does Rafi love me?
Does he love me like this?
Would he do this for me?
Or was he going to let her and their baby down?
Meanwhile, in the small room that had been assigned to him on the second floor of Maison Violette, Deva was pacing anxiously around.
First of all, he began to hum gently, then he began the proper vocal exercises that he had been taught back at the out-of-school drama classes he had absolutely lived for during his school days in Glasgow.
He could hear teacher Jeanette’s instructions in his head: ‘Empty your mind, breathe into every note, then work slowly, slowly up and down the octave, bring your concentration to every single note.’
That was the aim with this next song. Don’t think about the audience, don’t think about the occasion, just think about making each and every single note the best I can possibly make it.
Deva looked at himself in the mirror in the dark suit and the constricting shirt and tie. Then he thought about singing yesterday, singing with his heart and soul right out across the hilltops and into the sunset. That was the kind of singing he knew he was capable of. That was the voice and the heart that he wanted to bring to the world.
He glanced over at the ornate wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room. On a hanger on the front of the wardrobe was the other dress he had liberated from Aunt Lucie’s boxes at the last minute and stuffed into his backpack.
It was another long, black lace Chanel. Vintage, he thought… She must have bought some vintage pieces too. This was maybe from a 1980s pre-Lagerfeld collection. But nonetheless beautiful for that.
Without even thinking about it too much, he took off the tie, the suit and the shirt and decided he would just try on the dress, just to see.
And once it was on, well, the decision was made for him.
He had never felt more powerful, more in touch with his talent than when he’d sung to the hilltops. Even as he’d been singing then, he’d wondered if this was the pinnacle, if this was the best he was ever going to be able to sing, his perfect moment.
But now, now that he was encased in Chanel lace once again, like every true artist, he was wondering if that performance yesterday could just be the beginning.
Could he get even better than that? Could he push himself? Practise much harder? Find his inner diva and become a truly star performer?
He smoothed down the dress. Then he began to style his hair, emptying his mind and getting into the zone. Yes, he would aim to tune out the audience, tune out what his mum might think, or his sisters, or anyone else. Instead, he would focus on the song, the notes, the emotion and how to give the next, even better, performance of his life.