Peacock Emporium (50 page)

His son’s voice was halting, broken: ‘She – she’s everything. I can’t see anything but her, you know? Even when I’m with her. I don’t even want to blink when I’m near her in case I miss . . .’

Perhaps if he had been someone else, Jorge might have uttered a few platitudes about first love, about how these things became easier, about how there were plenty more fish in the sea – and some, he knew, with breasts like ripe melons and you couldn’t even see the scars. But this was his son, and Jorge, still struggling to contain his relief, knew better.

‘Papa? What do I do?’ He looked like he was about to erupt with frustration and misery, as if the act of spilling out the cause of his unhappiness had not brought him relief but made his suffering more acute.

Jorge de Marenas straightened himself up, his shoulders a little squarer, his expression dignified and paternal. ‘You have told her how you feel?’

Alejandro nodded miserably.

‘And do you know how she feels?’

The young man looked out across the water. Eventually he turned back to his father, and shrugged.

‘She wants to stay?’

Alejandro made as if to speak, but his mouth closed before it had the chance to form words.

If they had been seated side by side, Jorge would have put his arm round his son. A comforting, offhand, heterosexual-man-to-heterosexual-man sort of hug. Instead he leant forward, and laid his hand on his son’s knee. ‘Then you’re right,’ he said. ‘It’s time to go home.’

The water lapped against the side of the boat. Jorge adjusted the oars, opened another beer and handed it to his son. ‘I meant to tell you. This Sofia Guichane . . . the one who asked to be remembered to you.’ He leant back in the boat, blessing God silently for the joy of fishing.
‘Gente
says she and Eduardo Guichane are to split.’

As Suzanna left, she bumped into Father Lenny. He was walking along the pavement, holding a bag under his arm, his robe swinging. ‘How is she?’ he said, nodding at Cath’s house.

Suzanna grimaced, unable to convey what she felt.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he said. ‘Not enough do. Shame, really.’

‘I don’t know if I was any help,’ she said.

‘What’s happening with the shop? Are you headed off there now? I notice you’ve been shut a lot lately.’

‘It’s been . . . difficult.’

‘Hang on in there,’ he said. ‘You might find things easier after the inquest.’

She felt the familiar clench of discomfort. She was not looking forward to giving evidence.

‘I’ve done a few,’ he said, closing the gate behind him. ‘They’re not so bad. Really.’

She forced a smile, braver than she felt.

‘I don’t think your man was too keen either, from what he told me.’

‘What?’

‘Alejandro. Told me he was off to Argentina.’

‘He’s going back?’

‘Shame, isn’t it? Nice guy. Still, can’t say I blame him. It’s not the easiest town to settle in. And he’s had a bumpier ride than most.’

Suzanna lay awake for most of the night. She thought of Cath Carter, and of Jessie, and of her broken, empty shop. She watched as the dawn broke, the blue light filtering through the gap in the curtains that she had never liked, and watched the silver trail of the jet planes silently dissecting the sky.

Then, as Neil sat in the kitchen cramming toast into his mouth while he searched the worksurfaces for his cufflinks, she told him she was leaving.

He seemed not to hear her. Then, ‘What?’ he said.

‘I’m leaving. I’m sorry, Neil.’

He stood very still, a piece of toast protruding from his mouth. She felt rather embarrassed for him.

Eventually he removed it. ‘Is this a joke?’

She shook her head.

They stared at each other for some minutes. Then he turned, and began to pack things into his briefcase. ‘I’m not going to discuss it now, Suzanna. I’ve got a train to catch, and an important meeting this morning. We’ll talk this evening.’

‘I won’t be here,’ she said quietly.

‘What’s this about?’ he said, incredulity on his face. ‘Is this because of your mother? Look, I know it’s all been a shock to you, but you’ve got to look on the bright side. You don’t have to live with all that guilt any more. I thought you all understood each other better now. You told me you thought things might improve.’

‘I do.’

‘Then what? Is this about having children? Because I’ve backed off, you know I have. Don’t start making me feel bad about that.’

‘It’s not—’

‘It’s just stupid to make life-changing decisions when you’re not thinking straight.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Look, I know you’re still upset about your friend. I feel sad about her too. She was a nice girl. But you will feel better after a while, I promise.’ He nodded to himself, as if affirming his words. ‘We’ve had a tough few months. The shop is a drain on you, I know that. It must be depressing having to work with it looking . . . well, with all that still in the air. But the windows are going in – when?’

‘Tuesday.’

‘Tuesday. I know you’re unhappy, Suzanna, but just don’t overreact, okay? Let’s just get it all in proportion. It’s not just Jessie you’re grieving for, it’s what you thought was your family history, probably your mother, even. It’s your shop. It’s your way of life.’

‘Neil . . . it’s not the shop I wanted.’

‘You did want the shop. You went on and on about it. You can’t tell me now you didn’t want it.’

She had heard an edge of panic in his voice. Her own was almost unnaturally calm as she said, ‘It was always about something else. I know that now. It was about . . . filling a hole.’

‘Filling a
bole
?’

‘Neil, I’m really sorry. But we’re kidding ourselves. We’ve been kidding ourselves for years.’

Finally he was taking her seriously. He sat down heavily on the kitchen chair. ‘Is there someone else?’

Her hesitation was just brief enough for her answer to be convincing. ‘No.’

‘Then what? What are you saying?’

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m not happy, Neil, and I’m not making you happy.’

‘Ah,’ he said, sarcastically. ‘The great it’s-not-you-it’s-me conversation. So this is what we’re reduced to.’

‘It’s both of us,’ she said. ‘We – we don’t fit any more.’

‘What?’

‘Neil, can you say you’re happy? Really?’

‘Not this again. What are you expecting, Suzanna ? We’ve had a tough time. It’s been a tough year. People have been committed to asylums on less stress than we’ve had to deal with. You can’t expect to be
happy
the whole time.’

‘I’m not talking about gaiety. Not happy-happy.’

‘Then what?’

‘I’m talking about . . . I don’t know, a kind of contentment, a sense that things are right.’

‘Suzanna, things
are
right. But we’re married – it’s not always going to be hearts and flowers.’ He stood up, began pacing The room. ‘You can’t just throw everything up in the air, keep shopping around, just because you’re not waking up singing every morning. You’ve got to work at something, to stick at something in your life. Life is like that, Suze, it’s about persistence. About sticking with each other. And waiting for the happy times to come back. We’ve had happy times, Suzanna, and we will again. You’ve just got to have a little faith. Be realistic in your expectations.’

When she didn’t speak, he sat down again, and they were silent for some time. Outside, one of the neighbours slammed a car door and shouted an instruction at a child, then drove off.

‘You’ll have your family, Neil,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve got loads of time, even if you think you don’t.’

Neil got up and walked over to her. He squatted down and took her hands in his. ‘Don’t do this, Suze. Please.’ His brown eyes were pained and anxious. ‘Suze.’

She kept staring at her shoes.

‘I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything? Twelve years together?’ He dipped his head, trying to see her face. ‘Suzanna?’

She lifted her face to his, her eyes steady, and not regretful enough. She shook her head. ‘It’s not enough, Neil.’

He looked back at her, evidently hearing the certainty in her voice and seeing something final in her expression, and dropped her hands. ‘Then nothing’s going to be enough for you, Suzanna.’ His words were bitter, spat out in the realisation that this really was it. That she had meant what she said. ‘Real life is never going to be enough. What you’re after is a fairy story. And it’s going to make you very unhappy.’

He got up and wrenched open the door. ‘And you know what? When you realise it, don’t come running to me because I’ve had enough. Okay? I’ve really had enough.’

She had hurt him enough so she didn’t say it. That she would rather take that risk than live with what she already knew, had finally realised, would be a lifetime of disappointment.

Twenty-Six

Suzanna lay on the bed she had slept in as a child, as the sounds that had echoed through her childhood resonated through the wall. She could hear her mother’s dog whining, claws scrabbling on the flagstone floor downstairs, its flurry of staccato yelps proclaiming some unseen outrage. She absorbed the muffled sound of Rosemary’s television, turned up as she watched the morning news. The FTSE up four points, grey with scattered showers, she noted, smiling wryly at the inability of plaster and lath to offer any resistance to the evidence of Rosemary’s faded hearing. Outside, on the front drive, she could hear her father talking to one of the men, discussing some problem with a grain chute. Sounds that, until now, had only ever told her she was alien in this environment. For the first time, Suzanna was comforted by them.

She had arrived late two evenings previously, having packed her belongings while Neil was at work. Despite his words, he had hoped, she knew, that she would change her mind while he was gone. That what she said had been perhaps an unhappy side-effect of grief. But she knew. And she thought, in his heart of hearts that he probably knew too, that the grief had delayed the decision, clouded her certainty that it had to be taken.

Vivi had met her at the door, had listened without saying a word when Suzanna announced tearfully (she had thought she would leave the cottage without a second glance, had been surprised by how emotional she felt at packing her clothes) why she was there. Surprisingly Vivi hadn’t pleaded with her to give it another go, or told her what a wonderful man Neil was – even when Neil turned up, as she’d known he probably would, drunk and incoherent later that night. Vivi had made him coffee and let him rant, ramble and sob. She had told him, Vivi said afterwards, that she was so sorry, that not only was he welcome to stay in the cottage, but that he would be part of their family for as long as he wanted. Then she had driven him home.

‘I’m sorry to have put you through that,’ Suzanna had said.

‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ replied Vivi, and made her a cup of tea.

It was as if she had been static for years, Suzanna thought, gazing at the rosebuds on the wallpaper, noting the corner by her wardrobe where she had, as an adolescent, scribbled in pen her hatred of her parents. Now, as if unleashed by her actions, things were moving rapidly, as if time itself had decided she had too much to make up.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Yup?’ Suzanna pushed herself upright, and saw, with shock, that it was nearly a quarter to ten.

‘Come on, lazybones. Time to shake a leg.’ Lucy’s blonde head peered in, a tentative smile on her face.

‘Hey, you.’ Suzanna sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘Sorry. Didn’t know you were coming so early.’

‘Early? It doesn’t take long for you to revert to your old habits.’ She moved forward and hugged her sister. ‘You okay?’

‘I feel like apologising to everyone for not being a wreck.’

That was the worst thing, how easy it had been to go. She felt guilty, of course, for having been the cause of his unhappiness, and the sadness of having to break a habit, but none of the crushing sense of loss she had anticipated. She had briefly wondered whether it meant some kind of emotional disability on her part. ‘Twelve years, and so little wailing and gnashing of teeth. Do you think I’m odd?’

‘Nope, just honest. It means it’s the right thing,’ Lucy said, pragmatically.

‘I keep waiting to feel something – something else, I mean.’

‘Perhaps you will. But there’s no point in looking for it, trying to make yourself feel something you don’t.’ She sat down on Suzanna’s bed, and rifled through her bag. ‘It was time to move on.’ She held an envelope aloft. ‘Talking of which, I’ve got your tickets here.’

‘Already?’

‘No time like the present. I think you should just go, Suze. We can sort out the shop. I don’t think it’s fair on Neil if he has to see you around everywhere. It’s a small town, after all, and it’s never been short on gossip.’

Suzanna took the tickets and stared at the date. ‘But that’s not even ten days away. When we talked, I thought you meant next month. Maybe even a couple of months.’

‘So what’s there to stay for?’

Suzanna bit her lip. ‘How am I going to pay you back? I won’t even have time to sell off the stock.’

‘Ben will help. He thinks you should go too.’

‘Probably glad to have me out of the house. I think he’s been rather put out at having me home again.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Lucy grinned at her sister. ‘Love the thought of you backpacking,’ she said. ‘Hilarious. I’m almost tempted to come too. Just to witness it.’

‘I wish you would. I feel quite nervous, to be honest.’

‘Australia’s not the end of the world.’ They giggled. ‘Okay, it is the end of the world. But it’s not – you know – third world. Dig-your-own loos.’

‘Have you spoken to your friend? Is she still happy to put me up for a few days?’

‘Sure. She’ll show you round Melbourne. Get you started. She’s looking forward to meeting you.’

Suzanna tried to picture herself in foreign vistas, her life, for the first time, a blank, waiting to be populated by new people, new experiences. The kind of thing Lucy had urged her to do years ago. It felt terrifying. ‘I haven’t done anything on my own. Not for years. Neil organised everything.’

‘Neil infantilised you.’