The Peacock Emporium(121)
“Sure. She’ll show you around 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 in her early twenties. It felt terrifying. “I haven’t done anything on my own. Not for years. Neil organized everything.”
“Neil infantilized you.”
“That’s a bit strong.”
“Yeah. It probably is. But he did let you behave a bit like a spoiled child. Please don’t get arsy with me for saying it,” she added quickly, “not while we’re having our sisterly bonding session.”
“Is that what this is?”
“Yup. About fifteen years later than it should have been. Come on, show me where your bags are and I’ll start sorting your things for you.” Lucy unzipped the big black holdall with determined speed. “Bloody hell!” she said. “How many pairs of stilettos do you own, Imelda?” She zipped the bag shut again and hauled it to the other side of the room. “You won’t need any of those. Get Dad to put them in the attic. Where are your clothes?”
Suzanna pulled up her knees under the duvet and hugged them, thinking of the infinite possibilities before her. And all the ones she had missed. She was trying to fight the sensation of being rushed, that she should sit still for a while and take stock. But her sister was right. She had caused Neil enough harm already. It was the least she could do.
“Are you getting up today, you fat lodger?”
Suzanna rested her face on her knees, watching Lucy’s blond head bob up and down as her sister sorted through her clothes—clothes that looked, suddenly, as if they didn’t belong to her. “I told Mum there wasn’t anyone else,” she said, eventually.
Lucy stopped, a pair of socks balled in her hand. She slowly put them into a pile on her left. When she looked up, her face was a careful blank. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“He was the first.”
“I didn’t mean that. I just thought it was going to take something pretty radical to shake you out of your safety net.”
“You think that’s what it was?” Suzanna realized she felt vaguely defensive about her marriage. It had lasted a lot longer, and survived a few more slings and arrows, than many.
“Not just that.”
Suzanna stared at her sister. “It wasn’t just a casual fling.”
“Is it over?”
Suzanna hesitated. “Yes,” she said, eventually.
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“There was a time when . . . when I thought it might be right . . . but things have changed. And, anyway, I should be by myself for a while. Sort myself out. Something Neil said made me think a bit.”
“You told Neil about him?”
“God, no. I’ve done enough damage. You’re the only one who knows. Do you think I’m awful? I know you liked Neil.”
“Doesn’t mean I ever thought you two were right for each other.”
“Ever?”
Lucy shook her head.
Suzanna felt relieved though a little part of her felt betrayed by her sister’s apparent certainty. Then again, she reasoned that even if Lucy had said anything she would have taken no notice—she had taken little heed of her family’s opinions for years.
“Neil’s a simple soul,” Lucy said. “Just a nice, straightforward chap.”
“And I’m a complicated old cow.”
“He needs some nice Home Counties gel to lead a nice simple life with.”
“Like you.”
Do you really believe that? Lucy’s eyes asked, and Suzanna discovered that she didn’t know because she had never looked hard enough.
Lucy paused, as if judging her words carefully. “If it makes you feel any better, Suze, one day I’ll probably drop my own little bombshell on Mum and Dad. Just because my life looks simple to you, it doesn’t mean I am.”
It had been said lightheartedly, but Suzanna, gazing at the young woman opposite, thought of her sister’s furious ambition, her determined privacy, her lack of boyfriends. And, as the germ of a notion grew, she started to see how blind, how self-obsessed she had been.
She slid out of bed, crouched beside her, and ruffled her sister’s short blond hair. “Well,” she said, “when you do, my prodigal sister, just make sure I’m around to enjoy it.”
* * *
—
She found her father by the Philmore barns. She had walked the long route, up the bridleway and past the Rowney wood, carrying the basket Vivi had made up, which she had offered to run to them in her car. It was okay, Suzanna had said, she fancied the walk. And she had walked meditatively, ignoring the fine rain, conscious of the glowing swell of autumnal colors on the land around her.
She heard it before she saw it: the grind and bump of the bulldozer, and the creaking and crashing of timbers. She had to shut her eyes for a second and remind herself that such sounds didn’t always mean disaster. Once her breath had come back to her, she had walked on, closer to the house. And then, coming upon the flurry of activity, she stood at the edge of what had once been a yard and watched as the bulldozer crashed against the rotten wood, bringing down the semi-derelict buildings that had been there for centuries, which even the most fervently antiquarian listings officer at the council admitted were not worth saving.