The Peacock Emporium(27)

“You might have eaten already. Besides, I didn’t know what time you’d be back.”

“You could have rung.”

“You could have rung me.”

Suzanna stomped into the little kitchen. The sink was still full of the morning’s breakfast things. “Well, as long as you’re all right, Neil, don’t worry about me, will you?”

His voice lifted in protest: “I only had bloody bread and cheese. I’ve hardly been cooking myself up a banquet.”

She began slamming cupboard doors, searching for something easy to prepare. She hadn’t had time to go to the supermarket for a couple of weeks, and the shelves contained little more than the odd split lentil or opened stock cube. “You could have washed up.”

“Oh, for crying out loud! I leave the house at a quarter to six in the morning. Do you want me to wait here until you’ve had your breakfast?”

“Just forget it, Neil. You look after yourself, and I’ll look after myself, and then at least we both know where we stand.”

There was a brief silence, and he appeared in the kitchen doorway. There wasn’t enough space for them both, and he moved as if to steer her out into the living room. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Suze. Look, you sit down and I’ll cook you something.”

“You haven’t left me any bread.” She peered into the plastic packet.

“There were only two slices.”

“Oh, just go away, Neil. Go and lie on the sofa.”

He threw up his arms in exasperation. It was only then that she noticed how tired he looked, that his face was shadowed with gray. “Don’t be such a bloody martyr. If this shop is going to make you so bloody grumpy I’m already wishing you hadn’t taken it on.”

He launched himself back onto the sofa, which was too big for the room, picked up the remote, and began to flick through the channels.

She stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, then came and sat on the chair opposite him, clutching a bowl of cereal, not looking at him. It was the least arduous way of showing him how fed up she was.

Abruptly, Neil turned off the television. “I’m sorry,” he said, into the silence. “I should have thought about the bread. It’s just that by the time I get off the train in the evening, all I can think about is getting home.”

He had disarmed her. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m just tired. It’ll be better when the shop opens.”

“I am pleased you’ve got the shop. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s been nice seeing you so . . . so—”

“Busy?”

“Animated. I like seeing you animated. You seem less bothered by . . . stuff than you have been.”

Even the cereal felt like an effort. She put it on the table in front of her. “Less time to think, I suppose.”

“Yup. Too much time to think—always a recipe for disaster. Try not to do it myself.” He smiled wanly. “Want me to see if I can get the day off for your opening?”

She sighed, acknowledging his smile. “No . . . don’t worry. I don’t think I’ll do a grand opening. I don’t even know if it’s going to be Monday, the way things are going. And you’d better not upset the boss. Not this soon into the job.”

“If you’re sure.” He gave her another tentative smile, then settled back into the sofa, picked up his newspaper, and flicked through the pages.

Suzanna sat wondering why she had instinctively not wanted him there. She knew it sounded daft, ungenerous, even. But she just wanted something that was hers, pure and pleasurable, untainted by her and Neil’s history. Uncomplicated by people.





8


The old lady stood in the doorway wearing her good tweed coat, a straw hat with cherries set on her head at a rakish angle, and her patent-leather handbag in front of her. “I would like,” she announced, “to go into Dere.”

Vivi turned, the roasting dish spitting lethally in her gloved hands, and searched frantically for a spare section of the stove on which to rest it. She took in the hat and bag, and her heart sank. “What?”

“Don’t say ‘what.’ It’s rude. I am ready to go to town. If you wouldn’t mind fetching the car.”

“We can’t go to town, Rosemary. The children are coming for lunch.”

A flicker of confusion passed across Rosemary’s features. “Which children?”

“All of them. They’re all coming for Lucy’s birthday lunch, you remember?”

Rosemary’s cat, which was so bony and decrepit that, when lying outside, it had several times been mistaken for roadkill, scrambled its way onto the kitchen work surface and shakily toward the roast beef. Vivi removed an oven glove and gently placed the mutely protesting animal back on the floor, then promptly burned herself on the roasting pan.

“In that case I’ll just get a quick trip in before they come.”

Vivi sighed inwardly. She fixed a smile on her face and turned back to her mother-in-law. “I’m awfully sorry, Rosemary, but I’ve got to get lunch ready and lay the table. And I haven’t dusted the front room. Perhaps you could ask—”

“Oh, he’s far too busy to be running me around. You don’t want to go bothering him.” The old lady lifted her head imperiously, and glanced at the window. “Just run me to the Tall Trees then. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” She waited, then added, pointedly, “With my stick.”