The Peacock Emporium(30)

“It’ll be awful, Neil. I just can’t cope with them en masse. I’m not ready.”

But it was too late. There was the sound of a footfall, then of someone wrestling with the catch, and the door swung open, allowing out an overexcited Jack Russell and the smell of roast meat. Vivi shooed the yapping dog back inside, then straightened herself and beamed. She brushed her hands on her apron, then held them wide open before her. “Hello, my darlings. Oh, it’s good to see you. Welcome home.”



* * *



—

“Don’t give me anything with shellfish. Those shrimps made my lips blow up. I nearly ended up going to the doctor. I couldn’t go out for two days.”

“You were very poorly.” Vivi was dishing out potatoes. She noted with satisfaction that the beef fat had made them lacy and golden.

“Some women pay good money for that now, Gran,” said Ben. “Can I have a couple more spuds? That one there, Mum. The burned one.”

“Implants,” said Lucy.

“What?”

“Women. Put them in their lips to make them look fuller. Perhaps they should have just eaten some of Mum’s potted shrimp. No meat for me, Mum. I’m off red meat at the moment. Didn’t you have those once, Suze?”

“I never had implants.”

“Not implants. Injections. In your lips. During your self-improvement phase.”

“Thanks a lot, Lucy.”

“You had injections in your lips?”

“They were only temporary.” Suzanna looked down at her plate. “It’s just collagen. It’s meant to give you more of a pout.”

Vivi, appalled, turned to her son-in-law, her serving spoon raised in her hand. “And you let her do this?”

“You think I had any say in the matter? You remember what she was like then. It was all hair extensions, false nails—I never knew whether I was coming home to Cher.”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate, Neil. They were only temporary. I didn’t like them anyway.” Suzanna, cross, pushed her vegetables around her plate.

“I saw you with them. I thought it looked like someone had stuck two inner tubes to your face. Very spooky.”

“Inner tubes?” said Rosemary. “On her face? What’s she want to do that for?”

Suzanna glanced at her father who, head down, was pretending not to have heard the exchange. He had spent most of his time talking to Neil who, as usual, he treated with ridiculous courtesy, as if he were still grateful to the younger man for the huge favor he had done in taking Suzanna off his hands. Neil always told her she was being ridiculous when she said this out loud, but she couldn’t see why her parents always made such a fuss about him being prepared to do things like iron his own shirts, put the rubbish out, or take her to dinner. Like she was somehow genetically predisposed to do all the housework.

“Well, I think Suzanna is quite pretty enough without any . . . enhancements.” Vivi, seated, handed around the gravy. “I don’t think she needs any help at all.”

“Hair’s looking good, Suze,” said Lucy. “I like it when it’s its proper color.” Lucy’s own hair, a much lighter shade than Suzanna’s, woven through with highlights, was cut into a businesslike bob.

“Like Morticia Addams,” said Ben.

“Who?” Rosemary leaned forward over her plate. “Is someone going to help me to potatoes? I don’t seem to have any potatoes.”

“They’re coming around, Gran,” said Lucy.

“Morticia Addams. Out of The Addams Family.”

“The Stoke-by-Clare Adamses?”

“No, Grandma. Someone on telly. Did you see Radiohead in concert, Luce?”

“He was a fascist, you know. In the war. Dreadful family.”

“Yup. They were excellent. I’ve got a copy if you want.”

“Used to serve cold cuts every evening for supper. Never a decent meal there. And they kept pigs.”

Vivi turned to Suzanna. “And you must tell us all about your shop, darling. I’m dying to hear. Have you got an opening date yet?”

Suzanna stared at her plate, took a deep breath, and glanced at Neil, who was still talking to her father. “Actually, it’s open.”

There was a brief silence.

“Open?” said Vivi, uncomprehending. “But I thought you were going to have an opening party.”

Suzanna looked uncomfortably at Neil, who gazed at his plate with a don’t-bring-me-into-this expression. She swallowed. “It was only a small thing.”

Vivi stared at her daughter and blushed, so delicately that only those watching carefully—like her son, son-in-law, and other daughter—would have noticed. “Oh,” she said, methodically spooning gravy onto her plate. “Well. You didn’t want us lot clogging the place up, I’m sure. You want proper customers, don’t you? Was it . . . Did it go well?”

Suzanna sighed, cowed by guilt and simultaneously resentful that, within minutes of lunch beginning, she had been made to feel this way. It had all seemed perfectly rational when she had justified her decision to herself. It was bad enough that she had been forced to move back into the shadow of her family, surely it wasn’t too much to ask that she carve herself a bit of space away from them? It wouldn’t be her shop, otherwise, just another extension of her family’s interests. Yet now, listening to Vivi trying to cover the hurt in her voice with a series of mindless observations, aware of the weight of her siblings’ accusatory stares, it seemed somewhat less easy to explain.