The Peacock Emporium(90)

She wondered, briefly, at how her family might have reacted to her mother’s death. It was impossible to picture. Vivi had been the maternal core of the family for so long that Suzanna could create no imaginary sense of loss in a family that existed without her. They reached the nurses’ quarters, and a security guard, patrolling the perimeter with his straining, whining dog, waved a salute as Alejandro walked her along the path to the block. Probably not such an unusual sight, Suzanna thought absently, picturing them as the security guard must, a nurse and her boyfriend returning from some boozy night out. Alejandro fumbled with the lock, apparently unable to locate the right key. She took them from him, let them both into the silent flat. She took in its emptiness, its impersonality, as if he were determined to only be a temporary visitor. Or perhaps he felt like he had no right to make an impact on the space.

“I’ll make us some coffee,” she said.

He had washed and changed, on her instructions, then sat down on the sofa, obedient as a child. Suzanna had watched him for a moment, wondering what horrors he had seen, at events she was not yet brave enough to ask about.

It was his paralysis that gave her a kind of strength. She left him there, and set about organizing the coffee, wiping the surfaces of his already orderly kitchen, tidying with a mild madness, as if by doing so she could impose order on the night. And then, emerging from the kitchen, she sat down beside him, handed him a sweetened coffee, and waited for him to speak.

He said nothing.

“You know what?” she said quietly, as if she were speaking to herself. “Jess was the one person who seemed to like me for who I was. Nothing to do with my family, with what I had or didn’t have. She didn’t even know what my maiden name was for months.” She shrugged. “I don’t think I even worked it out till tonight, but she didn’t seem to think I was a problem. Everyone else does, you know. My family, my husband. Myself, half the time. Living in the shadow of my mother. That shop was the one place I could just be me.”

She smoothed an imaginary crease in her trousers. “I’ve been standing in your kitchen telling myself Jess is gone and the shop is gone. Everything. Even saying the words out loud. But the weird thing is, I can’t make myself believe it.”

Alejandro said nothing.

Outside a car door slammed and the paving stones echoed with the sound of footsteps, of murmuring voices, which slowly receded.

“I’ll tell you something funny. For a while I was envious of her. Because of the way you and she got on,” she said, almost shyly. “Jess had that way about her—you know? She got on with everyone. I thought I was jealous, but that’s the wrong word. You couldn’t be jealous of Jessie, could you?”

“Suzanna—” He lifted a hand, as if to stop her.

“At one point tonight,” she continued, persistent, determined, “I thought it was my fault. What happened. Because I made her stay late. But even I know that’s crazy—”

“Suzanna.”

“Because if you look at it simply, I made her stay. I put her in the path of that van. Because I left early. I can choose to see that, or I can choose to tell myself that I couldn’t have done anything to change what happened. That if it was Jason, it would have happened another way.”

She blinked back a tear. “I’m going to have to believe that, aren’t I? To keep any kind of sanity. To be honest, I’m not sure how well it’s going to work.”

“Suzanna . . .”

Finally she looked up.

“It is my fault,” he said.

“Ale, no . . .”

“It’s my fault.” It was said with certainty, as if he had knowledge of something she didn’t understand.

She shook her head wearily. “This wasn’t about either of us in the end. You know as well as I do that this was about Jason. Whatever he did was his decision. His fault, not mine, and definitely not yours.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. He had turned away from her, his shoulders bowed. Watching him, she felt an encroaching unease, as if he were on the edge of some great abyss that she couldn’t see. She started to speak again, compulsively, not sure what she was going to say even as she said it. “Jess loved Jason, Ale. We know that, and we did everything we could to try to persuade her away from him. She was determined to make things work. Look, we were at her house not a week ago, weren’t we? There was nothing you could have done. Nothing.”

She didn’t know whether she believed her own words, but she was determined to lift the weight that had descended on him, desperate to force something out of him, even anger or incomprehension, anything other than this black certainty. “You think Jessie would want you to think like this? She was pretty clear about what she thought was going on. And we trusted her judgment. She wouldn’t have thought for one minute that this was anything to do with you. She loved you, Ale. She was always so pleased to see you. Look, even the policewoman said good people always try to blame themselves . . .”

His mouth was set in a grim line. “Suzanna, you don’t understand—”

“I do understand. Nobody gets it more than me.”

“You—don’t—understand.” His voice had become sharp.

“What? That you have a monopoly on misery? Believe me, the thought of what you saw will haunt me forever. But this is not helping. It’s not going to help either of us. Ale, please—” Her voice wavered. “You’ve got to stop saying that.”