The Peacock Emporium(93)

It seemed almost ridiculous now, as if it had happened in another life, to other people, as if its frivolity were part of another existence. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “We meant well, honestly. I know it sort of backfired, but please don’t think badly of her. She just thought you would be happy together. She was going to tell you the truth. I know it was stupid, and badly thought out, but I encouraged it. If you want to blame anyone, blame me.” She didn’t dare look at him, wondered whether she should have told him at all. Yet he had been so good, so generous. She could not have made it through the day without him. The least he deserved was the truth.

She waited, fearful of the legendary explosion toward the boys that Mrs. Creek had described, but Arturro continued to pack the last of his tools into his toolbox, and closed the lid. Then he placed a hand on Suzanna’s shoulder. “I will tell Liliane,” he said, swallowing. He patted her, then walked heavily toward the door and opened it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Suzanna.”

She closed up at half past four, then walked home, lay on her bed fully clothed, and slept until eight the next morning.

Alejandro hadn’t come. She realized she had been half-waiting for him all day.



* * *



—

The funeral was to be at St. Bede’s, the Catholic church on the west side of the square. Initially, Cath Carter had told Father Lenny that she wanted a private service, didn’t want everyone gawping and speculating on her daughter’s untimely end, not with the police investigation still ongoing and all. But Father Lenny, gently, over a period of days, had told her of the strength of feeling in the little town, of the numerous people who had asked him whether they could pay their respects. How it would help little Emma, in the circumstances, to see how much her mother was loved.

Suzanna sat in front of her dressing-table, pulling her dark hair back into a severe knot. Father Lenny had said the service would be a celebration of Jessie’s life, and that he did not want it to be a somber occasion. But Suzanna did not feel like celebrating. Her mother, who had said she would be coming with her father, as much for Suzanna as Jessie, had lent Suzanna a black hat. “I think it’s important that you do what you feel is right,” she said, laying a hand against Suzanna’s cheek, “but formal is never inappropriate.”

“Did you say you’d bought me a black tie?” Neil ducked with well-practiced ease as he entered the low doorway. “I can’t seem to find it.”

“My handbag,” said Suzanna, putting in her earrings, gazing at her reflection. She didn’t usually wear earrings, wondered whether they would suggest inappropriate gaiety.

Neil stood in the middle of the room, as if in hope that the handbag might leap out at him.

“On the landing.” She heard him leave the room, treading the squeaky floorboards to the top of the stairs.

“Lovely day for it. I mean, not a lovely day as such,” he corrected himself, “but there’s nothing worse than a funeral when it pelts down with rain. Wouldn’t have seemed right for Jessie, somehow.”

Suzanna closed her eyes. Every time she thought of heavy rain now, she associated it with the images of skidding vans and screeching brakes, of the crashing and splintering of glass. Alejandro had said he heard no scream, but in Suzanna’s imagination, Jessie had stared at her approaching death and—

“Got it. Oh, Christ, look—think it could do with a quick iron before I put it on.”

She forced away the image and opened her drawer to pull out her watch. She heard Neil muttering about the ironing board, and then a brief silence.

“What’s this?”

She hoped Jessie had known nothing when it happened. Alejandro had said he couldn’t see how she would have felt anything, that in his opinion she had been dead even as he had scrambled over the timber and glass to get to her.

Neil was at her shoulder. “What’s this?” he said again. His face had contorted; it didn’t look like his own.

She turned on her stool, and gazed at the doctor’s appointment card he held out in front of him, which bore the words “Family Planning Clinic.” She knew that her face looked resigned, guilty, but somehow she couldn’t form it into an expression that would prove any more satisfactory. “I was going to tell you.”

He said nothing, just kept holding it out.

“I booked an appointment.”

“To . . .”

“To have a coil fitted. I’m really sorry.”

“A coil?”

She nodded awkwardly. “Look, I haven’t even been yet. What with Jess and everything, I missed the appointment.”

“But you’re going to go.” His voice was dead.

“Yes,” she said, and glanced up. Her eyes looked away as soon as they met his. “Yes, I am. Look, I’m not ready, Neil. I thought I was, but I’m not. There’s too much going on. And I need to resolve things first.”

“You need to resolve things?”

“Yes. With my dad. My mum—my real mum, I mean.”

“You need to resolve things with your real mum.”

“Yes.”

“And how long do you think this will take?”

“What?”

He was furious, she realized. He turned to face her with manic intent. “How. Long. Do. You. Think. This. Will. Take?” His tone was sarcastic.