The Peacock Emporium(99)

Suzanna struggled to stop herself blushing. She felt, rather than saw, Alejandro take a step away from the counter, and wished she hadn’t been a party to his surprise.

“It’s fine,” said Alejandro stiffly. “I just wanted a coffee.”

Neil stared at him for a minute. “Spanish accent,” he said. “You must be the gaucho. Sorry, the girls didn’t tell me your name.”

Suzanna’s knuckles had whitened on the handles of the tray. She willed herself to grip it less tightly.

“Alejandro.”

“Alejandro. You work at the hospital, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Great job,” Neil said. “Great job,” he repeated. “Yes, Jessie told me all about you.” He paused. “She was very fond of you, old Jess.”

“I was very fond of her.” Alejandro was looking intently at him, as if he were measuring him, determining his worth, and the strength of his claim on Suzanna. There was something different about his stance, a hint of combativeness in his heightened vigilance, his squared shoulders. Suzanna, her senses vibrating so hard she thought they must be visible, felt both thrilled and appalled by this, conscious of Neil’s blindness. She wanted to be anywhere other than where she was. But her feet were rooted to the spot.

“Terrible,” Neil said. “Terrible.” Outside, someone began hammering. “I’ll just pull those shelves out before I go,” he said to Suzanna. “Somehow a load of rubble has ended up behind them. God knows how.” He disappeared back down the stairs, whistling as he went.

Alejandro glanced past her to the cellar door, to the sounds of boxes being shifted below, and moved forward. “I have to tell you,” he murmured, “how I feel. I have to speak to you. It’s like the first time I’ve really spoken.”

She lifted her face, her body remembering reflexively. “Please, don’t—”

“She saw it, Suzanna. She saw it before we did.”

“I’m married, Ale.”

He shot a dismissive look at the cellar door. “To the wrong man.”

At the other end of the shop, Mrs. Creek was regarding them with interest. Suzanna stepped back toward the shelves and fiddled with the coffee syrups, organizing them into a neat row.

“I’m married,” she said quietly. “I might even be carrying his child.”

He looked at her stomach, then shook his head.

“I can’t just ignore that fact, Ale. I’m sorry.”

Alejandro came closer, his voice low in her ear as he said, “So what are you telling me, that you’re going to stay with him? After everything?”

“I’m sorry.” She turned to him, her back against the wall.

“I don’t understand.” His voice was rising dangerously. Suzanna looked at Mrs. Creek, who was now examining the magazine with the intense concentration of someone trying—or pretending—not to eavesdrop.

She looked at him pleadingly. “Look, I’ve never done the right thing, Ale, not really.” She thought of the previous night, of how she had lain awake in the spare room and then, at half past three, crept into their bed, and curled up, pulling Neil’s arm over her, trying to offer herself up as an apology. They had made love, something sad and resigned in it. She had prayed during it that he would not speak.

Neil’s voice floated up the stairs: “Do you want to leave these posters down here, Suze? The ones by the trolley?”

Suzanna tried to steady hers. “Can you leave them there, please?” she called.

“I’ve realized things have got to change,” she murmured to Alejandro. “I’ve got to change.”

“You told me, Suzanna. You told me—there is a time to let go of the past, of ghosts. You showed me it was time to live.” He took her hands in his, apparently no longer caring if they were seen. “You can’t go back. You know that. You can’t. I can’t.”

“I can.” She stared at their hands. It was as if they belonged to other people.

“Everything has changed, Suzanna.”

“No.”

“You have to listen to me.”

“Ale—I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you. You know nothing about me. All we knew was that we loved the same girl, and we lost her. It’s hardly enough to base a relationship on, is it?” She stepped sideways, hearing Neil’s footsteps in the cellar, his quiet exclamation as something fell heavily into place.

“You think that’s it? You think that’s all we are?” He had dropped her hands now, was staring at her in disbelief.

Suzanna forced her voice to stay calm. “I’m sorry. But I’ve done this all my life. I’ve done it all through my marriage—you’re not the first person I’ve had a crush on.”

“You think this is a crush?” He was only a few inches away from her now. She could smell the leather of his coat, the faint tang of Mate on his breath. The builders had begun banging something against the boarding, and she felt the impact reverberate through her.

“I know you, Suzanna.” He had her backed up against the boarded window now, his hands on each side of her shoulders, a barely contained fury on his face.

“No,” she said. “You don’t.”