Peacock Emporium (32 page)

When he smiled, his whole face changed.

Yes, it was good to have a new friend. She was pretty sure someone had once told her you couldn’t have too many.

Jessie was in the window, pinning Chinese lanterns round a display, occasionally waving at passers-by when she called out: ‘Your old man’s coming up the road.’

‘My dad?’

‘No. Your husband. Sorry.’ She backed out, grinning, her mouth full of drawing-pins. ‘I forget you’re from the moneyed classes.’

‘What does he want?’ Suzanna stepped forward to the door, saw Neil wave as he drew closer.

‘Cancelled meeting. I don’t need to be in the office till lunchtime,’ he said, kissing her cheek. He had taken off his suit jacket, slung it over his shoulder. He glanced over at the tables of chatting customers, then at the wall space by the counter. ‘Shop looks nice. Where’s the portrait gone?’

‘You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.’ She herself wasn’t sure what to think. Her mother and father had come in two days previously. The portrait, they had decided, needed attention. ‘Thirty years’ mouldering away in the attic, and now all of a sudden it needs ‘urgent’ restoration. They had been odd with her. Her father had kissed her and told her the shop looked grand. Her mother, unusually, had said almost nothing, but stood back, beaming, as if this were something she had somehow engineered. She had confided that her father had agreed to let them have a vacuum-cleaner. ‘I don’t understand why it’s taken you so long,’ Suzanna had said. They hadn’t mentioned it, but she had had to fight the suspicion that they were using the painting as a way of trying to fob her off about the will.

‘So, what are you doing here, anyway?’ she asked Neil now.

‘Do I need an excuse? Thought I might come and have a coffee with my wife before I head off.’

‘How romantic,’ said Jessie straightening some ribbon. ‘It’ll be flowers next.’

‘Suzanna doesn’t like flowers,’ said Neil, sitting down at the counter. ‘It means she has to wash up a vase.’

‘Whereas jewellery . . .’

‘Oh, no. She has to earn jewellery. There’s a whole points system involved.’

‘I won’t ask what she had to do for that diamond ring then.’

‘Hah! If that was on a points system, she would be wearing ring-pulls.’

‘You’re both hilarious,’ said Suzanna, filling the coffee machine. ‘You’d think feminism had never been invented.’

They had met only three times, but Suzanna thought Neil was probably a little in love with Jessie. She didn’t mind: nearly all the men she knew were, in varying degrees. Jessie had that cheerful, uncomplicated thing going on. She was pretty in a girlie way, all peachy skin and sweet smiles. She brought out a testosterone quality in them: her size and fragility made the most unlikely men come over all caveman and protective. Most men, anyway. Plus she got Neil’s sense of humour, an attribute he probably thought went sorely unappreciated at home.

‘I never thought of you as a bra-burner, Suzanna.’

‘I wouldn’t describe my wife as militant . . . not unless you count the time they forgot to open Harvey Nichols at the correct hour.’

‘Some of us,’ said Suzanna, handing him a coffee, ‘are working for a living as opposed to sitting around drinking coffee.’

‘Working?’ Neil raised his eyebrows. ‘Gossiping in your shop? It’s hardly working down a mine.’

Suzanna’s j aw clenched involuntarily. ‘Whereas selling financial products requires a stunt double, obviously. I don’t believe there was any gossiping, darling, until you came in.’ The
darling
could have cut glass.

‘Ooh. Talking of gossip, guess what? Our gaucho isn’t gay. He had a girlfriend in Argentina. Married, apparently.’ Jessie had climbed back into the window, and was rearranging it, her legs folded as neatly into themselves as a cat’s.

‘What? He was?’

‘No, the girlfriend. To some Argentine television star. You’d never guess, would you?’

‘Your gaucho?’

‘He’s a male midwife who comes in here. From Argentina. I know, fab, isn’t it?’

Neil grimaced. ‘Bloke sounds like a weirdo. What kind of man is going to want to spend his working day doing that?’

‘I thought you were the one who was so interested in childbirth.’

‘My own
wife
in childbirth, yes, but I still think I’d rather be up the head end, if you know what I mean.’

‘You’re pathetic’

‘A plain old gynaecologist, now, that’s different. I can understand the attraction of that. Although I can’t see how you’d ever get any work done.’

Jessie giggled. Suzanna squirmed with embarrassment.

‘Bit of a dark horse, isn’t he? Alejandro, I mean. Jason always says it’s the quiet ones who are the worst.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Oh . . . he was in the park when I took Emma over there on Sunday. I sat on the bench and we got chatting.’

‘What was he doing there?’

‘Nothing, as far as I could see. Just enjoying the sun. Actually, I won’t say enjoying. He looked pretty miserable until I came along.’ She looked up at Suzanna. ‘He was doing that Latino brooding thing, you know.’

‘I thought midwives were meant to be female.’ Neil sipped at his coffee. ‘I don’t think I’d want a male midwife if I was having a baby.’

‘If you were having a baby, that would be the least of your worries,’ Suzanna snapped, and began to tack Polaroids of customers above the north African maps.

‘I don’t think I’d like you to have a male midwife, come to think of it.’

‘If I was about to go through the hell of pushing a whole human being out of my body, I don’t think the decision would be yours, actually.’

‘I’m going to look this woman up on the Internet, just to see what she looks like. He told me her name, but he said I wouldn’t have heard of her.’ Jessie rested the stepladder against the wall.

‘Is he still in love with her, then?’ Suzanna asked.

‘Didn’t say. But you know what, Suze, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion he’s the type who likes them married.’

‘I thought you said there was no gossiping in here,’ Neil scoffed.

‘So he doesn’t have to get emotionally involved.’

‘What do you mean?’ Suzanna watched Jessie as she manoeuvred the stepladder towards the stairs.

‘Well, he’s pretty laid back, isn’t he? You can’t imagine him chasing after someone, or lost in the throes of passion. Some men like to sleep with women who are already involved with someone else. It’s safe for them then. The woman isn’t going to make any emotional demands. Am I right, Neil?’

‘Not a bad strategy,’ said Neil. ‘Not one I’ve ever managed myself.’

Suzanna sniffed, trying to disguise the flush to her cheeks. ‘You read too many magazines.’

‘You put them here.’ Jessie threw her bag on to the hook on the cellar door, and held out a starched white apron. ‘Mrs Creek made this. Nice, isn’t it? Do you want me to get her to do another one for you?’

‘No. Yes. Whatever.’

Jessie tied the strings round her waist, then smoothed the apron over her legs. ‘Oh, look, the lady with the children wants serving. I’ll go . . . No, he doesn’t do it for me. Too . . . I don’t know. I just like men with a bit more life in them.’

She stopped, and glanced up at Suzanna, who averted her eyes. Neil was now flicking through a newspaper, so he didn’t see Jessie’s double-take, or that his wife, having smiled awkwardly at Jessie to cover her discomfort, made herself busy with a box of parchment under the counter and stayed down there for several minutes longer than was strictly necessary for the job in hand.

It wasn’t about Jason, despite Jessie’s clumsy way with words. It wasn’t even about Neil. Neither woman had said anything, but both had been aware of it.

Arturro had sacked all the young men in his shop. Just like that, with no warning, no severance pay, nothing. Mrs Creek was the first to discover it, when she walked past on her way to the market. She told them shortly after Neil had left. ‘I heard a load of shouting and goodness knows what, and he was blowing off steam like a bull in a field. I was going to go in for some of that nice cheese, the one with bits of apricot in it, but to be honest I thought I’d better give him a chance to cool down.’

Jessie and Suzanna stood very still, as they had since Mrs Creek had begun her story – she had stretched it out over some considerable time, adding inflections and hand gestures, making the most of her unexpectedly rapt audience. When she finished, they exchanged a look.

‘I’ll go,’ said Jessie.

‘I’ll keep an eye open for Arturro,’ said Suzanna.

He hadn’t come.

Jessie went to Liliane’s, not to pry, of course, just to suss out the atmosphere, as she put it, find out what was going down. Initially, she thought, Mrs Creek must have been exaggerating. Liliane, although reserved as always, was as poised and polite as she normally was. But when Jessie mentioned the delicatessen, she had become distinctly shirty. She was no longer using it, she said. Some people in town thought their way of treating customers pretty shabby. Pretty shabby indeed.

‘Anything in particular?’ Jessie pressed.

‘Let’s just say,’ said Liliane, her mouth set in a grim line, her hair as rigid as her jaw, ‘that there are those who might have been expected to behave like gentlemen but who think nothing of playing practical jokes more suited to the playground.’

‘Oh, bugger,’ said Jessie, when she got back. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

‘Do we confess?’ said Suzanna, feeling faintly sick.

‘If the boys have lost their jobs, I guess we have to. It’s our fault.’

Suzanna thought of them, wondering why she could feel so distant towards young men who had once occupied an unhealthy portion of her imagination.

‘You go.’

‘No, you.’

They were giggling nervously now.

‘It was your idea.’

‘You bought the sugared almonds. It was going fine until the sugared almonds.’

‘I can’t believe I’m thirty-five years old and I’m feeling like I’ve got to go and see the headmistress at school . . . I can’t do this. I really can’t.’ Suzanna leant back against the counter, deep in thought. ‘How about if I pay you?’ She giggled again.

Jessie put her hands on her hips. ‘Ten grand. That’s my best price.’

Suzanna gasped theatrically.

‘I know – one does Arturro, one Liliane.’

‘But you know them better than me.’

‘So I’ve got more to lose.’

‘She scares me. I don’t think she likes me as it is. Not since I started stocking those T-shirts. She thinks I’m stealing her market.’

‘Why? What has she said?’

‘It’s not what she’s said, it’s how she looks at them when she comes in.’

‘Suzanna Peacock, you’re pathetic. You’re nearly ten years older than me and—’

‘Nine, actually. I’m thirty-five. Only thirty-five.’

‘Neil says you’ve been thirty-five for about ten years.’

Fear had made them hysterical. They clutched at each other, eyes wide, laughter giddy.

‘Oh, I’ll go – I’ll go tomorrow, if you let me off early this afternoon. I need to take Emma to get some shoes. And I can’t do it later because I’ve got night school.’

‘That’s blackmail.’

‘You want me to talk to Arturro? You owe me, big-time. Tomorrow, then.’ Jessie began to write out price labels with a fuchsia-coloured pen. ‘And only if he hasn’t cooled down and let them all back in anyway.’

But the next day Jessie didn’t come in. Suzanna was at home drying her hair when the telephone rang. ‘Sorry,’ said Jessie, sounding unusually subdued. ‘You know I wouldn’t normally let you down, but I can’t make it today.’

‘Is it Emma?’ Suzanna’s mind was racing. She had meant to drive to Ipswich to meet a supplier. She would have to change her plans.

There was a pause.

‘No, no. Emma’s fine.’

‘What is it? A cold? There’s a weird summer one going round. Father Lenny said he felt odd yesterday. And that woman with the dogs.’ If she rang the supplier now, she thought, she might be able to cancel without too many problems. Otherwise she would have to leave the shop shut all morning.

‘You know what? I’m probably going to need a couple of days . . .’

Suddenly Suzanna switched her attention to the voice on the line. ‘Jess? Are you okay?’

There was a silence.

‘Do you – do you need me to run you to the doctor?’

‘I just need a couple of days. I promise I won’t let you down again.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. What’s the matter? Are you ill?’

Another silence, then, ‘Don’t make a big deal, Suze, please.’

Suzanna sat, staring at her bedside table, her hairdryer still in her hand. She put it down, and switched the receiver to the other ear. ‘Has he hurt you?’ It came out as a whisper.

‘It looks worse than it is. But it doesn’t look pretty. Not the right kind of look for the stylish shop assistant.’ Jessie mustered a wry laugh.

‘What did he do?’

‘Oh, Suze, please leave it. Things just got a bit out of hand. He’s going to do anger management. He’s promised me this time.’

The little bedroom had grown chilly.

‘You can’t keep doing this, Jess,’ she murmured.

Jessie’s voice was hard. ‘I’m dealing with it, okay? Now, do me a favour, Suzanna, just leave it. And if my mum drops by, don’t say anything. Tell her I’m out with a customer or something. I don’t want her going off on one.’

‘Jess, I—’

The line went dead.

Suzanna sat on the side of her bed, gazing at the wall. Then she scraped her wet hair into a ponytail, ran downstairs for her keys, and headed the short distance into the centre of Dere Hampton.

There were, as far as Suzanna could see, limited advantages to living in such a small town, but an undeniable one was that there were only so many places for people to be. She found Father Lenny in the tearooms, about to bite into a bacon sandwich. When he saw her he cowered jokingly, as if he’d been caught doing something treacherous. ‘I’ll be in for my normal coffee later,’ he said, as she sat down opposite. ‘I promise. I just have to test out the opposition every now and then.’

Suzanna forced herself to smile, tried to look more relaxed than she felt. ‘Father Lenny, do you happen to know where Jessie lives?’