by Jojo Moyes
'Did you say you'd bought me a black tie?' Neil ducked with well-practised 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 rather than saw 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 she carried in her head, 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 humming to himself, muttering about the ironing-board, and then a brief silence.
'What's this?'
She hoped Jessie had known nothing. 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 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.'
The card was pink - suddenly an inappropriate colour.
'To . . .'
'To have a coil fitted. I'm really sorry.'
'A coil?'
She nodded awkwardly.
'A coil?'
'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 swerved 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 realised. He turned to face her with manic intent. 'How. Long. Do. You. Think. This. Will. Take?' His tone was sarcastic.
'How should I know? As long as it takes.'
'As long as it takes. God, I should have known.' He paced the room, a television detective explaining the genesis of some long-standing crime.
'What?'
'The one thing I wanted. The one thing I thought we had agreed on. And, oh, look, suddenly, after getting everything she wants, Suzanna has changed her mind.'
'I haven't changed my mind.'
'No? No? So what is this then, getting a bloody coil fitted? Because it sure isn't up there with oysters and champagne on the getting-pregnant front.'
'I haven't changed my mind.'
'Then what the hell is this about?'
'Don't shout at me. Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, Neil. I just can't do it right now. I can't do it now.'
'Of course you can't--'
'Don't do this, all right?'
'Do what? What the hell am I doing?'
'Bullying me. I'm just about to bury my best friend, okay? I don't know whether I'm coming or going--'
'Your best friend? You hadn't known her six months.'
'There's a time limit on friendship now?'
'You weren't even sure about her when she started. You thought she was taking advantage of you.'
Suzanna stood up and pushed past him to the door. 'I can't believe we're having this conversation.'
'No, Suzanna, I can't believe that just when I thought we were finally back on track, you've found a way to sabotage everything again. You know what? I think there's something else going on here. Something you're not being straight with me about.'
'Oh, don't be ridiculous.'
'Ridiculous? So what am I meant to say, Suzanna? "Oh, you don't want a baby after all. Don't worry, darling. I'll just put my own feelings on hold for a while . . . like I always do." '
'Don't do this, Neil. Not right now.' She reached past him for her coat, pulled it briskly round her, knowing that she would be too hot later.
He was standing in front of her, refused to move out of the way when she stepped forward. 'So, when is the right time, Suzanna? When does this stop being about you, huh? When do my feelings finally get a look in?'
'Please, Neil--'
'I'm not a saint, Suzanna. I've tried to be patient with you, tried to be understanding, but I'm lost. Really. I just can't see how we move on from here . . .'
She stared at the confusion in his face. She moved forward, placed her hand on his cheek, an unconscious echo of her mother's gesture. 'Look, we'll talk about it after the funeral, okay? I promise--'
He shook off her hand and went to open the door as the taxi arrived, hooting to signify its arrival. 'Whatever,' he said. He didn't look back.
It was, it was widely agreed, a dreadful funeral. Not that Father Lenny hadn't made an effort with his eulogy - which was beautiful and apt and knowing and had enough humour to raise the odd brave smile among the mourners - or that the church didn't look beautiful, what with the ladies of the supermarket having made such an effort to decorate it with flowers, so that the casual observer might have thought it was about to host a wedding. It was not that the sun didn't shine out of an infinite blue sky, as if to offer hope that the place to which Jessie had gone was indubitably wonderful, clear, bright and filled with birdsong - all the things one might hope of a heaven.
It was just that, however you dressed it up, there was something so terrible, so wrong about burying her. About the fact, they all said afterwards, that someone like her should be gone when there were so many much less deserving of life. About the small pale figure who stood motionless in the front pew clutching her grandmother's hand, and the empty place beside her on the pew, which meant that she was effectively orphaned even if only one parent had died.
Suzanna had been asked by Cath to come to the graveside. She had told her that she would be honoured, and taken her place alongside Jessie's distant relatives and oldest schoolfriends, trying not to feel like an imposter, trying not to think of where Jessie had met her death.
He had not even attempted to come, apparently. Father Lenny had told her the previous day. He had been to see the lad in hospital. Even though it went against his every instinct, he said, his job was also to comfort the sinner. (And it wasn't as if anyone else was going to visit him. It had been all he could do to stop Jessie's neighbours on the estate forming a lynch mob.)
In fact, Father Lenny had been shaken by the lad's appearance. His face stitched and swollen from his unsupported journey through the windscreen, his skin bruised and purple, his injuries had uncomfortably echoed Jessie's in previous weeks. He had refused to say anything other than that he loved her and that the van wouldn't stop. The doctor said he wasn't sure his mental state meant he could take in what he had done.
'Would have been better for everyone if he'd died too,' Father Lenny had said, his voice uncharacteristically bitter.
The familiar liturgy of dust to dust, ashes to ashes had ended. Suzanna saw Emma with her grandmother's hands on her shoulders,
supporting and holding her close. She wondered who gained the most comfort from their seemingly unending physical contact. She thought of the first day she had reopened the shop, when the child and her grandmother had come and stood in the lane. They hadn't done anything, had refused her invitation to come inside. They had just stood opposite, holding hands, their faces grey and wide-eyed as they absorbed its shattered exterior.
Emma will grow up without a mother, she thought. Like I did. And then, glancing at Vivi, who was standing by the car, felt the customary stab of guilt that she could think like that.
It was as they stepped away from the grave that she saw him. Standing a little way back, behind Father Lenny, moving away from Cath with whom he had evidently been exchanging a few quiet words. Cath was holding his tanned hands, nodding as she listened, her face dignified and curiously understanding in grief. He glanced up as Suzanna stared, and for a moment their eyes locked, exchanging in those brief seconds all the grief, guilt, shock . . . and secret joy of the previous week. She stepped forward, as if to go to him. Stopped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. 'Your mum and dad have invited us back, Suze.' It was Neil. She looked up at her husband, blinking, as if she was trying to register who he was. 'I think it would be a good idea if we went.'
She made herself keep looking at him, struggled to gather her thoughts. 'To Mum's?' And then, as she took in his words, 'Oh, no, Neil. Not there. I don't think I can face it today.'
Neil had already turned away. 'I'm going. You can do what you want, Suzanna.'
'You're going?'
He kept walking, stiff in his dark suit, leaving her standing on the grass. 'It's a day for family,' he said, over his shoulder, just loud enough for her to hear. 'Your parents have been kind enough to support you today. And, to be honest, I can't see the point in you and me being alone right now. Can you?'
Alejandro had walked the length of the graveyard with Cath and Emma. She had turned back in time to see him reach the gates. When he got there he had squatted down to say something to Emma, and pressed something into her hand. As she left, he might have nodded at Suzanna. At that distance it was hard to be sure.
'Nearly six hundred people came when your father died. The church was so full they had to seat people out on the grass.' Rosemary accepted a second cup of tea. She was addressing her son as he leant back in his chair. 'I always thought we should have used a cathedral. I think, if there had been more space, we would have had even more.'
Vivi squeezed Suzanna's arm as she sat beside her daughter on the sofa. She really looked terribly pale. 'Lovely cake, Mrs Cameron,' she said. 'Very moist. Do you use lemon rind in it?'
'The archbishop had offered to give the sermon. Do you remember, Douglas? Dreadful man with a lisp.'
Douglas nodded.
'And four eggs,' said Mrs Cameron. 'Good free-range ones. That's what gives it the yellow colour.'
'I thought your father would rather have the vicar. He had been a good friend to the family, you see. And Cyril was never one for pomp and circumstance, despite his position.' She nodded, as if confirming this to herself, then eyed Mrs Cameron as the younger woman took away the teapot to refill it.
'I didn't like that ham in the sandwiches. It's not proper cut ham.'
'It was, Rosemary,' said Vivi, in emollient tones. 'I got a whole one specially from the butcher.'
'What?'
'It was proper ham,' she said, her voice raised.
'Tasted like that re-formed stuff. Scraped off the factory floor and glued together with goodness-knows-what.'
'I cut it off the bone myself, Mrs Fairley-Hulme.' Mrs Cameron turned back from the doorway, with a wink at Vivi. 'Next time I'll carve it in front of you, if you like.'
'I wouldn't trust you near me with a carving knife,' said Rosemary, sniffing. 'I've heard about you so-called care assistants. You'll have me changing my will in my sleep next--'
'Rosemary!' Vivi nearly spat out her tea.
'--and then making sure I have a so-called "accident" like Suzanna's friend.'
There was a stunned silence in the room as its occupants tried to work out which of Rosemary's statements had been the most offensive. Reassured by Mrs Cameron's easy guffaw as she disappeared into the kitchen, all eyes had fallen on Suzanna, but she appeared not to be listening. She was staring at the floor, locked into the same misery as her silent husband.
'Mother, I hardly think that's appropriate . . .' Douglas leant forward.
'I'm eighty-six years old, and I shall say what I like,' said Rosemary, settling back into her chair. 'As far as I can see, it's about the only advantage of having this many years.'
'Rosemary,' said Vivi, gently, 'please . . . Suzanna's friend has just died.'
'And I'll be the next to go, so I think that gives me more of a right than most to talk about death.' Rosemary placed her hands in her lap, then gazed around at the mute faces in front of her. 'Death,' she said, finally. 'Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. There, you see?'
'Oh, for God's sake,' said Douglas, rising from his chair.
'What?' She looked up at her son, her expression challenging beneath the immovable pathways of veins and wrinkles. 'Death. Death. Death.' She ended each word abruptly, her jaw snapping shut like an angry turtle's.
'Not today, Mother. Please.' He moved towards her. 'Do you want Mrs Cameron to take you into the garden? So you can see the flowers?'
'What did you say? I don't want that woman near me,' she said.
'I think a breath of fresh air would be just the thing,' said Douglas. 'Mrs Cameron!'
'I do not want to go into the garden,' said Rosemary. 'Douglas, do not put me in the garden.'
Vivi turned to her daughter, still limply acquiescent to having her arm held. 'Darling, are you okay? You've been dreadfully quiet since we got back.'
'I'm fine, Mum,' she said, dully.
Vivi glanced at Neil. 'Some more tea, Neil?' she said hopefully. 'Another sandwich, perhaps? It really is ham off the bone. I wouldn't buy that square stuff.'
He at least attempted a smile. 'I'm fine, thanks, Vivi.'
Outside, they could hear Rosemary protesting furiously at being wheeled round the courtyard garden, punctuated by Mrs Cameron's cheerfully oblivious exclamations.
'I'm sorry,' said Douglas, coming back into the drawing room, wiping his head. 'She can be a bit - difficult at the moment. Not been quite the same since her fall.'
'I guess she just tells the truth,' said Neil.
Vivi could have sworn he looked meaningfully at Suzanna, but he turned away so fast she couldn't be sure. She looked up at Douglas, trying to signify silently that she was unsure what to do next. He walked over to the sofa, took her hand in his. 'Actually,' he said, clearing his throat, 'we called you here for a reason, Suzanna.'
'What?'
'I know it's been a pretty bad day for you. Your mother and I - we wanted to show you something.'
Vivi felt the swell of something hopeful. She took her daughter's hand and squeezed it, then made to remove her empty cup and saucer from her lap.
Suzanna glanced at Neil, then at her parents. She allowed herself to be led from the sofa, like someone sleepwalking. Vivi, conscious that Neil's part in this was important, placed her arm round her son-in-law's waist, wishing she occasionally saw Suzanna do the same.
'Upstairs,' said Douglas, gesturing to them.
They walked silently up to the gallery. Through the window, Vivi could just make out Rosemary, shaking her head as Mrs Cameron bent towards a flower-bed.
'We're thinking of putting some new lights up here, aren't we, darling?' Douglas's voice came from ahead of her. 'Brighten this floor up a bit. Always been a bit gloomy,' he said to Neil.
They stopped at the top of the stairs, and stood clustered together, Suzanna looking unreceptive, Neil gazing at Vivi's face for clues.
'What?' said Suzanna, eventually, in a thin voice.
Douglas looked at his daughter and smiled.
'What?' she said again.<
br />
He gestured towards the far wall. And it was then that Suzanna saw it.
Vivi's eyes never left her as she stood motionless and stared at the oil painting of her mother, undamaged by its brush with Rosemary, now overlit by a narrow brass light. Suzanna's fine profile, so like Athene's, was as still and white as that of a Grecian statue. Her hair, swept back from her face, made Vivi wince. Even after all these years. She reminded herself of her blessings, especially the most recent ones. This is for Suzanna, she told herself. For Suzanna's happiness.
She felt Douglas beside her, his arm sliding round her shoulders, and reached her fingers up to his, gleaning comfort from the gesture. It was the right thing. Whatever Rosemary said, it was the right thing.
But when Suzanna turned to them, her colour was high, her eyes furious. 'And this - this is meant to make it all okay?'
Vivi took in the granite set of Suzanna's mouth, the echo of the worst, most damaged part of Athene. And realised, too late, that the hurt went way deeper than could be addressed by the hanging of a picture.
'We just thought . . .' Douglas began, his habitual confidence deserting him. 'We thought it might make you feel better.'
Neil's eyes were flicking between the three of them, his earlier expression replaced by something less certain.
'Feel better?' Suzanna asked.
'To see it here, I mean,' Douglas continued.
Vivi reached out a hand to her. 'We thought it would be a good reminder--'
Suzanna's voice pierced through the silent gallery. 'Of another person whose death I inadvertently caused?'
Douglas flinched, and Vivi tightened her hold on him. 'You didn't--'
'Or how about, I got over what happened to her so I'll get over what happened to Jess too? Is that it?'
Vivi's hand was pressed to her mouth. 'No, no, darling.'
'Or, even, let's do something really meaningless to make up for the fact that we don't believe Suzanna is as worthwhile as her younger brother.'
Douglas had stepped forward. 'Suzanna, you've--'
'I can't stay here,' Suzanna said and, her eyes bright with tears, pushed past them towards the stairs. After a split second's hesitation, Neil went after her.
'Get off me!' she shouted, as he caught her up half-way down the stairs. 'Just get off me!' The ferocity in her words made him recoil.
It was not often that Vivi felt truly sympathetic towards her mother-in-law but, conscious of the bewildered hurt on Douglas's face as he stood beside her, listening now to the muffled sound of her daughter and son-in-law screaming at each other out on the drive, staring at the far wall at that smirking mouth, those ice blue eyes, as knowingly amused as if they knew the trouble they caused still, Vivi thought she might finally have understood how Rosemary felt.
