Do you remember, Susan
Hed become accustomed to peering through their window, since they lived on the ground floor. At first, everyone wanted to live higher up, but they got used to it. Grandma was especially delightednot having to climb up too far. On Saturdays, Sylvia May, Susans gran, would bake pies, crumpets, or something elsealways fragrant, always delicious.
The smell of baking wafted out the open kitchen window, teasing the boys playing football in the courtyard. Peter would stroll up to the windownot the kitchen one, but round the other side of the house. Hed drag out an old crate from the weeds, stand on it, and peer in at Susan. She always seemed to know he was coming, rushing as soon as she heard him climb up.
Ill bring you some pies; Gran baked a batch, shed call, her rosy ribbontied round her ponytailunravelling and fluttering with her steps.
Tastes great, Peter would say, chewing with gusto and gazing into the room. Made them the English way?
Yeah, she did.
Can I copy your homework?
Susan would eagerly hand him her exercise book. Dont forget to bring it back tomorrow morning before classes; Ill need it for lessons.
Peter was a decent student, butlike many boyshad a lazy streak, even if he was clever. Maths came easily, but playing around in the yard often stole time away from his studies. Back in the nineties, before mobile phones swept through, the children could run wild until dark, never wanting to head home.
In Year Eight, Peter carried Susans satchel for the first time, swinging it and excitedly talking about a new film. By Year Nine, the delicate, brown-eyed Sophie became, by quiet consensus among the boys, the prettiest girl in school. Peter was utterly smitten. He couldnt take his eyes off her, hanging about and following her all the way home. Susan thought it would pass. And now she would be the one waiting for him, or standing by the window until he tapped and said, Susan, let me copy your homework.
Sophie was good at keeping a distance, but managed to bind people to her firmly. Peter oscillated between Sophiesometimes she favoured him, sometimes didntand Susan, who always awaited him.
He still peered in through her window, shed set a mug of steaming tea on the sill, grabbing biscuits if Gran hadnt baked pies.
Heard our lads lost, hed mention, meaning football. Susan, of course, knew, always keeping up with everything that mattered to Peter. She watched football, read sports news, even watched horror films she dreaded. Anything to keep up with Peters interestsshe could always join his conversations about films.
She supported him, always as a friend. Peter came to her as one would to a matesomeone to lend a hand, listen, and understand. Sophie, though He adored Sophie. He thought of her, dreamed of her, suffered for her, even moaned to Susan that Victor walked Sophie home.
After school, the three went to different universities. Peter no longer came to Susan for homework helphe followed Sophie everywhere instead. Still, hed pop in for old times sake, and sometimes theyd go to the cinema together. Peter would chatter the whole way, needing to get things off his chest.
Susan, my birthdays on Saturday. Id like to invite you. Will you come? she asked, eyes grey and full of longing.
He thought for a moment. On Saturday? Yes, should be fine. Alright, Ill come. Who elsell be there?
Parents, Gran, Vera and William, Aliceyou know them, all our lot.
Right, thats settled. Ill pop by.
But Saturday came and Peter didnt show. He turned up a week later, downhearted.
Peter, whats wrong? You seem terribly blue.
He complained that Sophie had gone away for work placement and hadnt even let him know. Susan consoled him, though it pained her. I waited for you on Saturday, she said.
Saturday? What happened then?
It was my birthday
Oh, right! He slapped his forehead. Susan, I forgotbut you wont be angry, will you?
No, of course not, it happens.
Peter wandered over to the window. Remember how you used to feed me pies in the summer? There was that crate under the windowId stand on it and youd have tea and jam ready on the sill.
Susan smiled; the memory warmed her soul. It was nice, knowing Peter remembered too. They were soon laughing again, reminiscing about their old gang, classmates, the time they skipped lessons, only to be caught by their teacher in the park and marched back to history class.
In her final year, Peter was over the moon: Sophie agreed to marry him. He rushed to tell Susan. She bit her lip, struggling not to cry, and listened, always remaining the loyal friend he could trust.
She cried into her pillow for a month, reproaching herself for never confessing her love in all those years.
Then Peter visited her after the engagement. Gran and Susans parents were out, the flat unusually quiet. Susan, wrapped in an old blanket, was watching television and at first didnt recognise his voice at the door.
She opened it, found him despondent, his gaze dull, shoulder leaning against the wall. Whats wrong? she asked, afraid.
He stepped in. They sat in her room. It seemed he might cry. Peter, please, tell me.
Shethere wont be a wedding. She said she loves someone else. Susan had never seen him so broken. She moved closer, hands resting on his shoulders: Peter, calm down darlingmaybe itll work out.
Its over, she said so and took back the marriage application. Its final. Tears glistened in his eyes. He dropped his head onto her knees, slipped off the sofa, burying his face in her dress hem. Its impossible, Susanimpossible
Peter, dear heart, please, just calm yourself, let me make you mint teaRemember the times wed have tea on the sill?
I remember, Susan, I remember, youre the only one who understands me, youre good. He began to kiss her kneeshesitantly at first, then faster and almost feverishly, as though hoping to pour all his anguish out through kisses. He stood, wrapped his arms round her waist, covered her face and neck in kisses, murmured something.
Peter, stop it, please
Susan Susan
Peter, I love you! Always have, since Year Sixyoure my darling
He left after midnight, eyes guilty, avoiding her gaze. Right, goodbye, Ill come round
Ill be waiting, she said, watching him until the front door banged shut.
Peter never came again, as though that night never happened. Susan herself doubted it was real. Soon, Peter finished his degree and moved away to the North East.
We need to do something! her father would whisper, indignantly. We could go to his parents, for goodness sake.
Dont you understand she doesnt want that? Shes anxious, it could harm the baby, her mother replied. Peter knows shes expecting, she told him, and he acts like a strangermaybe he left purposely
We cant just let things be its outrageous, her father would argue.
Gran kept her mind on knitting, wiping a tear now and then. She was proud of her granddaughter: clever, kind-hearted
After Susans baby girl was born, she tracked down Peters office number (from an old university friend) and rang him, saying only, Peter, we have a daughter. Named her Penelope.
He mumbled something inarticulate, only the word Congratulations audible.
When Penelope was eighteen months, Susans parents announced theyd finally paid off the mortgage on a new flat and were movingGran too. The new place was the same size, in a neighbouring district. Well come visit, take turns helping you, promised Mum.
Susan started to cry.
Now, now, whats the tears for? Ill come every day, look after Penelope, take her to oursyoure doing some work from home now
I just got used to having everyone together, she admitted.
Love, life moves on. You need to settle yourself, itll be easier on your own, Mum soothed.
Lately everyoneparents, Gran, friendskept reminding Susan to build her life, she was youngeven with a child, she could find happiness.
A week later, Susan had the two-bedroom flat to herself. Little Penelope giggled, toddling about, falling onto her bottom and reaching for her mum. Susan picked her up, hugged, laughing along.
He appeared unexpectedly, as he had before. Like the night his wedding to Sophie was cancelled.
Susan thought it was her fatherhed promised to pop inbut there stood Peter, holding a huge toy fire enginered, an unmistakable gift.
Hello! Are you alone? Hope Im not interrupting. May I come in?
He looked older, thinner, features sharper.
Come in.
He set the fire engine down.
A babys cry sounded; Susan returned, picked up Penelope. Thats my daughter, she said, pointing at the toy.
He slapped his forehead. Sorry
Take the engine, give it to someone else, Susan said.
He shrugged off his coat and wandered into the kitchen. Everythings much the same, nothing really changed. Will you at least give me a cup of tea?
She boiled the kettle, Penelope in her arms. Peter fidgeted, unable to find words.
He watched her: fair-haired, hair loose, in a long dress nearly brushing her ankles, holding her child. You look just like a Madonna, he murmured, staring.
Susan said nothing.
Gran used to bake wonderful pies for you. Remember how wed drink tea on the windowsill? There, in your room. And how Gran watered her flowers, sloshing leftover water onto the street, and I was right belowshe didnt see me Peter tried to smile. Do you remember, Susan
I dont, Susan cut in. Her reply was free of bitterness, merely indifferent. Peter paused, silent. It wasnt retribution for his confusion earlier, when he assumed Susan had a son not a daughter. It was honestshe truly was forgetting the details of their meetings. Life was devoted now to her daughter: rejoicing, admiring, listening for first words, watching as she fell asleep, woke, played
Drink your tea, I need to make porridge for Penelope.
For the first time, Peter sensed that this house no longer waited for him. He stood, pulled on his coat. Right, another time then. Ill goyoure busy. He lingered, hoping Susan would stop him, but she didnt.
Shutting the door after Peter, she softly said, There wont be another time. No more tea served here. Or coffee.
She returned to her daughter, scooped her up, kissed her, and went to cook the porridge.
