We Could Get By

vii.

"You don't suppose the neighbors can see through that window in my shop, can they? The one that faces the street?"

"We're supposed to be relaxing, Mister T," she said, staring down into the deep lines that his frown carved across his face. Even with his eyes closed, he still wore near-permanent displeasure like a necktie. What does he even think about? "'S why I insisted on puttin' up them drapes."

The beach was nearly empty, soft dunes of off-white sand stretching out all around them. A child trailed behind their parents further down the shore, stooping to pick up shells with their chubby sausage fingers. Her heart ached briefly for the child she'd once hoped to have, rosy and sweet with Sweeney's dark, curious eyes. Nellie could hear the smaller rocks in the chilly water being shifted about and knocked against each other with the tide. The longing vanished with the breeze, as quickly as it had surfaced.

Some days, it came over her in suffocating waves; other days, it was not a thought in her head. The house had become heavy and oppressive, the walls sagging in towards her with every passing second. The guest room that she had always pictured as a nursery reeked of the death of a long-held hope, wide windows streaming sunlight onto a funeral.

The fresh air had most certainly lifted her spirits, just as Sweeney knew it would when he had insisted on taking her out for the day.

Though enthusiasm was a concept that seemed far from Sweeney's grasp most of the time, unless his work was involved (that, he did with nothing less than vigor and high spirits), sometimes the barber surprised her.

The sun warmed them right down to their bones, despite the cool salt-sprinkled breeze that swept in off the sea. The world felt like their secret; anything and everything could happen.

She slipped her hands carefully into his hair, bracing herself for the sudden jerk away from her touch that she was certain would follow. Instead, he shifted his head to rest against her knee and folded his hands across his stomach, a sun-bathing corpse. "Y'know, your birthday's comin' up, love."

"I don't want anything. You know that." Sweeney didn't like parties of any kind, nor was he particularly fond of birthdays, but Nellie was determined to celebrate somehow. They needed a little patch of joy just then, she thought. It was only after a lot of persistent prodding on her part that she even gotten him to - at last - tell her the date. Even then, he could have very well been lying.

"Not even if I bake ya a cake?"

"For the last time, Nellie, I don't want a birthday party." He seemed like someone who ought to have been born on Halloween, Nellie mused. Sweeney Todd certainly did not look like the kind of man who had been born in the sweet balm of late spring.

"How bout I invite some of the neighbors 'round and play the piano? Just a few hours, darling. Doesn't sound so bad, does it?" She massaged his temples and watched the creases evaporate, like magic. He was nearly Benjamin again, sturdy and vigorous and full of unabashed life. He opened his eyes to regard her for a moment, seemingly weighing the pros and cons, before letting his eyelids droop shut again. Nellie's lips pulled down in a slight frown; she had thought the prospect of piano would convince him for sure. "I just want ya to have a nice time- things are different now. You get on well with the neighbors, and I do love company, Mister T."

"They're your friends, really. I'll have a fine time as it is. We never had a big to-do before, so why start now?"

"Please, love, just this once! It's different here. We're different here."

"Are we, Nellie?"

"Listen, dear, think of the customers! If they come 'round and meet ya and try the food, they're more likely to come on back, don'tcha think? They'll be back for me pies, and- who knows, maybe you'll have more people poppin' in for a shave or a haircut, hm? After all, wouldn't ya rather go get a shave from someone ya already know, 'stead of just some whoever with a shop?"