Poppy's Return

by Pat Rosier

  ‘Uh huh,’ Poppy said, ‘and it won’t help George to go looking for causes for his cancer will it?’ Jane nodded agreement.

  Just before the turn that would take them to George’s, Jane pulled over. ‘How about we see if Rachel is home, I’d love you to meet her and it’s only ten minutes out of the way.’

  ‘Yes, sure.’ Poppy would be pleased to meet Rachel, who seemed to be Jane’s only friend.

  ‘Don’t move then,’ and Jane grabbed her bag, jumped out of the car and ran to a phone box on the footpath. Of course, people didn’t drop in without ringing in these parts.

  ‘She’s got the jug on.’ The traffic was even heavier now and it was a few minutes before Jane could pull out and then it took another twenty minutes to drive over the bridge, past more miles of industrial structures. Poppy wasn’t sure that she had ever visited Billingham before.

  ‘It’s not somewhere you’d go for a Sunday drive,’ Jane pointed out, ‘chemical industries don’t usually make it to the tourist brochures.’ Waiting for a gap in the traffic so she could make a right turn into a side street, she added, ‘There’s the famous folk music festival in August if you’re still around…’

  Poppy met her apologetic glance with a smile. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, ‘you don’t have to be careful what you say.’

  Rachel was tall and thin with short grey hair She wore jeans and a hand-knitted jumper, and greeted Jane with a warm hug then held out a hand to Poppy for a firm handshake. The downstairs rooms of her terraced house had been opened into one space, suitable for someone like her, she explained to Poppy, who lived on her own and no doubt always would. The space was lined with shelves, some glass-covered, crowded with what Poppy soon learned were art deco ceramics, Rachel’s passion. Her work as a radiologist at South Cleveland Hospital paid enough, she said, to ‘support my collecting habit.’ Poppy could not give her any idea of the chance of picking up a Clarice Cliff original in New Zealand at a reasonable price; she thought Katrina might know and offered to ask. Jane was making coffee for herself and tea for the other two in the kitchen-space where she was quite at home. ‘I’ve already spotted one new piece since I was here last,’ she called out, ‘that small orange and yellow bowl.’

  After half-an-hour of chat, during which Rachel was clearly sizing up Poppy, who didn’t mind, Poppy said she’d like to get back, George would be expecting her about now. Their weekend together was over.

  As they pulled up outside George’s house, Poppy caught a glimpse of him at the front room window. She asked Jane to come in and was glad there were two of them to meet the questions which started as soon as they reached the door. They regaled him with tales of steps and walks and meals and beaches, Poppy producing the kippers with a flourish and a ‘Tah dah!’ When Susanna came in she promised to cook a ‘real kipper breakfast’ in the morning to start the week.

  Jane turned down George’s offer to stay for supper and insisted that no-one come further than the door, so she and Poppy farewelled with a quick hand-clasp observed by George and Poppy wished she had walked out to the car with her.

  Unpacking later, Poppy came across her notebook, and thought for a moment what she would write in it about the weekend, then scribbled: To Whitby with Jane. Consummated. And underlined don’t take myself too seriously further up the page.

  She thought of Jane, of the two of them making love, so tenderly then so feverishly, the sheer pleasure of it. And she thought of the halts in conversation, Jane’s unwillingness to mull things over, tease them out, talk around and through to another understanding. What Poppy did with her friends. And had done with Kate. Surely. She couldn’t remember in detail what she and Kate talking had been like, it had been, well, right, she was certain, easy exchanges on anything and everything. Of course.

  There was no need to worry about Jane visiting here, everyone was at ease with that and soon, Poppy thought, soon, I will go to her place, and she became aware that at no time over the weekend had either of them attempted to suggest any forward plans. She put a tick by go with the flow.

  Stefan had rung during the weekend, and Katrina, George reported, both sending love to Poppy; she was grateful to know that the rest of her family was being dependable. So far, there didn’t seem much scope for finding local lesbian company, perhaps she would have to resign herself to a lack of it, apart of course, from Jane.

  There was a tap on her door, George was on his way to bed.

  ‘I missed you,’ he said as they hugged goodnight, ‘and I’m glad you had a good time.’ Whether his smile was annoyingly knowing or not didn’t matter Poppy told herself as she went downstairs to check her email.

  Three new messages, two she deleted without opening and one from Martia with news of mutual friends – Alexa and Bessie were separating and both trying hard not to expect their friends to take sides – and reassurances about herself and Mrs Mudgely. Also,

  went to a movie with joy, probably not the one you stood her up for

  she’s struggling a bit with new big city new big job at public library

  ended a twenty year relationship with a woman and a longer one with the booze a couple of years ago

  and don’t bother thinking what i think you’re thinking

  she might be a new friend, but that’s all.

  Not that it would be a bad thing if that wasn’t all, Poppy thought, and set about writing her friend a long message.

  Next morning the kippers, cooked under the grill and served with soft white bread by Susanna, were a great hit, even though George managed to eat only half of one. After breakfast they did a ‘fridge-plan’ for the coming week, which included, at George’s suggestion, moving him to a downstairs bedroom. ‘It’s not so much the stairs,’ he explained, ‘but that it’s not so comfortable sitting and I don’t want to be lying down upstairs out of the way of everything all day.’ Susanna was concerned that moving furniture would expose areas that hadn’t been cleaned for a long time; Poppy thought she could deal with this with Mrs Madge’s help on Tuesday and Friday. There was Susanna’s cards on Wednesday afternoon, the doctor on Wednesday morning, afternoon tea for George at the Museum on Thursday, Poppy was meeting Sylvia for lunch on Tuesday and George wanted to help with the shopping today. Poppy put herself down for a long walk on Tuesday afternoon and booked Jock and two of his lads for furniture moving on Friday. No-one actually knew when the district nurse was coming again. The week looked full. Having Jane over for tea – she remembered to call it supper – one day was discussed but no day decided and Poppy was privately thinking that maybe she would spend a night with Jane, even at her house. Maybe.

  Once the room-changing was done, she hoped, some sort of routine would evolve, a pattern in the days, something she could settle into.

  Poppy wasn’t sure she would recognise Sylvia, though they had met, at least at Christmas in 1991. As far as Poppy could remember they had hardly spoken to each other, she herself absorbed in her grief at Kate’s death and Sylvia in her husband and his children. As Poppy was leaving she asked Susanna for some clues to pick Sylvia out by.

  ‘Dowdy.’ Susanna had been abrupt all morning. ‘Skirt, blouse, white probably, sensible shoes, that kind of thing.’ And she busied herself at the sink, shaking her head, whether at the thought of her daughter or because Poppy was going to meet her Poppy couldn’t tell.

  In the event Sylvia, who was already seated at a table, spotted her first, putting a sheaf of papers in a bag at her feet then standing, proffering a hand which Poppy shook. When they had sat down she couldn’t think what to say. Sylvia was smarter than her mother’s description had suggested, though skirt and white blouse were accurate; Poppy couldn’t see her shoes but had noticed the jacket matching the skirt on the back of the chair.

  ‘I thought…’ she began and a waitress appeared beside them so they ordered. Sylvia asked for ‘the lamb’ and ‘just water’ without looking at a menu and Poppy went for chicken salad, the first item she saw, and water also.

  ‘
I thought…’ she began again, ‘um, that it would be good to meet and… well, actually I don’t really know why, I just thought it would be a good idea. I’m going to be here for a while.’

  ‘It probably is a good idea.’ The smile helped. ‘I’m sorry about George. And you might have worked it out, my mother and I don’t exactly get on.’ Barely a trace of Yorkshire accent, that was a surprise.

  ‘Yes, kind of. She’s not very well, you know, and…’

  ‘You don’t want to be saddled with looking after her as well as your father.’ The smile was gone.

  ‘No, well yes, look, I hadn’t even thought about that I just thought that… well, probably I should have minded my own business, but I just thought that here we both are, in the same town with an ailing parent and maybe, I don’t know…’

  ‘You’re lonely!’ The smile was back.

  ‘Well, it’s true my family and friends aren’t here, except for Ja… well, never mind, oh dear, I’m sorry, I’ve probably just wasted your time.’ Poppy was disconcerted that Sylvia was so unlike the person she had expected. The woman in front of her had the manner and look of a lawyer more than the secretary she had expected. ‘Stereotypes!,’ she chided herself.

  ‘My mother,’ Sylvia waved at the waitress to put the water on the table, ‘probably told you I was a clerk. Actually,’ the smile was almost a wicked grin, ‘I’m deputy to the Council Chief Executive. She can’t believe that I’ve ‘got on’ you see.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Poppy plunged on, ‘Would you mind, you know, telling me some more.’

  The other woman shrugged and poured water into two glasses. ‘If you like. She never liked me – and don’t be sympathetic, I got over it – and sent me off to boarding school even though they really couldn’t afford it and, of course, after a couple of years I didn’t fit in around here at all. And to cut a long story short, I came back here because of a man – who is long gone – and I’ve stayed because I like my job. A lot.’ She took a long drink of water. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

  ‘I had a happy childhood,’ Poppy stopped herself apologising, and gave a very short summary of her life to date, naming Kate as ‘my partner, who died,’ and leaving out Jane altogether. Their food arrived while she was talking and Sylvia began eating right away, looking up at Poppy and nodding from time to time.

  After what Poppy had feared was a disastrous beginning, things were going rather well, so she asked about what really bothered her, ‘Why don’t you come around to the house?’ and waited slightly nervously.

  ‘It doesn’t work, the two of us together.’ Sylvia was drawing circles on the table top with her finger. ‘She says something nasty and I snarl and it’s just unpleasant. I wish it wasn’t, but there it is. I suspect neither of us does sarcasm with anyone else like we do with each other.’ She looked up and met Poppy’s gaze. ‘So there you are.’

  ‘Oh. Thank you. For telling me that is. I just couldn’t understand.’

  ‘I’m glad about her and George making a go of it. My father was… well, never mind, George has been a distinct improvement, I think she’s even been happy. Do you want coffee?’ She was waving the waitress over.

  Over their coffees Sylvia asked Poppy about New Zealand and its clear air. She wanted to go there, she said, to see the stars of the southern hemisphere. Eight years ago, when her last relationship broke up, she had gotten into astrology in, she said, ‘a probably desperate attempt to find out if she would ever find another man,’ and it had gradually changed into a passion for ‘the real thing,’ astronomy. There had never been another man, and she was not bothered about that any more, she was having a love affair with the stars. She followed this with a slightly embarrassed laugh then went on to talk about the difficulties of seeing stars in the north England sky, because of a combination of the weather, air pollution and the amount of city lighting, so she went to Scotland quite often, and Ireland occasionally.

  Her enthusiasm reminded Poppy of George and his lepidoptera and she felt a twinge of sadness at how easily he was letting that go.

  ‘And next year,’ Sylvia was saying, ‘I’m going to Zambia, to see the solar eclipse.’

  ‘Wow!’ Poppy was liking this woman. She wished briefly that she had paid more attention nine years ago to her and her mother together. As they were leaving she asked her to think about visiting. ‘George would like it. And so would I.’ The answering laugh was more rueful than bitter.

  ‘I just might do that,’ and with a brief touch on Poppy’s shoulder, Sylvia strode off. Poppy headed back to the car; she would have a walk on the moors before returning to what, for the moment, was home.

  Chapter Nine

  On this weekday afternoon the moors were blessedly empty of other people. Poppy knew enough about the boggy moors to seek out a well-formed path to stride off on at a brisk pace. She planned to walk fast until she tired, then turn back for the car at a slower pace. The moors had none of the drama of a New Zealand landscape, at least not away from the coast, but the low undulating hills and dull, moody colours on a grey afternoon had their own undemanding beauty. Poppy swung her arms as she strode, enjoying the physical sensations of her moving muscles, open air brushing across her face and the respite from troublesome thoughts and feelings. Out here she could simply be, a physical creature in a landscape that wanted nothing from her.

  She was out longer than she intended and turned the car into George’s street feeling guilty that she was later getting back than she had said. A strange car parked outside his house. Visitors, she thought, relieved, opening the front door, with a cheerful ‘Hello-o.’ However, she was brought to an abrupt halt by the sight of George lying on the floor, half in the kitchen half in the hallway, with the doctor, Jasmine Owens, leaning over him.

  ‘Good, you’re back,’ said Doctor Jasmine over her shoulder to Poppy. ‘We must convince George that he should go to hospital for two or three days for tests and examinations so we can decide how best to keep him comfortable and to have a morphine pump put in.’

  Poppy kneeled beside her. George gripped Poppy’s hand. His pale face was beaded with perspiration but he managed a small smile.

  ‘Please do it George,’ she said. ‘They won’t give you treatment if you don’t want it – will they?’ The question was to Jasmine, who shook her head.

  ‘The ambulance will be here soon,’ she was speaking to George, ‘you will go, won’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘Come with me,’ he said to his daughter.

  ‘She should come a little later.’ The doctor spoke again, to both of them this time, ‘with a car,’ then turned to Poppy. ‘I would like have a talk with you first. Just for a few minutes,’ she added at the look on George’s face, ‘your daughter will be at the hospital soon after you are.’

  Poppy stood up and went to Susanna. ‘Would you like to…?’ Susanna was shaking her head. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I will be in a minute. It was such a shock, him falling like that.’

  Poppy rang Glory next-door-but-one and asked if she would come and sit with Susanna for a while. ‘Of course I will, pet.’ Glory had put the phone down almost before she finished speaking and arrived at the door at the same time as the ambulance attendant.

  When Poppy tried to involve Susanna in the conversation with the doctor she was waved away, so she left the two older women in the kitchen and took Jasmine to the front room.

  It was possible, Dr Jasmine told her, that George had developed a brain tumour and that would account for his dizziness and today’s fall; he had not told Poppy about his phone call to the doctor on Friday regarding the dizziness apparently for fear of spoiling Poppy’s weekend away. And further, it was important for Poppy to know that when George had a set-back like this there could be no expectation of a recovery back to how he had been before. Nodding, gripping her own hands, Poppy concentrated on the doctor, needing to take it all in. It was likely George would be in hospital for two nights, come home with a morphine pump inserted, and have dai
ly nursing visits from now on. She, the doctor, would come by every second day or more often if she was rung for.

  Susanna and Glory broke off their conversation when Poppy entered the kitchen and both looked at her. She passed on the information from the doctor and gave Susanna Jock’s phone number, asking if she would ring him and see if she could get him to come tomorrow, while George was in hospital, to move his bedroom, rather than wait until Friday. ‘Offer him an extra fifty pounds if he’ll change the day at short notice,’ she suggested, as she went out the door, catching the shocked look on Glory’s face when she turned back to ask Susanna if she would like to be rung from the hospital.

  ‘If you can by nine-thirty, before I’m off to my bed, yes please dear.’ Glory nodded approval, saying something about Susanna needing her rest as Poppy finally left. Finding the hospital, finding the ward and finding George took ages. His face brightened when he saw her.

  ‘I got in a bit of a panic there,’ he apologised, ‘things like this bound to happen.’ He took her hand and they sat quietly for a while, then George was saying how he knew he was at the beginning of the end, he knew he was dying and she mustn’t worry about that, it really was all right, he was quite reconciled. For an hour or so they talked about death and dying, George reiterating that he really did not want to be in hospital again after this if they could get enough help to manage at home. Both of them wiped away her tears from time to time.

  He promised not to die in the night if Poppy went home to sleep and she said, ‘All right, I believe you,’ kissed him and went, with an assurance that she would come back in the morning. On the drive home she thought about going to Jane’s and then that the hospital didn’t have Jane’s number and Susanna might not get to the downstairs phone – or was there one in the bedroom? and it was too hard to figure out, so she gave up the idea.