by Pat Rosier
Chapter Twelve
Poppy intended to tell Jane that she would not be going to London quietly and calmly after they had eaten, but within minutes of arriving at her house on Sunday, she blurted it out. Jane accused her of ruining everything and sent her away saying she never wanted to see her again. A couple of hours later Jane was at the door of the house Poppy still thought of as George’s, tearful and regretful. Poppy wouldn’t go back to Billingham with her, so they sat at the kitchen table while Susanna rested upstairs.
Poppy did her best to explain why she couldn’t – wouldn’t – go to London and Jane did her best to listen. ‘Not even for a few days?’ she asked once, and when Poppy shook her head, nodded.
‘It’s your adventure,’ Poppy said, ‘it’s just not mine. All I can think about is going home. And if that makes me a boring old fogey…’ She put out her hands in a gesture of helplessness. Jane took hold of them both and managed a smile. ‘Not a fogey,’ she said, ‘and not old, either. Settled, maybe, wanting to hunker down in being settled. I can see that, even if I don’t like it.’ Poppy tightened her grip, grateful to be understood at least.
‘I do wonder though what would have happened if…’ Jane went on, but Poppy stopped her. ‘No speculations,’ she said firmly, not admitting to her own. There wasn’t a lot more to say. They were sitting silently, still holding hands across the table, when Susanna came in. The three of them had a cup of tea together, Susanna responding to Jane’s enquiry as to how she was doing in a tired voice. ‘I’ll be doing all right. It’s times like this your good friends turn out for you.’ Poppy nodded vigorously. ‘And family, my daughter…’ Her voice trailed off but Poppy was pleased to hear Sylvia acknowledged.
The museum, Jane told Poppy as she was leaving, had been almost insultingly eager to accept her resignation. In fact they offered to pay her for a month and let her go in less. ‘Whenever it suits me best. I wish it didn’t seem like “good riddance”.’ Poppy didn’t have the energy to be reassuring, but Jane soon cheered herself with, ‘Big smoke, here I come!’
‘That’s the spirit, dear,’ offered Susanna.
Jane left for London on the morning of Poppy’s last full day and they parted friends; Jane wanted to make love one last time and Poppy had said no. Her lawyer, she told Poppy, would take care of the house sale and could probably arrange for a stay on mortgage payments, which would mean less money when it was sold but less outgoings while she was setting up in London, and if Héloise didn’t like that, too bad.
Poppy could more fully enjoy Jane’s excitement about her new job and life in London once she was clear she would not be there. She advised against Brent Cross as a place to live, based on her experience in 1991. Although neither of them said so, Poppy was fairly certain that they both knew, by the time they made their farewells, that this was Jane’s adventure and that it was right that she begin it on her own. They would keep in touch.
There had been a week of sorting in the house with Susanna; a carton of keepsakes, family photos and a few books was dispatched to New Zealand. Susanna moved into the downstairs bedroom, ‘While I can and before I really have to,’ she remarked. She was uncertain about staying on in the house on her own, discussing it at length with her friend Glory and others, including Sylvia, who was encouraging her to wait a while before she decided. Mother and daughter were rubbing along reasonably well as far as Poppy could tell. There was no sign of Oliver. She and Susanna shared some tearful moments going through papers and letters and promised to keep in touch with each other.
On 29 July Poppy was waiting for the taxi to take her to the station for the train to York and hence London. She would spend a night in a hotel near Heathrow and leave in the morning for Los Angeles and Auckland. Almost exactly two months from the day she had left home. The third semester had already started at school; she’d be putting Stephen the reliever out of work soon.
Early on Tuesday morning, after two twelve-hour flights separated by four hours in the middle of the (local) night, she arrived in Auckland and was met warmly by Martia, driving Poppy’s car which she had collected from Katrina’s garage. They’d had a bumpy descent with no view at all of the harbours and, outside the airport, it was cold and grey under thundery cloud.
‘Welcome home!’ said Martia as they ran the last few metres to the car in sudden heavy rain, ‘and be glad this isn’t hail! It has been up north.’
‘I don’t care, I’m just glad to be here.’ The downpour was more than the windscreen wipers could deal with so they sat in the car, windows steaming up, and waited for it to stop.
‘How are you, really?’ Martia was looking closely at her friend.
‘Apart from being wasted by the travelling, I’m pretty fine,’ Poppy replied, ‘but what a whirlwind of emotions!’ As they talked the rain eased and as soon as the windscreen was de-misted Martia drove off.
Even running up the steps and into the house with one hand holding a coat over her head and the other her suitcase, Poppy could tell that her front garden was tidier than when she left it. Neat edges, and the ivy that fell down the stone wall at the front had been trimmed. Martia was close behind her. Poppy took hold of her friend’s arm before she got the door unlocked, pointed out into the rain from the front verandah and said, ‘What happened to my garden?’
‘Joy.’ Martia had the door open. And here was Mrs Mudgely walking calmly down the hall towards her. ‘Joy is what happened to your garden. She likes to be busy and has a third floor flat down the other end of the road.’ She half-heard what Martia was saying as she dropped everything in a pile in the hallway and scooped up the cat, nuzzling into her fur. ‘How’s my best cat then?’ ‘Sorry,’ she looked up at Martia, ‘what were you saying?’ ‘Just that Joy was a bit worried that you’d be offended, and was very careful not to move anything, just tidy.’
‘Well, I just about was offended for a minute. I suppose it’s all right. She didn’t have to, I mean, I hardly know her.’
‘I hope I wasn’t wrong to let her…’
‘No, not at all. I’m over it already.’ Poppy was looking at Martia closely, still holding Mrs Mudgely, who was finally purring. ‘Am I looking at a case of love among the weeds here?’
‘No.’ Firmly. ‘I’ll tell you about her later. Tea, toast and strawberry jam and I’ll bet you’d love a shower while I make it.’ The phone rang twice while Poppy was in the shower, so Martia reported to Katrina and Stefan that Poppy had arrived safely.
Poppy was both exhausted and hyperactive. She wanted to stay up until the end of the day if she could, to get herself re-synchronised with New Zealand time. Martia sat on Poppy’s bed, the cat snuggled beside her, and they talked while she unpacked, made piles of washing and put other clothes away. ‘Do you think she’ll ever forgive me,’ – gesturing at the feline – ‘for being away so long?’
‘I’m sure she will. She’s just got a bit used to me.’
‘What am I stopping you doing?’ Poppy was examining a blue t-shirt for spots.
‘Nothing. I’m at your disposal,’ Martia said, and added hastily, ‘If you want me around, that is.’
‘Of course I do. I’d be miserable on my own today. Oh dear,’ Poppy sniffed, ‘I think I may be a bit leaky.’ She dropped the clothes she had just picked up and sat down beside Martia on the bed. They talked and laughed and cried their way through the next couple of hours, Poppy filling in many of the details about George and Susanna and her family and how she had loved being with George in his last weeks and how easily he had died and how her love and respect for him had been strengthened. While she would miss him, she told Martia, there had been no anguish for her in his death; he was so accepting of the end of his life that he had made it possible for her to be almost the same.
It was still raining, so instead of walking as they had planned Martia drove them to the Konditorie in Mt Eden for lunch. ‘Let’s do a real lunch. On me,’ said Poppy leading the way into the restaurant area at the back. Martia was laughing. ‘I can e
ither give up or fight to the end,’ she said to Poppy’s questioning look, ‘paying for things. Actually I would like to pay for my own lunch today.’
‘Okay.’ Poppy grinned. ‘Just to show I’m not at all like my mother!’
‘By the way,’ Martia said when they were settled, ‘you’ve barely mentioned Jane. Is that because it’s too sore?’
‘No, not really,’ Poppy replied, and over onion soup and crusty bread she talked about their leave-taking. ‘It’s strange, actually,’ she said, stirring the coffee that had just replaced the empty soup plates, ‘it was so intense for a bit, then “poof!” it was gone. The sexual stuff, that is. Now I’m back to the affection I always had for her.’
‘What about Jane?’
‘I think she was disappointed, devastated even, when I said I wouldn’t go to London with her. Then she got over it, rather quickly, actually, which does leave me wondering what disaster would have befallen us if I had gone. Come on, old friend, what do you make of it?’
Martia met her gaze. ‘Just what I wrote to you, really. You’ve done good, kiddo, with the whole shebang!’ They grasped hands across the table, smiling appreciation at each other.
‘“I got by with a little help from my friends,”’ Poppy sang softly. She called a waitress over and ordered another coffee, ‘Stay-wake measures.’ Martia indicated no for herself.
‘Now tell me about Joy-the-compulsive-gardener,’ Poppy ordered.
‘Did you ever meet her?’
‘Yes, once, in the bookshop I think, she was with Alexa – and I want an update on her and Bessie before we’re through – and we arranged that movie together then I didn’t show.’
‘So you know she’s “five foot two, eyes of blue”, which is how she describes herself?’ Poppy nodded and Martia told her that Joy had moved to Auckland from Napier earlier in the year to a position at the public library as an electronic information specialist. Other details Martia knew were that she had been in a relationship for twenty-two years that ended two years ago, a year after she, Joy, had given up drinking.’
‘She has such a different history from us,’ Martia continued, ‘in a drinking-and-smoking social group in a provincial city, very closeted during the week, weekend fishing trips, barbecues, landscaping their gardens.’ Joy and her partner, Chris, had been the stable two in the group, while various of the others changed partners and moved in and out. Joy didn’t like how much she was drinking and overnight she had stopped. A year later her relationship ended.
‘That’s a very short version,’ Martia explained. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my telling you, she talks about it freely enough herself.’
‘And you and her?’
‘No spark,’ Martia replied, ‘but I like her a lot. She’s found it hard to “break in” as she puts it, to an Auckland community, and was pretty lonely, so we got together for a couple of times and I’ve introduced her around and she came here and noticed the garden and practically begged to be able to tidy it.’
‘I do love you, Martia, and your amazing capacity for…’
‘Don’t say “looking after people”!’ her friend insisted, ‘I’m giving that up and Joy is definitely not someone who needs looking after. She just needed to get started with knowing a few people.’
They split the bill and headed back to the car, Poppy enjoying the familiarity of her surroundings. ‘What about Alexa and Bessie then? What happened there?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Eh?’ They were at the car. It had stopped raining.
‘Nothing happened. They decided to split. Now they’re both miserable.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘You and everyone else. They’ve kind of gone to ground. Separately.’
‘I got lovely a lovely message from each of them when George died. I haven’t answered yet, I couldn’t think what to say.’
‘Well, good luck. Bessie’s in their house still and I’ve got a phone number for Alexa, she’s house-sitting for a friend of Rina’s.’
When they got back to her house Poppy rang Moana and arranged to go back to school the following Monday. Then she collapsed into an armchair and Mrs Mudgely appeared and jumped on her lap, purring immediately and arching her back under Poppy’s stroking. Martia checked that it really was all right for her to stay on for another four or five weeks until she moved to Northland, getting Poppy’s reassurance that she would welcome the company. ‘Okay,’ Martia said, ‘That’s wonderful. I’d like to call over at Mum’s for an hour, if you think you can keep yourself awake…’
Poppy stood up, holding the cat on her shoulder. ‘Yep, we’ll do a turn around the garden and I’ll just muck around enjoying being home.’ She was getting a folding garden chair and its cushions out of the shed when the phone rang; she ignored it and set up the chair outside the drip-line from the big magnolia tree. After a doubtful look at the clouds above her she sat back and let her heavy eyelids drop.
Spots of rain on her face woke her with a start.
‘Hiya, sleeping beauty.’ Bessie was in another chair a few feet away. As spits turned into a downpour they bundled the chairs back into the shed and raced to the house.
‘How long had you been there?’ said Poppy from inside their hug.
‘Ten minutes maybe. And your front door was open.’
‘Oops. I’m not very with it, the trip from London and all. Cuppa?’
‘Yes please. I ran into Martia and her mother at the shops or I wouldn’t have come round today.’ Poppy was putting on the jug, assembling mugs and milk. ‘I’m sorry about your Dad.’
‘Thanks.’ Poppy looked at her. ‘And thanks for your messages and card, it made a real difference over there, hearing from home, even if I didn’t get to answer everything. Here we go,’ and she poured hot water on the tea-bag in each mug. Bessie picked up the milk and they went into the dining room.
‘Now,’ said Poppy when they were settled. ‘What’s the story with you and Alexa?’
Bessie shrugged. ‘That’s just like you, Poppy, straight to the point. Not that there’s much of a story.’ Her shoulders drooped as she told Poppy how they’d been ‘kind of flat’ with each other for several months.
‘We talked about it, but that didn’t help, I think it just made us both more depressed, at least it did me.’ Bessie sighed. ‘We tried making dates for dinners out and for sex, turning the telly off while we had dinner, all that. There was this great yawning gap opening up between us.’
‘Oh Bessie, that must have been hard.’
‘It was, kind of, but we were okay up to a point.’ Bessie had supposed they would get over it, but when Alexa heard that Rina’s friend Lynley was looking for a house-and-dog sitter while she went to Hawaii for three months on a post-doctoral fellowship, she announced she would take it.
‘On her own. No contact. No discussion.’ Bessie shrugged. Poppy tried to think of something to say. If only she wasn’t so tired. So Alexa had gone to Lynley’s house five weeks ago and Bessie supposed she should be doing something, showing she cared or something but it was all she could do to go to work each day.
‘And another thing – and I haven’t told this to anyone else…’ There were tears in her eyes so she still must care, Poppy was thinking, ‘she said we should both be open to anything that might happen with anyone else.’ Then Bessie was openly crying. ‘As if I wanted to… But I suppose she does or she wouldn’t have suggested it.’ She blew her nose. ‘God knows why I’m telling you all this, sorry, after what you’ve been through…’
But Poppy was pleased to have someone else’s emotions centre stage.
‘What happens if you bump into each other somewhere?’ she wanted to know.
‘We’re to say hello and leave it at that. Actually I’ve made sure it hasn’t happened so far. I bolted once, before she saw me, at the bookshop.’
‘It sounds awful.’ Poppy moved her chair to beside her friend and put an arm around her shoulder. What was awful Bessie said, with pauses for
blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, was that she felt that all their years together were slipping away and she wasn’t doing anything to stop it.
‘There’s two of you in this,’ Poppy reminded her.
‘I used to think so. Now I think perhaps she just wants out and is doing it gradually. To let me down lightly!’ This last with a snort. ‘Drag out the agony more like!’ Bessie stiffened. ‘Oh shit. Forget that. We agreed that whatever else we wouldn’t bad-mouth each other to our friends.’
‘And when the house-sit finishes?’
‘We have a date to meet – at the Domain tea-rooms for heaven’s sake – ten days before.’
Poppy sat back, bewildered. She had thought A & B were solid, forever. They had been such a team, so staunch when Kate had died, running the ceremony, dealing with Kate’s father, giving her so much practical and emotional support in those dreadful months afterwards. Yes, and that was ten years ago, she reminded herself, how much notice have you taken of what’s been actually happening with them recently? Haven’t you just assumed that they had gone on as they were then, as you wanted them to be? Again.
‘Another thing,’ Bessie went on, ‘is that both our families are terribly upset. Which is kind of ironic, given some of their reactions when we set up house. But sweet, too. I just don’t know what to say to any of them.’
