Will You Remember Me?

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘Just happened?’

  They both looked towards the door. Neither of them had heard Poppy come down the stairs.

  ‘Poppy, I—’ He stuttered.

  ‘Don’t speak to me!’ Poppy’s voice shook with emotion. ‘Are you having an affair with her?’ Her hands were so tightly clenched that her nails drew half moons of blood on her palms.

  ‘What? No! No.’

  Poppy didn’t know what to believe. Everything she’d thought she could rely on, everything she thought she knew had been erased with one tilt of the head.

  Neither she nor Martin noticed Claudia slide off the sofa, go into the kitchen and shut the door.

  ‘Do you love her?’ Poppy whispered

  ‘No! Of course I don’t, no! It wasn’t love, just a bit of comfort, someone familiar that wanted me.’ He looked at the floor.

  ‘There is no “of course” about any of this.’ Her chest heaved. ‘I waited my whole life for tonight, my whole fucking life for a party, my wedding reception! How could you do that to me, to Peg and Max?’ Her voice was shrill, her vocal chords taut with emotion.

  He shook his head.

  ‘When I think about the sacrifices I made to get you home…’ Poppy bent and wept as the words left her mouth. Martin stood and placed his hand on her back, feeling the knobbles of her spine under the thin covering of skin. She flinched as if she’d been struck. ‘Don’t you touch me! Don’t you dare touch me!’

  He stood back and twisted his palms together. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. It was the first time someone had been nice to me in a long time. I don’t know what to say to make it better. Tell me what to say!’

  Martin put his fist to his mouth to try and stop his shakes.

  Poppy sat on the sofa and took off her plastic diamond. ‘The first time someone had been nice to you? You poor old thing, Mart. Well, I hope it made you feel better.’ The sarcasm dripped from her lips. ‘I can’t believe I sat here a few hours ago and you got down on one knee and proposed to me! Proposed to me in front of the kids – and then you did that? With Jo, my friend – she was my friend.’ Poppy’s whole body shook at the admission. ‘I’ll fucking kill her!’

  ‘I’m sorry. I had too much to drink and I felt good and then it just happened.’ He spoke to the floor.

  ‘Stop saying it just happened! That doesn’t just happen, you make it happen or you let it happen! Sticking your tongue down someone else’s neck and letting them hold you doesn’t just happen!’ As soon as the words left her mouth, she retched and then vomited, like she had earlier. This time it landed on the floor. Neither of them made any attempt to clear it up. ‘I saw you… I saw you, Mart.’

  ‘Poppy, please…’

  ‘We are done, Mart. We are done.’ Poppy stood up and pulled away the hair that was stuck to her chin with vomit. ‘Get a bag together and get out. Just go.’

  ‘Where?’ he asked.

  ‘As if I fucking care!’ she screamed. ‘I bet if you head off now, you can make Marlborough within the hour.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to Marlborough,’ Martin retorted, his voice shaky. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to be with you. Supposing you are ill? I need to be here for the kids.’

  Poppy stood on the bottom stair. ‘Well I don’t want to be with you. And we’ve got Claudia here – the kids don’t need you.’

  ‘You are my whole world, Poppy. You and the kids are everything… and I’m losing you.’ He sniffed and gulped. ‘Maybe… maybe I felt a bit relieved to know that there… there might be some kind of life for me, after…’

  Poppy felt her chest cave. ‘Are you kidding me? Are you saying you have a future with Jo after I’m dead?’

  ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘That is absolutely not what I’m saying. But the feeling of happiness, for one second, that filled my gut… For once it wasn’t about you or the kids, and that… that… gave me some hope.’ He sighed heavily, rubbed his hand through his hair and mumbled at the floor. ‘I’m not explaining this very well.’

  ‘You’re bloody right you’re not!’ Poppy shouted back. ‘And if you think you are coming out to St Lucia, you’ve got another thing coming. I’m going on my own and I’ll be gone for ten days, so you’ll have plenty of time to practise that feeling of happiness in your gut that is nothing to do with me or the kids!’

  ‘Poppy that’s not what I meant, please…’

  ‘Save it, Mart!’ She was adamant.

  She took another couple of stairs before turning back and addressing him again.

  ‘Do you remember Mr Collins who ran the chippy in the precinct?’

  Martin gave a small nod. Of course he did. Mr Collins had served him his tea at least four nights a week throughout his childhood.

  ‘Do you remember when he got married to Marcia who worked in the café, just three months after Mrs Collins died? There was uproar, it was all people on the estate talked about. “Bit soon, isn’t it? Do you think they’ve been carrying on for long?” Well I tell you what, Mart, you take the biscuit – at least Mr Collins waited until his wife was actually dead.’

  ‘I only want you. I’ve only ever wanted you.’

  ‘Well you’ve a very funny way of showing it. Fuck off, Mart, and close the door on your way out.’

  Poppy spent the next day in bed, mentally and physically exhausted.

  Claudia ferried cups of tea up and down the stairs, followed by mugs of soup; anything that she thought might tempt her to eat. She drew the curtains and cracked open the small window. ‘Bit of a breeze might make you feel better.’

  ‘Kids okay?’

  ‘Oh they’re great. Resilient little creatures at the best of times.’

  ‘This feels like the worst of times.’ Poppy sat up, propped against her pillows.

  ‘It probably does,’ Claudia agreed.

  Poppy liked that she didn’t try to sugar-coat their situation. ‘I keep seeing them together. There was a second or two when they didn’t know I was there.’

  ‘You have to try and not keep picturing it. It’s only torturing yourself.’ Claudia folded a clean towel and placed it on the shelf in the wardrobe.

  ‘I wish I could switch it off, but I can’t. I keep wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t walked in, how far they would have gone. Or worse, supposing Peg had walked in?’

  ‘She didn’t though.’

  Poppy swallowed another wave of sickness. ‘I never ever thought this could happen to us. I thought we were solid, rock solid.’

  Claudia sat on the mattress. ‘Poppy, I love you, you know that. And I think Martin is an idiot, but—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear the but!’ Poppy sighed.

  ‘But,’ Claudia continued as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘this cancer has come along like a sledgehammer and smashed everything you used to be able to rely on to pieces. You said he wasn’t very good at talking about it – goodness, he only cried for the first time when you went back to Walthamstow, isn’t that what you told me?’

  Poppy nodded.

  ‘He had a moment of madness and even though it’s nothing to do with me, I think it would be a huge mistake to throw away your entire family life for the sake of a silly second or two. Especially for Peg and Maxy, who have a lot of heartache ahead of them.’ She let this linger.

  ‘I know you are right about Peg and Max. But I don’t know that it was just a moment of madness. It might have been going on for a while, behind my back.’

  Jo’s words echoed in Poppy’s head: ‘You’re so lucky, you know. Mart’s one in a million.’

  ‘I feel like an idiot, and the worst thing is, I’m not in a position to fight her, Claudia. I’m not in a position to fight anyone.’

  ‘Then don’t, Poppy. Make it easy for everyone.’

  Peg bounded into the room. ‘You’ve got a visitor!’

  Poppy felt her stomach flip. Had Jo turned up?

  ‘It’s Toffee!’ Peg pulled the plump guinea pig from behind her back. ‘Here he is.’
<
br />   Poppy sat up and Peg placed the furry little puffball on the duvet. ‘Hello, Toffee, thank you for coming to visit me.’

  Peg gave him a little nudge until he was closer to Poppy. She stroked him as he sat still, trembling. Poppy wasn’t sure if he was afraid or delighted to be there.

  ‘Hey, Toffee, did Peg tell you I shouted at her last night?’

  Peg nodded.

  ‘The thing is, Toffee, sometimes when you get grumpy or angry you shout at someone because you are feeling mad, even though the person you are shouting at hasn’t done anything wrong. And that’s what happened. Peg’s mum is very sorry for shouting at the wrong person.’

  ‘Toffee says he understands that, Mum.’

  ‘Well thank you, Toffee, for being so grown-up and gorgeous.’

  ‘Is Daddy the person you wanted to shout at? Is that why he’s not here?’

  ‘Yes,’ Poppy answered.

  ‘I don’t like you and Daddy fighting.’ Peg looked tearful.

  Poppy sighed. ‘I know. It’s just sometimes it feels like that’s the only way to get something sorted out.’

  Peg retrieved her pet and nuzzled him under her chin. ‘Couldn’t you just write to each other or sort it all out nicely over a cup of tea?’

  Claudia smiled. ‘Out of the mouths of babes…’

  ‘Mummy, your phone is buzzing.’ Peg handed the vibrating phone to Poppy.

  It was a text, from Jo.

  Poppy pictured her and Mart again as she opened the message and read her friend’s apology and request for contact. She switched off the phone and placed it face down on the bedside table. She was torn between not wanting to see her ever again and relishing the prospect of telling her what she thought of her face to face, venting all the words that swirled around her head and interrupted her sleep at three in the morning.

  Twenty-Two

  Poppy was sitting on the bed, reading the obituaries again.

  Mabel Jean Cunningham died peacefully in her sleep, aged 101. Much-loved sister, wife and mum, nan, great-nan and great-great-nan. Sleep tight, Jeanie, you were one in a million and we shall miss you.

  ‘A hundred and one? Mabel Jean, you lucky, lucky lady.’

  She had readily agreed to Claudia’s suggestion that she go and stay with her in Oxford for a few days, to try and get some clarity back into her thoughts. They were leaving any minute. She tried not to think of the last time she had visited, at Christmas. It had been perfect: the kids full of turkey and chocolate and sleeping soundly upstairs; her and Mart nestled on the sofa in front of a roaring fire, glasses of ruby red port in their hands. She couldn’t remember a time when her life had seemed more perfect.

  Now she was running through the list of extra things she might want to throw in her bag to take. She heard Martin’s voice downstairs. After all the years of smiling every time she heard him speak, and longing to hear his words whenever he was away, it felt alien to her that this morning she was acutely embarrassed at the prospect of having to interact with him. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This would require a lot of strength and her reserves were already running low.

  Her phone buzzed. Poppy retrieved it from her handbag and opened the screen. She groaned loudly. ‘That’s all I bloody need.’ Cheryl had apparently booked a flight over for a few weeks’ time.

  ‘Come down, Mummy. Daddy’s home!’ Peg shouted up the stairs.

  ‘Shit.’ Poppy ran her fingers across her forehead. She picked up the holdall and went downstairs.

  Her eyes went straight to Martin, who stood by the kitchen door and looked dreadful, hovering awkwardly like a stranger who hadn’t been invited to sit. His two-day beard growth made him look scruffy. His eyes were bloodshot, with two dark circles beneath them, the result of fatigue and night-time ponderings. His shirt was crumpled. He glanced at her and gave a small, nervous smile; hesitant, gauging her reaction.

  ‘Right then, we’ll be off. Daddy will look after you for a couple of days.’ Poppy found it easier to talk to him via the kids, no matter how cowardly. ‘Be good, Maxy, and you too, Peg. Make sure you give me a shout at Granny Claudia’s every evening after school. I want to hear exactly what you’ve been up to.’ Poppy gave the brightest smile she could muster. ‘I love you both soooo much!’ She hugged and kissed her children, then climbed into Claudia’s Mini.

  Claudia pulled out of their road and past the parade of shops. ‘I’ve left a big lasagne for tonight and other bits and bobs in the freezer, so all he’s got to do is get them out the night before and then heat them up for supper. I’ve given him instructions. They’ll be fine.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Poppy whispered as her tears fell. ‘I can’t believe this bloody mess.’

  ‘It’ll pass, darling. Everything does.’ Claudia nodded sagely, keeping her eyes on the road.

  Poppy stared out of the window. ‘Am I doing the right thing?’

  ‘You mean meeting Jo?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Claudia sighed. ‘I think it’s up to you, but anything that moves things forward has to be a good idea. I can’t bear the idea of you carrying lots of anger around in you, it can’t help anything.’

  ‘No,’ Poppy agreed. ‘It can’t.’

  ‘Next stop Salisbury, then?’ Claudia asked.

  Poppy nodded, too apprehensive to say anything.

  The windows of the Salisbury branch of Costa were fogged up. Unusually for the time of the year, the door was closed. The day had unexpectedly thrown down a summer shower and the pavements, which still held heat from the early morning sun, steamed slightly. Shoppers and tourists, caught out by the deluge, crouched low under shared umbrellas, wearing flimsy, inappropriate clothing and open-toed footwear, hardly what was required in a downpour. Inside, however, and with a perfect view of the entrance, Poppy was toasty and dry, wrapped in a warm fug of coffee and cinnamon.

  At the creak of the door, she looked up from her frothy cappuccino, but it wasn’t Jo. Instead, a young mum fumbled with the handle, reversing in as she tried to negotiate the door with her bottom, dragging behind her a pushchair laden with bags and with a soggy toddler clinging to her hand. Ordinarily Poppy would have jumped up and gone to her aid, opened the door wide, helped, but not today. Today she had to concentrate, in position, ready.

  Poppy had thought long and hard about what to wear, hating herself for how much she agonised over every detail. She had scraped her hair into a neat ponytail before releasing it and redoing it, twice. At the back of her mind was the thought that Jo had seen her daily in her pyjamas, crumpled from sleep as they chatted over the doorstep; she had helped Poppy with her up-do for a mess dinner once, while Poppy had sat there in her Spanx and dressing gown; and she had even perched on the corner of the mattress when Maxy was only hours old, with Poppy in a right state, her face pale, her hair stuck to her head with sweat, her stomach cramping with heavy loss. Today, that intimacy was disregarded. Jo had gone from ally to enemy. It had taken mere moments to wipe out five years of friendship: one splayed hand against his back, her head cocked to one side to avoid his nose, her dark curly hair falling in a curtain over her shoulder… Poppy blinked to rid her mind of the image. Today, the embers of her fury needed no stoking.

  The door banged open. She peered over her coffee cup; her hands held the mug up to her lips, forming a pyramid that half hid her face. Her eyes flickered in recognition. Poppy watched as Jo ran her fingers through her wet hair and brushed raindrops from her black jersey and the thighs of her jeans. It felt odd not to beam out a smile, jump up and wave ‘Over here, mate!’ like she would have before. Poppy observed how Jo scanned the faces, saw her flinch when her gaze finally fell upon her. She noted how she walked slowly towards the table, her pace hesitant, measured, as if she was nervous, scared.

  So you fucking should be. Poppy swallowed the thought.

  Jo placed her bag on the floor, her purse already in her hand. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  Poppy shook
her head and raised her mug in response.

  ‘I’ll just…’ Jo indicated the counter and walked away.

  Poppy exhaled and realised she had been holding her breath. Her jaw hurt from being clenched for the last however many minutes. She could hear Jo’s sing-song tone as she ordered her latte and it made her stomach flip. How dare she sound normal, happy and nice?

  It was a minute or two later that Jo scraped the chair across the wooden floor and took up her position opposite. She looked haggard and tired and Poppy felt a flush of euphoria that she wasn’t her usual shining self.

  When Jo spoke her voice quavered. ‘I don’t know what to say to you, Poppy. I’ve been sick all morning with nerves.’

  Poppy looked up into her face. She gave a small smile. What, Jo, sicker than me? Hope your nerves clear up soon.

  ‘Well, you don’t have to say anything, you just have to listen.’ Poppy was aware of the curl of her top lip and the harsh cockney inflection to her words.

  Jo nodded quickly, causing her face to wobble.

  Poppy’s voice was calm. ‘I’d waited my whole life for my wedding reception, Jo.’ She paused. It was odd to hear herself saying her friend’s name with such disdain. ‘It was a big deal for me. But you know that, don’t you?’

  Again Jo nodded.

  ‘And the sad thing is that now, when I think of it, I can only see you and my husband in the cloakroom, locked together.’

  ‘It was nothing, Poppy. I swear to you. It was just a moment, it was nothing!’ Her words tumbled out, as though she expected to be halted at any moment.