Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

  Her grandmother’s narrowed eyes, Poppy could have sworn, were blood red. She dropped her own gaze to the floor, before her remaining courage could evaporate.

  “I will change the sheets, boil wash these, then clean up Jacob.”

  “Drown the beast. Tie the damned creature in the sheets to make sure. And tie that damned sister of yours up with him too.”

  Nain blaspheming was a poor sign indeed.

  “I know how much you love these sheets, Nain, and Pip and I will save for new ones if I can’t get these pristine.”

  “You better had.” Nain stormed out of the bedroom. “You’re lucky you have a generous sister, Pip!” she bellowed up the stairs, then slammed the front door.

  After the house and Poppy’s teeth had ceased rattling, she turned once again to survey the scene. Jacob’s coverage of the bed had been impressive. Mercifully, the mattress underneath was protected by Nain’s incontinence sheet below the hallowed linen.

  “Can’t help leaking a bit when you’re older,” Nain had told Pip who was as appalled by the admission as any person under the age of sixteen, or even sixty, might be. “You don’t get through four days of labour and eighty years of life without the waterworks playing up.”

  Poppy smiled at the recollection and sighed the long sigh of someone about to clean up extensive sheep dung. “Right. I’d better get on with it.”

  “Is everything all right sweetheart?” Her mother appeared at the bedroom door. “Oh my.” She lifted a hand to her gaping mouth. She scanned the bed, taking in the full extent of the horror. Her eyes widened in realisation, then caught Poppy’s gaze.

  Poppy sniggered.

  Emma’s eyes creased, her shoulders shook and her eyes began to water.

  Poppy caught her mother’s giggles. “Stop,” she whispered. “She’s probably not far away.”

  Her mother’s eyebrows rose and tears ran down her face, incapable of controlling her mirth.

  “Shh,” Poppy juddered, and she clutched her belly, which ached with poorly restrained laughter.

  “That bed better smell of roses by the time I come back!”

  Nain’s bellow did the trick. Poppy and her mother stood to attention, prepared for Nain to re-enter. They stood rigid until they heard the familiar grunting start of Nain’s Morris Minor and the tired engine receding up the lane.

  “Oh dear,” Emma said, still struggling to subdue a smile. “Is Pip still alive?”

  “Yes, and she has a new found interest in homework.”

  “I bet she has. Look, I’ll sort these. You go and round up Jacob. The kit’s in the usual place.”

  “Thanks Mum,” Poppy said, and she kissed her mother gratefully on the cheek.

  Chapter 8.

  The dog-wash kit had been refined over the years and Poppy donned the summer version: pink shower cap, pair of builder’s goggles, industrial-strength yellow rubber gloves and standard-issue black wellies. In winter, a neck to knee mac was also required, but for this sultry day, Poppy stripped down to her cerise knickers and matching bra. She imagined the look was interesting at best, but there are only so many times a half-wet, half-shitty dog shakes out its fur before you cease to worry about appearances.

  “Right, Jacob,” she said, brush in one hand, shampoo in the other. “You and I and the river have a date.” And although she would never curb Jacob’s affection for rolling in the most fetid of patches, he did at least hang his head and follow Poppy across the field, his tail between his legs.

  Poppy waded into the shallows, followed by Jacob who dutifully took up position. Before soaking his fur, Poppy crooned a verse of Go to Sleep then squeezed over a sponge of water.

  When Jacob’s eyes had been lulled into a daze by Poppy’s song and the trickling river, she began to lather his fur and sponge him down.

  She was almost finished when she heard sniggering – a naughty snort of laughter through the nose. Her goggles had misted and she could only see vague shadows on the river banks. There was no movement on the far side, but when she turned familiar shapes, one of considerable male stature and the other a shorter curvier physique, shifted on the near bank.

  “Dai Edwards, is that you?”

  His deep chortle followed. “You should see yourself Poppy Jenkins. What a sight.”

  She threw a glove to the bank and removed the goggles. Dai and his girlfriend, Mary, were beaming from the verge, but more galling, Dai had his phone aimed at Poppy.

  “Dai! You’d better not be taking pictures.”

  “No, of course not.” His grin spread as wide as his ears. “I’m videoing you.”

  “You—”

  “Careful now. You don’t want to offend your nain’s delicate sensibilities.”

  “Nain is not within earshot and, at this minute, she’s in a particularly indelicate mood. And if you weren’t standing so close to Mary I’d throw this crap-covered sponge at you.”

  “Go on, Poppy,” Mary yelled. “I bet you’ve got a good enough aim,”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Dai squealed, and he scuttled back from the edge.

  Poppy smiled at the great bulk of Dai cowering on the river bank. She waded out of the water and when she was at a safe distance she called to Jacob.

  “Go on boy, you’re done.” And for once, only then did he lunge his head forward and twist his body into a frenetic shower.

  Poppy flung off her cap, gloves and wellies and slipped on her dress. “So what are you two lovelies up to this evening?”

  She strolled towards them, smoothing down her dress, and when she looked up she was surprised to see them acting more sheepish.

  “Out for a walk.” “Come to see you of course.” “Oh.” “Yes, that.”

  “Um.” Poppy nodded. “Ok.”

  “Well it’s a nice evening.” Dai was attempting nonchalance. “So we thought, why not get a bit of exercise.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Mary nudged Dai in the ribs. “She’s not convinced. She knows the only exercise you get is running from a tackle on the rugby pitch or running to the bar for last orders, and it’s only the latter you do with any conviction.”

  “Oi. I always try my best on the pitch.”

  “But the point is…”

  “Oh yes.” The big man took a deep breath. “We came to see you.”

  “That’s nice,” said Poppy. “Do you want to come in for a cuppa?”

  “No, that’s all right.” Dai rubbed his hands together and grimaced. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Ok.”

  “Will you…” He looked skywards in thought.

  “Will I…?”

  “Will you be… err.” He held his breath and continued to stare aloft.

  “Will I be…?”

  “Will you be my best…? What is it? What would she be?” He seemed confused, and the feeling was shared by Poppy. “Will you be my best...pal?” Dai wrinkled his nose at the term.

  “Of course,” Poppy said. “We’ve been best friends for years.”

  “No, I mean, will you be my best pal for the special day?”

  Mary was giving him a look.

  “Well, what would you call her then?” Dai snapped. “Best woman? Honour attendant?”

  Mary plonked her hands on her hips and said, “I’d just bloody tell her we were getting married first.”

  The two eyed each other in the way they had for years, irritation and sparks of attraction flying.

  “You’re getting married?” Poppy blurted.

  Their two heads snapped round like children caught with their hands in a sweet jar.

  “But that’s brilliant,” Poppy said. Tears of joy brimmed and an ecstatic smile burst on her face. “Come here.” She leapt up at Dai and flung her arms around his shoulders. He lifted her clear off the ground as though she weighed naught and swung her around.

  “Thank you, Poppy.” His voice was gruff and joy teared at the edges. “I’m so glad you’re happy.”

  She dropped to the groun
d and held him at arms’ length. “Of course I’m happy. Who wouldn’t be? You two are a force of nature.”

  Mary laughed and Poppy turned felicitations to her. “Congratulations Mary,” she said and hugged her large friend. “I can’t believe it.” Poppy stood back to view the happy couple. “This is wonderful news. Did you propose?” She aimed a sly look at Dai, knowing he’d be as uncomfortable executing the deed as he was talking about it.

  “I did.” Dai drew himself up straight and broadened his great chest.

  Mary looked him up and down. “In a manner.”

  “Well I was going to,” Dai said indignant.

  “Found him effing and blinding over a ring box when I came home early. Planned to tie it to a heart-shaped balloon he did, but couldn’t get his great fingers around the ribbon. ‘What you doing Dai’ I says and he almost jumped through the ceiling.” Mary squeezed Dai’s arm. “Looks at me, timid as a lamb, and says ‘Well what do you reckon?’ So romantic.”

  “Well Ms Romantic, tell her how you answered,” he said, mocking her.

  “And I says, ‘Suppose so.’” Mary smiled at him with adoration.

  Poppy held her fingers to her lips. “Perfect,” she said. “I couldn’t think of a better way for you both.”

  “Thank you, Poppy.” Mary reached out and squeezed her shoulder, a teary and grateful expression on her face.

  “Now then, Poppy Jenkins.” Dai lowered his voice an octave. “Will you be my best man?”

  Poppy pulled back her chin and answered him in gruff kind. “Yes, Dai Edwards, I will be your best man.”

  “Great. I was hoping you’d say yes.”

  Poppy’s face dropped and her voice pitched higher. “That’s what you were trying to ask. Do you mean it?”

  “Of course. I can’t think of anyone better. You’re the best pal I’ve ever had. I’m not going to choose a second cousin or some bugger off the rugby team just because he’s a bloke.”

  “Oh Dai.” Poppy’s throat began to choke. Her eyes prickled from her friend’s loving gesture and pride at the right-mindedness of this hulk of a man. “I’d be honoured. I’d love to.” She nodded and sniffed then buried her face in his chest.

  “Thank you, Poppy love,” he said and he gave her a robust squeeze. “And I won’t even put you through the nightmare of making a speech.”

  Poppy squeezed him tighter still, public speaking being a rare social occasion that gave her the heebie jeebies.

  “I will do a speech.” She smiled. “That’s how happy I am.”

  The three walked arm in arm, with Poppy in the middle, discussing the day and the proposal all over again. Night was falling by the time the couple turned towards the village. As Dai fussed over a soggy Jacob, running figure-of-eights between his long legs, Mary leaned in to Poppy.

  “I haven’t forgotten you know.”

  Poppy looked uncomprehending.

  “What Dai promised you?”

  “Oh.” Poppy blushed.

  “That still holds. I won’t make him break a promise and I never want the issue to come between us.” Mary took her by the arm. “If you want him to be a donor, I’m happy.”

  “Mary, that’s so kind, but it’s too much to ask.”

  “No it’s not. You make Dai happy, and you can’t make him happy if we don’t look after you.”

  Poppy squeezed Mary’s hand. “Thank you. It’s very nice that you even talk to me about it. But I won’t expect anything. And anyway,” she sighed, “I’m so far off having a home and family of my own it seems impossible.”

  “Rubbish. You could meet someone tomorrow. A gorgeous, warm-hearted girl like you? Any woman with any sense would snap you up.”

  Poppy gave her a small smile, but a nugget of anxiety at the pit of her stomach, that one that niggled whenever she thought of the future, was certainly making itself known tonight.

  The happy couple walked along the riverbank and Poppy waved goodbye as the figures disappeared into shadows of vegetation along the water’s edge.

  Poppy sat on the bank and stared at the river, its meandering metallic shine blurring as she reflected on the day. It would take a while to acclimatise to the changes in everyone else’s lives. Her best friend had found happiness, Pip was growing at an alarming rate and her parents were happy in their own company now that their children were older. She felt alone.

  She clutched at her necklace, twisting the pendant between her fingers. It had been a habit for many years, but it resonated with particular poignancy today. She’d received the gift just a few paces away on a shingle beach hidden below the banks. Rosie had taken her for a picnic to celebrate her sixteenth birthday and surprised her with this most treasured possession.

  Poppy had spotted it months before at an auction in the village hall, but it had quickly been bid beyond her pocket money. But there it was, cushioned in the soft ridges of Rosie’s palm – a silver chain and locket engraved with a Celtic love knot of hearts bound together in never-ending cords.

  “You bought it?” Poppy was shocked.

  Her friend beamed and nodded, her eyes glistening.

  “Oh Rosie. It’s nicest thing anyone has ever given me.”

  “Let me put it round your neck,” Rosie chattered and she scrambled onto her knees. “It’ll look beautiful on you.”

  The cool locket tickled Poppy’s skin as it rose and fell in her cleavage.

  “There. Perfect.” And Rosalyn stood back admiring. “I ran after the woman who won the bid. She wouldn’t sell it to me at first, but I didn’t give up, and she gave it to me a few weeks later.”

  Poppy grinned at Rosalyn’s persistent efforts, all for her. She looked down at the locket nestled between her breasts. It had taken almost all of her teenage years, but at last Poppy had bloomed into womanly curves.

  She teased open the locket into two halves. “I want a photo of you here. Will you find one?”

  “Of course. I’d love to.” Rosie looked delighted at her gift’s reception, then coy. “I was tempted to put one in, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

  “No, I want one. I wish you had. Here, put your finger in.” She held the open shell to Rosie. “Leave me your fingerprint until then.”

  Rosie cupped the locket, her fingers brushing over Poppy’s breasts. Slowly, with great deliberation, Rosalyn pressed her fingertip inside. She held it there a moment, their eyes locked and Rosalyn’s hands over Poppy’s heart.

  “There,” Rosie whispered.

  “Oh god.” Poppy, the grown woman, pressed her hands to her face. She screwed her eyes tight. She could still feel Rosalyn’s hands upon her chest. Poppy and her friend had felt joined – a sensation of being so close and in tune with someone they were part of the same being.

  Rosalyn’s touch still lay there, hidden inside the locket. Poppy had never received a photo, but she kept the necklace as an act of defiance. She reclaimed it, made it her own as it always should have been, and over the years she forgot what lay inside.

  Poppy clutched at the necklace. It felt leaden around her neck. She stumbled when she tried to stand and with her heart heavy she turned home carrying the burden of the pendant in her hand.

  The cottage was the darkest shape in the night landscape, the windows shining with orange light. Poppy peered inside and watched her family basking in the glow. Iwan sat with Pip at the kitchen table, working through a sheet of numbers. Nain perched on the sofa, stabbing the air with knitting needles, her complexion now back to its ruddy normal. And Mum reclined in the leather armchair, a book in her lap but staring into space, her head in another story entirely.

  Poppy was weary. The novelties of the day were beginning to take their toll. For once, she didn’t want to be enveloped by the warmth of her family and craved solitude. She tapped on the window nearest her mother. “Going to bed,” she mouthed and Emma waved, “I love you”.

  Poppy felt the fatigue of every hour she’d been awake as she dragged her feet up the stairs. The heavy oak door crea
ked on its iron hinges as it had done since she could remember and she shut the world behind her.

  The moon, a sliver from full, shone through the large circular window at the end of the loft. It cast a silvery light over the long room. The attic was only high enough for Poppy to stand in the centre, the roof sloping steeply either side.

  Her father had used every corner and inch of space to accommodate her. Two triangular chests of drawers were made bespoke to house her clothes. A custom low bed lay with a full view of the porthole window. Rows of narrow shelves ran the length of the ceiling, with rails to hold her books so that the roof was a kaleidoscope of vivid covers. It was a special room and Poppy’s sanctuary and here she bowed to the exhaustion of the day.

  She collapsed onto the bed and gazed out of the porthole. The undulating fields outside shone like a rolling sea in the moonlight, hedges the crests of waves and sheep like seagulls riding on the heaving water. She closed her eyes; her head swam and consciousness blinked out in lazy pulses as she drifted.

  “This room is magical,” Rosalyn’s voice whispered in her memory. “I adore being here with you. We’re like stowaways on an old galleon – halfway across the Atlantic to discover new lands.”

  Poppy could feel Rosalyn’s warmth. Her body cuddled behind, snug together from head to toes and her arm wrapped about Poppy’s tummy.

  Poppy drifted with fatigue, relaxed and content in Rosalyn’s presence. She smiled as she began to dream. And for the first time in years, on the cliff edge of sleep, Poppy succumbed and murmured, “I miss you, Rosalyn.”

  Chapter 9.

  Poppy slept long and deep, until the morning sun beamed through the window and baked her room. She stirred rubicund beneath her duvet.

  She dreamed and remembered the time she kissed Dai. It was not long into secondary school when the bristles on his chin were hardly worth shaving but made kissing an activity Poppy found uncomfortable at best. He smelled peculiar too.

  But even after accommodating these distractions, the main event didn’t move her and she couldn’t fathom what made film heroines lose their minds and more besides. Poppy wondered if it was underwhelming because Dai was a friend. But when she kissed another boy, considered handsome by girls in her class, she was unmoved to the same disappointing extent.