Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

  “We’re here.” Poppy beamed. “We’ve done it.” And she squeezed David’s arm.

  His face was full of wonderment, as if seeing the land for the first time. Green ridges, small coppices and swathes of undulating pasture flowed as far as the eye could see. The hidden valley was unmarred by road or trail and only a silver stream searched its way through the terrain. Nestled at the bottom of the hill, through the flowering meadow, was the old hunting lodge.

  “Good,” he said. “It’s good to see this. My world doesn’t feel so small anymore.”

  Poppy smiled, elated by his achievement and also at the glimpse of the cherished lodge.

  David leant heavily on Poppy.

  “Should we rest?” she asked.

  He nodded and Poppy eased him onto the lush grass and sat beside him. He stared at the landscape, his expression troubled by the exertion and their conversation.

  “You know, I grew up in the Black Country.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Poppy said. She couldn’t detect a Midlands accent in his voice.

  “I grew up in a tiny house by the canal – one bedroom for Mum, with me and my brother in the attic. I spent the whole time dreaming of better places and worked my socks off at school to get out.”

  He paused to look over the meadow one way and the woodland and Hall buildings the other side. “I couldn’t believe how fortunate we were to buy this place. It needed money from Lillian’s family, but it was my salary that paid the mortgage. I was so proud I’d bought my little Rosalyn a dream home.”

  He paused, sorrow pulling at his features. “It broke my heart when she never came home. Not even at Christmas and the Hall could be so magical then; do you remember?”

  Poppy nodded, recalling the times she’d ventured in: traditional decorations of holly wreaths, oranges and spices on every wall and a towering Christmas tree in the stairwell that stood two floors high so Rosalyn had to place the angel from the top landing.

  “Compared with a little brick house and a coal barge outside, I thought this place paradise. I dreamt she’d have kids of her own here one day. But it seems she did the same as me – sat around dreaming of better places.”

  Poppy frowned and started to reassure him.

  “I don’t blame Rosalyn.” He raised his hand to dismiss excuses. “I wasn’t a good father – a loving one, but too often absent. I thought it best, giving her this wonderful house in a beautiful country. But I was always at work and I didn’t appreciate how unhappy she was until it was too late and she no longer confided in me. “

  “If it’s any consolation,” Poppy said, “at the end, I don’t think she confided in anyone.”

  David nodded. “I know. Although I’m afraid to say I, or at least Lillian, did blame you initially.”

  “Why?” Poppy blurted out.

  He laughed gently. “We had this beautiful hall and estate, and all Rosalyn wanted was to run around in the mud on your mother’s small-holding or sleep over in your tiny house. It drove Lillian insane.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “And why should you? You were simply being the best friend Rosalyn ever had. But when Rosalyn refused to see you, I suspected you’d hurt her in some way. I couldn’t think of any other reason.”

  Poppy frowned. “I’ve tried to remember what I did wrong, but...” She looked to David and found sympathy in his eyes.

  “I know. I saw you come to find Rosalyn at the Hall after our Christmas ski holiday. I was furious with you. Whatever you’d done had made her more remote and hellish to live with. But when I saw you,” he looked guilty, “it was clear you were as ignorant as we were.”

  He gripped Poppy’s fingers and shook them with the force of one truly repentant. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you. I heard Lillian being cruel and did nothing to stop it. I should have come down and explained.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Poppy said. “It was an awful time for everyone. And people tend to behave unkindly when they’re hurt.”

  David gave her a grim smile in agreement. “You know, I’d wondered if there was something wrong the previous summer. Rosalyn stayed at the Hall instead of sleeping over with you.”

  Poppy nodded. She remembered it too.

  “I thought,” he said, “perhaps she was worried about exams and needed her sleep, but it continued afterwards.”

  A swirl of nauseating doubt disturbed Poppy’s belly. Was that the start of Rosalyn’s withdrawal? Poppy had always believed it a sudden change, but David was right, there were earlier signs.

  “Sharing a bed at this age. It’s unnatural.” Lillian’s voice shrieked through Poppy’s memory. Her delivery was so venomous Poppy twitched away from David.

  “Was there anything else?” Poppy stammered, more to cover up her alarm than curious to find out. If anything she feared his answer.

  “To my shame, yes. She begged to leave Wells High School and attend sixth form college instead.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Poppy said, doubt curdling more.

  “I dismissed her request as snobbery. Too often she disrespected the locals.” He looked at Poppy. “I’ve lost my accent, but hope I’m not disparaging of my roots. I didn’t want the grime of the Black Country, as it was back then, for Rosalyn but I didn’t lose my respect for the people. My mother was a bright woman and worked hard for us. There were plenty more like her.”

  “How did Rosalyn take it?” Poppy managed to keep her tone steady although her heart thumped in her chest.

  “It was awful. She ranted and railed against me. Then I realised later she descended into silence. I’m not sure we’ve had a real conversation, about anything of worth, since.”

  He was drained by the confession.

  They sat in silence, the brilliant day a stark contrast to their mood.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t help,” Poppy murmured.

  “So am I,” David replied. “I thought you made a formidable pair. You seemed to support each other more than an average friendship, and I felt Rosalyn’s loss. When it was too late, I realised she needed someone like you, especially growing up here, and I wish I’d encouraged you more.”

  Poppy tried to smile but remained pensive. “I think,” she said at last, “we’d better head back.”

  He nodded and Poppy helped him to his feet. He breathed in and looked over the landscape one more time. “How could she not love this place?”

  She shook her head. The valley and lodge held a special place in her heart and it was beyond her imagination why anyone should shun the place. “Is it good to see it again?” she asked, hoping to remind him of his achievement.

  “Yes,” he said, pride and determination returning to his voice. “Thank you, Poppy. I’m grateful for your help and company. I’m sorry I’ve been sombre.”

  “No need. I’m happy to help. And I can come again next week if you wish.”

  He nodded and squeezed her arm with grateful force and they turned back towards the Hall.

  Poppy’s head spun and conflicting thoughts paralysed her mind. She’d never appreciated the changes in Rosalyn before that Christmas. But David was right, it had started earlier. Had Rosalyn suspected Poppy’s inclination, Lillian’s vitriol sowing the seeds of doubt? Perhaps she’d realised Poppy was a lesbian before even Poppy.

  But what did Rosalyn think now?

  Chapter 22.

  Two more weeks.

  Poppy mused in silence as she walked with Pip into Wells.

  Two more weeks of swooning over Rosalyn Thorn, now coupled with the fear that she disapproved of Poppy’s lesbianism. This was in no way a winning combination.

  Poppy bid farewell to her sister at the bridge and marched up the square, a new determination in her step.

  She wouldn’t stand this torment any longer. Not a moment longer. The very next time Poppy saw Rosalyn she would tell her she was gay. Not about the massive crush she had on her. But she would definitely tell her she was gay. No messing.

  Poppy stepp
ed through the shop door, shoulders back, head up high.

  “Rosalyn’s upstairs,” her mother said.

  “Here? Now?” Poppy’s determination wavered. She wasn’t that ready to tell her.

  “Yes,” her mother replied with an indulgent smile. “There’s no rush. She’s reading the paper over a coffee. Although,” her mother looked towards the ceiling, “it’s busy for this time of morning – at least three tables as well as Rosalyn and Geraint.”

  “Ok,” Poppy said, trying to steady her resolve. Emma disappeared into the studio and Poppy took a deep breath.

  Right. She could do this.

  “Rosalyn,” she practised. “I’ve never… I’m…. um…. I’ve never had a boyfriend. Like a serious boyfriend. You know with…,” she found herself doing something odd with her fingers, twirling them around each other representing god knows what sexual practice. “Ugh,” Poppy said as she flapped her fingers straight.

  “I’ve never, ever, nowhere near in fact, you know, done it, with a man. By which I mean sleep. Or not sleep but, more accurately, had sex.” She said sex in a peculiar whispery way that sounded more like “saygz”. She shuddered, feeling squeamish about whatever ordeal that meant. Try again.

  “I like women. I love women. Really love women. Kissing them. And much more. So much more.” Poppy slapped her hands over her face. She needed to stop beating around the bush, so to speak.

  She clenched her fists and screwed up her eyes. “Rosalyn, I’m a lesbian. A massive lesbian. One who hasn’t had sex for three years. Three. Whole. Years. Not even a kiss. Which may account for this massive crush on you. Not helped by your sumptuous breasts and peachy bum. And it’s driving me a bit crazy, so imagine what I’ll be like in two weeks’ time. So, please forgive me when I stare at you with no higher brain functioning.”

  There. That pretty much covered it.

  “Very nice sweetheart, but I think the customers would just like a coffee.”

  “Mum.” Poppy snapped open her eyes. “I didn’t hear you come back in.”

  “Stick with the first line.” Her mother smiled. “You’ll be fine.”

  Poppy’s cheeks flushed deep pink – a habit with all things Rosalyn Thorn. But this time, she was saved from further parental scrutiny by the shop phone trilling on the counter. Her mother answered and Poppy scuttled to the stairs.

  “It’s for you sweetheart,” Emma called before Poppy could escape, and she held out the receiver.

  “For me?”

  Emma nodded, her eyes bright with excitement. Poppy descended the stairs cautiously. She never received phone calls at the shop. Her mother handled the orders and all personal calls came to her mobile.

  “Hello?” Poppy spoke into the old-fashioned handset.

  “Oh hello,” a well-spoken male voice replied. “Could you tell me if you have a table free on Saturday?”

  “A table free?” asked Poppy.

  “Yes a table for four.”

  Poppy was none the wiser as to who the caller was or their purpose. “Do you want to borrow a table that seats four?”

  “No,” the caller replied, now also perplexed. “I want to book a table for Saturday lunch. I realise it’s short notice, but I love the sound of your establishment.”

  “You want to book a table?”

  “I do.”

  “To eat?”

  “Indeed.”

  “To eat here?”

  “Yes, is there a problem?”

  It had taken some time but at last the penny was plummeting earthwards.

  “No. Yes. I mean, of course you can book a table.” A great smile spread across her face. “A table for four. Thank you very much for booking.” Poppy was so startled and elated she almost put the phone down.

  “Sorry,” she blurted “What time? Could you leave a name? How many people?”

  She mouthed to her mother “We’ve got a booking” and she grinned wildly as her mother scrabbled for a pen and paper.

  “Could you tell me where you heard about us?” Poppy asked. She was distracted from the answer by an attractive pair of legs in jeans descending the stairs.

  “Sorry, what was that? A blog did you say?”

  Again her attention wandered as Rosalyn’s face appeared with eyes only for Poppy. “A booking?” Rosalyn whispered.

  Poppy nodded manically.

  “Brilliant,” Rosalyn mouthed. Her pleasure was so genuine Poppy filled with a warm glow.

  “Sorry, a food blog? Could I write that down please?” Poppy fumbled for the pen from her mother and started to scribble, her attention divided between listening, writing and seeing Rosalyn leave the shop.

  Rosalyn turned and waved, “See you later,” and stepped out of the shop.

  Poppy replaced the handset and stared at her mother. She was filled with joy at the phone call and dread at seeing Rosalyn leave. “We have our first ever booking.”

  “Well done, sweetheart,” she said and Emma kissed her on the cheek. “We have a bit of luck at last.”

  Poppy grinned, a mix of euphoria and nerves.

  “Did they say where they’d heard of us?”

  “Some blog that reviews restaurants in Wales and Shropshire.” Poppy’s eyes flicked towards the door. “I’ll look it up at home,” she said, then she forced her attention back to her mother. “Isn’t it brilliant?”

  Her mother nodded with pride on her face.

  Now. All Poppy had to do was talk to Rosalyn – just the simple business of coming out to the woman who broke her young heart and now reduced her to a jelly of hormones.

  “Go on,” her mother said with a kind look. “Go and tell Rosalyn. I’ll cover while you’re gone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you need to talk to her.”

  Poppy fumbled with her apron, nervous hands incapable of untying a simple bow. “I won’t be long.” Oh god, this might be swift indeed. “I think I won’t be long.”

  Her mother stroked her cheek. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be here whatever happens.”

  The knot in her apron resisted her agitated hands and Poppy wriggled it over her bottom. She skipped out of the cloth. “I’ll be back,” she shouted, already breathless with nerves.

  Poppy leapt out the door and whipped her head round to spot her friend. Rosalyn had almost left the square and was heading past the shop. Poppy skipped over the cobbles onto the paving then sprinted up the road. Rosalyn dipped out of sight and Poppy pushed herself harder, her feet slapping on the stone slabs.

  Nothing. When she reached the corner, there was no-one. Poppy stood panting, looking along every avenue. There was no sign of Rosalyn heading out of town and only an elderly couple wound up the path towards the castle.

  The shop door opened with a clanging bell and a customer emerged from inside. For a moment Poppy caught Dai’s voice booming through the air. “Rosalyn Thorn. So, again, you’ve found a use for my humble shop.”

  Poppy dived inside before the door shut and scuttled behind an aisle of baked beans and tinned pilchards. In front of the rows of tiny fish, she panted in rasping gasps, not a picture of decorum. She took a deep lungful, held her breath and felt her hyperventilation calm.

  But her cheeks glowed and her forehead flushed, as did her neck, until her entire head blazed. She fanned her face with desperate hands, but the exertion made her roast hotter still.

  She would have to wait for her body to recover, then she would calmly ask Rosalyn to accompany her for a stroll. She breathed out.

  “Me and Poppy married?” Dai’s laugh reverberated around the shop. “When you first arrived, you thought Poppy and I were married?”

  Oh god.

  “I’d be so lucky. And every man in the village would agree.”

  “So how does she stay single in the midst of all you admiring beaus?” Rosalyn’s voice was full of amusement.

  “Well, Poppy’s special isn’t she.”

  Oh god oh god oh god. Poppy squeezed her eyes tight an
d her fingers into fists, as if it would protect her from the impending outing.

  “See,” Dai sounded thoughtful, “Poppy’s a very unassuming girl. And she may skip around the village happy as a daffodil, but she needs…”

  Poppy squeezed her eyes tighter.

  “…someone special. I think Poppy knows that.”

  Poppy breathed out. That was a narrow escape. She peeped around the end of the aisle. Dai looked distant and Rosalyn regarded him with a quizzical expression.

  “Although she’s the most easy-going girl in the world,” Dai continued, “with a kind word for everyone, even you like, I think she realises she needs someone extraordinary if it’s for the rest of her life.”

  “And that’s not you?” Rosalyn laughed.

  “No. I’m not the worst catch in the world like, but Poppy needs someone, I don’t know, bright—”

  “Well that’s you out straight away.”

  “Now hang on, Rosalyn Thorn. Not all of us made university, but that doesn’t mean we’re stupid.”

  Poppy could have clapped. Good for you, Dai Edwards.

  “Then, they’d have to be generous, every bit as supportive as she is of everyone else. Vivacious—”

  “Vivacious? Big word for a country man,” Rosalyn mocked.

  Poppy bristled and wouldn’t have blamed Dai for retaliating, but he ignored Rosalyn this time.

  “And a woman of course. It would have to be a woman.”

  Oh god. There it was. Rosalyn knew. Poppy’s stomach leapt about her body and settled somewhere in her oesophagus, where it really shouldn’t have been.

  And there was silence. A horrible deafening silence.

  Neither said a word and Rosalyn was far from goading now. Her face was pale and she stared at Dai. “What did you say?”

  “Poppy’s gay.”

  “What?” Rosalyn whispered.

  “Poppy’s a lesbian.” Dai sounded confused. “You do have those in London, don’t you?”

  Rosalyn was looking away, her face still pallid. “Err…Yes. Of course we have those.”

  Dai puffed out his chest and raised fists to his hips. “Now I hope you don’t have a problem with gays. You won’t find anyone here who does, especially with Poppy. We’d all love to see her happily married to a woman.”