Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

  Rosalyn’s beautiful face was pale and exhausted. But there was relief there too. David smiled at his daughter, tired and anxious, but as if a weight had been lifted from his soul. They walked on, arm in arm, their heads leaning together in close conversation.

  Poppy clasped her fingers to her lips. “Thank god,” she said. “Thank god for that.”

  It was clear David was wrought with sorrowful relief and Rosalyn was opening her heart and history to him.

  Poppy was filled with overwhelming joy that Rosalyn was at last communicating with her father and regret it had taken so long. She watched them for a few moments longer, her heart pounding with emotion, then quietly retreated along the track home.

  Chapter 34.

  It was fortunate that Poppy’s week was busy with preparation for the fair. Her father was perpetually in the work shed. If Iwan wasn’t building outdoor seating for the café he was constructing picture frames for Poppy’s mother. Emma was producing postcards after Cerys relayed advice that these would sell easily and Poppy was stretched running the café and organising supplies and additional staff for the weekend.

  She peered from the café windows a hundred times, expecting to see Rosalyn – she would deny wanting to see her – but Rosalyn was never there. And when Poppy plucked up courage to ask her mother of Rosalyn’s plans, Emma smiled with sympathy and said she knew nothing beyond Rosalyn was working through issues with her parents.

  The weather teased all week, glowering with rain one minute, scorching the wet ground into an ethereal steam the next. But on Saturday morning as Poppy dashed in, at an hour only the birds were accustomed to, the sun was a happy resident in the skies.

  Cerys was already at the scene when Poppy arrived, clipboard in hand. She’d imagined Cerys would be skittish with nerves, but if she was she didn’t show a bit of it. It was a confident woman who’d taken command and stalls were being constructed with alacrity.

  “Bore da, Poppy,” Cerys said, a strict frown across her brow. “I’m expecting your dad with seating any second.”

  “He’s on his second coffee. He’ll be right here with Pip to arrange them.”

  “Dai iawn,” Cerys said and she marched off to organise another soul.

  The morning passed in a blur. Poppy never stopped service for a second, and every time she glanced from the window another stall or feature had appeared. The craft stalls were arranged on the town-hall side: her mother’s beautiful paintings, Cerys’ garments, a Celtic jewellery stall and several other artisan crafts.

  Towards the river, Cerys had placed events for children: Montgomeryshire Ice Creams with a generous table of every kind of sauce and sprinkles for customers to decorate their own ice creams, a Punch and Judy stall, a coconut shy.

  Derek’s decorate-a-bun stall was already surrounded and a medieval stocks with a ready supply of cream pies had children screaming with delight and pleading with their parents to gamely take up position.

  When Poppy had introduced the additional staff she sneaked out on a break.

  “How’s it going, Mum?” Emma’s stall was busy with people pondering how many pictures to buy.

  “Very well.” Her mother’s face flushed in a smile, no doubt elated at the surprise success of the stall. “I’ve received so many lovely compliments and commissions too, including a sizeable one.”

  “Brilliant.” Poppy beamed.

  “The cards have sold out. Cerys said they’d do well.”

  Poppy passed her mother a bagel filled with smoked-salmon and a mug of coffee.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. I haven’t had a chance to even notice I’m hungry.”

  Poppy waved and backed away, allowing more customers to view her mother’s work. The other stalls seemed as busy and, after the junior-school play had finished, swarms of children buzzed around the square. Poppy rounded to the river side and found Derek’s stall a hive of sugar-rushed little ones. The stall somehow remained orderly, although Derek was covered with every colour of icing.

  “It’s good, isn’t it?” Dai’s deep voice sounded behind her.

  Poppy grinned from ear to ear. “I never imagined it would go so well.”

  “It’s surprised me,” Dai said. “Fair play, Cerys has pulled it out of the bag.”

  “And it’s attracted people from outside Wells too. I recognise many of the children and parents, but I think half must be from out of town.”

  “Shop’s been busy too,” Dai said sheepishly. “That’s caught me on the hop. Had to drag in Mary and she’s working nights. She was not impressed.”

  “Well go and help her you great oaf.” Poppy jabbed him in the belly.

  “I’m allowed a quick break.” He laughed, but something caught his eye and his smile dropped from his face. “Well, I’m surprised to see her.”

  “Who?” Poppy rose on tip-toes to peer over the crowd.

  “Bit of a cheek coming here if you ask me.”

  “Who do you mean?” Poppy could see a hundred people from where she stood, but no-one of particular note. Then she spied the wisps of golden hair flowing in the breeze, the serene face with high cheekbones and luscious lips, the cool blue eyes with elegant long lashes.

  Poppy’s chest tightened and her stomach twisted with nerves. Rosalyn was but a few metres away.

  Dai still grumbled and Poppy heard a woman nearby chirping similar disdain. Several other locals turned in Rosalyn’s direction, not a kind look among them.

  “Yes, right bloody cheek,” Dai muttered.

  Poppy blushed. Although she couldn’t blame them for their anger – Rosalyn had been unforgivably rude – but she didn’t deserve this scorn. There were others more deserving of that, but Alan and his associates still enjoyed their status about town.

  Rosalyn looked as isolated as she had at school. Poppy was torn between ancient pique, recent guilt and a heart which fluttered whenever she saw her friend.

  She couldn’t resist. Poppy skirted around the stalls and found Rosalyn beneath the café, staring up at the first-floor window. She looked tired and pale, but Poppy still felt her irresistible allure.

  “Hi,” was all Poppy could muster from a couple of feet away.

  Rosalyn turned with surprise then delight filled her face. “Hi,” she breathed, her eyes sparkling. She remained reticent but leaned forward to engage Poppy.

  “I, um, didn’t know you were here, at the fair,” Poppy said.

  “Arrived. Not long ago. Just here.” Rosalyn smiled, almost shy.

  “Good.” Poppy gulped and clasped her hands together. “Are you staying long?”

  “Perhaps.” Rosalyn’s eyes were wide with apprehension. “I’d like to. But. We shall see.”

  “Good,” Poppy murmured. “Good.”

  They fell into a silence. It didn’t matter that hundreds of people milled around, bustling for a bargain, crying for ice cream. Their intimate space was still.

  “How are you?” “How’ve you been?” “Are you well?”

  “Sorry.” “Good.” “Yes.” “Me too.”

  They both giggled.

  “I’m very well thank you,” Poppy said.

  “You look it.” And Rosalyn’s eyes were bright with pleasure as they took in every curve of Poppy’s body before catching her gaze again. “Summer sun always suited you, although you look beautiful whatever the season.”

  Poppy opened her mouth, wanting to respond in kind, but her thoughts tripped over in a clamour.

  “Beautiful. You. Thanks,” she managed.

  Rosalyn smiled with kind amusement. “And your family? They are well?”

  “Yes, they’re very well indeed. Pip especially.” Poppy laughed. “Thanks to some unorthodox discipline of a school bully.”

  Rosalyn grinned and nodded in understanding.

  “Even Nain hasn’t had a rage for over a week.”

  “I’m glad.” Rosalyn’s smile faltered for a moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner. I’ve been working through a few things with my parents
.”

  “Oh god, I know.” Poppy’s memory of her revelation to David suddenly intruded. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to tell him, but your father—”

  A sharp voice cut through the air before she could finish. “Look at these tacky little pots. It’s the best I can say for…. Oh… Poppy.” Sam’s bug-eyed face appeared next to Rosalyn’s and, although the glasses covered almost her entire face, a sneer managed to snake its way out.

  Poppy stepped back. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were with someone, so to speak.” She retreated again. “Please forgive the intrusion.”

  “Poppy, you’re not intruding.” Rosalyn frowned.

  “Bye then.” Sam waved a dismissal and clawed at Rosalyn’s arm. She left with such conviction and haste that Rosalyn had no choice but to follow.

  Poppy stared after them, her mind racing and heart thumping. For a moment, Sam dipped under the awning of another stall, and without thinking Poppy stepped forward and clasped Rosalyn’s hand.

  “Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Poppy blustered. “I said some things to your father I shouldn’t.”

  Soft hands slipped around Poppy’s. She peered up and saw only warmth on Rosalyn’s face.

  “He told me,” Rosalyn said. “There’s no need to worry. Dad said he put you in an awkward position and you’re not to blame.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything,” Poppy confessed.

  Rosalyn squeezed her hand. “No. It was the opportunity I needed. It was hard but a relief. It’s been a tough week, but much overdue and a terrible weight has been lifted from my mind. Thanks to you, Poppy.”

  Rosalyn gazed at her. “And I must thank you for accompanying my father on his walks and cheering him on. I’m profoundly grateful. I can’t think of a better restorative than your company. It saved him from some dark moments I think.” She still held Poppy’s hand and tender gratitude softened her face.

  “It was my pleasure. I’m very fond of David.” Poppy didn’t want to let go, but the looming presence of Sam lent an awkwardness to their situation and Rosalyn slipped her hand away.

  “I will see you again?” Rosalyn asked. “Before too long?”

  Poppy nodded.

  Rosalyn stepped back and her companion in black whisked her away.

  Poppy gasped for breath and her heart beat so strong she could feel her pulse to her fingertips. When she joined Dai she was still flushed with the intimacy of the encounter. She tucked down her chin hoping Dai, at a height of a small building, wouldn’t notice her agitation.

  “Still pally with her ex then?” he said with derision.

  “Yes. It would seem so.” Poppy’s opinion of Sam was based on the exchange of a handful of words, but she had enjoyed so few of them.

  “Ex-girlfriend indeed,” Dai tutted. “Likely tale.”

  “I think they are just exes,” Poppy stuttered. “Perhaps. Maybe.”

  Dai looked at her with a curl of incomprehension at his lips. “Why would you hang around with your ex? Unless you’re getting back together again?”

  Poppy shuffled. “People do. That is, quite a lot of lesbians do.”

  “Really?” Dai’s incredulity wrinkled his entire face. “Why? What would possess someone to hang around with an ex they’ve decided is wrong for them? Is it to ward off future girlfriends during the rebound period?”

  Poppy sniggered. “I don’t know. I have enough trouble getting current girlfriends to stay here never mind after we’ve split up.”

  “Wells isn’t a lesbian Mecca then?” He smiled.

  “No. Far from it.”

  “Well, Rosalyn’s welcome to her. She looks a right stuffy cow.”

  Poppy rolled her eyes at him in a chastening look.

  “She looks stuffy,” he said with humility.

  They watched Rosalyn and Sam amble from the square and past the shop, Rosalyn appearing despondent and a vivacious Sam nattering and clinging to her arm.

  “Good riddance to them both,” Dai said and he bid Poppy farewell.

  Poppy lingered, watching Rosalyn depart and wishing they’d had longer.

  “I think people have her all wrong you know.”

  “Cerys,” Poppy said, surprised. The small woman had sidled up and Poppy followed her line of view.

  “I know people think Rosalyn is aloof and arrogant. But I’ve not seen a bit of it. She’s been nothing but helpful about the fair.”

  “Yes,” Poppy sighed. “She was very supportive in the meetings, wasn’t she.”

  “It went well beyond that,” Cerys said emphatically. “She’s been my rock since the first meeting. She’s given me ideas for marketing and extending the event. Getting the article in The Shropshire Express, that’s all her doing. Getting the bigger vendors and coinciding the event with the school play – her ideas. She’s been bloody marvellous I tell you.”

  Poppy stared at Cerys, open-mouthed at her approbation and how Rosalyn had been so supportive. “I had no idea.”

  “She was terrific. Great to have someone bright to bounce around ideas with. And so easy to work with too.”

  “Really?”

  “Well she’s a pro isn’t she? Event management and campaigns have been her business for years.”

  That Rosalyn was right about Alan Watkins’ activities Poppy was now sure. It was the kind of hypocrisy Rosalyn loved to expose. But that Poppy’s incisive friend had been so amiable and helpful to a local like Cerys was unexpected.

  “She was patient with me too,” Cerys continued. “Even though I’m a rank amateur compared with her. She was very unassuming. I’d trust her any day over the likes of Alan Watkins,” she said and puffed her chest with pride.

  Poppy turned back to Rosalyn in the distance, now with a very different impression of the woman. For a moment, Rosalyn glanced over her shoulder. Their eyes locked and Rosalyn smiled, but Poppy was too stunned to respond.

  Chapter 35.

  “Whose bright idea was it to have my stag do the same day as the fair?” grumbled Dai. “I’m knackered already.”

  “Well, my dear heart.” Mary squeezed his cheeks. “That would have been you.”

  Poppy giggled. “I think someone underestimated how busy the fair would be.”

  “We all did,” said Mary.

  Mary threw her bag into the car parked outside the shop and Dai shuffled nervously, probably at the prospect of unlimited beer and a hoard of rugby lads with the sole intention of humiliating the groom-to-be.

  “Let him get what he deserves.” Mary said. “But make sure they don’t actually kill him. And if he comes back with all limbs and other appendages attached, that would be nice.”

  “I’ll try.” Poppy laughed. “But after midnight, he’s on his own.”

  “Fair dos,” Mary said. She looked at Dai with a mix of amusement and apprehension. “It’s a good job it’s not the day before the wedding. He’s going to be a state tomorrow.”

  “Probably.” Poppy hesitated, feeling uncomfortable about their choice of wedding venue at Alan Watkins’ hotel and her recent opinion of the man, but she had no intention of spoiling their wedding by discussing her suspicions. “How are the arrangements going?”

  “Grand, they are,” Mary said. “My lot are all booked in at the hotel. We’re having the ceremony there and the food’s all sorted. I’ve just got to find a dress and keep that one,” she nodded towards Dai, “on the straight and narrow for one more month.”

  “I think you’ll be safe,” Poppy said, “if you ignore anything that happens this evening.”

  Mary chuckled. “Ta ra, Poppy. See you bright and early, Dai. I’ve left a bucket in every room,” she said and she disappeared into the car and up the road.

  “Ready?” Poppy asked.

  Dai shuffled. “I’m actually proper scared.”

  “And so you should be. I’ll check your vital signs until midnight. But after that, the boys have you all to themselves.”

  “Good god. Why do people do this?”

  Poppy threaded
her arm through his. “You’re doing it for your friends. People love to torture a groom because there’s a little sadist in everyone, but most of all in your rugby mates.”

  “Great. You’re so reassuring.”

  “Come on.” Poppy smiled. “The first half will be fun. You’ll just spend the second regretting the first.”

  “Oh my days. I’m not looking forward to tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll bring you a cooked breakfast from the café.”

  “There you go. That’s why you’re my best pal.” Dai grinned and they stepped forward up the road and arm in arm.

  The pub was hidden at the end of a winding lane half way between Wells and Poppy’s home, an ideal and isolated location for ad hoc and generous drinking hours and lock-ins.

  It was the warmest evening of the year so far and Poppy and Dai sauntered their way along the grass-split track. They gazed over the fields, the air a haze of bees and butterflies in the evening light. The meadows were waist-high, ready for harvest, and the dry grass whispered and chirruped with grasshoppers.

  “Are you ready for this?” Poppy asked as they reached the timber-framed pub.

  “Make sure I start slow, heh?” Dai said.

  “We’ll see.”

  They opened the door into the low-ceilinged bar, Dai ducking to avoid an old wooden beam, before they were struck by the cheer of tens of strong-voiced rugby boys, all with at least one pint of beer in their hands.

  “Where’ve you been, you big girl’s blouse?” shouted Alwyn Pritchard, a school friend almost the size of Dai. “We’re on at least our second.”

  “Don’t you worry though,” a woman shouted and all eyes turned to Brenda Gethin, the stout barmaid who stood behind the bar. With an arm strong from rolling barrels for a lifetime she held aloft a yard of ale filled to brimming.

  “Oh no,” Dai said.

  “Dai, Dai, Dai,” started the chant. And it wouldn’t stop until he grasped the yard from the grinning Brenda. Dai knelt down, unable to hold the glass aloft in the short rooms and spun the long container so the ale flowed into his mouth rather than flooding his entire face.