Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

  He stood up and held the empty glass like a trophy, and another triumphant cheer shook the room.

  “Another!” they all shouted.

  Dai looked to Poppy, all resistance gone. “I’m doomed.”

  After kicking off the evening with a pint or two of beer, Poppy, half the size or less of the rest of the party, moved on to gin and tonic, which everyone except Brenda were too drunk to notice was in fact water. As the evening wore on, the bars filled with locals and the space was consumed by large men covered in sweat and beer. Poppy took refuge at the end of a bar with Brenda for intermittent company. She leant against the partition that separated the bar from the snug and sipped at her drink.

  “Hide me,” Dai whispered in her ear.

  “Hide you?” Poppy said. “Behind me and which other rugby second-row?”

  Brenda laughed, “You might hide an arm behind this girl, but not much else.”

  “Sssh,” Dai said, dipping his head down and snuggling beside Poppy at the bar. “I need a break. I’m out of practice you know.” He wiped his brow. “I’m losing it after six pints.”

  “Six pints? That’s not the Dai Edwards I know.” Brenda tutted. “I’m joking, love, I’ll get you a soft drink,” and she wandered further around the bar for Dai’s tonic and to serve customers in the snug.

  Poppy stared at him. “You’ve had six pints?” He sounded remarkably coherent given the quantity. “You do know that amount would probably kill me.”

  Dai chuckled. “I’m going to have to cope with a lot more yet.”

  “That fucking dyke’s back again.”

  Poppy froze. The vicious comment emanated from around the corner in the snug – a male voice, nasal and snide. “Stupid bitch should keep her nose out.”

  Dai’s strong hand lay on Poppy’s arm. “I think they’re talking about Rosalyn,” he said, “not you.”

  “That fucking lezzer’s got something against Alan,” the voice came again.

  Poppy leaned back and peeped around the doorway. She recognised a group of men, including the speaker, Glyn Owen. Some were from Wells, others from Welshpool and all were regular drinkers with Alan, who was nowhere to be seen.

  “What right has she coming in here and messing things up?” Glyn continued. “She should fuck off back to London with all the other fucking freaks.”

  There were murmurs of agreement from his crowd.

  “Told her, I did,” Glyn said. “Went right up to and told her where to go.”

  “Is that right?” It was Brenda chipping in loudly. Poppy leaned forward and could see the stout woman around the bar partition, her formidable arms crossed, staring towards Glyn. “And what did she say to that?”

  “Well, she got all shirty didn’t she? Had to resort to threats. Said she’d kick me in the balls if I wouldn’t move out of her space. Of course she had to say testicles.” He put on a derisive upper-class accent.

  “And quite right too,” said Brenda. “Saw you, I did. Trying to be a big man and intimidate her. I saw you step right up to her with your chest all puffed out, trying to barge her out of the way.”

  Glyn paused, perhaps taken aback by his behaviour being witnessed.

  “If you went pushing up against my breasts like that you wouldn’t get as polite a warning as that. My knee would be in your groin straight away.”

  Other customers in the snug chuckled and Glyn remained silent before grumbling. “Well, that fucking lezzer has it coming.” He dropped his voice, as if to talk only to his friends, but Poppy caught, “Like the fucking lezzer could find them. Told her too. ‘I bet you don’t know your way around a man enough to find his balls.’”

  His friends sniggered.

  “And what did Rosalyn say?” Brenda shouted. “Go on, tell them that too. No? Well, she said, ‘Of course I do. Same way I know about an exhaust pipe on a car. I don’t have to fuck it to know it’s there.’”

  Louder laughs filled the snug and someone clapped.

  “Now enough from you Glyn Owen,” Brenda shouted. “Any more of your crap about lezzers or Rosalyn Thorn and I’ll throw you out the pub myself. That goes for the lot of you.”

  The laughter continued and the sound of people shuffling and scraping chairs against the floor filled the air. Brenda appeared in front of Poppy, wiping a pint glass dry.

  “I’m sorry you heard that, Poppy,” she said. “I won’t stand for that kind of talk in my pub.”

  “Thanks Brenda,” Poppy said. “It’s not your fault.” She smiled weakly at the barwoman as she passed, but inside she fumed with anger that Rosalyn had been threatened so physically. Then Poppy blanched with humiliation. Here was exactly the kind of intimidation Rosalyn had predicted had she come out in her youth.

  “I know it’s horrible.” Dai gently squeezed her hand. “But they’re just letting off steam. Don’t let it bother you.”

  Poppy clenched her teeth. “But it does bother me, Dai.” She’d have found it upsetting at any time, but after her argument with Rosalyn it stung all the more. After all her preaching to Rosalyn about the tolerance of her fine neighbourhood, here was its darker heart.

  “Why do they do that?” Poppy said, looking hurt at Dai. “Why do they pick on Rosalyn for being a lesbian when she questions Alan’s dealings? Why do they resort to stoking up prejudices to bolster support for themselves?”

  Dai sighed. “Because it’s easy. They don’t mean anything by it. It’s just a way to quickly mark out them and us. And I bet they’d be horrified if someone meant it about you. It’s Rosalyn. She winds people up.”

  “So why can’t they say that? Why can’t they argue with her words and actions rather than who she is. ”

  “I know what you’re saying. But come on. She’s always been a right pain in the arse. The whole family’s been unpopular since they stole the Hall right from under our noses.”

  Poppy stared at her friend. “Dai. I expected better from you. The Thorns bought the Hall at a fair price. I’m not accepting this ‘should have been for a local family’ I used to hear growing up. If old Lloyd wanted to sell the Hall to a local he could’ve done. But he didn’t. He sold it to David Thorn for a decent price.”

  “But they didn’t fit in, did they,” Dai said. That family never made any effort to be part of the community. None of them. Who ever saw David or Lillian, heh? And Rosalyn? The ice queen at school?” He snorted with derision.

  Poppy fumed. “Not everyone contributes in the same way. I like to think both of us are a solid part of the community. We have businesses the village needs and we run them fairly. But that isn’t the only way people help.”

  “Enlighten me then, Poppy.” An edge sharpened Dai’s words. “When you compare someone like Alan Watkins, who’s offered me a good rate for my wedding, who tried to help Cerys with the fair, who always lends an ear when people from Wells need business advice? Really how do Rosalyn and David measure up?”

  Poppy shot a furious glance at Dai. “What does a heart surgeon contribute? One who’s worked for decades and saved hundreds of lives? What does a charity fundraiser contribute, who raises money for safe water supplies in other countries and saves thousands of lives? Seriously, what do they contribute?”

  Dai stared at her, his expression hard.

  “And,” Poppy continued, “I know on good authority Rosalyn contributed far more to the fair than Alan. In fact…” Poppy bit her tongue, to prevent further pre-wedding diatribe against Alan.

  “For now,” she said with more deliberation, “let me say, Rosalyn’s been right about many things. And no she doesn’t have our apologetic, polite approach and no she doesn’t suffer fools at all, and no she’s not from a proud Welsh lineage, but you’re mistaken if you measure her worth against Alan Watkins. And even if the Thorns lived quietly in Rhiw Hall growing nothing but English roses, it doesn’t excuse this rubbish about not contributing to the community. I can name a dozen Welsh families who hardly show their faces in town and frankly that’s up to them. So, yes, I am goi
ng to take it to heart when someone is homophobic, especially when you try and defend it with xenophobia.”

  “Poppy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you finished?”

  “Yes I have.”

  Dai’s expression softened. “How long have you been in love with Rosalyn?”

  Poppy opened her mouth to respond but no words came out. “Not,” she said with a blush and umbrage. “I’m not in love with Rosalyn.”

  “Are you sure?” He said it with sincere concern on his face.

  “What makes you ask?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he smiled.

  Poppy crossed her arms and looked away.

  “She always got to you, didn’t she?” Poppy could tell Dai was still smiling. “One way or another.”

  “What do you mean?” Poppy snapped.

  Dai squeezed her arm. “You’re one of the most amiable and lovely people I know. You have time and a kind word for everyone. Harsh words are water off a duck’s back and you could forgive a snake for biting. But with Rosalyn?” He chuckled. “She makes you madder than a bag of adders. But god forbid anyone else say a bad word against her.”

  Poppy examined her hands. “I just think she gets a raw deal sometimes. No, she doesn’t do herself any favours, but I won’t have her denigrated on bigoted grounds.”

  “Is that all it is?”

  “Yes,”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would be a special kind of hell wouldn’t it? Being in love with someone who drives you that insane?”

  “Yes,” Poppy said. “Quite right.” And her stomach twisted into a Gordian knot.

  Chapter 36.

  Poppy tapped on the window of the cottage next to the shop.

  “Dai? Are you in there?”

  She shaded her eyes and peered through the window. The lounge looked pristine – nothing like an eighteen stone man could have bulldozed through it. It was nine o’clock in the morning, an alarming time for absence after a stag do, and Poppy had visions of Dai waking up on a small boat in the Irish Sea.

  A familiar black Jaguar pulled up at the end of the street, and when the window wound down Poppy was not surprised to see Rosalyn lean out. She was, however, surprised to see Dai emerge from the passenger side, then startled by his gossamer summer dress.

  “Thank you, Rosalyn,” Dai said through gritted teeth. “Very helpful of you.”

  “You’re welcome, Dai.” Rosalyn’s face was full of satisfied amusement as she leaned over the car door. “No rush with the dress. Keep it for as long as you like.”

  “Very kind I’m sure.” Indignation flared at his nostrils.

  Poppy stared at the approaching bulk of Dai Edwards and the sheer light material that shimmered around his body. By the time he joined her, Poppy’s jaw almost scraped the pavement.

  “Morning,” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

  “Um. Yes,” Poppy said.

  “Ms Thorn very kindly rescued me from a sign post outside Rhiw Hall this morning.”

  “Oh?” Poppy failed to suppress a smile, which twitched in the corners of her mouth. The sight of a pair of handcuffs, surreptitiously being passed around the pub, lit up in her memory. “Were you, by any chance, tied up?”

  “Yes,” Dai said. “And naked.”

  A laugh spluttered out of Poppy’s mouth before she could think of stopping it. “I’m sorry, Dai. How long were you there?”

  “A few hours,” he said, chin in the air and hands firm on hips. He whispered. “I was actually asleep for several of those.” Then he said louder, “But it would have been nice if someone had helped me earlier, like when she passed the first time.”

  “Rosalyn spotted you earlier?”

  “Saw me on the way to drop her mother off, but thought I seemed quite comfortable in the hedgerow.”

  Poppy covered her smile but shuddered with the giggles.

  “And,” Dai projected up the road, “apparently the Thorns don’t have anything in my size, not even a loose dressing gown. Couldn’t rustle up some bed-linen to wrap around me. Oh no. Says the only thing that would fit was this lovely billowing summer dress.”

  Poppy gave Dai another glance up and down. It was a truly hideous sight. There was nothing about the dress that flattered Dai’s physique.

  “Couldn’t drop me outside the cottage, could she? No. Had to be up the street for a walk of shame didn’t it. Well,” Dai shouted over his shoulder. “The joke’s on her. Because I think I look lovely. So there.”

  Poppy peeped towards Rosalyn. For a moment Rosalyn appeared worried, but as Poppy burst into laughter again, delight beamed across her face.

  “Oh no,” Dai muttered. “Here comes Mary. I’m not going to hear the end of this.”

  Mary stepped out of her car, still in her scrubs. But she was far from amused when she saw Dai.

  “Oh, Dai.” Mary looked him up and down, her face full of despair. “I suppose it’s best I find out now. But hands off the wedding dress.”

  Dai laughed but looked concerned. “What’s up love?”

  Mary ambled wearily towards them. She breathed in but ended in a wordless sigh. “Alan’s hotel’s gone bankrupt.”

  “What?”

  “Found out this morning. The receivers have gone in and are selling what they can to raise funds, but we won’t see a refund anytime soon, and it’s likely to be pittance when we do.”

  “But,” Dai struggled for words. “Alan’s doing all right. I thought he was doing well in fact. How can that happen?”

  “I don’t know.” And Mary shook her head.

  “But, I only just paid him the remainder.” Dai put his hands to his head. “He must have known something was up by then.”

  Mary looked as if she was about to burst into tears. “Everything?”

  Dai nodded.

  “We’ll never get married this year,” Mary said slumping further. “We probably won’t have enough saved by next.”

  Dai looked harrowed and Mary distraught, neither of them saying out loud their greatest fear – the likelihood that older relatives wouldn’t see a later wedding.

  “Oh, Dai,” Poppy said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, love.”

  Poppy peered towards Rosalyn. She was still there, listening, her brow furrowed.

  Poppy felt ill. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to Rosalyn. But I was hurt and furious at her prejudice and now you’re feeling the consequences of mine.” Is what she could have said.

  “I could have warned you. It did sound odd at the time. No bookings? Cheap price? And,” Poppy hesitated blushing, “I’ve been more suspicious of Alan’s activities of late, but I didn’t want to spoil your wedding.”

  Poppy blushed again, realising she ought to apologise to Rosalyn. She looked to the car but Rosalyn had turned away, her face in a stony frown as if she couldn’t bear to see them. Without a backward glance she started the car and drove away.

  Poppy’s heart sank. She couldn’t blame her. Rosalyn had been right all along. A nauseating guilt settled in Poppy’s stomach accompanied by something worse – the cold dread of loss.

  “Well, that’s it then,” Mary said, her voice wavering. “Game over.”

  “Have you spent everything?” Poppy asked. “Is it all gone?”

  Dai snorted. “Pretty much. Just money for the dress, suit and flowers.”

  “But that’s a substantial amount, isn’t it?”

  “Enough to rent a Portaloo for a field perhaps, if we have a wedding picnic.”

  “But why not?” Poppy said, a spark of hope kindling inside. “Not a picnic, but perhaps there’s enough money for dinner? If I make it?”

  “For a hundred and fifty people?”

  “Oh god, that many,” Poppy breathed, and she wiped her forehead in anguish. “But maybe. I’m not saying I can serve you caviar. We’ll be talking cheap cuts here. But I could do it.
”

  “Where?” Dai said exasperated. “The café’s nowhere near big enough.”

  “No it isn’t, but we can find somewhere. Can’t we? Even if it does end up being in a field.”

  “It’s very kind of you, Poppy,” Mary said. “But we need a ceremony. And our friends and family are booked at the hotel. They’ll need to find and pay for somewhere else.”

  “Talk to them? See if they can make alternative arrangements?”

  Mary peered up at Dai, hope and despair flickering across her face.

  Dai shrugged. “We can try, I suppose. We could have a search around for a week and cancel if it looks stupid.”

  “All right,” said Mary. “Let me and Dai have a think. And we’ll come back to you. Thank you, Poppy.”

  Poppy watched the sad couple turn into the cottage, their shoulders bowed. She walked towards the square, a mix of emotions churning inside – heartache for Dai’s disappointment and guilt at her own hand in it. She was furious her emotions had led her astray. But uppermost was her cold fear Rosalyn would never speak to her again.

  “Do you have a minute, Poppy?” Dai’s voice called up the café stairs. It was midweek, in the lull between lunch and the school rush, and the café was half empty.

  “Yes, come up for a cuppa,” Poppy said.

  Dai creaked up the stairs and plopped himself in a chair next to the cake counter.

  “Oh, look at those desserts. I mustn’t though,” he said, patting his stomach. “Mary’s got me on a diet. My concert suit’s getting a bit tight and I need it for the wedding.”

  “You’re going ahead?” Poppy grinned.

  “I think we might.”

  Poppy sat beside him and slid a cup of coffee across the table. “So you’ve found somewhere? That was quick.”

  “Yes, took me by surprise. I hadn’t even started looking. I’ve been too busy tracking down that bastard Alan Watkins.”

  “Hmm,” said Poppy. “Any luck?”

  “Went round to his house, I did.” Dai crossed his arms and gripped his biceps. “By the way, I didn’t know Alan was a fan of your mam’s work.”

  Poppy laughed with contempt. “I don’t think he is. Why do you mention it?”

  “Well, I didn’t get past his front door, but I noticed some of your mam’s paintings in his hallway. Nice ones too.”