Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

“I have time.” Rosalyn smiled. “And we won’t attempt everything at once.”

  Poppy’s heart pounded as her mind raced over the implications. “But.” Poppy was stunned. “You hate it here.”

  “I’m not like you Poppy. I’m never going to open my eyes in the morning and see the pure joy you do. But there are many things I like here, some I love very much.” Her gaze rested on Poppy.

  Poppy’s heart leapt at the same time her stomach tensed in anxiety. She was thrown into such an agitated state she stood and had to walk away. She took a few paces into the meadow and breathed in deeply. She turned and attempted the appearance of composure.

  “And this?” Poppy looked up at the lodge. “This is part of those plans?”

  “Of sorts. It’s part of my plans.” Rosalyn’s face was unreadable.

  “It would be a shame to lose it.” Poppy’s emotions fought inside, sorrow mixed alarmingly with hope. “And you think you can live here? And be happy?”

  Rosalyn’s gaze didn’t flinch. “I think so. It depends on how things work out, but this is my best chance of happiness.”

  Poppy bowed her head, stirred by such conflicting emotions they threatened to overcome her. Her chest heaved and it was made worse by being so obviously affected by what Rosalyn said. She opened her mouth but couldn’t issue any words that made sense of her state.

  “We’d better go,” Poppy said instead. “Dai will be waiting at the stables by now.”

  Rosalyn stood and walked towards her, her graceful movement a thing of beauty. Her smile was full of warmth and she slipped her arm through Poppy’s.

  “Let’s go then,” she whispered.

  Poppy was grateful for the reprieve and wrapped her fingers around Rosalyn’s arm. She nodded, and they set off across the meadows towards the stables.

  “So,” Rosalyn said, her forthright manner returned, "tell me about this poor, unfortunate woman to be betrothed to Dai Edwards.”

  Poppy shot her a warning glance and Rosalyn laughed.

  Dai loitered between the Hall’s magnificent circular lawn and the stable block, dwarfed by the old carriage doors. He shuffled with his hands in his pockets, looking shifty or at least exceedingly uncomfortable.

  “Good morning, Dai,” Rosalyn said, chin in the air and her manner an amused loftiness.

  “Morning, Rosalyn. Poppy.” He nodded. “Before we go on, I wanted to say, Rosalyn,” he paused, his face contorted, “I’m very grateful for this opportunity—”

  “Oh don’t, Dai,” Rosalyn snapped, “you’ll strain something.” She looked up at the formidable brick block. “No, the opportunity is mine. I’m going to give these stables a test drive with a view to making them a venue on a more regular basis. So,” she smiled at Dai, “I’m gaining something and you don’t need to be gracious or grateful.”

  “Oh good. I mean, I am still grateful like. But, err, yes.” He paused and resumed something like his old manner. “Shame about the rugby, heh?” he said at last, a glint in his eye.

  “Sorry?”

  “The world cup?” Dai said.

  “What about it?”

  “France beating England in group matches?”

  Rosalyn regarded him a moment. “Dai, I don’t give a fuck about the rugby. Now would you like to look at the venue?” She turned her attention to the padlock.

  Poppy sidled up to Dai.

  “How can she not care about the rugby?” he whispered, aggrieved he couldn’t needle that weak spot.

  Poppy raised her eyebrows. “What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing. I just can’t believe she’s not following the world cup.”

  “Did you know some people go a whole lifetime without knowing a single rugby score?”

  “It’s not right, I tell you.”

  “Are you hungry by any chance?” Poppy smiled.

  “Starving.” Dai rubbed his belly. “This ruddy diet Mary’s got me on – it’s torture.”

  “Well, don’t let it scupper your chances of a free venue.” Poppy nudged him in the ribs. “Rosalyn isn’t expecting obsequious gratitude, but I imagine she won’t put up with outright hostility.”

  “All right.” Dai nodded.

  “Dai, you great brute, come and help with this door,” shouted Rosalyn. “If there’s one thing you’re good for, it might only be this.”

  Dai shot Poppy a glance and in return she raised a warning finger and laughed.

  The two great wooden doors creaked open on rusted hinges. Flakes of blue paint and splinters fluttered to the ground and clouds of dust rose in the sunbeams that penetrated the stable block.

  Rosalyn stepped inside. “My family have never used this building. And the people before tore out the stable partitions and used it as a farm store.”

  An old tractor, tiny by modern standards, rusted in the corner, a stack of grey straw beside it. Cracked tyre rings lay unused. A rusted web of chains and spikes, alarmingly similar to an instrument of torture, cluttered the floor.

  “You and a few other beefy lads need to clear those,” Rosalyn said. “And of course it needs a thorough brush down and clean – walls, ceiling and floor. But what do you think?”

  Great beams high above Poppy’s head hung with cobwebs that looked as if they could trap sizeable mammals. Birds had roosted in the broken window panes. The walls flaked with old white paint and the ground was thick with straw and dirt, the blue brick floor barely visible.

  “It’s an enormous space,” Poppy breathed. “I think it could be magnificent.”

  Rosalyn’s face brightened. “I was thinking,” she wandered up to Poppy as she spoke, “we could borrow Christmas lights, plain white ones, and stream them down the walls. The light would be soft, perfect for a romantic wedding breakfast, and in a rustic place like this, it might be charming.”

  Poppy grinned. “I love the idea. We could put out a request to borrow them for the evening. What do you think Dai?”

  Dai looked nervously around the cavernous space. “What do you reckon Poppy?”

  “It could be beautiful,” she said with a reassuring smile.

  “Right you are then.” He was a man very much out of his depth.

  “Come this way,” Rosalyn beckoned.

  Through a door on the end wall, the stables broke into a set of smaller rooms.

  “This block of loos,” Rosalyn pointed to the left, “is all in working order. It’s basic but serviceable. And Poppy, you need to see in here.”

  They entered an old kitchen, a large space with a stoneware sink, range oven and a farmhouse dining table to seat twelve.

  “I think they used this area for the outdoor workers originally. It hasn’t been used for years but the water is mains and I’ve purchased this second-hand catering equipment.”

  Rosalyn threw back a cloth from a chest of drawers at the edge of the room.

  “Two gas cylinder hobs and a bank of chafing dishes to start with.” Rosalyn checked towards Poppy. “I can get more as you require and you can keep the equipment afterwards, if it’s useful to you.”

  Poppy was startled by how well equipped the kitchen was already. “This is brilliant. I’ll prepare most of the food in the café kitchens, so it’s a matter of reheating and serving here.”

  “Good. Now, Dai,” Rosalyn stepped forward and took the great man by the arm. “Come and tell us about your seating plan and the layout.”

  Rosalyn proceeded to manage Dai for another hour until, with the odd emergency conference with Mary on the phone, all arrangements were in place. Poppy smiled, marvelling at Rosalyn’s organisation in full force and Dai helpless in its wake. She stood by Rosalyn in the great doorway watching the bemused man wander away as if he’d been engulfed by a whirlwind.

  Rosalyn crossed her arms, a satisfied expression on her face.

  “Poor Dai.” Poppy laughed.

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t know what’s hit him.”

  Rosalyn grinned. “Well, there’s not much time left. We need to g
et a move on. I’m afraid we can’t progress at Dai’s pedestrian pace.”

  “Will you stop?” Poppy said, both amused and aggrieved. “I don’t know if you two will ever get on.”

  “Oh we get on. Just very badly.”

  “I know.”

  “Can I tell you a secret?” Rosalyn smiled from the corner of her mouth. “I quite like Dai. He’s not your stereotypical rugger bugger at all. And that he listens to you does him credit.”

  Poppy opened her mouth but left her response as a warm relieved smile.

  “But,” Rosalyn warned. “Don’t expect me to be kind to him.” She stared to the distance and the big man retreating along the wooded drive. “It’s far too much fun aggravating him.” And the smile on her face was of content mischievousness.

  Poppy observed Rosalyn and frowned. “Why are you doing this? I know it’s an experiment for your own benefit, but you don’t need to do all this – the clearing, buying the kitchenware.”

  Rosalyn looked down, the bravado of the last hour gone. “For you, Poppy,” she murmured. She peered into her eyes. “It’s for you.”

  Poppy’s heart cantered in her chest and she looked away.

  “Do you remember,” Rosalyn said quietly, “we talked in the café, and you said your only ambitions were the café be a greater success and to have an event-catering business. Well here’s your start. If you want it.”

  Poppy was filled with poignant gratitude. That Rosalyn had listened all those weeks ago was surprise enough, but that she’d realised this opportunity spoke volumes about her considerate nature. Poppy had badly underestimated Rosalyn’s regard.

  “Rosalyn?” Poppy realised the timing of the publicity in the influential restaurant guide. “Do you know…did you recommend someone from The Guide come and try—”

  “Of course Dai still has his work cut out,” Rosalyn interjected.

  Poppy was silent. She wondered how much Rosalyn had contributed for Poppy’s benefit. The blog, The Guide, Rosalyn’s efforts for the fair. Had Rosalyn done all this for her?

  “Yes,” Poppy said, letting Rosalyn change the subject. “He needs to arrange a registrar and venue for the ceremony.”

  “Has he thought of using the castle?”

  “The castle? No. I doubt it.”

  “He should talk to Geraint. Isn’t he the local contact? Imagine.” Rosalyn looked to the distance. “An evening wedding. Everyone gathered in the dramatic ruins on the hill. The sun setting across the valley. Dai could have his choir sing in the bride.”

  Poppy spat out a laugh. “When did you get so romantic? When did acerbic Rosalyn Thorn think of something as dreamy as that?”

  Rosalyn flushed and turned bashful. “I don’t know. It just occurred to me. I thought it might be nice.”

  Poppy’s face fell, regretting her outburst. Indeed, what had inspired Rosalyn’s thoughts to dwell on romance? Again Rosalyn had set Poppy’s emotions in turmoil. She was ashamed she’d mocked Rosalyn’s idea but terrified and roused by its possible inspiration.

  “I think it’s a beautiful idea,” Poppy murmured.

  They stood apart, Poppy not daring to lessen the distance between them. She was scared of what it would mean and what she’d do. It was Rosalyn who stepped closer.

  “Can I see you soon? Will you come to help?”

  Poppy nodded, not trusting her voice to remain steady.

  Rosalyn leaned forward, dipping to Poppy’s level. “Until then,” she said gently and she touched her warm lips to Poppy’s cheek with the most delicate of kisses.

  A delicious thrill sparked through Poppy’s body radiating from where Rosalyn’s lips stroked, the kind of touch that makes the body light and simple existence sublime.

  “Very soon,” Poppy whispered.

  Rosalyn walked away, around the Hall and along the edge of the wood towards the lodge. Every few paces she turned and glanced and every time Poppy was there looking back.

  Poppy couldn’t tear her eyes from her beautiful friend and watched her all the way to the brow of the hill. When Rosalyn reached the peak and paused a moment longer, Poppy felt a desperate pull at her heart. Her need felt so tangible she believed she could have stretched out and drawn Rosalyn towards her. She tentatively raised her hand and in the distance Rosalyn reached out as if to touch her.

  Then she turned and disappeared beyond the horizon.

  Chapter 39.

  Poppy walked into Wells alone, Pip on school holidays and pleasantly asleep at home. Food and figures tumbled through Poppy’s head as she tried to reconcile staff costs, a paltry budget and a meal to delight. Every time she came to an impasse, her mind would wander and a vision of Rosalyn would intrude. The image of Rosalyn waving from the hilltop would tug at her heart. The memory of her naked breasts caressing Poppy’s would illicit a stirring elsewhere.

  “Come on. Think straight.” Poppy rubbed her eyes. “How am I going to feed one hundred and fifty guests,” and one hundred and fifty boozy guests at that.

  She pushed open the shop door and was met by a pile of plastic boxes. Her mother popped up from behind the counter, masking tape and biro in hand.

  “Morning sweetheart,” Emma said. “People have been dropping these in all morning. I need to label them before I forget who brought what.”

  Poppy knelt down and turned over a box. “Christmas lights.” She laughed. “People are lending their Christmas lights.”

  “Word has gone out and the people are coming.”

  Poppy put her hands to her mouth in prayer. “You know, this might actually work.” Joy at the response watered in her eyes. “There’s a possibility this could be a wonderful wedding.”

  Her mother grinned. “You can do this, Poppy. You and Rosalyn can do this.”

  Poppy flushed and stood up, aware she’d avoided all mention of Rosalyn to her mother since she’d returned to Wells.

  “Maybe.” Poppy sighed. “I need to balance the figures for the banquet, and they’re not generous.”

  “Ah,” Emma said, remembering. “Dafydd from Montgomeryshire Ice Creams is waiting for you upstairs.”

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “I don’t think so. He said he wanted a chat and didn’t mind waiting a few minutes. He’s not been here long.”

  “Right,” Poppy said puzzled and she skipped up the stairs.

  The café was half full but Poppy’s eyes rested on a man with dark hair and closely trimmed beard.

  “Dafydd?” she asked approaching.

  “Poppy.” The man stood and offered a hand.

  “I thought I recognised you from the fair,” she said and shook his hand. “I meant to come and say hello but the day ran away with me.”

  “Oh, no problem.” He smiled. “It was a fantastic day. We were quite overwhelmed on the stall.”

  “I bet. The ice creams are beautiful. We serve the double cream vanilla with our chocolate brownies and it’s by far the best seller.” She pointed to a leaflet nestled in between the salt and pepper grinders. “I make sure the customers know where that delicious ice cream comes from.”

  “Very much appreciated. And I noticed our poster by your cake counter.”

  “It’s nice to shout about some good local products. I hope it brings more business your way.”

  “Well it has.” He ran a hand through his short hair and looked bashful. “And that’s why I’m here. See, Cerys says you’ve run into a spot of bother catering for a local boy’s wedding.”

  “A little,” Poppy said, trying to make light.

  “See, I’ve done very well out of the fair and you showcasing our products here, and I’ve landed a big order with another supermarket.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad.” Poppy reached out and squeezed his arm. “That’s brilliant.”

  “I’m right pleased, I tell you.” His face was ruddy with joy. “And to say thank you, I’d like to contribute our ice creams to your wedding preparations. If it’s any help, mind. Just say no if it’s not. It’s only an
idea Cerys and I had.”

  Poppy stared. “That would be amazing.” She started to smile. “That would be so helpful, thank you. Really, thank you.” And she shook his hand again with vigour.

  “Right oh. Phone me with your order and I’ll get a freezer delivered.”

  He moved towards the stairs but looked back before descending. “Cerys contacted Rhys from Aberrhiw Cider too. He’ll be coming by later. Says he has some stock that’s too close to its sell by date to distribute but it’s going begging. There’s sparkling wine too from their sister vineyard in Hereford.”

  “You’re kidding?” Poppy said. “Really?”

  Daffydd nodded. “Cerys is very grateful to you, and so are a lot of others. People will always help the helpful.” And he disappeared down the stairs.

  Poppy buzzed with excitement and her heart filled with joy for the generosity of her neighbourhood. Her mind was suddenly free and a thousand ideas for a delicious banquet flourished in her imagination.

  Poppy set down her baskets at the stable side door and peeped inside. It was a changed room from the one she’d entered a week ago with Dai and Rosalyn: all the machinery and straw gone, the walls and floors pressure washed, the broken window panes replaced. Stacked tables and chairs lined the walls and it was beginning to take shape into a credible venue.

  She spotted Rosalyn by the carriage doors, oblivious to Poppy’s presence. She lifted a chair from a stack and waved it from side to side in a rhythmical way as she walked towards the centre of the room. What was she doing?

  Poppy tipped her head to the side. A tinny sound with a deep bass reached her ears and Rosalyn’s movements began to make sense. Dancing.

  What was she listening to? Poppy squinted and concentrated as Rosalyn rocked her head from side to side, her blonde hair flying with abandon. Her headphones must have been on full volume because when she came near with another chair Poppy could at last make out the song. The Cure. Poppy laughed with elated surprise that Rosalyn still listened to the band which owned their teenage hearts.

  Close to Me Poppy realised and she broke into a grin.

  Poppy was spellbound by Rosalyn’s face, her eyes closed as she flicked her head from side to side. Her smile was one of euphoria. She could have been fifteen again, dancing at The Fridge with Poppy gleeful by her side.