Poppy's Return

by Pat Rosier

  ‘Perhaps.’ She was clearly not convinced, but she turned off the engine again. ‘Shall we talk here, or elsewhere.’

  ‘Elsewhere, so we don’t get caught out here in fragrante delecto by some passer-by, or worse.’ And yet, and yet. That other insistent, miserable voice wanting to say and wanting to not say, ‘What about her? What have you told her?’

  ‘Right. We’ll try the pub again.’ Then, anxiously, ‘Are you sorry I brought you here?’

  ‘No, definitely not. It’s lovely.’ Tell me. Tell me. Don’t make me ask.

  ‘Shall I tell you my news?’ They were going back by a different, faster route. ‘Museum news, real life news, you decide.’

  Poppy opted for the museum news while they were driving. ‘I’ve backed right off,’ Jane began and went on to talk about the factions that had developed and how even the staff were lining up behind one board member or another and their pet project and much of the material she had brought back from New Zealand was being sidelined. ‘I even drew up a development plan that actually incorporates most of what they want, but they’re not interested, they want to fight their little battles and I’m right sluffed!!’

  ‘Sluffed?’

  ‘Fed up, tired of it all. And it’s trivial enough, compared to what you’re dealing with.’ She put her hand on Poppy’s knee for a moment then turned into the street they had left earlier. There was one noisy group remaining in the front bar, but they found a spot out back in an area almost surrounded by empty tables; two men were at one, engaged in a low-voiced discussion about some papers in front of them.

  Jane bought them each a glass of white wine which they held up and clinked before they drank.

  ‘Now, my news,’ said Jane firmly. She was looking pleased with herself. ‘Don’t you want to know?”

  ‘Of course.’ What Poppy wanted to know was that Jane had left the house she shared with Héloise and would run away to New Zealand with her when… well, when she, Poppy, could leave England.

  ‘I’ve got a flat!’ excitement enlivened Jane’s usually watchful expression. ‘Well, a bed-sit really. I sign up on Monday and can move in next Friday. A week today!’ She was jiggling, ebullient.

  Poppy did her best to match Jane’s mood, not wanting to dampen it with her questions. Questions like, ‘Have you told Héloise about me?’ and ‘When did you stop having a sexual relationship?’ and ‘What took you so long?’

  ‘I’m going to tell Héloise in the morning,’ Jane went on, ‘we’ve agreed to have a talk.’

  ‘What have you been doing all these months since January?’ Poppy didn’t ask out loud, was distressed by her own reactions. She wanted to be happy, happy that she and Jane were on the verge of something, something she hoped – believed – would be wonderful, and here she was, full of resentment.

  ‘I’m not coping with this!’ she blurted. Instantly Jane was concerned, anxious.

  ‘Oh! Have I done something wrong, I thought…’

  ‘No, it’s me.’ Poppy did her best to explain her ambivalence, her head down so she wouldn’t see Jane’s pleasure fade.

  ‘The waiting,’ she said to her glass, ‘then the travelling, and coming to grips with what’s happening with George – He’s going to die – and all the emotion of seeing him and now seeing you…’ she looked up finally, into Jane’s teary eyes, and ploughed on, ‘and I’ve really wanted to know what you’ve said… about me… us… to her and there was something about those flashing headlights…’ She looked at the tissue Jane had handed her then blew her nose on it. ‘Sorry. Wet blanket.’

  ‘Nothing will put out my fire!’ and Jane giggled. ‘Sorry. And I do understand, really, as well as understanding, now – at last – that you want what I want. I think.’

  ‘Yes. Yes I do.’ They were holding hands, tightly, on the table between them.

  ‘I haven’t talked to Héloise about how I feel about you, I thought you wanted to stay out of…’

  ‘Yes I did,’ Poppy said. And didn’t say that everything changed when she had to come over so soon, surely Jane realised…

  ‘But I told her you were coming to see George. She wasn’t very interested. And you’re exhausted.’ Poppy was so tired suddenly all her limbs felt leaden. Jane stood up. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you back to your car.’ Neither had finished their wine. The two men watched them leave then glanced at each other, shrugged, and went back to their papers.

  Of all the times to take a wrong turning! By the time she had found George’s house, Poppy could hardly keep her eyes open, and was relieved to see there were no lights on inside the house. May-Yun and Stefan would be back at their B & B by now. She answered, George’s, ‘Goodnight, Poppy dear,’ as she passed his bedroom door, closed hers quietly behind her, took off her shoes and jeans and fell into bed. They had agreed that Jane would ring Poppy the next afternoon, Saturday, after she had talked with Héloise about moving out of their house and Poppy had been out to lunch with Susanna and May-Yun.

  Poppy woke late and lay thinking of Jane, more happy at the memory of last night than anxious about ‘the Héloise thing’. Just stay out of that, she reminded herself, let it take its course whatever that is, never mind planning the rest of your – and Jane’s – life.

  When she went downstairs she found a note on the kitchen table.

  9.20 Taken George shopping for slippers. Susanna a bad night and sleeping. S & M-Y’.

  So they had come around straight after breakfast. She wondered whether Susanna’s bad night would mean cancelling the lunch arrangement and hoped it wouldn’t; she needed to get a better idea of what was going on with her.

  Chapter Five

  By the time Stefan and May-Yun arrived at the house on Saturday morning, Susanna had made a booking for the ladies’ lunch. Taking advantage of the early sun, Poppy and George sat in the back garden, Poppy squirming a little under her father’s close questioning about what had transpired between her and Jane. Finally she told him he’d have to be satisfied with general reports, she wasn’t doing blow-by-blow accounts. They both laughed, she to soften her words, he acknowledging his over-eagerness for detail.

  As the morning wore on Poppy tried not speculate about what might be happening in the talk Jane was having with Héloise and not to listen out for the phone. The men left first, for George to show his son the local transporter bridge – ‘Why?’ Susanna had asked, and no-one had answered – and their own lunch out at the pub nearby.

  Susanna took a long time to get ready and came down at exactly time to leave in a mauve linen dress, with her hair and make-up carefully done. Poppy and May-Yun looked at each other in their more casual trousers and tops, and simultaneously decided they would do as they were.

  It soon became apparent that Susanna saw this lunch as an opportunity. As soon as they were seated she began, looking at Poppy and May-Yun in turn. George and she had been very happy she told them, even after arthritis began to limit what she could do. In fact he was always willing to do whatever was needed, including cutting her toenails (which was getting close to more than Poppy wanted to know), even while he was going to ‘that museum’ nearly every day.

  Over the last few months though, she continued, not waiting for any response, he had been so tired, and she had been so worried, and he’d cut right back on the museum and suddenly wasn’t even interested in going there, ‘and it had been his life’. She had been on at him for weeks to go to the doctor and had finally insisted when she noticed him wincing with pain while he got dressed. The doctor had found the swollen ‘sore spot’ and then it had taken ‘an age’ for the tests. At this point the National Health Service got a severe drubbing that included a long story about two local gynaecologists who had ‘got away with it’ for years. Neither of her listeners enquired into what it was they had got away with, nor the relevance to George.

  The recital turned into a catalogue of the difficulties that she, Susanna, had to deal with, not only her own pain and diminishing strength, but worrying about George and
what would become of her when he had gone and having to deal with cleaners and the doctor coming to call, and nurses in time no doubt, it was all a terrible strain. Then she gave a big sigh and said, ‘Well I’m right pleased to have that off my chest,’ and set to eating her luke warm pasta.

  May-Yun broke the ensuing silence first. ‘Yes, I can see it is difficult.’

  ‘I’m going to stay,’ Poppy added, ‘as long as… well, until George dies actually.’

  ‘I thought you would, dear. And it’s George you’ll be concerned about, as you should. You’ll not need to be worrying about me.’

  ‘Well, no, but…’ Poppy was now less certain that Susanna was being unkind or selfish when she talked about George.

  May-Yun was looking from one to the other. ‘I think you will do very well together,’ she pronounced. ‘No bullshit, either of you.’ She laughed at the look on Poppy’s face. ‘Maybe I’m not quite as proper as you think when I am not setting an example to my children,’ she said. The tension was eased, and Susanna and Poppy could talk about practical things like when the cleaner came, and what days would be best for Poppy to drive whoever felt up to going to the supermarket, and how she could help generally.

  May-Yun watched, making a suggestion now and then. They decided in George’s absence that Poppy would go with him on his next visit to the GP and quiz her in more detail about what they could expect in the next weeks and what nursing and other assistance would be available and whether it would be possible for George to get the care he needed at home as the pain got worse. No-one’s even considering the idea of him getting better, Poppy thought.

  A walk in the Central Gardens was Susanna’s suggestion; she should walk a little every day, she said, and struggled to make herself do it if there wasn’t something pretty to look at. Wanting to get back for when Jane rang, Poppy did her best to show enthusiasm. The other two walked together, commenting on the formal gardens and sharing stories about their children.

  Dawdling behind, Poppy tried to distract herself from Jane by thinking about Susanna. She couldn’t work her out. In the past she had been pleasant, welcoming, showing about as much interest in Poppy’s life as Poppy did in hers; it had been easy to get along with her father’s undemanding wife who had never shown any resentment of Poppy and George’s closeness. There were undercurrents this time, that whiny voice – but not over lunch – an apparent indifference to George’s fate, a degree of self-focus that Poppy found slightly shocking, but perhaps, as May-Yun seemed to think, Susanna was realistic rather than heartless.

  They had turned back towards her; Susanna with her hand through May-Yun’s arm and leaning heavily. As they made their way slowly to the car Poppy chatted brightly to cover her impatience, which earned her some ‘what’s going on’ looks from her sister-in-law. It was a relief to concentrate on driving on the way home while May-Yun responded to a more cheerful Susanna’s comments about the gardens over the years and the Middlesbrough of her childhood.

  The men had already returned and George had gone upstairs for a nap right away, Stefan was reading the paper. Yes, the bridge was very interesting, he told the women, there was nothing like it in New Zealand, cars drove on and were winched across the river on a pad suspended from the ‘bridge’ part, which of course was high enough to not impede shipping, and earned it the name ‘transporter bridge’… he cut short his explanation as the two women smiled at each other. ‘We had a good lunch,’ he went on, ‘but George tired dreadfully very quickly. He could barely speak by the time we got back.’ Stefan shook his head. Grave, thought Poppy, my brother is looking grave. Too appropriate.

  ‘A bed downstairs might be a good idea fairly soon,’ Stefan was continuing, ‘I had to practically carry him up, and there was one dreadful moment when I obviously pressed on something painful.’

  ‘It gets worse every day.’ Susanna was pale, and her voice shook. May-Yun helped her upstairs to rest.

  ‘I’ve been looking around,’ Stefan continued to Poppy, ‘and I think the living room – come with me – which is hardly ever used, would make a downstairs bedroom, maybe for them both. I think you could all manage with the kitchen and dining room.’ They stood in the doorway, Stefan talking about various items of furniture that would ‘have to go,’ or maybe, with an almost boyish ‘bright idea’ look, ‘you could set yourself up a sitting room upstairs.’ With an arm around his sister’s shoulder, he apologised for going off on holiday and leaving her with two ailing ‘olds’.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she felt herself rising to it as she spoke, ‘I can manage whatever needs doing, Jane will have some local knowledge, and there’s the doctor, and I am a competent adult, you know. Oh. Has there been a phone message?’

  ‘Oops, I forgot.’ Her heart raced. ‘Katrina rang.’ She tried not to let her disappointment show. ‘We had a long chat. She sends love and says she’ll ring every week to see how you are going, and you must let her ring you because it’s cheaper from that end.’ He went on before she had time to say anything. ‘And I asked Dad about his brother.’

  ‘Oh Yes. The uncle we never knew…’

  ‘Apparently he died, quite a few years ago, in Sydney. AIDS probably.’

  ‘Oh.’ How was it she such could have a surge of loss for a stranger long dead? ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘Not really. He cried a bit, made a comment about past mistakes and changed the subject.’

  ‘Oh. ‘I’ll ask him sometime maybe…’

  ‘Or leave it be,’ Stefan suggested. ‘Apparently Gregory had no family. Is that the phone?’

  Poppy raced off, leaving her brother to measure up items of furniture with his eye and speculate on the possibility of moving them up the stairs.

  A distraught Jane on the other end of the phone was making very little sense.

  ‘Hey, slow down, what’s happened? Are you all right?’

  ‘No, I am not all right I am absolutely, totally, completely angry, no enraged, I’ve been… I’ve been cheated and I can’t bear it! Can you come over, now, right now, please!’

  ‘But…’ They had agreed that she wouldn’t go to the house, she didn’t want to go to the house, she had no right to go there, as far as she was concerned it was off-limits. She did not want to come face to face with Héloise.

  ‘I’ll come to you then, I’ve got to see you, I can’t tell you this on the phone.’

  It was her brother’s last night, Poppy must be in for dinner with them all. And she must find out what was going on with Jane. Now was not the time to bring everyone together, anyway Jane was in no state… and George and Susanna… no, it was impossible.

  ‘Pick me up here, fifteen minutes, I’ll be out the front,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Okay. See you soon.’ And Jane had put the phone down before Poppy could say, ‘Drive carefully.’

  Poppy explained as best she could to May-Yun and promised to be back by six-thirty. Two hours. She glanced out the window. Grey. They could walk. Maybe Central Gardens again!

  Once she was herself in the driving seat, on the way to the gardens with a slightly subdued Jane beside her, Poppy insisted on some information; she hadn’t wanted to dally, holding each other, on the footpath with possibly George, or anyone else, watching.

  ‘I’ve done this all wrong! I should have rung my friend Rachel first and got myself a bit better sorted…’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, just tell me what happened! There’ll be four of us in this car soon.’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘You and me, both beside ourselves. Katrina’s joke. Now tell!!’

  After a restless night Jane had got up early, thinking to make a nice breakfast and set things up for the two of them to have a reasonable talk.

  ‘Cut to the chase, woman!’ Poppy parked the car and turned to face a bleary Jane in the passenger seat, who gulped and blurted out that before she could tell Héloise about the bed-sit and moving out, Héloise had told her that she was moving out, tomorrow, Sunday, to stay with the two gay men
in Guisborough one of whom would father her child. And then she had presented her with lists, of things in the house, and who should have what and a price for the sale of the house, or Jane to buy her out.

  ‘Everything!! All sorted, according to her!! No discussion!! Nothing!! I’ve never been so angry!! And she said now I could do what I liked with my New Zealand fl… – how could she know?’

  ‘Come on, let’s walk,’ said Poppy. Apparently the talk had turned into more of a shouting match, Jane couldn’t remember exactly what she had said but thought she was probably nasty, as was Héloise, who finally stormed out with a ‘You’ll be hearing from my lawyer’. What a cliché! and Benjy, she just called him and he jumped in the car and she went. ‘We didn’t even talk about Benjy,’ Jane ended with a wail.

  Their walking pace was considerably faster than had been possible earlier in the day and eventually Jane ran out of outrage, for the moment at least.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’

  Poppy shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Splitting up is difficult, it gets nasty, people behave badly.’

  ‘I thought you’d be on my…’

  ‘Side? Well, I guess I am, but hell, Jane, Héloise probably sees this as at least partly my fault…’

  ‘Well it’s not! She had no right to bring you into it!’ Poppy was not sure about that, but said nothing, and Jane went on, ‘I just want… I don’t know… to feel that you’re supporting me, I suppose.’ She took Poppy’s hand and got a squeeze in return. They kept walking.

  ‘I do, I do, really. I suppose I thought… well, that I’d come along at the end of the year when these messy bits were all over. Bit of a cheek I suppose.’ Back and forth, they talked while they walked, not looking at each other much, both being as careful and honest as they could with their words.

  They were sitting side-by-side on a bench, knees touching, facing, holding both of each others’ hands, when Poppy said after a few moment’s silence.

  ‘I’ll have to go, it’s my brother’s last night.’