by Pat Rosier
‘Are you sure? It’s so fast…’
‘Thanks for your concern, Poppy, and yes, I am sure.’ Bessie’s leg jiggled while she spoke. ‘It feels better, easier,’ she said, ‘to take this opportunity, take my shattered self right away, lose myself in some challenging work in a strange place.’
‘What about friends, people to talk to, your support networks?’ Poppy’s anxiety showed on her face.
‘I know.’ Bessie stood up. Sat down again. ‘I figure,’ she paused then took a big breath and went on, quickly, ‘that I could cry and talk and wonder why and examine every little thing over the past few years, and talk to Alexa, try to understand. Or I can go. It’s done, no amount of talking and crying is going to change what has happened, and I’ve got this great chance to prove how good I am at my work. What would you choose?’ she ended defiantly.
Friends and family, thought Poppy but didn’t say so.
‘Go girl!’ said Martia, and Poppy added, ‘Right on, Bessie!’ as enthusiastically as she could manage then couldn’t stop herself adding, ‘but what about all your things? Your books, your wonderful wall hangings… Oh.’ She put her hand over her mouth as she realised she had no idea which one of her friends they belonged to.
‘Cut them in half!’ said Bessie, making a slashing movement in the air, then laughing at the look on Poppy’s face. ‘Joke!’
‘Sorry.’ Poppy was wiping tears. ‘It’s selfish but I can’t help thinking about George dying, and Jane living it up in London and Martia going North and Alexa off with a chap and now you going to Wellington.’ She tried to laugh. ‘Everything’s changing. I wanted to come home to my nice, predictable life here, and here I am and now everyone is changing and abandoning me.’ She pulled a face at the almost-whine in her voice.
‘Abandoned you are not,’ insisted Bessie. ‘Imagine a cheap flight to Wellington for a weekend of fun and debauchery with me in the capital.’ She grabbed Poppy’s hands, pulled her to her feet and swung them both around. Poppy joined in the laughter. ‘Anyway, I don’t go for another month. Sep-tem-ber-twen-ty-nine, she chanted.’ Letting go Poppy’s hands, she flopped into an armchair. ‘Seriously though, it will be a lot easier not to be wondering whether I’ll bump into Alexa and her chap. You know, she wanted me to meet him. Fat chance!’
‘I didn’t want to be a wet blanket, but really, all that talk about having a good time, makes me feel gloomy,’ Poppy confessed to Martia later. ‘I’m turning into an anti-social curmudgeon, I just don’t want to do that stuff that everyone calls “fun”, you know, parties, loud music, late nights.’
‘Me neither,’ her friend replied. ‘The difference is that I don’t mind.’
The rain was unrelenting. By Sunday morning there were reports of flooding in Northland and, after an anxious phone call, Martia thought about delaying her departure, then decided she couldn’t bear to string it out. The phone rang constantly for her on Sunday afternoon and evening and people dropped in, including Katrina.
‘Just about a party!’ Martia said, easing herself onto the sofa between Poppy and Mrs Mudgely at the end of a phone call from Rina. She putting her arm around Poppy’s shoulders. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And that is absolutely inadequate for so many years of friendship.’
‘With many more to come, I trust!’ Poppy turned the gesture into a full hug.
‘We-ell. There is the matter of where I might stay when I come down – just to see Mum, of course – every month.’
Poppy screwed her face into a thoughtful pose. ‘With her, of course!’
‘Spare me, please, my old and dear friend, not that, not that!!’
‘Okay. You can stay here then.’
Neither of them wanted to make the first move. When Mrs Mudgely jumped down and marched towards Poppy’s bedroom, her tail straight up in the air they hugged one more time, then Martia ran off to her room.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Well, that gave your credit card a bit of a workout.’ Joy was helping Poppy load a huge trolley full of plants into her car. Martia had been gone nearly a week, and Poppy was touched by all the ways her friends were finding for keeping in touch. Her second week back at school had been easier.
‘Uh huh.’ Poppy was packing the boot in one tight layer of small plastic trays, reading the labels, wanting to be able to tell them apart. ‘I haven’t enjoyed shopping so much for years. It helps to have an expert along.’ Joy, fitting taller specimens into the space in front of the back seat, grinned through the back window.
‘I wouldn’t make too much of the “expert”,’ she said. ‘These might all curl up and die.’
Poppy grinned back. ‘They certainly will, if they’re left to my brown fingers. I’m relying on your continued involvement in this project.’ She wedged a tray of impatiens into the last space and stood up with a grunt of satisfaction. ‘There, all done,’ she announced and stepped back into a nodding tree just behind her.
‘Sor —.’ She jumped away. ‘Oh,’ when she realised it was not a person. Joy appeared on the other side. ‘Allow me to introduce,’ she said, ‘Ms Variegated Hoheria, ready and waiting to grace your garden.’ She proffered a branch and Poppy shook it gently. ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘Please excuse me a moment while I figure out how the hell we’re going to fit you in the car.’ Both women were laughing, oblivious to the glances of other shoppers.
‘No worries.’ Joy bent down and tied the plastic bag around the base of the trunk, gently folded the top half back and slid the young tree onto the back seat. ‘There, won’t spill a speck of dirt.’ She closed the door gently and made a thumbs up to Poppy.
Driving carefully along Mt Eden Rd, Poppy slowed to let a van out of a parking space almost outside the The Top Café and eased into it. ‘A park right here on a Saturday is a definite sign we should stop for lunch. On me.’
‘It’s different, this Auckland life,’ Joy said as they moved to a table being vacated by an older couple.
‘What do you mean?’ The menu was in a standing plastic holder on the table. Joy looked at it briefly and passed it across to Poppy.
‘In Napier, we’d go to the supermarket on Saturday morning and “do lunch” – as they say – at home. Since we stopped playing hockey, anyway.’
A waitress appeared at their table and they both ordered kumara and bacon soup with bread.
‘Tell me more about living in Napier – if you want to, that is.’ Poppy knew the soup would be good and that it would be at least ten minutes before it arrived.
Joy wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s a past life now. I’d rather talk about your garden.’ Poppy opened her mouth to apologise for asking. ‘But then,’ Joy went on before she could say anything, ‘I have been asking a lot of questions myself. So here goes. Have you been there?’
Poppy nodded. ‘Jane and I spent a couple of nights there in January.’ It felt like years ago, not the less than eight months it was.
‘You’ll have noticed, then. A town and some suburbs. Flasher on the hill. Low buildings, since the thirty-one earthquake. Lots of sun, lots of narrow-minded people. Not all, of course. My lot, we lived on or around the wrong – read cheaper – side of Hospital Hill. Mostly we owned, mostly in couples. Led to some interesting – to say the least – breakups.’
‘That doesn’t sound so different.’
‘Then I’m not describing it very well. Okay, a typical week, then.’ Poppy shook her head, to say it was all right, Joy didn’t have to try harder, but Joy carried on, concentrating. ‘Monday to Friday, very respectable girls, very responsible, nurses, accountants, probation officers, white-ware salespeople, bus drivers, and of course a librarian. Good citizens. Closet, goes without saying, at least until the last few years and even then we “don’t know why people have to keep talking about it”.’
Poppy was nodding, uncomfortable that perhaps she had been too curious. ‘Now that’s different!’ Joy went on. ‘Look at the way y’all are talking about Alexa and Bessie. We would have le
t the waters close quickly over that and Bessie would have been out of the loop. Except perhaps for one or two who would see her on her own; she’d certainly drop out of the weekend round pretty fast.’
A waitress arrived with the soup. ‘Weekends in a later instalment.’ Joy picked up her spoon. ‘I’m ravenous.’ Conversation over the soup was desultory, Poppy waving at a couple of people who came in, brushing rain off their shoulders. ‘Work colleagues,’ she explained. ‘We’re going to get wet unloading.’
‘Looks like. It sure rains a lot in this big town. If I miss anything it’s the Hawkes Bay sunshine.’
Poppy tried unsuccessfully to pay for them both. ‘I get at least as much out of your garden as you do. I suspect more.’ Joy insisted, ‘I should be paying.’
‘We’ll pay separately,’ said Poppy firmly to the young man at the counter.
The rain was steady when they pulled up at her gate. Joy wouldn’t have an umbrella for relaying plants up the steps, but did accept the loan of a hooded jacket. She rolled up the sleeves until her hands appeared without comment and Poppy turned her head away to hide her amusement. It’s not funny if someone is short, she told herself and tried to keep up with Joy’s cracking pace up and down the steps.
When they had finished unloading they stood in the shelter of the front verandah looking down on the collection of annuals, shrubs and small trees.
‘Wonderful,’ said Joy.
‘Intimidating,’ said Poppy.
‘Well! That’s a sight I never expected to see!’ Katrina appeared under a huge golf umbrella. She bustled onto the porch and shook it briskly, struggling for a moment to get it closed. Joy, moving forward to help, noticed Katrina’s expression and changed her gesture to a proffered hand. ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘I’m Joy.’
‘And a blessing to this garden by the look of things.’ Katrina shook the hand firmly. ‘Katrina Lancaster, Poppy’s mother, please call me Katrina.’ She kissed at Poppy’s cheek. ‘Hello dear, just passing, dropped in to see how you are.’
‘Hello, Katrina.’ She and her mother didn’t hug, so she touched Katrina’s arm. ‘I’m fine, thank you. Joy’s helping me with the garden.’
‘Indeed.’
You never ever mention my garden, so don’t be disapproving, Poppy said to herself. ‘Come on in,’ she said out loud, ‘I’ll put the jug on.’
Joy moved to leave.
‘Only if you must,’ said Katrina. ‘We haven’t properly met yet. Tell me what you do.’
‘Yes, do stay,’ Poppy encouraged. Then, silently, my mother doesn’t really vet my friends, she just likes to know people. Poppy left them chatting and went into the kitchen. ‘Katrina doesn’t usually annoy me this much this quickly,’ she muttered to Mrs Mudgely as she got out mugs and put biscuits on a plate, ‘there’s a definite air about her today, she’s come for something more than checking up on me.’
Of course Katrina knew all about the politics within the City Council regarding the library; she was telling a fascinated Joy when Poppy brought in the tea.
‘Thanks for that, it explains heaps.’ Joy added sugar to her tea.
‘You’re most welcome, dear,’ said Katrina, turning to Poppy.
‘I’ve something to tell you.’ There was a slight pause. Surely she wasn’t blushing? Poppy wanted to get whatever it was over quickly.
‘Yes? I’m all ears.’
‘You know I’ve been, well, on my own since I tossed that dreadful Don – he’s left town, by the way, too many people after his tail. Anyway…’
Poppy smiled encouragingly. It was all right, Katrina had found another man to take her to the opera and the orchestra.
‘It’s very convenient, really, Horace lives right next door.’ Katrina turned to Joy, ‘You get past moving in with people.’ Joy was clearly enjoying the conversation but didn’t say anything. Katrina looked back at Poppy.
‘Dreadful name,’ she said, ‘but he’s a real gentleman.’ Poppy was about to say she was pleased for Katrina but didn’t get a chance. ‘I didn’t encourage him for a while, not once he’d told me he had problems – how do you say it these days – “getting it up” – without the help of those pills. But then, I thought, what does it matter, we need assistance to do all sorts of things as we get older, I don’t even try to clean my inside windows myself any more.’ She wriggled her shoulders.
Joy was spluttering.
‘You may laugh.’ Katrina was brisk. ‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’ she said at the look on Poppy’s face, ‘You don’t really think I’ve given all that up do you?’
Poppy looked at her mother, then at Joy whose face was contorted in an attempt to stop laughing, Poppy suspected, at her. I’m poised, she thought, between laughing and crying. If she cried it would be for a little girl who couldn’t bear to have a wrong idea. A hoot of laughter exploded from her and they were all laughing, Katrina as loudly as anyone.
‘I’ll spare you more detail,’ Katrina was almost apologetic, ‘but I do want you to know I enjoy having a man again, and not just to partner me to civic functions. Is there more tea?’
Poppy had used the teapot. She noticed Joy noticing and poured some more tea for her mother.
‘Are you really all right? You must miss Martia.’ Katrina was clearly drawing a line.
‘Yes and yes. I miss Martia and I am all right.’ Poppy went on to tell her mother about Alexa and Bessie.
‘Well, you have surprised me, I would never have picked that. Who’s the man?’
No-one else had asked that question. ‘Ian someone.’ Poppy looked at Joy who shook her head. ‘That’s all I know.’
‘Oh well.’ Katrina stood up. ‘I’ll be off then. Give my best to them both. No, don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.’ She nodded a farewell to Joy and patted Poppy on the shoulder on her way past. ‘I’ll arrange for you to meet Horace soon.’ And she was gone, the front door closing with a click behind her.
‘Whew!’ Poppy let out a long breath. ‘That’s my mother!’
‘Fan-bloody-tastic!’ Poppy was used to her friends admiring Katrina.
‘How old is she?’
‘Seventy – um – three, seventy-four in November.’
‘Impressive. I’ve got no idea when my mother stopped “doing it” and I surely would never have asked.’ Joy shuddered a little. ‘She kind of – went to seed. After a very hard life,’ she added quickly and jumped up. ‘I’ve got to go, I’m expecting my ex, Chris, she’s in town for a grand-niece’s christening – it wouldn’t do to be out when she arrives.’
‘Hey, thanks for…’
‘It’s been a real pleasure, all of it. Don’t get up.’ And she too was gone.
Poppy looked around for Mrs Mudgely – she didn’t actually remember seeing her since they got back with the plants, that was unusual. ‘Here, puss,’ she called and Mrs Mudgely sauntered in, tail up, walked right past her as though she wasn’t there, then turned and made a graceful leap onto her lap. ‘Mrs M, you weren’t sulking were you?’ The cat kneaded, just twice, and subsided elegantly into a ball, with her tail covering her nose. No purr.
‘Oh dear, I quite forgot about you.’ She moved the cat onto her shoulder and nuzzled its fur. ‘I don’t do that often, there’s a lot going on around your person at the moment…’ she murmured on and was finally rewarded by the gentle rumbling that preceded a full-blown purr. Fancy Katrina having a new fellow called Horace, she mused, not to mention sex, her droopy eyelids suddenly shot up. ‘Horace Dowling,’ she said aloud, ‘the new deputy mayor!’ Oh well, subsiding again, soothing both herself and Mrs Mudgely by stroking the cat’s back, at least she didn’t tell me that about him first.
She woke with a start some time later, cold. ‘Hot shower,’ she announced, placing the cat on the chair. ‘Then off to bro’s.’ Annie was home from Sydney for a few days; she was looking forward to seeing her niece.
What had induced her to buy so many plants she wondered as she left the house. Blue eyes, she reminded herself, blue ey
es and winning enthusiasm. She cast a grateful glance at the big phoenix palm in the corner, standing guard over the house and the street without any help from her or anyone. ‘Keep up the good work,’ she said at it, then told herself talking to her cat was one thing, to a tree quite another. ‘I talk to the trees, but they don’t listen to me,’ she hummed on her way down the steps and into the car. This is your life Poppy Sinclair and a jolly good life it is.
Stefan was carrying in an armload of split pine for the wood-burner when she arrived. ‘Good timing,’ he said, ‘we’re just going to look at some pieces of film Annie has been working on in her course. Actually,’ he said as she followed him into the house, ‘it’s video, the animation’s done digitally, with software that can enlarge parts of the image on-screen so you can see every pixel…’ His next words were lost in the clunking of the wood into the woodbox, but it didn’t matter. Her brother, Poppy realised, had got interested in his daughter’s career choice through its technical detail.
‘Good thinking Annie,’ she muttered into the top of her niece’s head as she returned a fierce hug.
‘Pardon?’
‘Never mind. It’s so good to see you.’
Annie was proud of her work at a Sydney advertising agency, which was supporting her film study. Animation was still her passion, ‘not special effects,’ she told them, ‘animation, where you start from a blank screen.’ The short pieces she had to show them represented weeks of work for her course, they were assessment pieces. The first, about three minutes long, showed a mother and a small child – it wasn’t clear whether the child was a boy or a girl – tussling over getting the child into outdoor clothing and how the mother helped the child, at the same time allowing the child a sense of accomplishing the task unaided. Poppy was very moved by the triumphant smiles from them both at the end. The mother, she had realised in the first seconds, was May-Yun. The figure did not look exactly like May-Yun but the gestures and movements were hers. There was no dialogue, but quiet, evocative music followed the surprisingly – to Poppy – strong emotional movement of the piece.