by Pat Rosier
Poppy resolved to ring her when she got home.
Later, checking her email, she sat and stared at the only two new messages in her inbox. blaikiej was Jane’s email name now. And immediately below it one from joy.sanderson. For a moment she couldn’t decide which one to open first, then settled on order of arrival.
Jane was out most evenings, loving not having a house and garden needing attention, the job was okay, she was much lower down the food chain than she had been at the Cleveland. It was more expensive even than she had imagined living in London, ‘but hey, I’m 40 this year and thankful every day that I won’t be 40 in Billingham with a baby in the house! Which reminds me, Héloise is pregnant, just, so there won’t actually be a baby by November, but I’m sure you get the idea. There was a lot of detail about the women Jane went out with, mostly in a group it seemed, though a couple of references to (different) women staying overnight were ambiguous. Jane seemed so much younger than she had in New Zealand nine months ago. ‘Oh my, what a year this is!’ Poppy remarked to the cat at her feet and opened the next message.
Dear Poppy, she read,
I want to explain. Not on email. Is nine too early for planting to begin on Saturday? I know it’s winter but how about one of my famous (you didn’t know?) picnic lunches afterwards. Mystery destination. Weather forecast precludes rain.
Cheers, Joy.
Poppy hit ‘reply’ and wrote:
No, not too early.
Yes to picnic.
Cheers,
Poppy
She was tempted to add something about watching the Olympic opening ceremony together but thought no, waited for the computer to shut down and was happy. Happy and restless. After a couple of turns up and down the hallway she picked up the phone and dialled. May-Yun answered and Poppy asked if Annie had gotten away okay and then if they were watching…
‘Yes, indeed we are. I’ve promised Ivan he can stay up until the end. Chan is working.’
‘Can I come and watch it with you?’
‘Indeed you can, Poppy. I would have asked you if I had thought you would…’
‘Be interested. Well, you’re no more surprised than I am. I seem to have been caught up in it by everyone else.’ Well, maybe not everyone, she thought. ‘After all,’ she said to the cat, ‘we do have a women’s hockey team competing.’
It wasn’t raining but it was very cold. ‘If this wasn’t Auckland I’d expect a frost,’ she remarked to Mrs Mudgely who passed her on the steps as she was leaving. The only answer was the clunk of the cat door.
‘My Annie is very grown-up these days.’ May-Yun and Poppy talked in the ad breaks. ‘She is very self-contained, don’t you think?’ Poppy could detect no trace of irony in her sister-in-law’s tone.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘she certainly is in charge of her life.’ Then she moved on with, ‘we had a lovely time together looking at some old family photographs, she wanted to know about you when young, Stefan,’ and the moment when Poppy might have floundered was past.
Chapter Eighteen
There was a knock on Poppy’s front door at exactly nine o’clock. Four bags of Zoodoo, a bag of slow-release fertiliser, a shovel, a spade and a pair of gumboots had joined the array of plants. Joy’s gleeful smile sent Poppy’s stomach plummeting straight to her knees.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Spending more of my money, I see.’ That wasn’t what she meant to say! ‘Nice to see you,’ would have been a better start. Joy was unruffled.
‘Not at all,’ she said, ‘a contribution from me. And the shovel, spade and gumboots are mine.’
‘Oh. Yes. I didn’t me…’
‘I know you didn’t. Shall we get started?’
‘Sure. What goes where?’
‘I thought you’d want to talk about that first. Over a coffee?’
‘Oh, all right, your car or…’
‘Actually, I meant here…’
‘Of course. Yes. I’ll go…’ Poppy gestured back into the house.
‘Okay.’ Joy was so cheerful and Poppy felt so stupid. ‘I’ll organise these,’ waving at the plants ‘into groups and we can have our coffee here –’ indicating the steps – ‘and decide where to put them.’
‘Sure. Very sensible.’ Put a good face on it, Poppy told herself. ‘I’ll bring out the coffee.’
‘Milk, no sugar for me.’ Plants were being re-arranged as Joy spoke.
Poppy got out a tray, found a cloth for it and put milk in a jug while the kettle boiled. ‘I can so be orderly and sensible,’ she announced to Mrs Mudgely, ‘and don’t you ever think otherwise.’ She found some ground coffee and went on talking to the cat. ‘This is not the morning for instant coffee. Now where is that damned plunger? Is it too early for biscuits do you think?’
‘Not a bit.’ Poppy jumped. Joy was at the kitchen door. ‘We could just take mugs… no, this looks splendid. May I?’ And she picked up the tray and left Poppy to fill and bring the coffee maker. In spite of herself, Poppy was smiling as she carried it down the hallway.
Her beloved phoenix palm would get a ground-level collar of red and white impatiens, sure to bloom in its shade, she was told.
‘I like having flowers to look at from my kitchen window.’ That was the only preference she could think of, otherwise she went along with Joy’s suggestion. By summer, she was assured, her kitchen window would frame two blooming fuschias and and an abundance of multi-coloured petunias.
Then there were the lessons in planting, first annuals, then the shrubs. Joy worked quickly, muttering occasionally about the waterlogged soil, commending Poppy for buying a place high enough to ‘at least have some natural drainage’.
As the sun, albeit still a wintry one, rose in the sky, and the digging got more vigorous for the larger bushes, Poppy peeled off layers until she was down to a t-shirt, jeans and gumboots. The morning went surprisingly fast and the sense of accomplishment as they gathered up their tools and the empty pots and bags was gratifying. Spread around the garden, what had seemed like a huge number of plants had melded into insignificance.
‘Maybe I could get to enjoy this.’ Poppy was pulling off her gumboots.
‘I love it. Gives you something to show for your efforts.’ Joy looked at her watch. ‘I’ll be off home for a shower,’ she said, ‘and back to collect you for the promised picnic in – an hour?’
‘Great,’ said Poppy, a grey jumper half over her head, ‘where are we going?’
‘Wait and see. Not far, I’ll tell you that much.’
‘Thanks. Thanks a lot – you know, for the gardening.’ Poppy called after the woman disappearing down the steps.
If she says an hour, she means an hour, said Poppy to herself when she heard ‘hel-lo-o’, from the open front door. She had showered and changed into jeans with a red sweatshirt.
‘Come in,’ she called.
‘Snap,’ she said, laughing, as soon as she saw Joy in jeans and a red sweatshirt.
‘Golly-gosh.’ Joy was laughing too.
‘I could cha…’
‘Nah. Unless you want to.’ They shrugged in unison and Joy said, ‘Let’s go then.’
In the ten minutes or so it took Joy to drive to the domain they didn’t talk. She parked on a road leading up to the museum. ‘That’s where Jane worked,’ Poppy said.
‘Uh-huh.’ Joy was out of the car and opening the boot. ‘Here, take these would you.’ She handed Poppy two stools and a table, all folded into one neat carrying package.
‘That solves the wet grass problem,’ said Poppy.
‘I guess, but we’re not sitting on grass.’ And Joy led the way, carrying a picnic basket and a small backpack to the band rotunda.
‘Not…’
‘Yep. I’ve wanted to have a picnic here since I first saw it.’ Joy had the table and stools set up in a flash and with the flourish of a small tablecloth began setting out the meal. Asparagus quiche. ‘Still warm,’ she said proudly, ‘but I did buy it frozen.’ Soup in a thermos. ‘Chicken barley.�
�� A loaf of kibbled wheat bread appeared, plates, cutlery, and, from the bottom of the chilly bin, two cans of beer.
‘I thought you didn’t…?’ Poppy began.
‘I don’t, at least not like I used to. I’m trying one or two drinks a weekend, one or two through the week. I’ve been a habit drinker more than a real alcoholic…’ Joy looked at Poppy uncertainly. ‘I never know with you politicos whether it’s okay to… what’s so funny?’
‘Me being described as a politico, that’s funny.’
‘In that case I’m really confused.’
‘That makes two of us, no-one’s ever called me “political”. Quite the reverse.’
‘Well, you and your friends, you’re all, I dunno, so sure about what’s right and what’s not…’
‘Honestly,’ Poppy responded, ‘I’ve always been a bit of a wimp about big ideas.’ She was standing back, watching Joy arranging the food. ‘No “passionate commitment” I’ve been told, only bothered about the small picture in front of me, not the big picture.’ Joy gestured to her to sit in one of the chairs. Poppy was pleased to let that line of conversation drop. She watched a few cars driving by less than thirty metres away and felt self-conscious when someone hooted and Joy waved. No-one else had come near their picnic spot, not yet anyway. People generally were staying in their cars.
‘When I was drinking – serious drinking –,’ Joy said, as she cut the quiche, ‘it was Saturday afternoon ’til Sunday evening, wine, beer, spirits, anything. Not getting really drunk, just holding a level of – well, now I’d say numbness, then I would have said something about having a good time. We all did.’
‘We?’
‘The crowd. Ex-hockey players and others who came in over the years. Couples. We helped each other a lot, it wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was very good in some ways, good mates, some relationships went on for twenty years and more. We’d meet in each others’ houses help each other with painting, gardens, have some beers, a barbecue, a party. Sometime a group of us would go to Australia – Sydney or Brisbane – for a week or ten days. Chris and I became a kind of core couple.’ Joy stopped. ‘This we should eat before it gets stone cold,’ she said, sliding a knife under a generous slice of quiche. Poppy held out a plate. They had the soup with it, and thick slices of bread, watching the cars go by, both waving now, especially at children who waved first.
‘Mmm.’ Poppy sat back, wiping her mouth with a blue paper napkin. ‘Divine,’ she said.
‘Not quite finished.’ Looking pleased with herself, Joy leaned over and with a flourish produced a second thermos. ‘Coffee,’ she said, groping around in her pack until she found two mugs and a small bottle of milk wrapped in a tea-towel. ‘Do you want this?’ She pointed at the unopened cans of beer.
‘I’d rather have the coffee,’ said Poppy. The beer went back in the picnic basket.
‘Right-ho.’ Joy sat back. ‘Rest of story. Short version. Imagine a couple of years that include a bad car crash involving two of the group, a death from cancer, two women who were both partners with someone else in the group running off together.’ Poppy poured the last of the coffee into each of their cups. There was little heat in the sun, she was glad of her jacket.
‘There was a Saturday at our place, our mates giving us a hand to replace a rotten fence. Two years ago last February. We got in the beer as usual, and we always had plenty of other drinks, wine and spirits and stuff. It rained, so we all ended up inside playing cards. There was an argument. One of the couples. They really lost it, screaming at each other and they got up and started to scuffle and when some of us tried to intervene, Val gave Andy a shove and she fell through through the glass door. Cut her shoulder and leg. Blood everywhere. Chris called an ambulance and the police came, but they believed our story that it was an accident.’ Poppy was hugging herself to keep warm.
‘How about we walk?’ she suggested.
‘Sure. This isn’t more than you wanted to know…’
‘No. Not at all. I want to hear it. Really.’
They packed up together and stowed everything in the boot of Joy’s car before setting off on a circuit around the domain. Joy might be short but she walks at a fair pace, Poppy thought. ‘What happened afterwards?’ she asked.
‘It’s the aftermath that really upset me. Everyone dropped Val and Andy after that, including me, some said they’d “spoiled everything.” There was talk about people’s jobs and how awful it would be if it got in the papers. What was to get in the papers, for heavens sake?’ They were passing the tropical house, and looked at each other, shaking their heads at the same time and kept on walking.
‘It affected me, you know, we were supposed to all be mates and no-one cared about Val and Andy, just that something had been spoiled, and we might be outed or something. No-one would talk about it, not even Chris. So I said I was giving up drinking and everyone laughed, but I did it.’ She took a few strides in silence, then slowed and turned to look at Poppy. ‘You know, being around people who are drinking a lot when you aren’t is… odd.’ Without waiting for a response she increased her speed again. Poppy matched it. ‘You notice things you hadn’t noticed before, liking people being snarky with each other, and how banal a lot of the conversation is. Chris and I started arguing, and I felt stuck and when the Auckland job came up I tried really hard to get it and I did!’ She strode on.
‘Thank you for telling me.’ Poppy wanted to remind her that she had promised to explain her ‘no’ in the kitchen two nights ago. ‘Now I see what you mean about a different life, I think.’
‘Living in Napier is a bit like living in that movie, “The Truman Show”, everything has to be sweetness and light. Pretty lives in a pretty town.’ The bitterness in Joy’s voice was new. ‘I really don’t know why I stayed so long.’
‘Because it was what you knew, maybe.’
‘Yeah, whatever. Now it’s your turn, tell me something about your past.’
Poppy had expected that they would mull over Joy’s experience for a bit; she expected to seek out detail, discover more about Joy feeling stuck and what it was like leaving a relationship after more than twenty years, find out about moving to a strange city at forty-something – or was she fifty?
Joy had stopped walking and was facing her. ‘Fair’s fair,’ she said, ‘your turn.’
‘Uh, sure, I was just wondering about…’
‘Don’t wonder. Talk.’ Joy stopped and put a hand on her arm. ‘I’m not very used to talking about myself,’ she said, ‘it’s a lot easier if you do it too.’
Poppy’s hand covered the other woman’s. She lifted it a fraction of a second before Joy pulled hers out. ‘Jane or Kate, then?’
‘The most recent. That would be Jane?’
For the rest of the walk Poppy told of Jane and their trip around the country and her having to go to England because of George and Jane and Héloise not being sorted out and how they had some good times and times when they were kind of desperate together and suddenly Jane was going to London and Poppy knew she wanted to come home. ‘It all happened so fast, and changed so fast, the way I felt changed so fast. I can usually keep track of my feelings and they kind of ran away from me. It all got mixed up with George dying.’ And suddenly they were back at the car. Joy had said little while Poppy was talking. She didn’t say anything now, except, ‘Roller-coaster feelings go with people dying I reckon,’ and unlocked the car.
‘You haven’t exp…’ Poppy began as she was doing up her seat-belt.
‘Explained that “no”? I know. There’s not much to explain, I just need to do what I promised myself and not, you know, get involved yet.’
‘I see.’ She didn’t but couldn’t think of anything else to say, and gave up and said nothing for the drive home. When Joy pulled up outside her house she touched her arm briefly and said, ‘Thanks for the picnic, it was wonderful. And the garden. Come back soon and – um – see how it’s going.’
‘I will.’ And there wasn’t anything left for
Poppy to do but get out of the car and go up the steps into her house. She heard the car turn and head back down the street to the block of flats where Joy lived.
‘We both know no means no,’ Poppy said to Mrs Mudgely as she shoved the damp washing she had brought in off the line into the dryer, ‘so we’re stuck with fancying Ms Sanderson like mad and not doing anything about it – aren’t we?’ The cat turned her back. ‘I see. Either there’s no “we” or you don’t give a damn that my heart might be breaking.’ Which Poppy knew it was not in danger of, not at that moment; she was feeling stubborn and determined, but not at all anxious. ‘Is this how stalkers are born?’ she asked an unresponsive feline. ‘Oh well, if you won’t help, I might as well…’ she was contemplating the last towel and a full dryer… ‘answer the phone.’
It was Katrina, wondering if Poppy would like to come over to her place, she was cooking a meal, Horace would be there and it really was time they met.
‘Do I have a right of veto?’
‘Of course not!’ Katrina was at her most brisk. ‘Whether that’s a joke or not, it’s in extremely bad taste. I never attempted to veto your – friends.’
‘True enough. Sorry. Yes, I’ll come. What time?’
‘Six thirty for seven – oh, and Poppy dear, it would be nice if you were not wearing jeans.’
Poppy didn’t know whether she would have worn jeans; she did know she was irritated at being given instructions. ‘Not instructions, dear, just a preference,’ she could hear her mother saying, and knew she wouldn’t try to make an issue of it. She settled on black trousers and a dark green silk shirt, adding a scarf in bright swirly greens, yellows and pinks at the last moment.
‘If that’s not good enough for you, mother dear,’ she said to the mirror, ‘then too bad. Actually,’ she said in the direction of the cat on the bed, turning to get different views of herself, ‘I would be impressed if I saw me at government house, and Mr Deputy Mayor had better appreciate that.’