by Pat Rosier
Katrina opened the door looking slightly flushed, wearing an apron. ‘I forget how hot cooking can be,’ she said as she kissed Poppy’s cheek. ‘Come in dear and taste this soup, I can’t decide whether it needs more salt.’ Then she stood back, looked at Poppy and nodded approvingly. ‘Well done, dear. I think I gave you that scarf.’ Poppy didn’t remember, but she probably had.
Horace would be here in a few minutes, and Katrina had been delayed by a call from May-Yun wanting to know how she could check the credentials of the Chinese language teacher taking the class she and Ivan were attending. ‘She’s discovered he’s not actually on the school staff, and I suspect she doesn’t like some of his politics.’ Katrina was stirring sauce, checking the rack of lamb in the oven, washing broccoli, passing a home-made dressing to Poppy to ‘drizzle on the salad if you would, not too much.’
At the moment Katrina was removing the apron with a sigh of satisfaction the doorbell went.
‘We’ve time for a drink while the lamb rests,’ she said over her shoulder to Poppy, ‘could you open the bottle of white in the bottom of the fridge?’ She turned to meet Horace with a smile, which almost turned to a giggle when she saw him, short, shorter than Katrina, dapper, bow-tied, bald. She shook his hand and turned quickly back to the half-opened bottle.
The meal was delicious. Horace turned out to be funny in a dry kind of way, and gave the person he was speaking to his full attention. Katrina could learn from that, Poppy thought. She liked the way Horace was with her mother, almost gallant, and Katrina stopped just short of coy. Over coffee and liqueurs they disagreed over ideas for Auckland’s transport tangle and Poppy enjoyed watching them tussle, both firm in their opinions and articulate in expressing them. Her contribution was to describe what it was like going against the flow of traffic across the Harbour Bridge in the mornings.
Poppy’s offer to help clean up was firmly refused by them both; it was Horace who said they would do it together in the morning. Telling Horace, truthfully, that it had been a pleasure to meet him, she took herself off soon after nine.
‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Katrina at the door, with a mischievous smile, ‘I do prefer my family to approve of my choices.’ A reference no doubt to the unwelcome Don Smart, and to the pointlessness of pretending.
‘And your “choices” to approve of your family?’ she couldn’t resist asking.
‘Of course, that is best. Good night dear, drive home safely.’
Her route home went past that block of flats again. No point in stopping, Poppy thought, even if it is a bad idea, I don’t even know which flat she is in. Somehow, she had pulled up in front of the building and noticed a row of carports one of which contained a car that looked like Joy’s. She couldn’t be sure of the colour in the dim light, so got out and walked across the driveway; sure enough it was Joy’s car and the number over the carport was 4a.
‘Can I help you with anything?’
‘Ah!’ she jumped and squealed. ‘You shouldn’t go around scaring people like that.’ He was big and tall, was all she could tell, halo’ed by the street light behind him.
‘I’ve got your licence plate number and unless you can tell me what you’re doing around these cars I’ll be ringing it in.’ Then she saw the security guard patch on his shoulder.
‘Oh shit,’ she said.
He actually folded his arms across his chest, and waited.
‘Look,’ she began, sounding guilty to herself, ‘my friend lives in this block but I don’t know which flat, and I saw her car and came to see if there was a number. 4a,’ she added, feeling foolish and unconvincing, pointing to the number.
‘Let’s take a visit to 4a then, and see your friend.’ He didn’t move. ‘Unless you’d rather I rang the police…’ She shook her head, embarrassed and miserable, and started to walk towards the entrance with him following closely behind. Briefly, she thought of making a run for it, but there was the matter of him identifying her car. And his ability to run faster she realised when they got into the light; he would be no more than twenty, big and no doubt fit. She looked around helplessly, ‘I don’t know where…’
He pointed to the lift. The doors opened immediately he touched the up button and he waved her in but she noticed his foot was in the gap.
‘It’ll be level four, don’t you think?’
‘I guess.’ Should she be trying to make conversation? There didn’t seem to be anything to say. I’ll bet Katrina would be finding out who his parents are by now, was all she had time to think before the lift doors opened and there was number 4a directly in from of them.
‘Do you have some ID?’ At last, something sensible. He showed her a card with a photograph and the logo of the security firm; it looked real enough.
‘Okay?’ he finally asked. She nodded. He stepped over and pressed the doorbell at 4a.
‘Do you have any idea what ti…? Joy said through the crack allowed by the security chain. Then she spotted Poppy, said, ‘hang on’ and closed the door and opened it fully.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you miss. Do you know this lady?’ Joy was wearing blue pyjamas with white spots and a darker blue dressing gown.
‘Yes, I know her.’ Her eyes were wide, she looked at Poppy.
‘She was hanging around the cars downstairs miss, suspiciously I thought.’
‘Oh no! I’m sure there’s some mistake. She lives just down the road, she’s a friend.’
The security guard wanted to see both of their driver’s licences, then he went. Poppy stood in the corridor, looking at Joy’s left shoulder, wishing the ground would swallow her up.
‘You’d better come inside,’ Joy said. She sounded as though she was about to laugh. If she does, I’ll kill her, Poppy thought. ‘Come on, I’ll put the jug on, and it’s definitely your turn to explain.’
‘I’m so embarrassed,’ was all Poppy could manage.
‘I can see that. But no-one ever actually died of embarrassment you know.’ She held the door open wider and stood back. Poppy resisted an urge to run away and walked in.
Chapter Nineteen
Perched on the edge of an armchair, clutching a mug of hot cocoa and looking at a spot on the carpet, Poppy blurted out everything that had happened since she stopped on her way home from Katrina’s. Her voice faded out when she got to the security guard knocking on Joy’s door. She looked up slowly and met Joy’s eyes.
‘You didn’t laugh,’ she said.
‘Nearly, when I first saw you, dressed up flash and looking like a naughty child,’ Joy said, seriously.
‘I’m glad you didn’t laugh.’
‘It is funny, though.’ Joy sipped cocoa. Her eyes, over the top of the mug, were shining bright blue.
‘Is it? It feels incredibly stupid and soooooooo embarrassing. I mean, I don’t think I was going to come up or anything, I just saw your car and wondered what number your flat was.’ Poppy faltered, then desperately carried on. ‘I wish security was that good in my street, my car’s been broken into twice and the aerial bent once…’ her voice trailed off again and she sat silently looking at the floor.
‘I think there’s been some vandalism, I got a notice from the landlord,’ Joy looked around vaguely. ‘Anyway, I guess he arranged something.’
‘I don’t know what you must think of me…’ Poppy was looking a the floor again.
‘I think you’re rather cool, actually. And, sorry, but…’ Joy spluttered, spraying a mouthful of milky brown liquid across the room, collapsing into a fit of laughing and choking.
After a moment of horrified paralysis, Poppy went over and thumped her on the back. A huge intake of breath later, Joy was wiping her face and laughing helplessly.
‘Your face… that huge young man… Sorry… I can’t help… you – so proper…’ Joy was incoherent. Poppy didn’t know why she started crying, standing there, rooted to the spot, tears running down her face. They could have been tears of laughter but she wasn’t laughing; humiliation was more like it, standing
beside an armchair in which a person she was probably in love with was hooting with laughter at her stupidity. There was Mrs Mudgely, hovering over the door jamb, shaking her head. It felt like days since she had been standing in front of her own mirror feeling pleased with herself and the way she looked.
‘I’ll be off, then,’ she managed, lifting a foot heavy as a stone.
Joy was wiping her face with a sleeve. ‘No,’ she said, ‘don’t go. Sit down, please.’ Poppy sat. Now Joy was studying the inside of her mug.
‘I was in awe of you…’ she began.
‘Awe?’ Poppy interrupted in disbelief.
‘Yes, awe. Please be quiet and listen You do – did – everything right, even not knowing stuff, you listen and take notice…’
‘You mean the garden?’
‘Yes. Now stop interrupting.’ Poppy sat back. ‘You have a perfect life,’ Joy went on, ‘a good job you like, a house you love, family you get on with, heaps of friends, you’re relaxed about being a lesbian, you know all the feminist stuff… you’re bloody intimidating in fact.’
‘Me? Intimid…’
‘Yes.’ Firmly. ‘I’m not talking about what you feel like, I’m talking about how I’ve felt around you.’
‘Oh.’ Joy was serious now and Poppy was wanting to laugh at the very idea of being intimidating. ‘Um, I don’t know what to say, I certainly don’t mean…’
‘I know. And you are – or were. I’ll tell you something else.’ Joy stood up and walked around the room. As she spoke, Poppy watched her walk backwards and forwards, from time to time catching a glance, briefly.
Joy talked about how closetted she and Chris and their friends had been. ‘We didn’t talk about being lesbians,’ she said, ‘to each other let alone anyone else.’ They got along with their neighbours without getting friendly enough to visit each others’ houses and generally, Joy explained, didn’t question anything. She herself saw little of her family, she didn’t know how to be around her daughter, it was easy to get in the habit of thinking of her as a niece.
‘When the feminists came along they ruined everything – well, that was what we thought at the time. Gay liberation was bad enough, but the feminists were worse.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Poppy concentrated, hoping her stomach would unknot if she gave it no attention.
‘They blew our cover. Outed us. Oh, not personally, but people began to notice us in ways they hadn’t bothered about before. So we dug deeper into our closets, we were scared of losing our jobs, scared of being attacked and vilified, just plain damn scared. We hardly talked about that either, just pulled our little heads in. A few started going out with gay boys now and then, you know, cover for both. Some even got married to straight guys, others went to the big city, Auckland. Or Sydney.
‘It was around then that Chris and I got serious together and bought our house. We let the real estate agent think we were sisters and had conversations in front of him about who would have what bedroom. There’s lots more, but that’ll do for now.’ Joy had sat down and was turning her mug round and round and Poppy was watching her hands.
‘It was a secret life in all sorts of ways and I stayed there all that time, I never left, I never changed, until a couple of years ago. I envy you, for heaven’s sake and I don’t see how I can ever measure up.’
‘Measure up to wh…? No, I think I get a glimmer of what you’re saying…’
‘So you making a complete idiot of yourself was, well, kind of equalising…’ She grinned. ‘And bloody funny.’
Poppy could not have said what she was feeling. ‘I guess,’ she managed, and then, ‘do you think I’m smug?’
‘No, not really, just a bit earnest sometimes,’ said Joy, with the slightest twitch of an eyebrow.
‘Oh.’ So forthright! All right then. She could match that.
‘I still want to kiss you. Oh, do I want to kiss you!’
‘All right.’ Joy’s face flushed, her voice was small.
They met between the chairs. Poppy had to stoop. Both were tentative at first, but not for long. Joy’s hands were in her hair, down her back, someone was moaning and they were together on the sofa, eyes locked, touching each others’ faces. Poppy slid a hand down the other woman’s neck, under the blue and white collar onto a breast, mirroring the movements of the hand moving under her shirt. She wanted this, wanted this surging in her body, wanted this woman.
‘Whoa. Just a minute.’ Joy jumped up. The tears in her eyes were not from laughter now. Poppy watched her, silently. ‘The thing is,’ Joy went on, ‘I haven’t done this without a drink for more years than I care to remember. I need to tell you that.’ Before Poppy could reply, Joy took a big breath and reached out to grab Poppy’s hand, leading her to a surprisingly white and cream bedroom with a brilliantly blue cover on the large bed. ‘I’m over it,’ she said, as she flung the cover back and pulled Poppy down onto the bed with her, flinging away the multi-coloured scarf and sliding both hands up under the silky shirt.
‘Skin is best,’ she murmured, with a sharp intake of breath when she encountered a soft breast with a rigid nipple. They explored each other’s body with great attention and mutual satisfaction until they fell into a shared exhausted sleep, spooned, with a tangle of legs.
It was still dark when Poppy woke. She lay still on her back, wondering at the past day… year, even.
‘I meant what I said, you know.’ She could feel the other woman’s breath on her cheek and turned her head to meet it with a kiss.
‘Mmmmm.’ Joy pulled back and repeated, ‘I meant what I said.’
‘Which bit.’ Poppy tickled naked ribs as she spoke.
‘All of it. Stop that.’ A light smack to her hand. ‘I have to have a whole year living by myself. I made a promise.’
‘All right. Who did you promise?’
‘Me. I told you before.’
Poppy hadn’t got up to thinking about consequences of the night’s happenings. ‘Okay, we won’t move in together on the second date.’ On the whole that was a relief. Unless it meant… she turned, running her hand up Joy’s thigh, and over the next while was thoroughly reassured that their love-making the night before had indeed been a beginning.
Afterwards, they slept again, waking to a cold, grey, dry morning. Poppy borrowed a robe that barely covered her buttocks and they had breakfast together – toast, jam and coffee – in Joy’s tiny kitchen. For the first time Poppy noticed the flat; it was small compared to her house, tidy, decorated in blue and cream with red cushions and rich, bottle-green curtains. Very deliberate. A contrast to her own comfortable hodge podge.
‘Did you…?’
‘Yes. Kept me busy the first few lonely weeks. Still a bit too ‘designer’ but I like the colours.’
Poppy wanted to talk about what had happened, was happening. She put a hand across the table and grasped Joy’s. ‘I want to say “I love you”,’ she said, ‘and I’m shy.’
‘Me too. To both.’ Joy’s grip tightened. ‘I’m scared I’ll be a disappointment to you.’
Poppy swallowed the laugh that bubbled, remembering what Joy had been saying the night before.
‘How about,’ she said, ‘we agree that if I’m disappointed I’ll tell you, and you don’t worry about it unless I say. And I’ll do the same. If you see what I mean.’
‘I don’t believe it can be that si…’
‘Simple. Right. But we can have a go.’
‘Uh-huh.’ They sat and smiled at each other.
‘Go away!’ Poppy said to a serious Mrs Mudgely hovering over the doorframe, and then was embarrassed and confused explaining that she talked to her cat, even when she wasn’t really there. She ended up explaining the whole Mrs Mudgely phenomenon. ‘It’s different,’ she said, ‘Mrs M was besotted with Jane and she doesn’t seem so keen…’
‘On me? No. I have my own way with animals. We’ll work it out. What about Jane? What if this is just a rebounder? Now that would really bother me.’
; ‘It isn’t, really.’ Poppy was serious. ‘I think Jane was an interlude – a something – to nudge me out of – something – and I certainly was for her.’
Poppy declined an invitation to join Bessie and Joy for the lunch they had planned together in the city and the movie they would go to afterwards. ‘Preparation for school,’ she explained. And a chance to mull over… things… ‘Do you mind if I tell Martia –?’
‘That we became an item? We did, didn’t we?’ Poppy nodded. ‘Not if,’ said Joy smiling wickedly, ‘I can tell Bessie. How long do you reckon?’
‘Before the world knows? I dunno, a week maybe.’
‘I give it two days.’ Joy made a phone of her hand. ‘Have you heard about Poppy and the new blonde in town?’ she said in a silly voice. They laughed, and hugged, and kissed. Joy drew back first, and pushed Poppy towards the door. ‘Go, woman, and mull. Let’s talk tonight…’ she made the phone motion again.
Poppy stood for a moment on the landing, then ran down the stairs, faintly surprised to find her car exactly where she had left it a long night ago. Mrs Mudgely met her at the bottom of her steps within seconds of her pulling in to the curb.
‘Grumpy, are you?’ Poppy picked her up. ‘Sorry. And you might have to get used to this. I’ll leave out more biscuits next time, promise.’ The cat refused to purr until Poppy was scooping food, one-handed, into her dish, holding the cat on her shoulder with the other.
There was no point in ringing Martia until after five, so Poppy did a load of washing, optimistically pegged it outside, tidied, sorted clothes for the coming week. Happily, she thought, I’m happily cleaning and tidying my house. She thought, too, about being called ‘intimidating’ and decided that was for talking with Martia about. As she moved her familiar pieces of furniture – or a least, some of them – to run the vacuum cleaner over the floor underneath, it came to her that when Joy’s year of living alone was up – if she and Joy were still, in Joy’s words, ‘an item,’ – oh, please let that be! – there were implications. Oh yes, she thought, implications about where they would live. She turned the cleaner off and sat in a misplaced arm chair, fondly patting its shabby arm.