Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

  “Perhaps. But it’s risky. Do you have the capital to cover a bad year? What if no-one rents a stall?”

  “There’s very little cost—”

  “And this year?” He shrugged. “How long have you got? Six weeks? That’s cutting it fine if you were a professional.”

  “But—”

  “You have to consider the lead time for advertising too. You should have come to me to talk it through.” And he patted the chair beside him for Cerys to come and behold his wisdom in private.

  “I imagine.” It was Rosalyn again and although she hadn’t uttered a whole sentence the audience whipped round their heads. “I imagine the time-consuming part of the organisation is arranging planning permission with the council. And as Cerys has an established event, that part is done. Is that right, Cerys?”

  Cerys nodded vigorously.

  “And,” Rosalyn continued, “the expanded fair is going to be risky. Any change is. But Cerys has suggested a modest extension which isn’t overstretching.”

  “Now, Rosalyn.” Alan leaned forward. “Perhaps you’re not familiar with the situation these days. You’ve not been home awhile and things have changed round here.”

  A few in the crowd murmured in agreement, but Poppy bristled at Alan’s words.

  “Wells isn’t a popular destination. Not these days,” Alan continued. “Why stop here when you’ve everything in Welshpool?” And people nodded. They’d heard it said often enough.

  “Why stop here rather than Welshpool where you have several shops and a restaurant?” Rosalyn retorted.

  A collective gasp whistled around the room, but Rosalyn didn’t stop there.

  “Why stop in a beautiful village with a grade I medieval castle and the most picturesque river in Wales? Yes, I’ve been wondering why people didn’t.”

  The audience shuffled in their seats, including the disgruntled Dai. “Oh dew dew,” he said. “That’s not right. Not fair play at all. What does Rosalyn think she’s implying?”

  Poppy frowned. “I’m not sure. But she has a point.”

  “And who’s she to talk about ‘stop interrupting’. She’s as bad.”

  Poppy smiled. “I think she had a point about that too. He wouldn’t let poor Cerys get a word in.”

  “She wasn’t getting any out. Just standing there shaking like a leaf.”

  “All the more reason to give her space to speak in her own time.”

  Dai snorted. “Well anyway. I don’t think Rosalyn should keep interrupting him.”

  “Isn’t she allowed to disagree?”

  “Not when it’s rude.” His face was ruddy with indignation. “Anyway, why are you defending her?”

  “Why are you defending him?” Poppy was half riled by the confrontation and half amused at Dai’s umbrage.

  “Come on, Poppy. I know he was an irritating little shit at school, sneaky bastard too, but look at him.” He reached out his arm and gestured to the squat man on the stage. “He’s done better than all of us, even an intelligent girl like you. He runs a hotel and several restaurants and shops. He knows what he’s talking about – he’s an expert in the business and local market. Cerys is lucky to have him advising.”

  The rumbling from the audience abated as Alan put up his hands to silence detractors, a humble expression on his face.

  “I can take it like a man.” He chuckled. “Now if you don’t like my opinion that’s fine. I’m a successful businessman and I’m frequently asked for my advice by councillors, other businessmen and tourist boards. But it can only be my opinion. And that’s why I’m here – for advice.”

  A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

  “Who asked for your advice?” Rosalyn’s voice was piercing and the silence that followed deafening. All eyes were on Alan. He shuffled in his chair and looked to Cerys, but she was assiduous in the study of her notes.

  The audience seemed split in their adherence. Half frowned at Rosalyn’s suggestion, others were unsure and whispered among themselves.

  “What is she doing?” Dai said, incensed. “That’s not on at all. She’s deliberately trying to humiliate him.”

  Poppy pursed her lips. Rosalyn’s actions made her uncomfortable, but Alan’s intervention and presumption seemed worse. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “She’s being divisive, like she used to be.”

  Nain peered over her shoulder. “Trouble. Trouble I tell you. That girl’s always been one to stir things up.”

  “Quite right,” Dai nodded. “She’s going to make herself more unpopular.”

  “What do you mean?” Poppy said, disconcerted at Dai’s accusation.

  “Well, no-one liked her at school. It was only because she was friends with you that anyone talked to her.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I’m afraid it is. Ask anyone.” He tilted up his chin to challenge Poppy to disagree. “I never knew why you were friends. No-one did.”

  “You were all scared of her. She was very bright, independent, didn’t pander to anyone’s ego and didn’t care for some people’s rules.”

  “Which all sound good reasons to me,” Dai said in all seriousness.

  Poppy laughed out of surprise. “Dai. Come on. Sometimes she had good reason to question people’s motives.”

  “That may be so. But she also likes stirring up trouble. You can’t tell me she hasn’t enjoyed humiliating Alan up there.” Dai softened his tone. “See, you’re all about harmony.”

  Poppy looked at him confused.

  Dai held Poppy’s hand between his two great paws. “You will do anything for anyone. You spend your life taking care of people and wishing everyone a pleasant day.

  “Whereas Rosalyn,” Nain interrupted, “Rosalyn likes to enter a room, throw in a hand grenade, and walk right back out again with a smile on her face.”

  “Now that’s over the top.” Poppy parried.

  “Is it?” Dai said. He stared at her, concern creasing his brow, before turning back to the front.

  People were beginning to stand. Alan had walked away and others muttered between themselves. Nain gathered her ball of wool and speared it with her needles.

  “Waste of time,” she muttered. “Don’t know why we bothered.” And she shuffled to the end of the row.

  Poppy peered through the bodies of the departing audience and spied Rosalyn next to Cerys. The smaller woman looked anguished and Rosalyn held her arm to console her. Despite her harsh words against Alan, Poppy’s heart warmed to her – that beautiful woman taking time to support Cerys, who Poppy thought had a good plan. She smiled, unable to stop her appreciation of Rosalyn’s actions and fine figure.

  “Be careful, Poppy love,” Dai said quietly. “She hurt you good and proper in the sixth form. And did you ever find out why?”

  A knot tightened in Poppy’s stomach and she shook her head.

  “Well then. Just be cautious. Please. I never saw anything more cruel and she couldn’t have done it to a lovelier person.”

  Chapter 18.

  Dai’s warning nagged at Poppy all evening and made itself known in a dream. Two ripe nectarines rested out of Poppy’s reach, their smooth skin a tantalising stroke beyond her fingertips. In the surrealism of the dream, Poppy could only touch them with her tongue, and she licked and cajoled them closer to her desperate lips. But as she wrapped her mouth around the plump fruit they turned to raw potatoes and she woke with an imagined peculiar taste in her mouth and in no doubt about whose peachiness she had been fantasising.

  Dozy and distracted, she half listened to Pip’s yarn of a school love-triangle as the girl skipped beside her into town, and Poppy was still preoccupied when she opened the shop door. She was met by her mother’s serene presence behind the counter and a rejuvenated Cerys in front.

  “Cerys.” Poppy beamed, startled out of her reverie. “You look lovely.”

  The older woman’s complexion became brighter still at the compliment and she looked down bashfully at her co
lourful outfit.

  “I’ve been inspired by your mother to try a more vibrant scheme, and a few encouraging words elsewhere too.”

  Gone were the subdued greys and greens and in were ruby-red jeans and a cotton-knitted top of Inca scarlets, ochres and blues.

  “I’ve always dabbled with this palette but never had the gumption to wear it. And I thought items like this might sell better at the fair.”

  Poppy grinned. “So you’re thinking of going ahead?”

  “I’ve slept on it,” she said with determination, “and I think I should.”

  “Good for you,” Poppy said and she raised her hands in triumphant fists.

  Cerys nodded and her cheeks flushed the liveliest colour Poppy had seen them.

  “But it does depend on you and your mam, see.” She peered over her glasses no longer with the fearful glance of a sparrow, more the piercing glare of an eagle. It filled Poppy with joy to see Cerys exuding this level of resolve.

  “We’ll be there, won’t we, Mum.”

  Her mother nodded, and the smile on her face had a hint of rebellion about it.

  “Oh da iawn,” said Cerys. “See, I was hoping you’d extend the seating outside for the day and serve something a bit special. I don’t know what, that’s your expertise, Poppy, but what do you think?”

  “I’ll put on my thinking cap, Cerys.”

  “And of course I want Emma’s paintings in a stall and hanging on any empty backdrops. Even those dark ones. I’m coming round to them. And I’m going to apply for a grant from the council to cover the risk. We’ve had a few ideas about cost-effective advertising too.” Cerys sidled closer and spoke in a hushed tone. “Someone told me that newspapers are desperate for cheap copy, so if we send them an article on the fair I reckon the County Times will print it. Not bad for a bit of free advertising heh?” And she nudged Poppy in the arm.

  “That sounds brilliant, Cerys. And what about Montgomery Ice Creams and Aberrhiw Cider?”

  “I’m told a personal visit will be in order there, but I’m hopeful of them participating, and more besides.”

  Poppy’s cheeks ached she was smiling so much. The change in the small woman was remarkable, particularly after such an inauspicious meeting the night before.

  Cerys rubbed her hands together. “Well, I must get on. Lots to do.”

  “It will be a significant amount of work, Cerys,” Emma’s soft tones came from the back of the shop. “Do you think you can do it in time?”

  Cerys stood tall and lifted her chin. “I can,” she said. “I have a lot of free time now I’m retired and I’ve never had a husband cluttering up the place. So I don’t mind putting in the effort. And now I’ve found a new friend in Geraint, who’s a dab hand with a computer, we can produce the leaflets and web pages.”

  Poppy smiled, impressed by the transformation in Cerys, and the revelation of Geraint’s secret arsenal of skills.

  “Good luck, Cerys,” she called, as the reinvigorated woman strode out of the door.

  Poppy turned to her mother who appeared as entertained as she did. The recognition of amusement in each other’s eyes was enough to spark their laughter and they both giggled behind their hands to stop the sound carrying after Cerys.

  “I think it’s brilliant,” Poppy said. “I really hope she pulls it off.”

  “Me too.” But her mother became more serious. “Can we afford the stall and other costs?”

  Poppy breathed in. “Just about. We could do with a good summer, put it that way.” She looked to her mother for a decision.

  Emma appeared sombre, but nodded. “We have to try something.”

  “Excellent,” said Poppy. “I have a good feeling about this.”

  Poppy skipped up the stairs, her amusement still brightening her face. The café was empty excepting Geraint, who had mouthful of Bara Brith and his head in his notebook. She could hear the animated voice of Cerys in the square and Poppy ambled to the window to nose outside.

  “Rosalyn,” she whispered.

  There she was again, chatting to Cerys with ease and, as far as Poppy could determine, genuine enjoyment. She was even more beautiful like that, throwing back her head with laughter, her cheeks rose and blonde hair cascading around her shoulders.

  Poppy reeled trying to fathom Rosalyn. Was she that duplicitous agitator that Nain and Dai seemed to imagine, or that special, bright and uncompromising friend she’d adored at school and who was now buoying Cerys Mathews? Either way, she was jaw droppingly beautiful. Poppy could have slid down the window with longing.

  Was that it? Was lust clouding her judgement? Had it been so long since she’d slept with a woman, that the first attractive female to come along was enough to transform her into a dribbling dope?

  Perhaps. But it wasn’t just any woman. Poppy thought Rosalyn the most attractive woman of her acquaintance, perhaps the most beautiful she’d ever known. And Poppy was going to indulge in a little infatuation. She rarely had the chance and Rosalyn would soon be gone. Rosalyn would never know, and afterwards Poppy would be left to exercise her frustrated sensuality with her creative desserts.

  Outside Rosalyn laughed. Poppy’s face instinctively lifted with a smile. Since when did Rosalyn laugh with such delight in that melodious note? It was a sound that made joy infectious. Rosalyn talked with animation to Cerys, no polite façade, no incisive penetration to her gaze, just a genuine delightful conversation.

  Rosalyn’s striking face shone with more loveliness when she smiled like that. She seemed at home in herself and the village today. She wore casual jeans, tantalisingly loose around her hips, and the white shirt that was snug around her bosom was unbuttoned to the depths of her cleavage.

  The tops of her breasts were irresistible to the eye. She looked exquisite. That face. Those breasts.

  “Oh those breasts,” Poppy sighed.

  “What was that sweetheart?”

  “Mum?!” Poppy blurted. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

  Her mother was just a pace away. “I thought I’d have coffee with you. What were you saying, darling?”

  “Um.” Think Poppy, think. “Um.” If her eyebrows rose any higher her mother would escort her to the doctors with the suspicion of a seizure. “Chicken breasts,” she said. “We should try chicken breasts. On the menu. Definitely.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes, here.”

  Her mother was puzzled. “Don’t we do chicken dishes already?”

  Damn. She’d rather been relying on her mother’s inattention for that excuse to save her.

  “Yes. But. I’d like some local breasts. I think we should find a regional supplier for the café. I think that would be nice. Yes. Nice local breasts.”

  Her mother frowned with concern. She reached for Poppy’s face then stopped, her attention drawn to the figures outside.

  “Ah yes. Breasts.” She looked at Poppy in an amused but adoring way. “I can see why you might be after some local breasts.”

  It was as if Poppy could hear the ignition of flames, her cheeks burned so red. She clasped her hands to her face, and the confirmation that her cheeks did indeed burn hotter than coals made them burn that much brighter again.

  “Perhaps I’ll leave you to a cool drink instead.” Her mother smiled and returned downstairs leaving Poppy to roast in peace.

  “Oh god,” Poppy murmured.

  For one with her head in the clouds for a large proportion of the day, her mother didn’t half pick her moments for lucidity.

  Poppy peered outside, her cheeks still glowing. Cerys was bidding Rosalyn farewell with an exuberant wave, and Rosalyn looked as if she was about to leave the square. But she glanced up at the café window. Poppy leapt out of view, her heart thumping in her chest. Moments later the shop bell downstairs tinkled and she heard Rosalyn’s honeyed tones.

  “Emma, how are you?” There was an exuberance to Rosalyn’s voice. Poppy peeped around the railing and down the stairs.

  “Rosalyn.” Her mother so
unded pleased. “Thank you, I’m very good. I would ask about you but you look very well indeed.” And she put out her arms and gave Rosalyn a hug.

  “Thank you. It seems a break in the country is what I needed. It would have been nicer for different reasons, but...” She shrugged.

  Emma held Rosalyn by the hands. “How is David?”

  “Improving thank you. He has a long way to go before he’s anything like his old self, but then he’s come a long way too.”

  “I’m glad. If there’s anything we can do…”

  “Thank you.” And Rosalyn squeezed Emma’s hands with affection. “Actually, I was wondering if you had any paintings for sale.”

  “Yes I do.” Emma sounded surprised. “Would you like to see? It hasn’t changed much since you and Poppy played here.”

  “I’d love to.” The delight was clear on Rosalyn’s face. “I like your darker works, but I’m also interested in something uplifting for Dad.”

  “Come and have a look,” Emma said, taking Rosalyn by the arm.

  Poppy stood at the top of the stairs, agog. She wasn’t sure which feeling was uppermost right now – pure pleasure at seeing her mother welcome Rosalyn so warmly, or piqued that Rosalyn hadn’t come to see her.

  She couldn’t indulge her offense for long because the doorbell rang again, this time from two couples who made their way up the stairs. Poppy was surprised by the early custom and that she didn’t recognise any of the four elderly people.

  “Good morning.” She smiled.

  The four surveyed the room, enchantment on their faces. “This is as delightful as it sounded,” said one of the ladies.

  “Isn’t it just,” said another.

  “Table for four?” Poppy inquired.

  “Morning miss,” said the oldest man. “Yes, table for four. We’re here for some of your wonderful cakes and a view of the castle.”

  Poppy beamed. “Please come this way to choose your cakes then I will show you upstairs for the best view.” She hesitated before stepping forward. “And if you’re spoilt for choice, we do a taster plate, if that’s of any interest.”

  “That sounds perfect,” said one of the ladies, grinning from ear to ear.