Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

  “Face it, for round here, you were odd.” Rosalyn said it in jest, but Poppy was uncomfortable.

  “It felt normal for me,” she said. “I wasn’t mature enough for sex at twelve.”

  “Exactly. How old were you when you met your first serious boyfriend? And I don’t mean it in a negative way. There wasn’t much choice here. But everyone else boasted several notches on the bedpost by the time we left home.”

  Poppy was about to respond when she realised. Boyfriend. There never had been a serious boyfriend. Poppy’s blood chilled. It had reached the point in their acquaintance where she should come out, where being evasive for brevity’s sake was no longer appropriate.

  Poppy was unusually hesitant. She was enjoying Rosalyn’s attention and feared introducing an additional level of complexity, which inevitably it would. They’d find their equilibrium again, but Rosalyn was leaving soon. Why upset things?

  Poppy breathed in, too uncomfortable about the evasion.

  “Rosalyn. I’m—”

  “Sorry Poppy. Could you give me a minute?” Rosalyn twisted round for her rucksack and plucked out her mobile which trilled with a classic ring. She strolled a few paces away and talked with a warm familiarity.

  Poppy walked on a polite distance, but couldn’t help observing her. Rosalyn curled a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and inclined her head. She smiled as she listened. There was no formality to her posture and at length she sat on the verge. She crossed her legs and picked at blades of grass as she spoke. Friend? Family? Someone special? There was an easiness about her that suggested it wasn’t work. Then she stood.

  “All done.” Rosalyn grinned as she approached, tucking her phone into her bag.

  Poppy smiled politely.

  “It was my boss.”

  “Oh.” Poppy was surprised. But the flirtatious portrait had suggested an intimacy beyond the professional with that handsome man.

  “We get on well,” Rosalyn said, reading Poppy’s tone. “Sam’s a good friend.” Rosalyn hesitated. “Actually an ex too.”

  There. That was her answer. Poppy felt a jolt of disappointment and imagined Rosalyn in the arms of her suave boss, laughing and being tender. She shut down the image for her sanity’s sake.

  “Sam’s been great,” Rosalyn started, but hesitated again before taking a deep breath. “I think Sam’s…” Rosalyn looked away for a moment then caught Poppy’s eye. “Sam’s…just been good letting me work here while Dad’s ill.”

  Poppy’s heart lurched again. Was the ex about to be current? Is that what Rosalyn was getting at?

  Poppy chided herself. Why was she being silly? She was allowing herself a diverting crush on Rosalyn, nothing more. She had no business with jealousy. She collected herself and gave Rosalyn her genuine smile.

  “Good,” Poppy said. “I’m glad.”

  Rosalyn stared at her with deliberation. For a moment Poppy thought Rosalyn would confide in her, but she cleared her throat to indicate a change of subject.

  “I’ve turned my phone off. I don’t like being reachable here. Let’s go to Moel Gwyrdd.” Rosalyn hooked her arm through Poppy’s and they wandered up the hillside.

  The sun dipped beyond the horizon at the end of the great valley, the river Rhiw a mercury trail meandering towards the distant sea. The land glowed a rich green and the sky softened to indigo as they reached the earthen ring of the ancient fort.

  Rosalyn gazed across the twilight valley, the smile on her face a mix of pain and joy.

  “Look at this place. I can remember every curve of this land.” She stretched out her arm. “That copse of trees on the knoll, I always searched for it when we came here. It’s exactly the same. And the church spire in the dell.”

  Poppy followed her finger to a group of distant houses, a grey spire piercing what must have been a patch of yews. “Me too,” Poppy grinned.

  A sigh of emotion escaped Rosalyn in a rush. “I was in such a hurry to leave, I didn’t realise I loved some things about this place.”

  They were silent. Only the flitter of a bat disturbed the stillness. Rosalyn looked pale even in the warm evening light.

  “Why didn’t you come back?” Poppy whispered.

  Rosalyn still gazed over the valley. “When I left, I didn’t want to think about the place. Then it became a habit. Later, it was surreal to think I’d lived here at all. It was like a different person did the growing up for me and I took over in London.”

  It made Poppy uncomfortable, and she realised desolate, to imagine Rosalyn detaching herself from the memories they shared.

  “Do you still feel the same way?” she ventured.

  Rosalyn frowned “Actually, no. And it’s difficult to accept it was me – that girl who grew up here, for whom times weren’t always nice, and who wasn’t very nice at times.”

  Poppy was troubled by the confession. Even though she’d been in denial about her friendship with Rosalyn, burying the shared times good and bad, it still hurt that Rosalyn had done the same, for whatever reason.

  Rosalyn turned and smiled. “But look at this.” She swept her hand across the landscape. “This is part of my DNA.”

  She sat down and buried her hands deep into the cushioning moss. “I could curl up in this land and sleep in its embrace. It smells right. It feels like mine. The trees and the birds make the same sound I heard a thousand times from my bedroom. I could close my eyes and be ten again, playing hide and seek beneath the trees.”

  The sun’s dying light glistened in her eyes, moving and shifting in her tears. “I could lie down content and be consumed by the earth.” She reclined and closed her eyes, a single sparkling tear escaping down her cheek.

  Poppy sat beside her, watching her chest rise and fall, quick and full of emotion. Rosalyn’s eyebrows furrowed and her mouth pinched, holding back the flood of memories and feelings that must have consumed her.

  Poppy rested her fingers on Rosalyn’s arm, but looked away out of delicacy. She had no idea what tormented Rosalyn. Poppy used to understand her friend. That didn’t mean she could predict what Rosalyn would say, but Poppy always understood her motivation and character. Her comprehension had evaporated in an instant the Christmas of sixth form and Rosalyn’s personality grew opaque and Poppy knew neither what drove her friend or why. And now the grown woman lay beside her, the same enigma, albeit a more friendly one.

  “I’m sorry.” Rosalyn squeezed Poppy’s fingers and sat up. “I didn’t mean to be maudlin.” She wiped a tear away and laughed at herself. “Here,” she said, leaning over and taking a weighty bundle of cloth from her rucksack. “Let’s have something cheery to drink.”

  Poppy unravelled the bundle and found two cut-glass tumblers inside.

  “Isn’t this…?”

  Rosalyn grinned. “From mother’s finest set.”

  “This feels so naughty,” Poppy said and she giggled.

  “I’m afraid I only managed to snaffle a bottle of sloe gin.” And she poured a generous glass of the syrupy liqueur each.

  “Here’s to you, Poppy Jenkins. It’s been an unexpected pleasure to find you again.”

  “Cheers.” Poppy nervously chinked Rosalyn’s glass and took a sip of the sweet drink. Its fruitiness made her feel like a teenager, easing herself into alcohol before trying the bitter flavours of the adult drinks.

  “I’m sorry for telling Pip about the night at the Fridge,” Rosalyn said.

  “It’s ok. I imagine it’s done her the world of good to hear of my less than perfect past.” Poppy took another sip and regarded Rosalyn over her glass. “I’m surprised you remembered that night.”

  “Why? For a start, how could I forget you blowing up a hundred condoms at four o’clock in the morning?”

  Poppy brought her knees up and cuddled them with her arms. “You know, it was the best night of my teenage years, the bits I recall.”

  Rosalyn laughed. “I remember it clearly. In fact the most lucid part was watching you dance, after you’d begged me to buy
another bloody Cinzano because I looked the oldest.” She stared, recalling the moment. “You lit up the place – that dark, dingy twilight, with hunched melancholy goths glowering at their shoes. There you were, in the middle of the heaving mass, beaming skywards in the white spotlight, your eyes closed in rapture and hands weaving in ecstasy.” Rosalyn turned to Poppy and smiled. “You looked divine.”

  It hadn’t just been the best night of Poppy’s teenage years. There’d never been a moment as free, blissful or euphoric. It had been one of the best nights of her life.

  Poppy smiled in response, not wanting Rosalyn to realise its status in her heart. But Rosalyn had remembered it. That was a surprise in itself.

  Rosalyn turned away and topped up their glasses, sparing Poppy a response.

  “By the way, Pip’s brilliant. I like her very much.” Rosalyn passed back Poppy’s glass. “I bet being a bright teen with your nain on the prowl, it’s nice having a sympathetic big sister to banter with.”

  Poppy rolled her eyes. “Yes, she does have irritating little sister syndrome at the moment. But it’s not always like that. Other times,” Poppy was wistful, “she’s like a daughter – the daughter I’ll never have.”

  “Never have?” Rosalyn was confused.

  “I’ve given up hope of having a family,” Poppy said lightly. She was more than used to the admission.

  “Why?”

  Poppy hesitated, not wanting to admit how long it had been since her last romance, or its nature. “Let’s say, the chances of meeting someone local, or meeting someone who wants to settle here, are minimal.”

  “Well yes. There aren’t many people of your calibre here.”

  “Don’t start that again.” Poppy laughed, remembering their heated argument walking into Wells, and she nudged Rosalyn’s arm. “I’m being realistic.”

  Rosalyn still looked shocked. “But you had such a clear vision of a family. I remember you sitting on the veranda of the old hunting lodge. Do you remember?”

  Poppy did. The hunting lodge beyond Rhiw Hall’s woods had been Poppy’s favourite part of the Thorn’s estate and a regular haunt of theirs. It was a Victorian weatherboard house, with a cosy sitting room, veranda and small wings for the bedrooms. They used to lounge in the sun for hours, Rosalyn dreaming of elsewhere, Poppy dreaming of a future where they sat.

  “Didn’t you want a house like that – stove roaring in winter, the veranda doors flung open in summer, two, three, four kids?” Rosalyn grinned. “And someone to love and share it all?”

  Poppy blushed and hoped Rosalyn couldn’t discern it in the dying light. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I used to laugh at you, didn’t I?”

  Poppy couldn’t see Rosalyn’s expression but her tone was apologetic.

  “I’m sorry I ridiculed you. It sounded such a simple and mundane dream back then.” She turned to Poppy. “But it’s the hardest thing in the world – finding a person who completes you, then loving and supporting each other well enough to raise a happy family.”

  “Is that what you want?” Poppy asked.

  “Me? No. I dismissed that so long ago I haven’t thought about it. But,” she paused and became pensive, “perhaps, I do miss it. The ache and longing for that kind of dream has grown. So I understand what you craved, and how you must long for it.”

  They’d moved closer as they talked, the darkness closing around them and a chill thrilling the night-time air. Their legs touched, and their bodies warmed together as they stared over the landscape deepening into black. Rosalyn sighed and slid her arm through Poppy’s and pulled her closer, her breast nestled in the cradle of Poppy’s arm.

  Poppy closed her eyes luxuriating in the intimacy.

  “Sorry Poppy. I wasn’t thinking.” Rosalyn snatched her hand away.

  “I didn’t mind,” Poppy stuttered. “Why would I?”

  She couldn’t see Rosalyn’s features clearly, but her silhouette was tense and rigid.

  “Poppy.” Her voice was tight. “There’s something I should say.” She paused, her breath rasping in the silence. “I…I owe you an explanation. About what happened. It’s long overdue, and—”

  “Would it change anything?” The calmness of her own voice surprised Poppy. Perhaps it was the liqueur, perhaps it was the treat of Rosalyn’s company. Whatever the cause, she continued. “Please think whether it would change anything.”

  She stared at Rosalyn through the dusk, discerning the same intense look in reflection.

  “Regrettably,” Rosalyn murmured. “I don’t think it would.”

  Poppy couldn’t distinguish Rosalyn’s expression in the darkness. It slipped and blurred in the shadows. Was it sadness? Longing?

  “Then don’t tell me,” Poppy murmured. “If it doesn’t change anything, please don’t say it.” Poppy’s heart thudded in her chest. “I think you did owe me an explanation at one time. But if it accomplishes nothing but sadness please don’t tell me now.”

  Rosalyn didn’t move.

  “I like being here with you,” Poppy said fondly. “Just be here. Stay and watch the stars with me. Please?”

  Still Rosalyn did not flinch.

  “Please don’t spoil it. This is the loveliest evening I’ve had in a long time.” Poppy blushed in the darkness at her admission and feared Rosalyn might laugh or recoil.

  But she whispered, “Me too.”

  Poppy lay down and rested her hands over Rosalyn’s arm, and after a moment Rosalyn sank next to her.

  “Let’s watch the stars,” Rosalyn said.

  Poppy smiled, happy in the intimacy, and they nestled together. She could smell Rosalyn’s familiar scent. It must have been such mundane things as the washing liquid her mother used, or soap, or the general aroma of the Hall that had returned Rosalyn to her childhood familiarity, but it was a comforting perfume.

  Poppy closed her eyes and could have been lying in bed, snuggled behind Rosalyn for another sleepover. She became hazy in Rosalyn’s embrace. Waves of content sleep swirled in her head and she stared up at the skies, not knowing whether the stars burned across the sky or she dreamed them.

  When her eyes snapped open it was dark. A half moon had turned the world a dull silver and cool dew kissed her face. She shuffled and untangled her arms from Rosalyn’s as they both surfaced.

  “What time is it?” Rosalyn’s drowsy face lit up in the glare of her phone. “Just gone two.”

  The world was darker still with the light extinguished and they stumbled as they grew accustomed to the moonlight once more.

  Rosalyn took Poppy’s arm. “Let’s get you home.”

  They strolled down the sparkling hillside. Every so often a streak of meteor scorched the night and they smiled at the beauty of the natural fireworks all the way to the small-holding.

  “I need to get back too.” Rosalyn grinned. “In case my mother stayed up.” She leant forward. “Good night, Poppy,” and Rosalyn kissed her on the cheek with a soft and sweet caress, the kind of kiss that tingles from your head to your toes and all the places in between.

  “Good night,” Poppy whispered.

  As she watched Rosalyn’s silhouette merge into the darkness, she congratulated herself on not being overtly lustful.

  But this was small consolation for her growing regard for Rosalyn. She was now in danger of being horribly smitten. And Poppy realised her crush was snowballing, and perhaps indulging this infatuation with someone she shared the most intimate and intense part of childhood was not the best of ideas.

  It was fortunate indeed that, in a few days, Rosalyn would be leaving.

  Chapter 21.

  “Two weeks? Rosalyn’s staying two more weeks?”

  David smiled. The right side of his face didn’t yet show the same amusement, but he was regaining control over his features. “I thought you’d be pleased. Actually I thought you would have known.”

  “No.” Poppy managed to hide none of her horror at the revelation. “Sorry, let’s keep going.” She gripp
ed his arm and set off with determination towards the woods.

  He seemed much improved, either by physical recovery or a calmer outlook. She’d found him waiting on the metal bench beside the back door, hands resting on his walking stick, eager to reach the brow of the hill behind Rhiw Hall.

  They took another step forward then a break. “But you have spoken, since she got back?” he said.

  “Yes, I spent yesterday evening with her.”

  “Ah good. Rosalyn did say she intended seeing you.”

  “Why is she staying longer?”

  “Not a clue. She’s helped us over the worst of my illness, and I’d love her to stay as long as she likes. But I don’t know. Do you?”

  Poppy shook her head.

  “We’re not much of a friend or father are we,” he said smiling. “It seems neither of us knows my daughter.”

  They giggled at the absurdity.

  “Is she close to anyone you know?” Poppy asked.

  “We’ve met a friend or two in passing, but we’ve hardly seen her for years.”

  “What do you mean? I realise she’s not been home, but I assumed you visited her in London.”

  He took another lurch forward, but needed the stick for support and clung to Poppy for balance.

  “We did, on occasion. But…” He stopped again to take breath. “She always kept us at arms’ length. She would meet us at a restaurant or perhaps take in a play, but she never invited us home. I tell a lie,” he said. “When she moved into the flat, we did a viewing with her and I put down the deposit. She couldn’t afford it on her salary at the time, but we were never invited back.”

  “From when?”

  His face sagged in sorrow. “Ever since she left home.”

  Poppy stared at him in disbelief. She’d never thought Rosalyn would spurn her parents, but it seemed she’d abandoned them as much as she had Poppy.

  “Why?” she gasped.

  He shook his head. “Truthfully, I don’t know.”

  A frown dogged his forehead as they inched up the hill. Five steps forward, a rest. Two steps forward, and a word of reassurance from Poppy. On they climbed, so absorbed by their progress that when the land fell away at the crest of the hill it took them by surprise.