Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

  A tear threatened at the memory. “I bawled my eyes out. Mum hugged me and kissed the top of my head. It was lovely. I’d been away for weeks and she smelled of home – woolly cardigan and spices from the shop. They were so accepting and nothing changed.”

  Rosalyn’s frown softened. “You’re very lucky Poppy. You have remarkable parents.”

  “I honestly don’t think it was luck. People have been fine.”

  “Have they?”

  Poppy turned to face Rosalyn. “Ever since I came out and walked into Wells with my girlfriend, all sorts of people have approached me. The vicar admitted his brother was gay and was heartened to see me being open. Mrs Morgan Morgan clapped her hands together and said she was overjoyed people could be out and proud these days. Yes, people did stare. And people did a double-take, and another. But they became used to it and, at some point, found it normal.”

  Rosalyn seemed uneasy. “Did you ever hide it? I mean, earlier. Did you fancy anyone at school?”

  And at this Poppy did blush. “No,” she said. Well, apart from Rosalyn it would seem. She probably did have a crush on Rosalyn all those years, given the practice kiss and drunken kiss and all, but she was going to quietly sit on that one.

  “It’s not something I fully realised back then,” Poppy clarified. “I wasn’t as keen on boys as most, but I always felt immature compared with girls like you. I just thought I would catch up one day.”

  “Really?”

  “What example did I have? I never met anyone growing up, and when I did no-one ever explained they were gay. I didn’t even realise Trevor Jones who does the pantomimes was gay.”

  Rosalyn seemed to giggle despite herself and at last relaxed. “Now that was hard to miss.”

  “Was it?” Poppy frowned trying to remember. “I think I was in my twenties by the time I twigged.”

  Rosalyn smiled indulgently.

  “Well I was never as worldly as you.” She nudged Rosalyn in the arm. “I did read the Well of Loneliness, but I couldn’t relate to it at all. I wasn’t a swashbuckling romantic determined to serenade a married woman. And the ending is hardly encouraging. Or the middle, or beginning. I didn’t walk away from it thinking that’s the life for me.”

  Rosalyn laughed.

  “Seriously, I don’t know if you noticed, but there weren’t many positive role models.”

  “Beth Jordache?”

  “Yes, we all saw the kiss even if we didn’t follow Brookside. Even Nain watched it. But I didn’t aspire to being a victim turned murderer.”

  “But Anna Friel was very pretty. Surely you fancied her.”

  “Yes, she was pretty,” Poppy said both irritated and amused. “But I didn’t fancy her and didn’t rip out her pictures from magazines to stick inside the cupboards.”

  “And no-one else famous caught your eye?”

  Poppy blushed. “No. Well yes. In retrospect perhaps.”

  “Like who?” Rosalyn was beaming her good-humoured self again.

  “I didn’t fancy her, but I thought Ellen was cool and if I wore a trouser suit I wanted to look as good as she did.”

  Rosalyn creased up with laughter. “Next you’re going to tell me you were surprised when she came out.”

  “Completely shocked. I’d had no inkling at all.”

  “Oh Poppy.” Rosalyn shuddered with the giggles. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in months. But I’m no longer surprised you didn’t hide it. It seemed to elude you as well.”

  Poppy bristled. “Well, yes, it kind of did.”

  Rosalyn’s smile faded from her face. “Doesn’t it drive you bonkers living here?” Her frown gave away her opinion, that it couldn’t be anything other than maddening.

  “Do you mean at home or in Wells?”

  “Both.”

  Poppy tucked her arms around her legs and hugged her knees. “Yes, it does sometimes.”

  “Thank god.” Rosalyn breathed. “You are still human.”

  “But it’s worth it.” Poppy smiled. “Yes, when Pip moved into the room next door and Nain downstairs, I considered leaving for my own sanity. But the café would need to be more successful to afford my own place. I’d probably visit home every five minutes anyway. I’d miss the mundane things like helping Pip with her homework. It’d be like leaving my own daughter.”

  “And Wells. You’re happy here?”

  “Yes, even when Nain is on the rampage and Pip is on the wrong end of teenage hormones. It’s worth it for a stroll up Moel Gwyrdd and a view of the country I love. And in summer, when the sun is shining, Mum and I shut the shop and take Pip to the beach at Aberdyfi. And when I’m sitting on the sands or exploring the rock pools with Pip, not another soul to be seen, I realise how lucky I am.”

  Rosalyn frowned again. “You’re right. Luck doesn’t have anything to do with it. It’s your outlook. You’ve always looked on the bright side, whereas I can’t turn my back on the dark.”

  “Maybe.” Poppy wasn’t sure what Rosalyn meant. “What am I missing?”

  “Perhaps nothing,” Rosalyn replied. “But sometimes it’s not all sunshine and flowers. There’s the odd weed which needs attention. But then if you’re always worrying about the weeds, you never get to appreciate the garden.”

  “What are the weeds?” Poppy felt apprehensive.

  “Not everything is idyllic in Wells, Poppy. And not everyone is as benevolent as you.”

  Poppy didn’t know who Rosalyn meant or why, and was afraid to ask.

  “But in any case,” Rosalyn changed the subject. “How will you meet anyone here? When was the last time you met anyone attractive?”

  Poppy blushed.

  “Has it been years?”

  Poppy nodded. “Something like that.”

  Rosalyn paused and looked into her eyes. “Are you even open to meeting someone?”

  “Of course I am.” Poppy laughed and willed her rosy cheeks to subside.

  “Honestly?”

  Poppy held her breath as Rosalyn maintained her piercing gaze, and prayed her eyes wouldn’t betray her by peeping down Rosalyn’s cleavage.

  At length, Rosalyn sighed. “Well, I can see why you’ve given up on a family. Poppy, doesn’t it feel as if life’s passing you by?”

  Poppy breathed out, grateful Rosalyn had skipped past the romantic issue. But as she thought of the future a familiar anxiety gripped inside. She waited a moment for it to pass. It left an uneasy emptiness, but that too she knew would pass.

  “Think of what I’d miss,” Poppy said. “I have one chance to see Pip grow up.” She smiled at Rosalyn. “Look at it this way. I hope to live into my eighties. That gives me, what, half a century to enjoy. Pip is home for only another seven years. I don’t want to miss that precious time.”

  She thought Rosalyn would be amused by the reasoning or at least joust a response. But she seemed to deflate.

  “You’re never going to leave, are you?” Rosalyn stared at her. The intensity was unnerving.

  “Perhaps.” Poppy hesitated. “I could see myself leaving for a few years, but I’d always want to come home.”

  Poppy studied her friend. Rosalyn’s thoughts seemed in turmoil again. Her breathing quickened and anxiety tore across her forehead.

  “Poppy… I…”

  Poppy leaned forward to indicate she was listening.

  “I know you don’t like, in that way, maybe any way….” Rosalyn floundered again. “You don’t remember this but… And at school I wasn’t… But, I need to tell you… Oh this is going to be hard to explain. Poppy,” Rosalyn turned and faced her. “I like—”

  “Girls?” Emma’s voice shouted from downstairs.

  “Excuse me a second.” Poppy leapt towards the landing. “Hi, Mum.”

  Emma peered up from the foot of the stairs. “Do you girls fancy some tea and cake?”

  “That would be lovely, Mum. Do you fancy a cuppa?” Poppy said over her shoulder.

  Rosalyn’s eyes were wide and face pallid. Her mouth
hung speechless and Poppy had a nagging feeling of having missed something.

  “Are you all right?”

  Rosalyn eased herself to her feet. She seemed agitated and toyed with her hands, and for a moment Poppy thought she intended to confide in her. But the uncharacteristic moment of frailty passed and the demeanour of confident Rosalyn Thorn washed over her features.

  “It’s nothing,” Rosalyn laughed. “It doesn’t matter. I should get home anyway. Thank you, Poppy.” She strode over and squeezed Poppy in a hug. “Thank you for talking to me. And I would love to stay longer, but Dad will be back from an appointment soon and my mother will need a break.”

  “Another time,” Poppy said.

  Rosalyn breathed out and nodded. “Perhaps before I leave.” She leant forward and they kissed each other on the cheek, and moments later the front door closed and Rosalyn had left.

  Well that had gone well. Hadn’t it? Poppy had come out, and been honest, largely, perhaps with the odd omission. But Rosalyn had taken it as well as could be expected. Poppy was used to post-coming-out questions. Friends always asked one of: how long, who, when, why and do you ever. So that was good, yes?

  And Poppy congratulated herself that she hadn’t lusted over Rosalyn once. Not once. They’d parted in a mature manner as friends with a platonic peck on the cheek. Poppy was very proud. Yes, that crush was firmly back under control.

  Chapter 25.

  It was night and the dark was humid. Poppy’s bedroom glowed sultry orange, the landing light gleaming beneath the door.

  The knock was almost imperceptible. She’d felt its gentle vibration more than heard it.

  “Who’s there?” Poppy said.

  “Rosalyn.” The velvet murmur was enough for a shimmer of arousal to thrill Poppy awake. Her body moved of its own accord, lured to the door by the dulcet voice.

  She raised her hand to the wooden panels and her fingertips tingled, any touch enough to spark excitement.

  “Rosalyn,” Poppy breathed.

  “Let me in.” Her voice was a desperate command. “I need you.”

  Poppy’s hands fumbled with excitement at the catch. Her whole body ached with longing ignited by the sound of Rosalyn’s need.

  Poppy slipped her fingers around the edge and gently pulled the door open to reveal Rosalyn in the half-light of the landing.

  “You’re wet,” Poppy gasped.

  Rosalyn’s locks hung in dark ribbons and her skin was flushed with perspiration from the steamy night.

  “I’m soaking wet,” Rosalyn murmured.

  Rosalyn’s eyes were dark in the shadows, her lashes inky with tropical rain and pupils wide with want.

  “Come,” Poppy said. “I will help you.”

  She stroked her finger down Rosalyn’s bare chest, slipping in the rivulets of rain. Rosalyn closed her eyes as Poppy teased her finger beneath a coat button. Round Poppy stroked until the button released and the coat slipped from Rosalyn’s shoulders in a sigh.

  Poppy gasped. All that kept Rosalyn from nudity was a translucent slip that shimmered as she moved. She glided to the bed and reclined on the corner, her beautiful neck bare and ready to receive attention.

  Poppy knelt before her, unable to resist peering through the sheer material that caressed Rosalyn’s naked chest. Waves of satin undulated over the bosom Poppy had coveted all these weeks, the sight of Rosalyn’s nipples tantalising for a moment before again eluding her gaze.

  Then Rosalyn, ever so slowly, ever so seductively, parted her legs.

  The diaphanous material teased Poppy’s imagination, flowing between Rosalyn’s legs in waves and casting the depths in shadow. Poppy longed to see beneath. How she wanted to slip her fingers beneath the satin.

  “Take it,” Rosalyn whispered. “I’m still wet.”

  Poppy reached for Rosalyn, her fingers tickling and alive with anticipation. She hesitated above Rosalyn’s thigh, her breath quickening with expectant arousal. She touched, a faint stroke, with the very tips of her fingers, and an intense thrill sparked through her body causing her to moan.

  She spread her fingers and stroked her palm greedily over Rosalyn’s curving thigh. Waves of pleasure quivered through fingers and arms, all the way to her core.

  She hesitated at the hem of Rosalyn’s slip, then stroked a fingertip beneath. Rosalyn was radiating burning heat. Poppy could feel it at her fingertips. Just another inch and she would feel her moisture. Another stroke and Poppy would slip into Rosalyn’s soft wet desire.

  “Oh.” Poppy cried out. She sat up in bed with a jolt, her eyes wide and cheeks roasting. Her body hummed with excitement in the afterglow of her dream and she was soaked. Drenched. And it wasn’t just sweat, and it certainly wasn’t rain.

  “Oh god.” She threw off the duvet and the morning air chilled her steaming body.

  “Good god.”

  So that crush that was under control – that wasn’t looking so restrained this morning. Poppy’s subconscious and body were very much in thrall to that infatuation.

  Just how much had she wanted to remove Rosalyn’s slip? How much had she ached to touch further?

  And how loudly had she cried out?

  Alarmed, she listened for people within earshot. Nothing. A blackbird tweeted beyond her window. A distant sheep bleated. But there was nothing to indicate human presence.

  She glanced at her alarm clock. Nine? It was nine o’clock. No wonder there wasn’t any sign of life. It was Saturday morning and Mum would be opening the shop, Dad was on a job, Pip was at a friend’s and Poppy was very, very late.

  She leapt out of bed, ran through the shower, threw on the cream dress, hooked up her necklace, grabbed the reserved sign and bolted along the river into Wells. More than once she regretted her choice of attire, the plunging neckline no match for her breasts on the run. She stopped, tightened her bra and squeezed her breasts into a more stable and impressive blooming pair.

  She burst through the shop door clinging to her reserved sign, exuding luminous health from both exercise and romantic thoughts. She stuttered to a halt in front of the counter and a startled Rosalyn Thorn.

  Rosalyn flushed in a smile. Poppy had never witnessed a more attractive expression. Whatever Rosalyn had seen, or whatever she’d been doing, she was looking well on it. Regrettably well.

  Poppy craved her every feature: arching eyebrows with their come hither expression. Full lips Poppy wanted to devour with insatiable kisses. The crisp white shirt open to a mesmerising cleavage, stretched tight over bewitching breasts, tucked into jeans Poppy wanted nothing more than to tear away and finally touch Rosalyn’s hidden, warm, slick depths.

  “Morning,” she gasped.

  “Good morning.” Rosalyn’s eyes travelled around Poppy’s entire body: her blushing face, her tanned arms, the heaving breasts, which threatened to explode from her dress.

  “I rushed out. Late. Bit of a mess.”

  Rosalyn shook her head. “You look radiant.” Her eyes didn’t leave Poppy’s. “And that perfume. What is it?”

  Rampant desire. That’s probably what Rosalyn could detect. Just pure, rampant desire.

  “I can’t remember,” Poppy blustered.

  They stood gazing at each other, both blooming with rude health. But Rosalyn started.

  “You still wear it.” She stared straight at Poppy’s breasts.

  The necklace. Poppy snatched her hand to the locket in a self-conscious and all too belated attempt to hide it. She’d put it on without thinking.

  Rosalyn looked shocked. “I thought you’d sell it, or throw it away.”

  “Poppy? Is that you?” Emma’s voice called from upstairs and Poppy was saved the awkwardness of answering. And only then did the noise from upstairs intrude on Poppy’s consciousness.

  There was chatter. It was a consistent hum of many customers.

  Emma descended with a rosy face. “We’re busy already,” she said. She spotted the reserved sign Poppy grasped and smiled. “We’re not going to need th
at.”

  “Oh no.” Poppy deflated. “Did they cancel?”

  Her mother shook her head and grinned. “No, they didn’t. But the phone hasn’t stopped ringing since I opened.”

  “What?”

  “We’re booked up, Poppy. Lunch is sold out. Every single table is reserved.”

  Poppy stared at her mother as if she’d announced the existence of lesbians on Mars. “Booked up?”

  “Yes.” And Emma punched her fists in the air.

  “That’s why I came over,” Rosalyn said. She pushed a copy of the Guardian Food Guide towards Poppy. “This was out today.”

  Poppy turned it over in her hands, a blank expression on her face and her mind a similar vacuum.

  “Read page thirty-five.” Rosalyn beamed with amusement.

  Poppy flicked through the pages but, for the moment, the order of Arabic numerals escaped her.

  “Come here.” Rosalyn laughed and she grasped the magazine. “There.”

  Poppy’s hands shook and she took a moment to focus on the fluttering entry.

  “Under Mid-Wales.” Rosalyn pointed to a section with a single entry and Poppy read:

  “Recommendations are scarce in this part of the country, but we’ve happened upon this little gem: The Real Food Café where they make dishes with love and genuine skill. This is the kind of food you’ll realise you’ve been missing for years, and after being reminded wolf down with hearty vigour, the meal followed by such a contented glow as to rival Christmas.”

  Poppy stared at her mother then Rosalyn. “We’ve made The Food Guide?”

  “Yes, you have.” Rosalyn smiled with a mix of pride and joy Poppy had never seen on her before. It made Poppy giddy and between that and her state of high arousal, followed by the shock and euphoria of the review, Poppy couldn’t tell if she were coming or going.