Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

  Poppy pulled away. She felt chilled and exposed. She gathered her clothes around her and dressed, far from comfortable with Rosalyn now.

  “Let me switch the bloody phone off,” Rosalyn said and she leapt away to silence her mobile. She turned back, naked from head to toe.

  Rosalyn’s physique was perfection to Poppy’s mind. Toned shoulders and arms, a bosom of tender curves, rounded hips and athletic legs, and a stomach which begged to be stroked and explored with kisses before savouring the pleasure between her legs.

  Poppy covered her eyes, not wanting to admit how beautiful Rosalyn was. That way madness lay.

  Her thoughts reeled – images of Rosalyn with Sam, memories of her adolescent boyfriends, the scorn she poured on Poppy in the sixth form. She couldn’t reconcile Rosalyn from the past or present with the woman who’d seduced her with such ease.

  Poppy inched down her hands and peered at Rosalyn, fixing her with a pained stare.

  “I don’t know why you did that, or what it was for you….” Poppy stopped, her chest heaving with emotion and her throat strangled. “I can’t chastise you for being involved with someone else, I’ve been a fling before. And I don’t mind if someone needs to experiment, or being someone’s frivolous exploration. But you.” She shook her head. “You can’t do that to me.” She held Rosalyn’s gaze and waited for her meaning to be comprehended. “You can’t toy with me. Not you. Not ever.”

  “Poppy, I didn’t think you were attracted to me.”

  “So. What? You wanted to press a few buttons to check?”

  Rosalyn’s gaze faltered. “That’s not what it was. Yes, it was unexpected but…” Rosalyn breathed in sharply, but no more words came out. She ran her fingers through her hair, her face contorted with anxiety. “Let me dress please. I can’t think.”

  Rosalyn pulled up her jeans and shied away to dress in her bra and shirt. When she turned back, her face was still agonised. She drew up a chair up and sat staring at Poppy, her hands in prayer over her mouth. Her eyes darted from side to side.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  Poppy’s mouth twitched in grief, tears hot in her eyes. “How about with you breaking my heart when I was sixteen. How about with you stamping all over it for two more years and leaving me bereft for a lifetime.” She shook her head. “I always believed there was something abhorrent about me, and it’s only recently I realised you might have dropped me because I was gay. But you befriend me. Then seduce me.” Her heart pounded in her chest. “And now you will leave.”

  “Poppy, no.” Rosalyn was stunned. “That’s not how it was. Yes, I can see why you think that, but…” She dropped her face into her hands while her breath laboured with emotion. “Oh god, what a mess.”

  Poppy gulped, her own words releasing years of anguish. She’d been haunted by her absent friend. Once, she’d been a part of her and Rosalyn had left a gaping hole when she ripped herself away. And here Rosalyn sat, someone Poppy adored, someone she desired, a woman who could touch and seduce her so profoundly, but in another second feel alien and remote.

  “I’ve made such a mistake, Poppy.” Rosalyn’s voice was a whisper. “An awful mistake.” Her fingers trembled and entwined in tense knots. “I can’t believe what I’ve done.”

  She looked at Poppy, imploring, but a key scraped in the front lock and the familiar judder of the door catching the floor echoed through the café.

  “Poppy?” Emma’s voice shouted. “Do you need a hand clearing up?”

  They both startled and sat straighter, checking their clothes. Poppy couldn’t look at Rosalyn.

  “You should go,” she said.

  “Poppy. We need to talk.” Rosalyn reached for Poppy’s hands, but she snatched them away.

  “Go. Now. I won’t have Mum finding me like this.” Poppy wiped her tears and blinked back more. She set her face in stony determination. “Leave.”

  “Poppy…”

  “No,” she whispered, and hot tears threatened again.

  “Please, I must—”

  Poppy leapt up and strode across the room without glancing back.

  She hurried down the stairs to the steam of the kitchen to pretend washing was the cause of her damp and blotched face.

  Her heart thumped so loudly in her ears she didn’t hear Rosalyn leave or if she spoke to Emma on the way. And a few moments later her mother arrived, unaware of the shift in Poppy’s world.

  Chapter 27.

  It was rare Poppy didn’t have the good will or cheer to smile, but it eluded her for the rest of the day. Her mother looked to her on several occasions, concern and questions written in her expression, but she didn’t push.

  Trade on Sunday was as brisk as Saturday, and with Bethan free to waitress they managed another full booking to everyone’s satisfaction. By the end of the day, with so many compliments and promises of returns, Poppy had regained some semblance of her natural cheer.

  Night time was the worst. She lay in bed, staring at the serene landscape, silver and still in the moonlight and mocking the turmoil of her thoughts. She blushed for the hundredth time, embarrassed at succumbing so easily to Rosalyn’s caresses. Then confusion reigned. Why had Rosalyn even touched her?

  But how she had touched her. Poppy closed her eyes, overcome by the memory. Rosalyn’s scent was still fragrant to her senses. The sight of her naked, no matter how hard Poppy tried, burst into her head. She longed for Rosalyn’s touch all over again – breasts caressing breasts, soft thighs smooth inside her own, Rosalyn teasing at her lips. Poppy moaned. Her body quivered with arousal at the memory of Rosalyn’s fingers slipping inside, as vivid a sensation as if she were there.

  Poppy shifted under her duvet, wishing she could dull every sense and expunge the delicious memory.

  Thoughts and questions spun around her head the following morning and consumed her every thought. The family readied themselves for the day and bustled around her, attempting conversation two at a time. She glided around the house in a daze, responding to questions by rote, not sensible enough to care if her response was appropriate. She was so consumed she hardly noticed the house descend into silence, everyone departed for work and school on Poppy’s day off.

  She reached inside the fridge for milk and a memory of Nain reiterating “We’re out of milk, cariad. You’ll need to fetch it from up the lane,” finally made sense to her consciousness.

  She wandered into bright sunshine, feeling stupid, and tottered up the stony lane.

  “Rosalyn, Rosalyn, Rosalyn,” she muttered. Since when had Rosalyn, expert at kissing and precocious teen, loved women? What was she playing at? It made Poppy want to scream.

  Rosalyn was all Poppy had thought about since she’d arrived and it was beginning to drive her insane. She was no nearer to understanding Rosalyn than she was this time last year. If anything, she was more perplexed, and the number of different feelings she had towards the woman now seemed infinite.

  At the end of the lane, she picked up three pints of milk from the rusty carrier entangled in the grass. She clutched them to her chest and was about to head home when a car purred beside her. The sporty black number had its roof down and was driven by a slim woman with a severe haircut and fly sunglasses, also in black.

  “Excuse me. You there.” Her voice demanded prompt and exemplary attention. “Are you local?”

  “Yes, I am.” Poppy was aware of her soft accent in contrast with the woman’s cut-glass English intonations. “Can I help?”

  “I’ve been driving up and down between Lan-God-knows-where and that Wells place for half an hour and I can’t find it. The damned sat-nav directs me into a puddle of river and I can’t get any reception on my mobile.”

  Poppy smiled, used to the vagaries of the Wells technology black spot. “It’s very patchy round here. Where are you trying to find?” She leaned forwards, expecting the woman to point out an address or map.

  “This place. I’m not sure even how you’re meant to pronounce it.” She h
eld up her phone with an email displayed.

  “Rhiw Hall,” Poppy whispered. “It’s pronounced Rhiw Hall,” and she emphasised the “rhoo” sound.

  Poppy didn’t catch much of the email in her brief glimpse, but she did spot Rosalyn’s name at the end and her fond entreaty for the woman to arrive soon.

  “Well, where is the damned place?” The woman threw her mobile onto the passenger seat. “I don’t know why she’s been holed up in this backwater for so long. I haven’t seen a Waitrose in hours.”

  “You’re here.” Poppy stared at the woman. It was the assistant, her severe features mellowed by the large, curving sunglasses. The assistant who drove an expensive car. The assistant with a close relationship with Rosalyn, attested by Rosalyn’s loving signature and by the fact the assistant was visiting in person.

  “Up there?” The woman pointed up the track which skirted around the large stables and worker cottages.

  Realisation was sinking in. “No,” Poppy stumbled. “There’s another entrance around the corner. If you drive a little further, you’ll see stone gate posts either side of a single lane.”

  “Oh, you must know them then.”

  “Yes.” All the warmth drained from Poppy’s limbs and a coolness settled inside.

  “By the way,” the woman twisted round and offered a bony hand. “I’m-”

  “Sam,” Poppy said. “You must be Sam.”

  “That’s right.” The woman flinched. “How did you…?”

  Poppy stared at the ex of Rosalyn. The ex-girlfriend of Rosalyn.

  She desperately tried to recall what Rosalyn had said. Hadn’t she referred to a him? Wasn’t she talking to the suave, handsome man when she mentioned Sam?

  The woman removed her glasses, revealing her severe and intrigued face. “You’re Poppy, aren’t you?”

  “Sorry,” Poppy said, coming out of her reverie. “That sounded loaded didn’t it. I don’t know much about you.”

  “But I do of you.” Sam peered at her with an intense expression that rippled beneath the surface with other feelings. “All good I can assure you,” she said as if she was casual about the whole meeting. “And actually all new. I’ve known Rosalyn for years and had no idea there was someone so important in her childhood.”

  Poppy blushed. “I imagine she doesn’t often discuss Wells.”

  “No, indeed.” Sam’s gaze didn’t flinch. “Rosalyn seemed to appear from nowhere at university. It’s quite a shock to see her abandon her life and return to so-called home. I expected her back at work earlier than this. Well. I’m glad you’ve had a chance to rekindle your friendship.” The emphasis was very much on “friend”.

  Poppy blushed deeper, intrigue about the status of Sam and Rosalyn’s relationship, now uppermost in her mind and regretting ever more the café encounter.

  “I imagine I’ll be seeing you again,” Sam said, her expression once more hidden behind the glasses, and she pulled away with little in the way of farewell or courtesy.

  A different set of feelings now tormented Poppy, highest among them indignation and irritation, not helped by the third piece of toast to burn in the temperamental toaster at home.

  Dai had called round and sat at the kitchen table, wittering something about his wedding. Poppy leant against the wooden top, disgruntled and half-listening, and slotted another piece of bread into the machine.

  “Sorry, did you say Mary wants to get married in August?”

  “I said that half an hour ago love.” Dai chuckled. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Sorry, Dai. I am listening. But August you say? This August?”

  “I know. I’m as outraged as when I told you the first time.” He smiled cheekily and Poppy almost threw a slice of charred bread at him.

  “But doesn’t every man and his sheep want to get married in summer? Everywhere will be booked.”

  “Well that’s what I said to her. Then you. And again.”

  “Very funny.”

  Dai grinned.

  “What’s the rush?” asked Poppy.

  “Actually Mary’s got a good reason.” He turned more serious. “See, her nain’s getting on a bit and might not be around next summer.” He shrugged. “So, I need to get a move on.”

  “Have you searched? Is there anywhere?”

  “Well no, there isn’t. Except,” he raised his index finger, “Alan Watkins says he can do a good deal at the hotel if I pay early. Says there’s a cancellation.”

  “When?”

  “One of two Saturdays in August.”

  “Two?” Poppy crossed her arms and frowned at Dai. “I’m surprised he isn’t booked up. I imagine somewhere like that would have people waiting for cancellations too.”

  “Well I don’t know why. Says he can do me a good deal as a mate though.”

  “Really?” Poppy looked away. “Have you checked prices elsewhere? Is it a good deal?”

  “I haven’t looked yet, like, but I’ve got a rough idea of how much these things cost.”

  “Lots.” Poppy coughed.

  “Well exactly.”

  “It’s just...” Poppy squirmed with annoying thoughts which prickled her mood. “Can you trust him? Will you check he is giving you a good deal?”

  Dai sat back in his chair, his considerable arms folded across his even more considerable chest. “Oh come now. What’s this about? That’s Rosalyn talking, not you.”

  Poppy flinched at the mention of Rosalyn’s name. “Alan unsettled me – the way he treated Cerys at the fair meeting – that’s all.”

  “That fiasco?” Dai coughed a laugh. “Cerys is a nice woman, but the meeting was a shambles. I’m not surprised he poked a bit of fun. That’s all it was though. He was very generous showing up at all.”

  Poppy grumbled something non-specific and frowned at the floor. She wasn’t used to thinking ill of people, but there was more than one person testing her equanimity this morning.

  “Speaking of Rosalyn…” Dai inhaled a great lungful. “Oh Poppy, you’re burning, love.”

  “Oh no.” She slapped her hand to the toaster and two more charred slices popped up in a grey cloud. “I’ve run out of bread.” She tutted. Poppy snatched a slice from the toaster and scraped the surface over the sink.

  “Like I was saying,” Dai continued. “I saw Rosalyn in town.”

  Poppy grumbled again and scraped the toast with more vigour.

  “She was walking arm and arm with some woman. Looked right pally they did.”

  “That would be Sam,” Poppy said, her irritation clipping the name. “Her ex.”

  “Did you say ex?”

  “Yes I did.”

  “Oh.”

  Poppy peeped round at Dai. He was immobile with surprised eyebrows frozen in peaks, as if someone had removed the plug. Poppy turned round and peered into his eyes. Somewhere inside was a great deal of activity. “Are you all right?”

  Dai shook his head, his jowls wobbling. “You mean like ex-girlfriend ex?”

  “Yes.” Poppy straightened and resumed her scraping at the sink.

  “Well, I never saw that one coming.”

  Poppy grunted in response.

  “Did you know?”

  “No,” Poppy said curtly, and she scraped her toast harder.

  “Well, that’s a surprise too. You’d think she’d mention it to you.”

  “I know,” Poppy growled.

  “Especially because everyone knows you’re gay and she definitely knew, because I let it slip the other day. That’s peculiar. I’d have thought she’d tell you straight away.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Poppy ground her teeth and applied the knife blade with more gusto.

  “Well, that’s very odd.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Poppy, love?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re going to scrape away your hand.”

  Poppy peered down and found a thin square crust and black ring inside, all the edible crumbs mixed with t
he charcoal in the sink.

  “Oh, for…” Poppy threw the remains in the bin. “I give up.”

  She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and slumped next to Dai at the table. She ripped a great mouthful from the juicy Granny Smith, her next target for annihilation.

  “You all right, Poppy love?” Dai looked at her with amused concern. “There’s something I can’t put my finger on, but I get the subtle feeling not everything’s right in the world.”

  Poppy opened her mouth, and a chunk of apple fell out. “No, not everything is all right,” she said, muffled by the remaining mouthful.

  “I’m going to take another wild guess and ask – is this about Rosalyn?”

  Poppy frowned in a tantrum. “Yes it is.”

  He sighed and appeared sympathetic, but with a regretful expression of “I told you so”.

  “I know. You’re right,” Poppy said, her mouth clear at last.

  “Did you seriously not know?”

  “No.”

  “But didn’t she have a boyfriend practically as soon as she was born?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Well, that’s confusing then.” He rolled his eyes. “How are you meant to know who she’ll fancy next?”

  Poppy gave him a chastising look while kicking herself for the same bigoted misgivings. Poppy’s presumption of the gender of Rosalyn’s boss and assumptions about her shifting sexuality had led Poppy horribly astray.

  She blushed at doubting Rosalyn’s conviction and imagining the games she’d been playing.

  But Rosalyn could have bloody well told her about her penchant for women. That seemed pertinent given their situation. Any time before slipping her fingers inside would have been nice. Poppy closed her eyes, the memory never failing to send exquisite shivers through her body.

  “So,” said Dai, “she’s not a lesbian.”

  Poppy frowned.

  “She’s a…” Dai raised his eyebrows tentatively, “….bisexual?”

  Poppy sighed, not happy with the term either.

  “Is that not right?” Dai looked perturbed.

  “It is, but it’s a label that comes with a whole bag of preconceptions and prejudices.” Poppy had been guilty enough of some. “As soon as you use it, people see the stereotype and not the person. And she is Rosalyn still.” Whoever that person was. Poppy realised she was forever losing a grip on reality when it came to that.