by Clare Ashton
Poppy gave a nod.
“Whatever you do, don’t imagine the audience naked.”
Poppy frowned in confusion.
“I suggested that to a nervous young delegate at a conference once. The poor man stood on stage looking horrified at the groins of the front row and had to be escorted from the stage.”
Poppy giggled.
“You’ll be fine,” Rosalyn said. “Remember, the first couple of minutes are the worst. Get through those, whatever way you can, and it’s easier from there.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Poppy shook her head. “I can speak to anyone, I’ve never been shy. But stand me in front of a crowd…”
Rosalyn squeezed her hands. “Dai owes you for this. You’ve served all this amazing food and he puts you through the worst ordeal you can imagine.” She smiled. “What makes him worth it?”
Poppy was too jittery with adrenaline to answer.
“Let me see your cards,” Rosalyn said and she flicked through Poppy’s speech. She paused for a moment on the last card, a ripple of tension disturbing her features. Poppy worried what she’d written to cause Rosalyn distress.
“Hmm. As I thought.” Rosalyn murmured. Then she added. “You’re far too nice to him.”
Poppy laughed. “I wanted to keep it short.”
“Then go on. Don’t think. Just do it.” And Rosalyn stood aside for Poppy to enter the main room.
As Poppy took her seat, Dai whispered over to her. “You go first. Get it over and done with.”
Poppy nodded and took a deep breath, the nerves already dancing. She stood and raised a glass and spoon to ring everyone to attention. The noisy cavernous space rumbled and shuffled, a few hearing the chime, others oblivious. She tapped the glass again and another table or two settled into silence. Another ring and the remaining tables became quiet and all faces turned to Poppy. One hundred and fifty faces. One hundred and fifty expectant faces. All looking at her.
She took a sharp breath in and attempted to say thank you, but her throat was parched. She took a sip of sparkling wine, gathered her cards and took another deep breath. She didn’t know what word she intended but only an empty sound issued.
Her heart thumped, her body burned, a blush erupted from her chest, crept up her neck then blazed on her cheeks. Everyone stared, waiting. She looked over the multitude of faces. Even the people who were familiar looked strange, their faces midway between merriment and concern.
Poppy’s head spun. Her legs felt weak. A cold sweat broke on her back and she reeled on the verge of fainting.
“No, no, no,” came Rosalyn’s confident voice. It filled the room. “This will not do at all.”
Poppy was half aware of Rosalyn striding down the centre of the room, her heels clicking loud on the hard floor.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Rosalyn exclaimed. “Choosing the nicest woman in the world to deliver your best-man’s speech? You’re not getting away with that, Dai Edwards.”
Rosalyn leapt beside her and wrapped her arm around Poppy’s waist, pulling her close.
Poppy shut her eyes, her body almost collapsing with relief into Rosalyn arms.
“I’m here,” Rosalyn whispered and she pressed her soft face to Poppy’s cheek.
Poppy started to breathe slower, reassured by the warm presence of Rosalyn around her. She held Rosalyn’s hand to her stomach and squeezed it tight.
“Thank you.” She peered up at Rosalyn’s kind face.
Rosalyn held Poppy’s cards firm. “Now you start. I’ll be with you all the way.”
Poppy stared at her speech. Her hands still trembled but Rosalyn’s elegant fingers steadied her.
Poppy cleared her throat. “I can remember,” she said, her voice unsteady, “the first time I saw Dai—”
“Let’s face it, he’s difficult to miss,” Rosalyn interjected.
Poppy stumbled into a giggle and the audience guffawed.
“You are going to be nice, aren’t you?” Poppy looked up at Rosalyn.
“Oh, I doubt it.” A naughtiness twitched at Rosalyn’s lips. “This is Dai we’re talking about.”
The audience relaxed and beamed and Poppy grew in confidence, held in Rosalyn’s warm embrace.
“As I was saying, I remember clearly, the first time I saw Dai.”
“He is after all unforgettable as well as unmissable.”
Poppy shot a mock frown at Rosalyn before carrying on. “He was just seven years old—”
“And already the size of a prop.”
Poppy giggled, as did the rugby fans and players in the audience.
“He was teaching a group of older boys the rules of rugby, and I asked if I could play. I didn’t realise back then it was considered a boy’s game. The others all complained about including a girl, but Dai said I could play on his team. And it’s his generosity, embrace of the different and his acceptance that has underpinned our friendship ever since.”
“Now what Poppy isn’t saying,” Rosalyn interrupted, “is that she ran the whole length of the field, scored a try and said ‘Is that it?’ So although it pains me to say, Dai’s also a clever tactician.”
Dai chuckled heartily and nodded. “True,” he said, “all true.”
“And he was overheard saying,” and at this point Rosalyn indulged in her finest Dai accent. “Could you maybe try and bump into a few of them on the way? You know. Show willing.”
The audience laughed at the impression and the perfect example of Dai’s character.
Poppy resumed with a smile. “I was never happier when Dai met Mary. I knew immediately she was a special woman and it was no surprise when they announced their engagement.”
“No, indeed,” Rosalyn said. “Astonished is more the term. Seriously, Mary, what were you thinking?” Rosalyn shot a cheeky glance to the bride who chuckled and slapped Dai on the back.
“And now I know Mary to be the kind, bright and loving woman that she is—”
“I’m even more astonished.”
Poppy elbowed Rosalyn in the ribs, but Rosalyn’s only response was to hold her more tenderly. Poppy caught her breath, moved by the warm laughter from the crowd, Dai and Mary’s joyous sense of humour and Rosalyn holding her close.
“I’m so pleased Dai and Mary are happy and settled here, because I can’t imagine Wells without them. And I want to thank Dai for being there for me every day of my life.” She looked to Dai, full of gratitude for her friend. He smiled, his face ruddy from the effects of wine and emotion.
“Yes, thank you, Dai,” Rosalyn said loudly. “Even when others failed Poppy, you were always there.”
The words took Poppy’s breath away. She almost doubled over with their poignancy. She looked up to Rosalyn and saw her eyes full of regret and sorrow but also love. “I’m sorry, Poppy,” Rosalyn whispered. “I never should have left you. I should have been there for you too.”
Poppy’s heart seemed to stop. She stared at Rosalyn, vulnerable and willing in her friend’s arms. The one reservation she’d had was now dispelled with Rosalyn’s heart-felt apology. Poppy reached out and touched Rosalyn’s cheek, wanting nothing but to kiss her. She ached with love and desperately wanted to show Rosalyn her passion. If only they weren’t watched by hundreds of eyes.
Rosalyn gazed at her and smiled. “I love you, Poppy Jenkins.”
Then Rosalyn lifted her gaze away and shouted to the audience, “To Dai and Mary,” and lifted her glass aloft.
The audience cheered and lifted their glasses and Dai started the applause. Poppy leaned forwards for her own glass and caught Dai’s eye. Even he had a tear threatening. She reached back for Rosalyn’s embrace but swept through air. She looked around, but she was gone.
As the cheering and applause continued, Poppy spotted her striding along the edge of stables. One of the waiters pulled her aside. Rosalyn frowned at the waiter’s words, nodded, and disappeared through the side door into the night.
Poppy sat with the rest of the
wedding party and Mary’s father took his turn to deliver a speech.
Poppy didn’t hear a word. She longed to be with Rosalyn. She could say the words now without reservation. She could make promises she’d never break and without a word or conscious thought she leapt from her chair and hurried through the carriage doors. She ran into the darkness, her feet crunching in the gravel, and came to a stop. She squinted, blinded by the ghosts of the stable lights.
There was a car outside the Hall. She could just make out its shape. She stepped forward cautiously as she heard a woman speak. Now she could make out Rosalyn’s shape against the Hall lights, but it wasn’t her voice. Another silhouette joined her, slim arms and animated hands pleading with Rosalyn. It was Sam.
Poppy stared, astonished, paralysed with fear and leaden inside. Sam was holding Rosalyn’s arm, pulling her close, entreating her. Rosalyn stepped towards the Hall, and made no effort to turn her away. They were going inside, together.
Their silhouettes were clear for a moment, as they stepped over the threshold. Sam reached up to Rosalyn’s face, tenderness in her movement, and the door shut.
Too late. She was too late.
Chapter 43.
Poppy’s imagination was her worst enemy that night. It tortured her with vivid images of Sam and Rosalyn together. Sam had clearly intended staying the night, arriving at such an hour, and Poppy’s mind could focus on little else but where and how they spent it. The vision of Sam clinging to Rosalyn, her arms curled around her neck, took on greater and more upsetting detail every time Poppy pictured it, until she wished she could wipe the experience from memory.
She hadn’t seen Rosalyn again at the wedding. Everyone else, worse for wear, hadn’t noticed her absence. Poppy rose in the morning after little and fevered sleep looking grey, a pallor her family assumed a result of the ale and sparkling wine.
Her body was leaden as she hauled herself into the café and she cursed the café’s success, wanting nothing but to curl up in a corner and pretend she didn’t exist.
After having suffered great confusion over Rosalyn for months, it was an excruciating time for clarity. Now that the person Poppy craved was less attainable, the more certain she was that Rosalyn was vital to her. And the realisation Poppy might have had all she desired, the day before, was desperate torture.
She willed Rosalyn to telephone and say nothing had changed and that Sam remained an ex. And by noon, the torment grew so severe Poppy snatched out her mobile and messaged a plea to meet her. Poppy pressed send before she could think better of it, and her phone obliged, in her most desperate hour, by hanging and sending the message to the queue of oblivion.
Poppy hid behind the counter with her head in her hands, willing the world to turn back twenty-four hours. The world didn’t oblige either and she crawled through the afternoon with as much fervour as an over-boiled cabbage.
Closing time neared with relief and only two customers remained on the top floor. Mrs Morgan Morgan and Nerys Hughes, the rather dour organist from the church, enjoyed the incomparable view over Wells as Poppy prepared their tea and Bara Brith.
In the quiet of the empty café, Poppy could hear the murmur of their animated chat as she crossed with their tray to the foot of the spiral stairs.
“And in a funny way she’s a very generous girl.” Nerys’ voice made its distant way to Poppy’s consciousness.
Poppy stepped up onto the stairs.
“I think you’re right,” Mrs Morgan replied. “See, I don’t think it’s any coincidence things started looking up for this town with the arrival of Rosalyn Thorn.”
Poppy halted in the middle of the stairs, the mention of Rosalyn’s name seizing her. She turned her head to listen.
“Did I tell you she visited not long after arriving in Wells?” Mrs Morgan continued. “Off her own back and all, no-one suggested it. Said she’d heard that I was running a respite charity and wondered if I’d like her advice. Well, her tax guidance has saved the charity thousands.”
“Really?”
“I know. I was just as surprised. She sat with me a good few hours, going over ways to raise money and claim back tax. It was extremely helpful.”
“Well, I never knew.”
And neither had Poppy. She cursed herself for not opening her eyes earlier to Rosalyn’s kinder side.
“Don’t like that girlfriend of hers though,” Nerys said.
Poppy’s heart sank with desolation at the thought of that girlfriend in Rosalyn’s arms, but also the expectation of a homophobic jibe from Nerys. Since overhearing the bigoted comments about Rosalyn at the pub, Poppy had been more circumspect.
“I saw her at the fair,” Nerys continued, “being all snooty. Don’t like her sort at all.”
“Oh, me neither. She’s definitely one of those London types.”
“She’ll drag Rosalyn away you know.”
“Yes, unfortunately. I wanted Rosalyn to settle down back here. Her mother and father could do with her home. And,” Mrs Morgan dropped her voice, “I rather hoped she’d fancy our Poppy.”
Poppy braced herself for Nerys’ response.
“Well really,” Nerys said. “What an idea. Wouldn’t it be wonderful? Imagine, they could get married now couldn’t they. At the church even.”
The dread in Poppy’s heart evaporated and jubilation bloomed in its place. She was overjoyed someone as entrenched as Nerys Hughes could think well of their relationship, and Poppy was relieved her wariness of a moment ago was uncalled for.
But happiness turned to distress. How likely was the event now? Rosalyn might be cosy in Sam’s arms instead.
“Two beautiful brides,” said Mrs Morgan with zeal.
“Oh beautiful, beautiful.”
Poppy’s sorrow gripped tighter.
“I’ve never thought,” Nerys said, “but it would be much nicer having two brides. I bet those two would wear gowns. Imagine how pretty their wedding photos would be.”
Poppy’s hands shook and tea cups rattled in the saucers. She choked and tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Poppy?” It was her mother. She called gently from behind.
Poppy turned, her face distraught.
“Are you ok?”
Poppy sniffed. “Sorry, Mum, I’m fine.” The tray trembled in her hand, the cutlery chattering over the plates. “Please, would you mind, take up Mrs Morgan’s tea?”
“Of course, but—”
“Sorry.” Poppy shook as she passed the tray to her mother. She ran across the room, tears flowing without restraint. She clattered down the stairs, the twisting steps blurring and merging as she cried, before bursting out of the shop into the square.
Poppy sobbed with such desperation she didn’t see the woman outside. A soft collision was her first awareness of anyone’s presence, a harder impact prevented by the woman’s guiding arms.
“Poppy!”
Her heart leapt. It was Rosalyn. She sounded alarmed. Poppy blinked, trying to clear her gaze, but her eyes flooded again in an instant.
Rosalyn clung to her arms. “What’s wrong?”
Poppy could only stare, her mouth open in shock.
“Please. What’s happened?”
Through her tears she could discern Rosalyn’s face, full of anxious concern.
There was so much to say and so much to ask. Poppy was filled with a thousand feelings: desperate love, bashful respect, a deep longing which had pined for more than a decade. The words and feelings brimmed inside Poppy seeking release.
But over Rosalyn’s shoulder, Sam stalked. The angular woman, sharp in black, snapped instructions into her phone a few yards away.
“What’s wrong, Poppy?” Rosalyn begged.
Poppy caught Rosalyn’s pleading gaze and moaned in frustration. Why wasn’t she alone? Poppy clung to her friend and searched her face, desperate to pour out a coherent version of her emotions.
“I need…. I want…”
Sam jerked her mobile away from her face and tapped it s
ilent. She dropped the phone into her bag, snapped it shut and focused her attention on the pair of friends. Her fly glasses couldn’t hide her fierce scrutiny and she launched into a march.
Poppy’s heart thundered in her chest.
“Poppy? Tell me what’s—”
“I’m in love with you.” The words cantered from Poppy’s lips. She stared, spent, her chest heaving for breath. “I’m in love with you.”
Poppy gazed at Rosalyn’s stunned face for a moment and tore from her embrace. Poppy ran from Rosalyn’s arms, beyond the square and the village.
She wasn’t sure where or for how long she wandered, but the light was fading when she returned. Emma must have closed up the café and the square was empty, any visitors long gone.
Poppy walked along the river in a daze, not sure what to think or where to go. Her body took her to the bedroom sanctuary, too tired to talk to her mother. She opened the door and her bed and porthole view beckoned. She collapsed into the sheets and turned on her side, staring unfocused into the green landscape.
As she always did, she slipped her hand under her cheek and pillow for comfort. But she flinched when her fingers encountered a sheet of paper.
She sprung up and threw her pillow aside. Two notes lay beneath, a larger letter and a note the same size as those hidden in her wooden box. “The long version” and “the short” were written in Rosalyn’s looping handwriting.
Poppy snatched up the notes staring from the letter in one hand to the notelet in the other. Her heart beat frenetically as she deliberated. She put down the small note and slipped her fingers into the pages of the long.
My dearest Poppy,
I’ve been searching for you for hours and hope you find this note in a happier state than when we parted.
When you left, Sam confessed she saw you last night, and that you witnessed her arrival at the Hall. I was ignorant of this and I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner to put any worries to rest.
Sam is my boss and an old friend, but that is all. And until she feels the same way she will keep some distance and has returned to London. Regardless of what happens to you and me, my feelings won’t change with respect to Sam.