The Poppy Field

by Deborah Carr

  Or maybe it was just Tom that she yearned to be with above anyone else. Tom, so undemanding, calm and emotionally accepting of her. He didn’t seem to mind her quiet ways and solitary behaviour. It was as if she had met her spiritual mate.

  Three weeks into her solitude, she decided that she needed another walk into the village. She had run out of milk days before but had not been in the mood to leave the peacefulness of the farm.

  The day was sunny and warm enough for her to wear a short-sleeved top and shorts. She reached the village, delighted to find that it was market day in the square near Marie’s café. She popped in to see her friend briefly and to buy some of her favourite pastries.

  “Bonjour Marie,” she said wanting to make the most of what little French she was learning. She was happy to see that there was not a queue at the till. “Comment ça va?”

  “Well, thank you,” Marie said. “We ‘ave many customers today.”

  She could not think how to continue and pointed out the pastries she had chosen. “Please may I have those?”

  They exchanged pleasantries and she paid for her bag of treats.

  Gemma could smell the sweetness emanating from the crepe stall long before she reached it, and her stomach grumbled impatiently as she watched the stallholder expertly ladle a spoonful of the mixture onto the large circular heated metal place and turn a long spatula in a circle to cover the entire area. After a minute or two, he flipped over one section, then another covering the crepe with melted chocolate sauce and dropping it into a paper container handed it to a teenager.

  She would have to try one of those, Gemma thought. Seeing that she would be sixth in the line in the queue, she decided to go and check out the other stalls first. Maybe she could find something that would add texture or colour to the farmhouse.

  Several items caught her eye as she walked from stall to stall. She inspected several plates, cushions and fabric, but liked nothing enough to buy it. Noticing a mahogany occasional table, Gemma pictured it in the living room and thought it would be perfect for the farmhouse. Then spotting a small oak sideboard, she haggled with the handsome stallholder until she was satisfied she had a bargain. Arranging to come back and collect the two items later, she carried on walking around the market stalls.

  She lined up for her crepe and moments later, she was sitting on a low wall in the shade relishing the sweet taste, determined to come back the following week to have another. After she had finished, she walked over to the stall to collect her small table and ask about delivery for the sideboard.

  Gemma spotted a stall that she had previously missed where an elderly lady was selling brightly coloured rag rugs. She selected two smaller ones for her bedroom and the spare room, paid for them and carried them over to the handsome stallholder. Realising she had got a little too carried away, she was relieved when, for a small fee, he agreed to deliver all her items after the market closed.

  Gemma hummed as she walked back to the farm. It dawned on her that she felt more at home here than she had ever done anywhere. It felt odd to think that soon she would have to pack up and leave and she pushed the thought aside before her mood dropped. She would enjoy every moment of this experience while it lasted, she decided.

  Later that evening, she helped the man manoeuvre her new sideboard against the furthest wall from the fireplace and stood in front of the fire on her colourful rag rug to survey the room. The roses she had cut from an old rose bush weaving its way through one of the hedges on the way to the field, stood proudly in the vase that she’d treated herself to. The sugary pink leaves gave a warm hue as the sun beamed on to them through the nearby window.

  This place was feeling and looking much homelier, she thought happily. She was becoming far too comfortable here though. She would need to keep reminding herself that she was only here on a temporary basis and that this was not her house to keep.

  The following day, she finished painting the spare room. It looked very different to how it had been when she’d arrived at the farmhouse. Tired from a morning’s graft in the unusually hot day, she changed and went downstairs. Contemplating what to do with her day, Gemma glanced at the black tin containing Alice’s letters which had pride of place on the new sideboard. She poured herself a glass of water and carrying it and a chair from the living room, set everything down in a shady spot outside the front door, settling down to read.

  The hours passed in a happy haze, and as Gemma put down the letter she had been reading, her eyes felt heavy. She dozed off, waking up cold just as the sun was setting. Another day gone by without company, but she hadn’t minded. She thought back to the previous year and how perfect this would have seemed to her back then from the quiet of her small living room in Brighton. It was strange to think that now perfection to her included Tom. Gemma smiled.

  Gemma woke early the next day, thinking back to one of the letters she had read the previous day. “I’ll go and see if the Hotel du Nord still exists,” she said, wondering why she hadn’t thought to do so before.

  Delighted with her idea, she decided that if the hotel was still there, she would treat herself to whatever tea they served and a pastry. It would be interesting to see how much it had changed and she was excited to think that she might be able to soak up some of the atmosphere Alice, Ed, Mary and Peter had enjoyed that day they’d met as a foursome for the first time.

  Deciding to make the most of the morning sunshine, Gemma changed into her dungarees, to paint the lower half of the front wall of the farmhouse. Tying a bandana around her head to keep her hair out of her face, she sang to herself as she worked. She loved mornings like this one, listening to bumble bees busily flying to and from lavender plants, between the bramble and the honeysuckle growing up to the side of the front door. Birds sang in the nearby sweet chestnut tree at the side of the house. The only interruption was the engine of an occasional car as it passed, but mostly it was her and nature working side by side.

  It was a cloudless day and the sun beat down on her. Gemma thought back to the same time last year and the contrast in her life since then. No longer was she spending her days when the only glance of daylight came as she waited by the entrance of the trauma unit for an accident victim to arrive. The long, stressful days, not knowing what state the next patient would be in or fighting to make sure they survived were a thing of the past. Life then was incomparable to now. Here the biggest challenge she faced was climbing down a ladder from an attic space with a muscular builder ensuring she didn’t fall.

  Gemma sighed happily, distracted from her thoughts when she noticed a small area on the wall she had missed. She went to dip her paintbrush into the pot, waving a butterfly away before it landed in the newly painted area and dropped her paintbrush. Still watching the butterfly’s wings careful they didn’t become stuck, she reached out to grab the brush.

  “Thank you,” Gemma said instinctively, as it was handed to her. She stretched up to paint the missed area on the wall, as it dawned on her that someone was standing next to her. Not daring to hope, Gemma looked sideways.

  “Tom,” she said startled to find him standing there smiling at her. “You’re back.” Her heart pounded with joy to see him.

  He seemed happy with her delight. “Not for good,” he said, glancing down at the paint dripping from the brush. He leant forward and took it from her hand. Then, easily reaching the area she had intended to paint, he quickly did it, resting the brush on the tin lid next to her foot. “I had a quiet day, so thought I’d come and pay you a visit.”

  She beamed at him. “It’s great to see you.”

  He laughed. “You, too.” He gazed at the front of the farmhouse. “You’ve done an excellent job. I can help you paint the higher bits, if you’d like.”

  “What, today?”

  “Yes, right now. Shall we do it? Then it’s done, and you can show me what other work you’ve completed since I’ve been away.”

  “Take that brush and tin,” she said, delighted to think that the front of
the building would be completed so soon. “I’ll fetch another one.”

  He went to get a ladder and together they finished working on the front of the house. Gemma couldn’t help singing. It made her heart soar to hear Tom’s occasionally forgetting himself and singing along with her. She smiled to herself at how perfectly the day had turned out. It would also be a relief to have yet another task ticked off her To Do List.

  They fell into silence as they painted, until Tom climbed down his ladder to move it slightly, and asked, “How’s it been, working here by yourself?”

  “Not as bad as I thought,” she admitted. “It was a little odd not having you here. It’s done me good to spend time by myself though,” she said. “I’ve worked through a few things that were troubling me.” It felt strangely liberating sharing her insecurities with another person.

  “Enforced peace can turn out to be very therapeutic,” he said, climbing the ladder again and carrying on with the work. “Have you decided what you’d like to do next?”

  She shook her head and mopped up a drop of paint with a damp cloth. “Not yet. But at least my lack of forward planning isn’t worrying me quite so much now.”

  “That’s good,” he said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in my life, it’s that worrying over your future can be a waste of energy.”

  “True,” she agreed. “I don’t know if I want to return to nursing, or if I do, where I’ll move to next right now.” Recalling her plans for the afternoon, she said, “I’m planning to walk to the village to see if Hotel du Nord still exists.”

  “It does,” Tom said.

  “That’s amazing.” She thought back to Alice’s letter describing her time there with Ed and the others.

  “Right, I’ve finished,” Tom said, climbing back down the ladder and walking up the pathway. He turned to look at the wall checking he had covered everything. “Looks fine to me. What do you think?”

  She went to stand next to him and studying their handiwork, nodded. “Seems okay,” she said, happy with what they had achieved, but still in a blissful daze to learn that the hotel still existed.

  He put away the ladder while Gemma tidied up the paint tins and washed brushes. As she was drying them, Tom came into the kitchen and washed his hands.

  “I’ve been reading more of Alice’s letters and she and Ed met for afternoon tea at the Hotel du Nord,” she explained, telling him about the first time the foursome had spent the day together. “I thought I would have afternoon tea there, if they still do it,” she said hoping they did. “Would you like to come with me? It could be my way of thanking you for your hard work today.”

  Tom thought about it. “They’ll probably do a French version,” he said. “So, pastries, rather than sandwiches and cakes, but it would still be worth going to. I’m not dressed for it though. When were you thinking of going?”

  “I was going to stroll into the town at about three-thirty.”

  “Okay, this isn’t an invitation I get very often” he said grinning at her and drying his hands on the towel. “Or ever. I’ll dash home now, freshen up and will meet you back here just after three. Is that okay?”

  Gemma couldn’t help smiling. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

  She watched him leave thinking how happy he looked. She was relieved to have drummed up enough courage to ask him to accompany her. Tidying everything away, she ran upstairs and into her bathroom. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, Gemma gasped. “What the hell?”

  Her makeup free face, puce from working in the heat, was reflected back at her. Her hair curled at all angles making it look like she had been given a shock. The whole look was horrible.

  “And I asked him out with me?” she groaned, splashing chilly water on her face to reduce the redness. He must have said yes out of sympathy, she decided, undressing and stepping into the shower. She stood under the cool water as her body temperature slowly decreased. Washing her hair, she thought she would have to make an exceptional effort to appear casually attractive enough to help erase the image he had experienced of her earlier.

  By three o’clock, Gemma had dried her hair, curling several strands lightly. She could not help wondering why it took longer to get her makeup to look natural than it would if she was going out to a nightclub. Dressing in a cotton flowery dress and sandals she hoped to appear refreshed and vaguely sophisticated.

  “Hi,” she heard Tom say, as he knocked on the front door before entering.

  She walked into the living room and noticing her he stopped and stared at her. “You look pretty.”

  Pretty? She was going for downright fabulous, but pretty would have to do.

  “Thank you,” she said, noticing that he was wearing chinos and a crisp white shirt. “You look very handsome, too” she said, thinking he looked sexy and very hot. “Shall we get going?”

  “Ready when you are,” he smiled, waiting at the door for her to grab her bag. She locked the front door and they walked down the pathway and out to the road together.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” he said. “It’s been ages since I’ve worn anything in the day other than jeans and my work gear.”

  “Me, too,” she admitted, aware suddenly that he had never seen her dressed up as much as she was today. “It makes a pleasant change to be going out somewhere nice, don’t you think?”

  “It does.”

  They walked in happy silence most of the way, Gemma relishing their comfortable silence interrupted only by their footsteps on the tarmac and the nearby birdsong. She asked him how his work was going at the other building project.

  “Almost done,” he said. “I should be back with you next week.”

  She beamed at him. “That’s brilliant,” she said, honestly. “Not that I’m in a hurry to finish the house too soon. I’m enjoying living there far too much now that it’s homelier.”

  “I noticed the other furniture you bought,” he said. “It’s made a huge difference to the feel of the place.”

  She was pleased to hear his enthusiasm for her choices. “I’ll have to show you how the bedrooms look when we go back home.” She replayed her words in her head. She had not meant it to come out like it had. “You know what I mean,” she added trying to hide her embarrassment.

  “I do,” he said, smiling at her, thoughtfully.

  She was relieved. She didn’t want Tom to feel awkward in her company simply because she had a bit of a crush on him. She also didn’t mean to overstep the mark of their friendship.

  “There it is,” he said as they passed the market place and Marie’s café before turning right down a road at the end of a row of shops. He pointed to Hotel du Nord and Gemma stopped to savour the view. It looked a little different to how she had imagined it, less like an imposing hotel and more like a large guest house.

  “Not as you expected?”

  She shook her head and began walking again. “It doesn’t look as big as I’d imagined,” she said. She thought back to the letters that were set in a war a hundred-years before. Life had changed drastically since that time and this was a country hotel not one in a major city.

  He took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Come along. We’ve come this far, and you never know, they might still do an afternoon tea. If they don’t then we’ll think of something else to do instead.”

  She liked the sensation of his hand holding hers as they walked along the pavement to the hotel. Stopping outside she tried to imagine Alice and Ed meeting there with Mary and Peter. She doubted it looked much different. The frontage of the property looked as it probably had done when it was built and as they made their way up the stone front steps and Tom held the door open for her to enter, she looked at the wooden floors and plasterwork and doubted this had changed much at all.

  She breathed in the scent of wood and beeswax polish in the hallway. A gentleman came up to them and asked them if he could help.

  She struggled to think what to say and after glancing at her to check she didn’t mind, Tom c
hatted away to him and she assumed, by the odd word he said that she could make out, that he was asking about afternoon teas. More discussion ensued with hands waving and single-shoulder shrugs from the Frenchman. Eventually, Tom looked at her and nodded.

  “We’re to follow him,” he said, doing just that.

  They were led down the hallway to a dining room with a handful of people sitting at tables and talking quietly, over cups of tea and pastries. It was not exactly how Gemma had imagined, but it was quaint. After all, she had simply wanted to gain a sense of how it must have felt for the Alice to spend some time with her sweetheart in this very room. Realising that the couple must have walked along the same dark wood floorboards in the hallway and into this room, Gemma’s heart pounded. It didn’t matter after all whether the room was filled, or not, or whether the tea was English, or if they were served finger sandwiches with the crusts removed or French patisserie. Alice and Ed had spent time here, in this very room, doing exactly what she and Tom were about to do and she was excited to be walking in their footsteps.

  “It’s perfect,” she whispered, sitting down in the seat that Tom was holding back for her.

  He sat opposite and gave their order to the waiter.

  Gemma noticed him giving her a strange look. “He thinks I’m a little dotty,” she giggled, unsurprised. “I can see why.”

  “I shouldn’t worry,” Tom said smiling at her. “I’m sure he’s seen all sorts here.”

  Relieved that Tom was unfazed by her distant behaviour, Gemma sat back and gazed at the room around her. She wondered where in the room Alice and Tom had sat. Had they looked at the pictures on the wall and through the windows at the garden behind the building, or had they been too much in love to care about their surroundings. She was sure they must have stared at each other the entire time they had been there, holding hands discretely under the table maybe?