A Rural Affair (30 page)

The doorbell rang again. A longer, more persistent summons, and this time I got stiffly to my feet. I walked slowly down the
hall to the kitchen where Archie, brick-red in the face, was bawling. I calmly unclipped him from his high chair and set him
on my hip, then, reaching into the biscuit tin, gave him one, wordlessly. He took it and the shrieking stopped instantly,
to be replaced by silent sobs and hiccuping, his face drenched, nose snotty, boiling hot in my arms. I took another biscuit
and passed it to my pale-faced daughter, sitting silent and guarded, with her back to me in front of the television. She took
it in surprise, guilty eyes catching mine. No words were exchanged. Then, as my doorbell went for a third time, I went back
down the passage with Archie in my arms, to answer it. Only the more astute observer might notice I still hadn’t taken my
coat off, and that most mothers would have wiped their baby’s sopping face with their hand before answering the door. Other
than that, it was business as usual. Oh, and I usually flicked the light on before I opened the door, the hall being so dark,
but I couldn’t be fagged. Couldn’t be fagged to turn on a light? An alarm bell sounded somewhere dim and distant and I reached
quickly for the switch. Lifted my chin too, as I opened the front door.

‘Oh. Luke. Hi.’

Looking a bit temporary and as if he might well be on his way, Luke Chambers turned, halfway down my front path. He was wearing
a pair of old Levis, a white T-shirt and a bright blue V-necked jumper. It wasn’t a bad look. He flashed me a smile, raked
his hand through his blond hair and bounced back up the path.

‘Poppy, hi! What kept you? Were you enthroned or something? Compromised in the smallest room? I was about to give up on you
and go and do some solitary drinking.’

‘Sorry. Archie was crying. Couldn’t hear the bell.’ Couldn’t raise a smile, either.

‘Oh, right.’ He hesitated, unnerved perhaps by my deadpan expression. And I hadn’t asked him in.

‘Yeah, well, I might not have pressed it hard enough, one never quite knows if it rings louder inside than out.’ He licked
his lips as I didn’t reply. ‘Um, Poppy,’ he ploughed on, perhaps a mite nervously for him, ‘I wondered if you and the kids
would like to have some lunch? Only I was going to go across to the Rose and Crown to grab a ploughman’s, and they don’t mind
children, apparently, I’ve checked. As long as it’s in the saloon bar and not the public one. Oh, and they do a kids’ menu
too, if a ploughman’s doesn’t appeal, nuggets and chips.’ It was said eagerly, nicely. Albeit in something of a rush. Rather
as my words had tumbled out on the phone just now: the voice of someone who gives a damn.

I considered his offer. Another reason I’d sped out of the church via the side door with Jennie was to avoid Luke, who I knew
would be looking for me after the service. It was a plan I’d hatched well before I knew the identity of the bride and groom.
You see, I wasn’t sure I was ready for him. For the determined campaign I sensed he was about to wage on me, the steady romantic
advance. I knew I was capable of falling for his ardour should he turn up the flame, which he appeared to be doing: this nice
young man with his megawatt smile, his floppy blond hair and blue eyes. Eyes, it seemed, only for me. But why was I looking
so closely? So minutely? Being so forensic about this? Naturally I’d been badly bitten, but still.

All at once my cold little house, my bickering children, my aged eggs in the fridge for lunch didn’t appeal. And the warmth
of the cosy pub opposite, with its open fire and yes, OK, all manner of interested locals, all sorts of gossiping tongues
– did. Suddenly it was no contest.

I shored up a smile on my doorstep, the most brilliant I could muster under the circumstances. Felt it wobble only slightly.

‘Thank you, Luke. I’d love to.’

The book club was to be held at my house that week, to save me securing yet another babysitter, but, one by one, its members
called to express regrets. Jennie was first, and she came right out with it.

‘I’m not coming on Tuesday, Poppy, because I haven’t read the book. I can’t get beyond the first chapter. Wikipedia said it
was one of the most difficult books in the English language and I can believe it. I’ve started it six times and each time
I’m lost, confused and asleep in moments. Sorry. It’s obviously far too cerebral for me.’

‘But I haven’t read it either, Jennie,’ I said nervously. ‘Don’t leave me. What am I supposed to do? It’s at my house. Won’t
I have to chair it, or something?’

‘No, no, don’t worry, someone else will do that. Ask Angie; she’ll love it. Or even Angus – he’ll love it even more. Make
him feel important.’

But Angus rang not long afterwards, to confide the details of some sudden and mysterious malaise.

‘Sorry, Poppy, old girl, but not sure I’m going to make it to this one. Got a bit of a jippy tummy. Oh – and this infernal
tickly cough too. Kept me up all night.’ He gave a shining example of it down the phone, hacking beautifully.

‘OK, Angus, not to worry.’

‘Shame, because the book is um … terrific. You’ll let me know when you get back to the thrillers, though, won’t you?
What about that Danish fellow, Stig something?’ Why was I suddenly responsible for the reading list?

‘Will do, Angus.’

‘And nice to see you enjoying a spot of lunch with young Luke the other day. He’s a lovely lad, isn’t he?’

I ground my teeth and said goodbye. Responsible for the reading list, and also engaged.

Saintly Sue was next, in a bit of a huff.

‘It’s just not my sort of book, Poppy.’ As if it were mine! ‘So I’m afraid I won’t be coming. I know I suggested we read something
a bit more thought-provoking, but I meant something contemporary, something Booker Prize-ish. This is like wading through
quicksand. And it’s all very well flinging these heavy classics at us, but some people have got full-time jobs as well. We
don’t want to come home to yet more work.’

I held the phone from my ear. Christ alive.

‘I also think if I did come, it would be rather … well, invidious.’

‘Would it?’

I was still recovering from the unemployed-housewife jibe. Did she mean because Luke would be there?

‘Luke will obviously be there.’ Ah. ‘And he appears to have made his feelings plain to the entire village. I can’t compete
with you, Poppy, not in that department.’ She gave a little strangled sob and then the phone clicked off.

I stared at it, amazed. In what department? Instinctively I glanced at my chest. No, Sue was miles bigger than me. Did she
think I’d read the book? Thought my brain was bigger? Had she got to page three and thought: blimey, if Poppy’s read this
I can’t compete?

Luke, however, it transpired, wouldn’t be there either. He rang to enthuse about our lunch the other day, saying how
much he’d enjoyed it; and actually, it had been very pleasant, in the Rose and Crown’s cosy snug, around the fire with the
children, Luke teaching Clemmie to balance a beer mat on her nose, all of us laughing as Archie just plonked one on his head
and gazed around, beaming. Sadly, though, Luke said, he had a meeting on Tuesday evening.

‘It’s a shame, because the book is absolutely riveting.’

‘It is, isn’t it, Luke?’

‘You’ve read it?’ Some surprise in his voice.

‘Oh, yes. Cover to cover.’

‘Me too,’ he said quickly.

‘What did you think about the protagonist having a sex change halfway through?’

A pause. ‘I thought it was … a good twist.’

I smiled. ‘I haven’t read it either, Luke.’

‘Ha ha! Nice one, Poppy.’ Although I could tell he wasn’t that amused at being caught out. ‘I intend to read it though.’

‘Oh,
yes
. Me too.’

‘And I wondered, if maybe we could do something the following night instead? See a film or something?’

‘Can I let you know, Luke? Obviously the eternal childcare question looms.’

‘Sure, or I could come to you?’

I caught my breath. Quite familiar. In my house, a cosy supper, bottle of wine, children asleep. Coffee on the sofa by the
fire later. But why not? That was surely the next stage.

‘We’ll see,’ I assured him. ‘I’ll give you a ring.’

I put the phone down and scurried away from it, to the kitchen. Apparently needing some distance. But minutes later I was
back, because Peggy was next, saying she had a prior engagement and that if I asked her the book was a complete nightmare.
Then Angie, who said she was hunting
the next day, so not to include her, even though she’d
adored
the book. Yes, she thought the sex change was
entirely
plausible, and actually served as a fitting motif to demonstrate how transitory life could be. It was very emblematic of
the ephemeral nature of things, didn’t I think?

I agreed wearily. Although I wasn’t convinced going hunting the following day precluded attending the book club, and told
her so.

‘Ah, but I like to clean my tack the night before. Plait my horse, that type of thing. It’s the opening meet, you see. Terribly
smart.’

Everyone knew Angie took hunting seriously, to the point of undergoing a personality change when thus engaged, scarily barking
out orders in the field and becoming a mounted hunt-etiquette manual, so no doubt her horse would be subjected to all manner
of cleansing rituals. I was pretty sure she had an army of grooms to do it all for her, though, but I didn’t quibble.

‘And obviously I need to look the part because the new master is divine. I told you that, didn’t I, Poppy?’

‘You did.’

‘This one’s got my name on it,’ she told me firmly. ‘Plastered on his very cute, tight-jodhpured behind. Single, loaded, good-looking
– hot.’

‘All yours, Angie.’ Was she warning me off?

‘And the Armitages will be out too apparently, and they’ll obviously be impeccable.’

‘Yes, so I heard.’

‘How did you hear?’

‘Oh … someone told me. Have a fun day, Angie.’

‘I will. Oh, and
lovely
that you and Luke had lunch the other day. That’s so sweet, Poppy!’

I was all packaged up, wasn’t I? All sorted. People so liked to dust their hands of one, I thought rather uncharitably.

‘He’s just a friend,’ I said wearily.

‘Oh, of
course
.’

We left it at that.

Later, I bumped into Hope in the village shop. I’d never seen her in there before, assuming she shopped in Fortnum’s before
coming to the country. She looked like she was going to lunch at the Ivy, although she was, in fact, buying Rice Krispies.
Her dark hair was swept back in a sleek chignon and she was wearing shiny flat black boots, a swirling grey skating skirt
and a crisp white shirt. It was the sort of effortless ensemble that no one ever managed to pull off in our village.

‘Oh – Poppy.’ She looked embarrassed. ‘About the book club.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ve cancelled it. There didn’t seem to be much enthusiasm this week, Hope, which is odd when you consider
we’re reading one of the greatest novels in literary history.’ I deliberately echoed her words.

‘If not the greatest,’ she said quickly. ‘I go all tingly just picking it up!’

‘Oh, me too. But I suppose you’re going hunting the next day?’

‘I am, as a matter of fact. Don’t you just love Stephen Dedalus?’ she purred, touching my arm.

‘Is he the new master?’

She frowned. ‘No, he’s a character in
Ulysses
.’

‘Oh.’ It occurred to me I might have run into the one person who had read it. ‘Dreamy,’ I agreed. ‘Until the sex change.’

She stared at me long and hard. ‘Ye-es … But then, one is
never encouraged to think of him as a traditional romantic hero, is one? In the mould, say, of a Mr Rochester?’

‘No, one is not,’ I agreed. I wrinkled my brow. ‘And it’s emblematic, don’t you feel, of the transitory nature of life? Symptomatic
of how ephemeral things can be?’

‘Yes!’ she said eagerly. ‘Isn’t it just?’

‘Although between you and me, it hasn’t quite got the page-turning appeal of a jolly good read, like Jilly Cooper.’

I was losing her now. My in-depth analysis into the mores of contemporary literature too much for her at half-past eleven
in the village shop. She looked confused.

‘Jilly …?’

‘Never mind. Anyway, as I say, I’ve called the whole thing off.’

‘Such a shame. And a pity not to see everyone again. Chad and I so enjoyed ourselves last time. But I expect I’ll see you
at the meet, won’t I? There are usually lots of foot followers,’ she added kindly.

I blinked. ‘Yes. Well, maybe.’

She bestowed a dazzling smile on me and swept out in a cloud of Diorissimo, jangling her charm bracelet.

‘You going, love?’ Yvonne asked me, weighing the bananas I’d handed her.

‘Where?’

‘To the meet.’

‘I don’t know. Where is it?’

‘Mulverton Hall at eleven. It’s old George Hetherington’s place; belongs to his son now. D’you know it?’

I stared at her as she handed me back my fruit in a brown paper bag. ‘Well, not intimately. But I know where it is.’

‘’E’s come back from London apparently, to take it on again. Been tenanted for years that place, all sorts of people
who didn’t really look after it after the old boy died. Well, you don’t if it’s not your own, do you? Let the garden go to
rack and ruin by all accounts. Shame. Be nice to have someone breathe a bit of life into it again, eh? Nice to have some new
blood around too.’ She grinned, revealing her unusual dental arrangement.

‘Thanks, Yvonne,’ I said as she handed me my change, declining to comment. I turned to go. ‘Nice to see you.’

‘You too, Poppy. And I’m glad you’re finding your feet again.’

I turned back. She’d lowered her voice conspiratorially even though there was no one else in the shop. ‘Getting out and about,’
she went on softly. ‘And don’t you pay any attention to those that think it’s a bit soon. Can’t be in widow’s weeds for ever,
eh? I know after my Bill died I stayed indoors for months on end, but that’s not everyone’s way, is it?’ She shot me a kindly
look before bustling away to attend to a consignment of lavatory paper which had just arrived and was sitting in a towering
pile by the post-office counter, ready to be stacked.