A Rural Affair

26



When I got home, having collected Clemmie from nursery, Jennie was at her sitting-room window, arms folded, scanning the road, waiting for me.

‘So that’s wot I’ve decided,’ Clemmie was telling me firmly as I helped her out of the car.

‘But Miss Hawkins isn’t very happy about it, darling.’

‘I don’t care. It’s my life.’

Blimey. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘Wot?’

‘ “It’s my life”?’

‘Peggy says it when she lights a cigarette.’

‘Oh. Right.’

Jennie, meanwhile, had exited her house and bustled down the path in her long white apron to hover by my side. Horrors on her plate, her stepdaughter pregnant, news flashes coming in by the moment, she needed to share, but even in her highly fraught state she knew too that I had two tired and fractious children who needed to be bundled out of the car, got inside and fed. She lifted Archie out of his car seat for me and we headed on in.

‘So that is wot I’M DOING!’ Clemmie shouted, stamping her feet for emphasis in her pink wellies as she ran to the front door and turned, glaring at me.

Jennie raised enquiring eyebrows.

‘Clemmie’s teacher’s just told me Clemmie only works a three-day week,’ I muttered as we went up the path.

‘Oh, how killing. Which ones?’

‘Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. She has Monday and Friday off. Lays down her crayons and sometimes even takes a nap in the Wendy House. Likes a long weekend, apparently.’

‘Good for her.’

‘Well, I’m not sure Miss Hawkins sees it like that. She’s keen to instil something of a work ethic.’

Jennie made a face. ‘She’s only four, Poppy. The work ethic can wait.’ She ruffled Clemmie’s curls, and as I opened the door Clemmie ran off down to the kitchen, Archie toddling in her wake. I turned to my friend. Her eyes were shining, I noticed.

‘Well? Any news?’ I asked, aware I had quite a bit myself.

‘Well, I texted her like you said,’ she told me breathlessly, following me down the hall, ‘and she said she’d meet me at break time so long as I didn’t bring Dan.’

‘Oh! So you’ve seen her?’

‘Yes, we went to Starbucks opposite the school.’

‘And?’

I was hastening round the kitchen now, taking sausages from the fridge, putting them under the grill, grabbing a tin of sweet corn. Jennie positioned herself against the sink.

‘And … I’m convinced she’s not pregnant.’

I turned, tin opener poised. ‘Oh, thank God! She told you that?’

‘No, she barely told me anything. Just sat there stirring her hot chocolate, glaring at me. But she was so angry, Poppy. And something told me her anger stemmed from being wrongly accused; it was a sort of self-righteous rage which could only come from a position of power. She said things like –’ Jennie adopted a sneering expression – ‘So, you find a positive pregnancy test and instantly assume it’s mine, eh Jennie? Is that how your mind works? Wouldn’t that be neat? Confirm all your worst fears about me? Something to tell your friends?’

‘Oh! How hurtful.’

‘I know, horrid. But oh, Poppy, I was so pleased. I love her so much and I just don’t want her to be pregnant. I don’t care how much she lashes out at me. I went to tell her that it was absolutely her decision if she wanted to keep it and all that bollocks, like we said – but ended up not saying any of it, didn’t even embark on the little speech I’d rehearsed. I just kept staring at her furious little white face and thinking: wasn’t it yours, Frankie? The test? Was it really not yours?’

‘Did you say that to her?’

‘Of course I did, but she didn’t answer. There’s a certain satisfaction, I’d imagine, in my not knowing, from her point of view. She just gave me that withering look of hers and said surely it was time I marched down to the biology lab, grabbed Mr Hennessy by the lapels and slugged it out over the Bunsen burners?’

‘Oh God, that’s all my fault.’ I put a hand to my mouth. ‘I told you that.’

‘Of course you did; you had to tell me what you knew. And I told Dan, who blabbed last night. But you know, she was so scathing that I thought – no. Not Hennessy. And then she suggested I lined up all the boys in her class and questioned them one by one, and I thought – no again. She’s only sixteen, she thinks she’s being so clever, but I’m pretty sure I saw through her. I got the impression she was paying me back big time for thinking the worst of her – please God, that’s the case.’ She pressed her hands together and shut her eyes fervently, face lifted to the heavens.

‘But then … who could it be? Who on earth could have used that test? Not Mrs Briggs, that’s for sure.’

‘Not unless she’s been at the radiance pills.’ Mrs Briggs helped Jennie with the ironing and was a good sixty-five. Jennie plucked a bit of sweet corn between forefinger and thumb from the pan and popped it in her mouth, much brighter now.

‘So who’s been in your house recently, then? Apart from family?’

‘No one very much. Don’t you think I’ve already wracked my brains? That bin only gets emptied once a week, slut that I am, and I’ve been through everyone I can possibly think of who might have been upstairs. You’re obviously in and out –’

I snorted. ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

‘Well, quite, and Angie and Peggy –’

I turned. Raised quizzical eyebrows.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Poppy. Peggy’s far too old.’

‘No, but you’ve got to ask them, consider them,’ I told her. ‘I know it’s far-fetched but if they’ve been in the house they’re in the frame, so to speak, and you’ve got to eliminate them from your enquiries. Even if it wasn’t them they might know something about it. Oh, and speaking of eliminating from enquiries, I must just quickly tell you –’ And so I did. About Emma Harding. Sketchily, because I knew she had other things on her mind, but Jennie’s load had been considerably lightened in the last half-hour. Her internal swing-o-meter had lurched in a positive direction and, rightly or wrongly, the conviction that her stepdaughter was not indeed pregnant had firmly taken root; she was much more receptive to the outside world and, as such, suitably enthralled. When I got to the end, she whistled.

‘Well. She certainly got her comeuppance, didn’t she? Got her thieving little fingers rapped. Shall we do a spot of prison visiting? Take her a photo of Phil?’

‘I’d rather not,’ I said hastily.

‘She could, though, couldn’t she?’

‘Go to prison? I’ve no idea.’

‘She bloody should,’ Jennie said with feeling. ‘Or at least community service. God, I’d love to see her sweeping the streets in a fluorescent yellow jacket. She probably thought she was invincible. People do, you know, when they’ve got away with something for ages, whether it’s nicking people’s husbands or nicking money – probably thought she’d never get caught.’ Her face fell suddenly. ‘Oh. Poor Simon.’

‘I know.’

She picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the yellow corn, reflective. ‘Funny. A couple of months ago he was all I could think about. Every waking moment. I used to drive past his house at night, take Leila to his bit of the common for a walk, Google him constantly – I could practically recite his website. I had the most almighty crush, Poppy. But now, especially with all this Frankie business, I look back in wonder. Think: who was that woman checking her phone for texts every five minutes, going dog-walking in full slap in case she should bump into him, who was she? I don’t recognize her at all. And after what you’ve told me I certainly don’t think: oh, good, he might be free again.’

‘Don’t you?’ I was intrigued. ‘Not even a bit?’

She regarded me, astonished. ‘Not even a tiny bit. Not for one fraction of a second. Honest to God, Poppy, I’m embarrassed by her. Constantly licking lipstick off her teeth, buying new bras and pretending it was time to ditch the old M&S ones – I was in danger of making a fool of myself. And I’m genuinely sad for Simon. Wish his life wasn’t like it is right now. But in the long run, he’s better off without her. Perhaps it’s as well it happened now?’

‘You mean, rather than further down the line with children.’ Like me, I thought.

‘Exactly.’ She sighed and we were silent a moment, Jennie watching opaquely as I shared out the sausages between two plates, spooned the veg. Suddenly she came to. ‘Anyway, I’ve got other things to worry about without wondering if Simon will be waiting at the prison gates for her. Here, darling.’ She seized the ketchup bottle and shook some out for Clemmie, who, hungry and fit to combust, was climbing into her chair. ‘Yes, I’ve got other fish to fry,’ Jennie said with a sudden grin. ‘I’m off to enquire of my hardly-spring-chicken friends, whether, when they popped in for coffee the other day, either of them also popped upstairs to use a pregnancy test that was sitting in the bathroom cabinet.’ She snorted with derision. ‘As if.’

I shrugged. ‘I agree, it’s a long shot.’ I frowned as I helped Archie into his highchair and sat beside him. ‘Sitting in your cabinet?’

‘What?’

‘The test?’

‘Oh. Yes, it was mine. You get two in a pack these days and I’d used the other one ages ago when I’d had a nasty shock and was late. Why?’

‘I dunno. I just didn’t know that.’

She made to leave and it occurred to me, as I blew on the bit of sausage I’d speared for Archie, that I hadn’t told her about Sam. Being married to Hope. Well, there’d been so much else to divulge. But I could have slipped it in, couldn’t I? She’d have been intrigued. Why hadn’t I? I wondered if I was being protective. After all, Sam hadn’t broadcast it around the village – nor had Hope for that matter, although perhaps for more obvious reasons – so neither would I. But neither had I told her something else that was bothering me. About Luke.

Archie gave an impatient squawk, mouth wide, and I hurriedly shovelled in the sausage.


Coincidentally I ran into both of my friends later on. First Peggy, as the children and I sat on the bench by the pond feeding the ducks, and she passed on her way to the shop. She was looking pleased as punch and rather exotic too, a purple beaded velvet coat over her jeans and pixie boots, dangly silver earrings swinging.

‘I say, guess what, darling,’ she drawled, perching beside me on the bench and lighting a cigarette. She crossed her skinny legs. ‘Jennie came to ask me if I was preggers. Do admit.’ She flashed amused, sparkling eyes and puffed hard. ‘Wish I’d said yes. Wish I’d said: yes, and the father of my unborn child is Charles Dance and we’re going to keep it. Charles and I are thrilled. We just popped into your house to do the test – he kept KV downstairs – and when I shrieked down the good news, he ran up two at a time and we couldn’t resist nipping into your bedroom for another frenzied bout of love-making to celebrate. Had the most spine-shattering sex in your bed, hope you don’t mind?’

I giggled as she rolled her eyes expressively.

‘What planet is she on?’ she said incredulously.

‘She’s just being thorough, Peggy. It was my idea, anyway, to ask whoever had been in the house. She thought it was Frankie’s.’

‘Course it’s not Frankie’s; what teenage girl would do a preggy test and drop it in her mother’s waste-paper basket? Even if it is wrapped in loo paper? Do me a favour.’

‘I suppose not,’ I said feeling rather stupid. And guilty too. I’d been quick to point the finger. Poor Frankie.

‘Anyway, I’m thrilled to bits she thought it was me. That’s really put a spring in my step. Thank goodness the book club’s up and running again. You missed the last one of course; it was quite a laugh. Although I have to say, Angus abandoning ship in a vest and braces did precisely nothing for me.’ She shuddered. ‘Perhaps we’ll drop the theme element,’ she mused. ‘Why is it the thought of these men is always so much nicer than the reality?’ She narrowed her eyes into the distance and inhaled pensively on her Marlboro Light. Clemmie was staring up at her, intrigued.

‘How many do you smoke a day, Peggy?’ she asked.

‘As many as possible, darling,’ Peggy replied, smiling down. She took a bit of bread from Clemmie’s bag and tossed it to a duck.

‘I say, what about adding a bit of new blood?’ she said abruptly. ‘To the book club? There’s a rather attractive widower just moved into the rectory in the next village and I saw him browsing in Waterstones the other day. D’you think he might be up for a bit of Jodi Picault of a Tuesday?’

‘I’ve no idea. You’re still going ahead with it, then, are you? Without the Armitages?’ I said nervously.

‘Well, they can come if they like but they need to know we won’t be reading Chekhov,’ Peggy said archly. Suddenly she stiffened, her face alert. ‘Ten to ten,’ she hissed.

I frowned. ‘For the book club? Isn’t that rather late?’

‘No, attractive widower, ten to ten.’ Peggy’s late husband had been in the RAF. ‘Covert, Poppy, covert,’ she muttered as I turned to stare at a rather donnish-looking gent in a worn corduroy jacket, who’d come into view down the hill, a Jack Russell on a lead trotting beside him. They made for the shop. ‘With his dog again,’ Peggy observed, as he tied the terrier up outside, ‘which he’ll take back via the woods for a run. See you later, Poppy.’ She stubbed out her cigarette in the little ashtray she kept in her bag and snapped it shut. Her mouth twitched. ‘I’m off to borrow Leila.’ And with that she sauntered across the road in the direction of Jennie’s house, velvet coat floating behind her.


Angie, however, wasn’t so thrilled when she banged on my door that evening. I’d been taking things at something of a canter, keen as I was to get the children bathed and into bed, thereby giving myself plenty of time to sink into my own bath and prepare for my date tonight. My date. My heart lurched and fingers fluttered as I cut up the soldiers for the boiled eggs, but not in the right way, I realized. Not in a pitter-patter nervous-excitement way, in more of a … well, plain nervous way, actually. But perhaps that was normal? After all, it was years since I’d been out with anyone and I had rather set the tone for this one by kissing Luke firmly on the lips and telling him I’d be happy to come to his place. Had rather shown my hand. Still. That didn’t necessarily mean tonight had to be anything other than a very pleasant meal, did it? Of course not. And Luke was a nice guy; there was no way he’d be expecting anything else, surely? I recalled Luke’s eyes, bright with possibility at what he’d perceived to be very much the green light from me, and promptly dropped Archie’s egg cup. As I picked up the shattered pieces of china I decided I needed to calm down. I also decided that I wouldn’t drink too much, but that I would, after all, shave my legs.

Which was why it was not terribly convenient when Angie banged on my door at about seven o’clock. So hard I jumped out of the bath and ran downstairs to answer it with wet hair and bleach cream on my upper lip.

‘Clearly you both think I’m a complete tart!’ she stormed, pushing past me in the doorway, not even commenting on my moustache, and making for the kitchen.

She opened the fridge door and seized a bottle of white wine although she’d patently had most of one already; her eyes were pink and glassy, always Angie’s giveaway. I hastened after her in my dressing gown, wiping off the bleach as I went, knowing instantly what she meant.

‘No, of course we don’t, Angie,’ I urged, thinking this really couldn’t be more inconvenient as she hunted down a couple of glasses in my cupboard and poured two hefty slugs of Chardonnay.

‘You obviously think that just because I had a teensy crush on Pete, I’m hopping into bed with all and sundry and getting knocked up in the process. Flinging pregnancy tests over my shoulder as I go!’

Oh, Lord. Furious. Livid, in fact. All my fault. ‘No one’s saying that, Angie. It’s just that for Frankie’s sake we thought –’

‘I mean, who did you think it was, hm?’ Her eyes blazed at me as she sank a good two inches of wine in one gulp. ‘Bonkers Bob, perhaps? Did you think I’d wrestled him out of his raincoat and got down to it in his revolting farmhouse? Or maybe his sidekick, Frank? Perhaps you thought I couldn’t resist the twirling moustache and had a burning desire to see him naked but for his dandruff?’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s just we had to discount anyone who’d been in Jennie’s house, that’s all. And who was young enough’ – I added toadily, hoping she didn’t know Peggy had also been accused – ‘to, you know, get pregnant.’

This mollified her slightly. She pulled out a chair at my table and slumped into it, looking alarmingly permanent. ‘Hm, well,’ she grunted, knocking back another hefty slug and refilling her glass. ‘Yes, of course I could still get pregnant, I’m not that ancient. But I’m not seeing anyone, you know.’

She looked more shattered than angry now. Her face soft and vulnerable beneath her make-up.

‘I know, I know,’ I said soothingly, sitting down beside her.

‘It’s not even as if I’m dating.’

‘Well, quite. Stupid of us.’

‘And anyway, I still love Tom.’

I didn’t say anything; sat very still. This was quite an admission. Usually she hated Tom. She seemed unaware of me, though. Stared into space.

‘You know he’s on his own again?’ she said at length, more to the wall than to me.

‘No, I didn’t know that. Since when?’

‘Since Tatiana went back to New Zealand. Wants to pursue her dangerous sports, apparently. As if nicking my husband wasn’t enough of one.’

‘So … is there hope?’

‘That’s exactly what I wondered,’ she said sadly, ‘when Clarissa told me. Said Daddy was on his own. I thought: perhaps there’s hope? And then I ran into Bella Stewart, who’d sat next to him at a dinner party last week, and in his cups he’d told her he’d been a stupid arse. So, silly tart that I am, d’you know what I did?’

‘What,’ I said, guessing.

‘I rang him. And left a message on his answering machine which I hadn’t thought out beforehand. A long, breathless one about how maybe we could be civilized for the children and maybe he could pop round for supper sometime. And then right at the end –’ she gulped and her eyes filled – ‘I – said I missed him.’

I reached out. Covered her hand with mine and squeezed it. ‘That’s not so terrible, Angie.’

She glanced down and a tear escaped. Fled down her face and dropped on her lap. She wiped it away savagely. ‘Except that that was two days ago and I haven’t heard a dicky bird since. And no, he’s not away. Clarissa said she spoke to him at the cottage yesterday. You see, I just thought – if he came for supper, in the lovely home we’d created together over the years, he wouldn’t be able to resist it – me. And of course the girls go and meet him so I don’t have that. If they were younger he’d have to pick them up from home. Realize what he’d given up. I could be on the doorstep looking radiant, dressed up, a spot of scent. Roses on the hall table.’

‘Yes, yes, I see,’ I said gently.

She swallowed. Attempted a brave smile but it wobbled. ‘You know, it’s insulting enough to be left for another woman, Poppy, but to be left for no one, for a vacuum to be preferable …’ She fell silent. Ran a fingertip around the rim of her wine glass. Round and round it went.

‘I can’t stop making a fool of myself,’ she whispered.

‘That’s not true.’

‘It is. It is true. Pete. Tom.’ She paused. ‘I made a fool of myself with Sam Hetherington too,’ she said quietly. ‘After the hunt. Not that I care now.’

‘Did you?’ I felt all my sinews stiffen.

‘We all went back to his place for tea. It’s a bit of a tradition at the end of a day’s hunting, for anyone left in the saddle to wind up where you started, where the meet was, except it’s hardly tea. Bottles of whisky come out and everyone drinks jolly hard, I can tell you. Well, as you know, I’d already had a few pre-match tinctures at the meet, so by about five o’clock I was flying. Particularly since I had to wait until everyone had gone before I could – you know.’ She fell silent.

‘Proposition him?’ I prompted breathlessly, unable to resist.

‘Oh, I didn’t jump him or anything,’ she said hastily. ‘Just asked if he was taking anyone to the hunt ball on Saturday, and if not, since we both seemed to be on our tod, whether we shouldn’t team up together. In the nicest possible way, of course.’

‘Of course.’ I was rapt. ‘And?’

‘He sort of laughed and said he wasn’t sure what his plans were. So I persisted. Will I ever learn? I said, “Come on, Prince Charming, how about taking Cinders to the ball?” Even plucked a rose from a vase and put it between my teeth, perched coquettishly on his kitchen table in my jodhpurs. I was well and truly smashed, obviously.’

‘Obviously.’ I was trying hard to hide my agogness.

‘And he was terribly charming. Removed the rose and escorted me to my horse box where Libby, my groom, was waiting to drive me home. Said he was really sorry, but since he was hosting the thing, he thought he’d be pretty busy. It was only when I threw my arms round his neck – all in front of Libby, incidentally, who didn’t know where to look – that he disentangled me and told me there was someone he couldn’t get over. That he wasn’t quite ready for “teaming up” with anyone. His ex, I suppose.’

‘Yes. I suppose.’ Suddenly I felt the need to hide my face. I got to my feet and went to the sink, busying myself on a spurious errand of hanging out a dishcloth, hoping she’d go. I wanted my heart to sink alone, not in company. Angie didn’t seem inclined to move, though.

She sighed. ‘So there we have it.’ She gave an ironic little laugh. ‘Two unattached men, one of whom I have children by, both of whom would rather be alone than with me. Marvellous, isn’t it? And d’you know, Poppy, at my age, and at my stage in life, I really didn’t think I’d be worrying about this sort of thing. Thought I’d be planning little dinner parties, titivating the garden. Didn’t think I’d be working the singles market. There’s Clarissa at school with boyfriend trouble, crying down the phone about some boy she likes who’s gone off with a friend of hers, and I’m too busy with my own disastrous love life to even sympathize. Too busy being rebuffed myself. Pitiful, isn’t it?’

This didn’t seem to demand an answer. But it occurred to me that I too had been rebuffed by Sam, when I’d asked him if he read, mentioned the book club. Charmingly brushed aside. So charmingly I might even have been in danger of not noticing: of repeating the error, going back for more, if the hunt had gone otherwise. If, say, Thumper had behaved perfectly, might I not have found myself back at Sam’s place with Angie for tea, outstaying all the other riders, elbowing her out of the way over the whisky bottle, nicking the rose from her teeth, asking him to accompany me not her, to the hunt ball, while she staggered to the loo to reapply her lippy? One of two very pissed and very desperate women? I shuddered. Glanced furtively at the clock. Thank God I had a date tonight. A proper one. If only I was allowed to go on the bloody thing. I had a feeling it might not be tactful to mention it under the circumstances, but the fact remained that Luke was probably even now laying the table and polishing the glasses. Meanwhile my fringe was curling horribly and in precisely ten minutes Peggy – who I’d asked instead of Luke’s sister – would be here and I wasn’t even dressed. The laundry basket was under the table and I riffled in it. Grabbed some pants and pulled them on surreptitiously under my dressing gown.

Angie narrowed her eyes, suspicious. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Nowhere, why?’

‘You’ve just put frilly pants on.’

‘Oh. I’m … just having supper with Luke, that’s all.’

‘Ooh,’ she said archly, and I had a nasty feeling the combination of baring her soul and a bottle of wine might drive her to lash out.

I braced myself, but we do, after all, choose our friends wisely and Angie had a kind heart. Her face softened.

‘Good. I’m really pleased. He’s a sweet boy.’

I relaxed, although rather wished she hadn’t added the last bit.

‘Excellent. Well, I’m glad you approve,’ I said, rallying. Wishing too for just a spot of privacy, for not living in a village where everyone knew my business. ‘And now if you wouldn’t mind buggering off, Angie,’ I said pleasantly, ‘perhaps I could get dressed as well? Not just leave it at knickers?’

She raised a smile and got to her feet, swinging her Chanel bag over her shoulder, simultaneously draining her glass.

‘Where’s he taking you?’

‘He’s, um … cooking me supper.’

Her eyes came round from her empty glass, wide and delighted. ‘Is he now? Ooh, Poppy, how exciting! No wonder you’ve got your frillies on. Are you sure you’ll need them at all?’ She threw back her head and cackled loudly.

I regarded her narrowly. ‘Thanks for that, Angie.’

‘My pleasure,’ she grinned, clearly enjoying herself now, morale somewhat restored. ‘Well, I hope it goes well. You’re so suited to each other, everyone says so. You should have got it together from the word go, which is exactly what I told him after I found him in the garden with Saintly Sue, that night at the book club.’

‘Did you now,’ I muttered. How pissed was she? Did she have to bring that up? ‘What else did you tell him?’ I asked as I hustled her towards the front door. Damn. I could hear Archie crying upstairs. I’d have to give him a bottle and Peggy would be here to sit soon. I hadn’t even dried my hair.

‘Oh, nothing else,’ she twinkled merrily, jingling her car keys – Angie lived five minutes’ walk away but always drove. ‘Although he was so sweetly concerned about how you were going to manage on your own as an impoverished widow, et cetera, that I did set his mind at rest on that score. Toodle-oo, Poppy! Have a lovely evening.’

And with that she sashayed out of the front door, hips swaying, and down the path to her car.