Poppy's Return Read online

  The walk was one Poppy could do in forty minutes from the house without taking the car and she began to take it at some time most days, glad of an easy, quick break from the house. George hardly left his room – Poppy had given up any idea of getting him a wheelchair – the nurses came, the doctor came, visitors came; his downstairs room had turned into the centre of the house.

  Poppy’s idea that she would have to do any physical looking-after proved to be mistaken. It was more that she co-ordinated, organised, managed the household, though Susanna still did some of the cooking. The warm weather meant that Poppy could get the windows open at least for part of each day; she seemed to be the only one that noticed stuffiness. Getting out for a walk, occasionally a whole half-day on the moors, gave her a chance to clear her head. And she needed a clear head, to think about Jane.

  Thinking about her and Jane made her uneasy and that in itself troubled her. At Jane’s insistence that they needed to think of themselves as ‘something, something that makes us an “us,”’ they had settled on ‘lovers’ at least for the moment. They didn’t feel like partners to Poppy because their ‘encumbrances’ – a word she still resented when it was applied to George – were so separate, they each failed the other in sharing their respective – no, she would not think of George as a ‘burden’.

  The truth of it was, neither of them could fully support the other in dealing with their present – there wasn’t a right word – circumstances would have to do – so to Poppy they were not partners. She knew she became resentful too quickly when Jane was preoccupied with the details of separating financially, and emotionally, from Héloise. Even the name, Héloise, was becoming unreasonably irritating. She didn’t exactly resent hearing about Jane’s difficulties at the museum she just wasn’t very interested, and found herself getting impatient with Jane for not being more outspoken to her colleagues about her concerns.

  She knew, also, that Jane, while she was clearly fond of George and visited regularly, didn’t want to hear very much or very often about Poppy’s feelings, how she worried and tried to do her best and kept feeling she fell short. Jane didn’t want to hear about that, and Poppy had pretty much stopped talking to her about it. She talked to her friends and family, who emailed and phoned from New Zealand regularly. Even people she didn’t know emailed her, or sent cards. The woman Joy had sent a moving email about her own mother’s death, Moana from school had sent messages from herself and all the staff. The support lines from the other side of the world were blessedly strong.

  She had rung Cleveland Lesbian Line and listened to their answer-phone message but hadn’t followed up on anything; it seemed as though she already had all the connections there was time for. Sylvia was good company, Susanna she appreciated more as time went on, and the long slow hours with George were no less precious because there were times when she simply had to get away, get outside, walk fast taking large gulps of air.

  If she didn’t see Jane for a couple of days a longing would grow in her, a physical, almost desperate longing. Hearing Jane’s voice on the phone would assuage it a little, seeing her melted it into desire. Poppy was uneasy, with this need, this desperation, that felt apart from her when it clearly was not. Lying awake in her small bed, the glow of the sleep light on the computer pulsing away in the corner, she thought of asking Sylvia for more information about her therapist. Jane, as much as her, avoided talking about what they would do after George had died; whether Poppy would stay on, when – whether – Jane would come to New Zealand again. How could they possibly become partners from opposite sides of the world? Why don’t we talk about this? What future can we have if we can’t talk about what is going on or not going on? These were Poppy’s night thoughts, that often preceded troubled sleep full of dreams she woke from feeling anxious.

  In the early hours of one morning, on a hot night, Poppy got out of bed, opened the window as wide as it would go and never mind Susanna’s fears of what might fly in, and ‘woke’ the computer. She wrote it all to Martia, for over an hour, sending it off as soon as she had finished, without re-reading it. It still took her a long time to get to sleep but the night air drifting in was a relief, and Susanna didn’t need to know what she did with her bedroom window!

  When she next checked her email, after a morning sorting out a schedule for the Macmillan and district nurses so they didn’t arrive at the same time and then leave a six hour gap with no-one, there was a reply from her friend.

  wow! i’m flattered that you think me qualified to help, given my record. and before I forget, greetings from mrs mudgely.

  seriously though, here are a few comments

  take or leave them

  don’t hate me, remember i am your best friend, aren’t i?

  hardest one first. seems like you are making jane the baddy. takes two and all that, and you’re usually so good at bringing up stuff. gets me wondering – and i might be right off beam here – if your idea of you and jane didn’t assume a bit much. like that you would both want the same thing from a relationship. remember those conversations we’ve had about women who haven’t had a ‘lesbian adolescence’. just a hunch.

  actually, this is all hard. you and kate. soul mates. no cracks. none at all? i used to worry a bit about kate’s drinking. you never seemed to notice, so believing it wonderful that you carried all before you. maybe you were right. forgive me if this is completely out of line. you never believed there was anything wrong between your parents until they split, eh?

  last thing. remember when bessie was talking about when her mother died? ages ago, when she was still married. how she picked up a man in a bar and had sex with him twice a week because she ‘had to’. had to do something that reminded her she was alive i think she said. might not be irrelevant but i thought of it reading your message.

  Poppy stared at the screen, stunned. A string of memories ran through her mind like a newsreel. Her parents in the front of the car, talking to them, the children in the back, not each other. Stefan accusing her of a rosy, unrealistic view of their parent’s marriage. Kate holding a whisky glass up high, offering her one, she refusing and cuddling up – to distract her from drinking? Never, not consciously anyway. And that was Martia’s point, wasn’t it.

  ‘I hate you Martia Roberts!’ she said out loud, ‘but only because you just might be right,’ and tapped out a short reply, reassuring and thanking her friend and suggesting a phone call. There was a tap on the door and Susanna’s face peered round it.

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ she said, ‘but if we’re going to do the shopping this afternoon… George is awake and that tall nurse is here to wash him and do his nails.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I’ll just send this and be with you in two minutes.’ An hour-and-a-half had gone by. Something mundane like buying groceries seemed like an excellent idea. While they were out Jane rang and the message she left with George was that she was getting the five o’clock flight to London for something that had come up regarding work and would be back in two days. Poppy was startled, and then relieved, welcoming the opportunity to think some more about her exchange with Martia. It was some time before she realised that she really did not mind that she would not spend the coming night with Jane, a two day wait was okay. She hoped the something that had come up at the museum would progress the difficulties Jane was having; George had picked up allusions and speculations regarding the squabbles over spending the bequest in the Evening Gazette.

  That evening Susanna went to bed early and Poppy sat with her father. He had a catheter now and had asked her to not enquire about his bowel functioning, ‘the nurses have that under control.’ Then he told her that he thought he would die soon, holding up a hand that was so thin it was almost transparent.

  ‘I’m hardly eating,’ he went on. ‘Out of it quite a lot. Not drinking either.’ He had been talking in short sentences for a couple of days, pausing between them for breath. ‘No,’ as she was about to pick up the water, ‘it doesn’t matter. Listen. I’ll be u
nconscious soon. The lovely doctor Jasmine says…’ he paused a moment, ‘says I won’t know anything after that. Be a few days.’ He told her how he loved her, had always loved her and how glad he was to have had time with Stefan. ‘To do repairs.’

  ‘Don’t talk any more, Dad. I’ll stay here a while.’ He smiled. ‘Long time since you said “Dad”.’ She nodded. ‘You have been the best of fathers, you know.’ And they sat together, George propped up on his pillows, coughing occasionally, squeezing the morphine pump now and then. A shuddering snore brought Poppy out of a doze in a fright until he opened his eyes and squeezed her hand. She didn’t go to bed, dozing in the arm-chair, waking when he coughed or moved.

  ‘Not too many of those,’ insisted Dr Jasmine next morning, ‘you’ve got to get some real sleep. Time for a night nurse, I think. What do you think, George?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said to Poppy’s question on the way to her car about how long. ‘My best guess is more than a week, less than a month, with less and shorter periods of consciousness. But I really don’t know for certain.’ She paused by the car. ‘I’ll come back this afternoon and make a point of talking to Susanna, I’m concerned about her, she’s not looking at all well.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Poppy, and they both knew it was for more than an uncertain piece of information.

  Back in the house Poppy sat at the kitchen table and looked at the calendar on the wall beside her. For the first time she took notice of the picture – a photograph of bright red poppies, taken from down low against a green field and a blue sky. Smiling, she counted off the weeks. Five and a half since she arrived, a bit more since she found out George was so ill, about five since she and Jane became lovers.

  When Jane rang from London she sounded excited.

  ‘Good things happening there? I’m glad. You know the museum’s in the paper again?’

  ‘Yes, no, I didn’t know and yes, good things, but not… I’ll tell you tomorrow.’

  ‘I could meet your flight.

  ‘That would be lovely, but I do have my car at the airport, how about meeting me at my place, say eight-thirty.’

  Poppy hesitated. ‘Okay, but I won’t stay the night. I don’t think I can any more, in case something happens here.’

  ‘Oh. Didn’t you say there was a night nurse now?’

  ‘Yes. Yes there is. But I want to be here in case…’

  ‘Oh. I see. Of course. Well, see you tomorrow night.’ There was the sound of a kiss down the line and she was gone.

  ‘Bye,’ said Poppy to the dial tone.

  The routine of the house quickly settled into its new shape; a nurse came at eleven and stayed until seven in the morning, and right away that was the way it was. Poppy had stayed up until the nurse arrived, to see what she required, and for a while after until George shooed her off to bed. She had introduced herself as Kitty and was short, solid and cheerful; George liked her right away. Not that she would come every night she explained, but two or three in a week and there would be others.

  Poppy contemplated telling Jane she couldn’t go to her place the next night, with a different, unknown, nurse to be on duty but Susanna said she would have a decent nap in the afternoon and stay up with George until the nurse came and was settled in and that was the end of it.

  When Poppy pulled up at the Billingham house at eight-thirty Jane’s car was in the driveway and there appeared to be lights on in every room. The door was flung open at her knock by a flustered Jane, whose flight had been delayed.

  ‘I was going to have it all ready,’ she explained, ‘candles, champagne, soft lights…’

  ‘What’s the celebr…?’

  ‘In a minute. Come inside, quick.’ As soon as the door was closed they kissed, and as Poppy was warming to it, Jane rushed off and pulled curtains, grabbed glasses and what was indeed champagne from the fridge and summoned Poppy to the sofa.

  ‘What…?’

  Jane was perched on the edge of the seat. She sat back, stretched her arms over her head and assumed a more serious expression before she insisted on knowing how things were with George. So she can get that out of the way, thought Poppy, then felt mean-spirited and told her in more detail than she had planned.

  ‘Now it’s my turn to insist,’ she said when she had finished, ‘what is going on?’

  ‘Have a guess.’ Jane was wriggling with excitement. Like a child, thought Poppy and caught a glimpse of a disapproving Mrs Mudgely on the mantelpiece. ‘Go away,’ she said shaking her head to shift the image.

  ‘Go aw…?’ Jane’s consternation was obvious.

  ‘No, no. Just Mrs M.’ And Poppy laughed, she didn’t want to spoil Jane’s news, whatever it was.

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ And the other woman’s ebullience returned with a giggle. ‘Go on then, guess.’

  ‘Everyone at the museum has fallen in love with your plan.’

  ‘As if. Nope. Try again.’

  ‘The house is sold.’

  ‘Nice one and no, it’s not even properly on the market yet. Again.’ Poppy thought gloomily that any moment now she would rain on Jane’s parade.

  ‘Okay and if it’s not this one I give up! Héloise has suggested a really fair settlement over the house and everything else.’

  ‘Nope. Do you really give up?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘We-eell.’ Jane was savouring the moment. ‘You know I’ve just been in London?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘It wasn’t about the museum, it was about me.’ She paused. ‘I’ve got a job! A job in London. At the Natural History Museum no less. Me!’ Her voice was a high-pitched squeal. She jumped up, grabbing Poppy’s hands and pulling her up, dancing them both around the room. Poppy finally couldn’t help being caught up by her delight and excitement and they polka’d up and down then collapsed back on the sofa in each others’ arms, laughing.

  They toasted the job and each other and Jane talked about how she’d applied with little hope of success, though the job was to do with the sea birds she loved, and then got the last minute call for an interview. ‘Some administrative mess-up they told me, I hope it’s not a bad sign.’ And at the end of the interview they asked her to come back in an hour, during which she later discovered they’d rung her referees, and then they offered her the job.

  ‘So the chairman of the board at the Cleveland must have come across for me. I wondered; he tried to persuade me not to apply,’ Jane concluded.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me when you applied? I think I’m a bit hurt that you didn’t.’

  ‘On no! Please don’t be. I really thought it wouldn’t happen. And when I got the call to go, you know, I had to leave you a message. Don’t be hurt!’ She stroked the side of Poppy’s face then pushed up the edges of her mouth until it turned into a proper smile.

  ‘Okay, maybe I was just a bit miffed. Like my father, I like to know what’s going on.’ Damn. She didn’t want to be thinking of George just then. ‘Who else will you tell?’

  ‘Rachel. My lawyer. Héloise at some point. That’s it, really.’

  So few, thought Poppy, so few people.

  ‘And I’ll have to resign at the Cleveland tomorrow.’ The thought of that clearly pleased her. ‘I hope they’ll accept a month’s notice, I don’t remember what’s in my contract.’ Jane shook her head. ‘Practical things tomorrow. Come to bed with me. Now. Please.’

  Poppy held back. ‘I’ve got to ask,’ she said, ‘what will this mean, you know, for you and me?’ She was bewildered, finding it hard to believe that a move that would have so much impact on whatever it was between her and Jane was a done deal before she even knew it was a possibility.

  ‘Adventure! Exhilaration! A lover with a pad in London! Come on, be thrilled for me, there’ll be plenty of time to be practical!’ Jane was pulling Poppy’s hands, pulling her towards the bedroom and Poppy went, letting go of qualms, acquiescing to Jane’s seductive excitement.

  She was adamant about not staying, though, and w
hile she was driving home, doubt and puzzlement returned; it was beyond her understanding that Jane would apply for a job in London without talking to her, no matter how low the odds for her application being successful. Making love had been without the desperation that had been bothering Poppy and she was not left with the clinging/ aversion stomach-aching emotions that put her on edge. But it did appear that one troublesome circumstance had been changed for another. When she pulled up at the gate Poppy felt too tired to deal with anything or anyone, but she heard George’s voice as soon as she opened the door. She met the night nurse, kissed George, and trudged upstairs to bed, wishing there was a warm and comforting Mrs Mudgely purring there in anticipation of her company.

  Chapter Eleven

  George died on July the eighteenth. Susanna and Poppy were with him, one on either side of his bed, sitting with him as they had since morning. For three days there had been nurses around the clock; he no longer drifted into consciousness.

  When his hands began to twitch and his breathing stuttered the nurse made a quiet phone call. There were several periods of short, staccato breaths with long pauses between, a long shuddering breath and then a still quietness that Poppy recognised. She met Susanna’s questioning eyes and nodded, and her father’s wife held a hand to her lips and let out a long, shuddering sob, followed by another and another. Poppy made as though to go to her but sat down again at a small shake of the head from the nurse; she had not let go of George’s hand.

  When the doctor came in a few minutes later the tableau was unchanged. ‘Four-past-seven,’ the nurse said to her. Dr Jasmine looked at Poppy, ‘Okay?’ ‘Uh huh,’ Poppy nodded towards Susanna and the doctor nodded back and pulled up a chair beside the sobbing woman. I am okay, Poppy thought. Dear George, she smiled at his white face, you died without a fuss, just like you lived. I love you, she said, but not out loud, I’ll miss you. And she put his hand gently on the bedcover, kissed his forehead and went to make phone calls.