Poppy's Return Read online

  ‘I am sorry, George doesn’t deserve that,’ Katrina said to a still-tearful Poppy, ‘but our marriage ended nearly thirty years ago and I’m not emotionally attached any more. Now don’t go telling me I’m brittle or hard or something again, dear, it’s just a fact.’ Well yes, thought Poppy, there had been three significant men in that thirty years, though it did seem that Don Smart had been the last.

  ‘Don’t write me off yet!’ came the voice down the phone, as though she had said it out loud. ‘Not that I’m looking. But, seriously, I imagine you will want to go and see him, and soon. So if money is a problem…’

  ‘Thank you, Katrina but no, I’m fine for money.’ Which was more or less true; Poppy had never been much of a saver, though she did have government super, had started it when she began teaching, and the mortgage on the house would be paid off in four more years. She told her mother all she knew about the nature of the illness and read her Susanna’s letter.

  ‘Don’t let her take advantage of your good nature, now, will you?’ Funny, until now, Poppy had never picked that her New Zealand family didn’t like Susanna, never thought about whether or not she did herself, just accepted that as her father’s wife Susanna must be all right. She and George seemed to suit each other.

  ‘Do keep me in touch, and you know I will help in any way,’ Katrina had said once more before she bustled off the phone, no doubt to ring Stefan and offer him money as well, Poppy thought. Once she had resented Katrina’s tendency to ‘wave her cheque-book in the face of any crisis’, as Stefan had put it once, but she had learnt to appreciate having a generous parent who was, after many years as a successful bureaucrat, rather well off.

  Martia’s phone was engaged, so she left a message asking her to ring back if she got the message before too late. Martia and Poppy knew each others’ ‘too lates’ and much more besides; they had been close friends since their first year at secondary school. Late last year Martia had been low and sick with a vague debilitating sickness, and Poppy had helped her get away on holiday for three months. When Jane was here.

  Chapter Two

  Martia rang back within minutes. ‘I’m doing okay, now tell me what’s up with you,’ she said to Poppy’s inquiry about her health, ‘You sound dreadful.’

  Poppy told her about Susanna’s letter.

  ‘Oh, Poppy, poor George. And poor you. When will you go?’

  ‘Soon,’ she replied and went on to tell her friend about May-Yun and Stefan’s plans. ‘And Martia,’ she continued, her voice rising to a wail, ‘what am I going to do about Jane?’ After a few seconds silence, she said, ‘You’re not laughing, tell me you’re not laughing.’

  ‘I’m not laughing, not quite, honestly. It’s the irony. George might well love that, he brought you together now he’s forcing your hand, so to speak.’ Another silence. ‘I haven’t offended you, have I. I don’t mean to, really, it’s just…’

  ‘No, I’m not offended. More like bewildered. Jane would have had everything with her and Héloise sorted by the time I got over there at the end of the year, for sure, as it is…’

  ‘She’ll just have to get on with it. It’s what, three months since she went back.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Come on Poppy, you had a lovely few weeks travelling around New Zealand together, now if she wants you she has to front up to her partner. For heaven’s sake, she doesn’t want a baby and Héloise does, that’s enough in itself, never mind her falling in love with you.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know…’

  ‘How you feel, because you won’t let yourself find out until she’s dis-entangled.’

  ‘Yeah, right, but George matters more than any of that now.’

  ‘Of course he does, poor George, he doesn’t deserve this. It’s tough for you being so far away. This is stupid,’ she interrupted herself, ‘sit tight, I’m coming over.’

  ‘But you’re…’ still not that well, Poppy was going to say, you shouldn’t come out so late. When Martia arrived she hugged Poppy for a long time, and sat them down together on the sofa.

  ‘I have to just think about George,’ Poppy said. Martia nodded, and kept nodding as Poppy continued. ‘I’ll talk to Moana about taking leave for the rest of the term, from about two weeks’ time. Then I’ll have had some news from Stefan and May-Yun if they go right away.

  ‘Why wait?’ Martia asked.

  ‘To be fair to school, so I can say as clearly as possible how long I am likely to be away, I think. And maybe to get used to the idea of seeing Jane so soon, as well as having George… you know. It’s turning out very differently from how I’d planned.’

  ‘Uh huh. Trust yourself, Poppy, do it – all of it, George and Jane – the best you can, as you always do. What’s Jane said to her partner about you, anyway?’

  There was a pause. ‘I don’t know,’ Poppy answered, quietly. ‘I didn’t want to ask, and she never said. I guess I’d better ask now.’

  ‘You sure had. Otherwise who knows what you’d be walking into… They’re still living together, right?’

  ‘Uh huh, and Héloise still wants to have a baby, and Jane still wants out but she doesn’t say much about how she’s going to do that, except that she promised it would be before I go over in December. And that seemed all right – kind of – until now.’

  ‘Sounds to me like she’s faltering…’ Martia hesitated. ‘Which is not fair on you, she’s got to make up her mind… so it might as well be now!’

  Poppy smiled weakly. ‘Just what I would say to someone else,’ she admitted, ‘but when she says she needs to pick her times for talking about it to avoid major upsets and arguments, well, it sort of seems fair enough.’

  ‘Hurumph!’ Martia laughed as she grumbled, which barely hid her concern.

  ‘I’ve been happy enough to let her take her own time,’ Poppy said, more defensively than she intended, ‘My life’s going along fine.’

  ‘And this year was the tenth anniversary of Kate’s death.’ Martha spoke gently this time, ‘and as you said then, you’ve been on your own for a long time.’

  ‘Apart from R…’

  ‘Rose, who you yourself have often described as “a mistake”.’

  ‘Are we nearly arguing about Jane?’ Poppy’s tears were starting again.

  ‘If we are, we’ll stop now. You going over to see George will change things, though.’

  ‘I know. And I do have to tell you,’ Poppy looked at her friend, ‘I get a real, excited shiver when I see her name in my in-box and I do, um, sometimes go to sleep picturing us together in situations being, ah, significantly more than friendly…’ By the end she was blushing. ‘And I kind of like that!’

  ‘You know there’s nothing I’d like more than you to be…’

  ‘Happy. Yes, I know. Dear Martia.’ They hugged again and Martia suggested a cuppa.

  ‘Yes,’ said Poppy, ‘But golly, it’s after eleven, I’m sorry Martia, I shouldn’t be keeping you up this late…’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, not at all. And hey, the new tests apparently show that I’ve had some kind of low grade virus, something that usually doesn’t matter except when you are run down, you know the sort of thing. Anyway, it’s a relief to know I had something and I do feel as though I am getting over it. Truly. I’ve got much more energy. I’ve even got enough energy to feel a bit sad at Barb’s leaving, how about that?’

  ‘That’s great news! That you’re feeling better, that is.’ The jug was boiling but they decided they both needed to go to bed more than they needed tea.

  ‘One last question,’ said Poppy as she opened the front door, ‘how are you managing the rent without Barb?’

  ‘Just. I’ve got a rent subsidy from social welfare, that helps. And I’ll think about moving somewhere cheaper in another month or so, I’m all right until then, honestly.’

  They said their goodbyes with a final hug, and ‘Trust yourself Poppy, you’ll do the right thing by George,’ from Martia.

  Poppy dr
opped her clothes on the floor and fell into bed, exhausted. She lay there for a while, comforted by Mrs Mudgely’s purring and thought about talking to George earlier in the evening, how he had sounded, how unconcerned he’d been that Susanna had written before he had told her – them – himself. Why hadn’t he written or rung earlier? Was it really that he didn’t want to worry her? Or did he not want to admit to himself how ill he was?

  Then she was cross with herself for trying to work out things she couldn’t possibly know. Two weeks, she thought, that’s definitely when she’d go, regardless of what Stefan and May-Yun did. It was about six weeks until the end of June when term finished, and then two weeks’ school holidays. Would that be long enough? She had better talk to Moana about being away for the third term, too. That would mean over four months without any salary, could she manage that and surely she wouldn’t have to resign from her job and what about Mrs Mudgely and the house? The answer to the latter came immediately. Dear Martia. ‘Now go to sleep,’ she told herself firmly. The purring had stopped, suggesting Mrs Mudgely had already set a good example.

  The phone woke her in the morning at seven o’clock. She had forgotten to set her alarm. May-Yun was apologetic about waking her, but Poppy insisted she was grateful – who knows how late she would have slept otherwise. When they had got home last night, May-Yun told her, Chan had just come in and he got on the internet and had them booked for London and on a fast train to York – Stefan had decided on the spot they would rent a car from there – by eleven o’clock. Stefan had been impressed. ‘Finally, Chan can please his father,’ Poppy thought. They were leaving on Saturday which was a rush. Chan and Ivan insisted they would be fine in the house together but she wasn’t sure about that, what did Poppy think?

  ‘Don’t know, straight off,’ said Poppy, ‘but probably fine. I can keep an eye out and I know you have some good neighbours…’

  ‘We told them we’d think about it for twenty-four hours and then decide, so I’m going to talk to two of the neighbours today. I want to trust them…’

  ‘Then do.’ Poppy decided not to rush for school. As long as she was there by half-past-eight she’d be fine. Thank goodness her class routines were well bedded in, and the last hour was sports. Unless that was rain on the window. Usually she was at school before eight preparing for the day but, for once, she thought, she wouldn’t be. And she must make a chance to talk to Moana.

  The chance came near the end of lunch hour so she gabbled out the details as fast as she could. Moana made some notes and said, ‘Of course, you must go. There’s that young man, Stephen…’ Poppy nodded, he’d relieved for her colleague, Amelia, a few times this year. ‘I think he’d jump at the chance of some regular work. Leave that with me. Oh, I will have to get the Board of Trustee’s approval, but that won’t be a problem.’

  ‘Thank you, Moana, for being so understanding.’ How lucky she was to have such a great principal. No fuss. Do what needs doing. Let teachers teach – as much as possible in the current environment. Poppy smiled her thanks again as she left the office.

  At two o’clock Moana came to her classroom and sent her off to ‘book air travel, or whatever you need to do’, while she took Poppy’s class for sports.

  The first travel agent in Takapuna took an age to understand what she needed. Surely a return trip with an open return date was straightforward enough? Then she had to go off and ask someone and after several minutes’ waiting for her to return Poppy walked out.

  The next one was better. ‘You’re lucky,’ said Nigel, ‘travel consultant’ according to his badge, ‘it’s not the summer season – over there – yet.’ No, she wouldn’t stop over anywhere, via Singapore or Los Angeles it didn’t matter, but through to London as quickly as possible. Two hours in Los Angeles would be fine. She winced when he told her what it would cost and handed over her credit card. Picking up the tickets would be no problem she told him, she’d come after school. He gave her a traveller’s check-list, which would be useful. When did her passport expire?

  ‘I wondered how long it would take you to ask. I thought of it when we were talking last night. And yes, I’d love to and you must let me pay at least expenses, your mortgage and phone and all that.’ Poppy had called in at Martia’s on her way home. ‘And don’t worry about when you get back, I have a plan.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘My ex-sister-in-law, you know, Gloria, in Matapouri…’ Indeed, Poppy did know, she had taken Martia there for a holiday in January when she was so unwell. ‘Well, she wants to open a craft shop on the edge of their place, by the main road, and I’m going to go there and run it. But not until spring, September or so. And I can send any of my stuff – she waved her hand around to indicate the modest contents of the flat – whenever I want to, there’s plenty of room. So you see, it’s perfect!’

  ‘Perfect!’ Poppy responded. Now wasn’t the time to tell her friend how much she would miss her; this was the most energy and excitement Martia had shown for many months and Poppy shared it as well as she could.

  By the weekend Poppy had found out that it was remarkably easy to re-arrange your life if you had to. The young man, Stephen, was delighted to relieve in her class and Moana had even found some money to have him come in a couple of half-days next week so they could do a proper transition with the children. As long as he… no, expecting him to run her class exactly as she did was silly, he would have his own ways, but she did hope he would keep up what she knew were her very good routines and classroom organisation.

  When she had rung George to tell him she was coming Susanna had answered the phone. Poppy asked how she was and listened to a long reply and then asked for George. Stefan had already rung and said they would be there by the end of the weekend. ‘I hope they find the spare room big enough,’ George worried, ‘and we’ve been living very simply, with us both being unwell. Susanna’s son doesn’t come by so often now his children are older.’ After she had reassured him, confident herself that whatever the situation May-Yun would make the best of it and Stefan would be practical, she asked again about treatment for his cancer and whether he would have any and got another answer that didn’t really tell her anything. While she was still on the phone she added to her ‘to do’ list, ‘tell Stefan to go to the doctor with George and get some real information.’

  Now she couldn’t put off emailing Jane any longer. At no time since she got Susanna’s letter had she allowed herself to really think for more than a few seconds about what it would be like, being in Middlesbrough for George, with Jane and Héloise still living in their joint house a few miles away. Never get involved with someone in a relationship had been one of the principle rules of her life. And she hadn’t got involved with Jane. At least they hadn’t been sexual, or even kissed, except on the cheek. But it felt as though they were involved, as though there was something between them, attraction and more than that, something they had to work out, but not until the situation with Héloise was resolved. And would it ever be resolved? Would they go on living together for ages, for ever, with or without Héloise having a child? Would Jane ever have the gumption to leave? In January before she went back to England it had seemed as though she would, but since she got home she’d lost some of the sense of an independent self that Poppy had seen grow in her while she was in New Zealand.

  ‘Okay, Mrs M,’ Poppy said when the cat jumped on the computer desk, making a line of zzzzzzzzs. ‘I’ll get on with it.’

  Dear Jane,

  This is a hard message to write.

  She looked at screen. ‘No, that’s hopeless, she’ll think I’m about to do a ‘Dear Jane’ letter.’ She thought about that as an idea for a moment. Mrs Mudgely raised her head from the papers she had settled on and looked at her. ‘Okay, okay, that’s not a goer, I never thought it was, really, I didn’t’. She deleted and started again.

  This week everything changed. On Tuesday I got a letter from Susanna saying…

  That was better. By the time she had finished i
t was a long message, but it had everything in it, including Poppy’s concerns about forcing whatever it was between them and her subsequent thought that maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, and her need now to know more about what exactly the present circumstances were with Jane and Héloise. She read it through and was pleased with what she had written. One click on ‘send’ and she imagined her message flying through the air at the speed of light, or whatever it was in cyberspace, and sliding into the password-protected mailbox Jane had told her she’d set up on their computer at home. ‘Their’ computer, ‘their’ home, it was all too much for Poppy, she didn’t want a bar of it, she just wanted – something – with an untrammelled Jane. Waiting until the end of the year, exchanging weekly emails and getting occasional phone calls from Jane when she was in the house on her own – and even that felt sneaky to Poppy – had seemed okay until the news of George. Now she was impatient and cross with Jane.

  She checked her inwards mail again just before she logged off, as she usually did, and there was a single message and it was from Jane and that was odd, because she didn’t usually write until Sunday.

  ‘We crossed out there in the ether, I guess,’ she said to Mrs Mudgely and clicked on the subject line, ‘which is weird because it’s only…

  six in the morning and I can’t sleep, she read.

  I hope you’ll be pleased, I have taken another step towards extricating myself from Héloise. Last night I moved into the spare room and it was fairly amicable, though H went out while I did it. I know you don’t want to know too much about what happens between us, so I’ll leave it at that.

  ‘Surely, surely, I’m sure I remember her saying that ages ago, when she first got back.’ Mrs Mudgely opened one eye. ‘Have they been in the same bed all this time? No, no, I know there’s something…’ Poppy was scanning through Jane’s earlier emails, one a week since the beginning of February. Nothing. ‘That’s odd. Nothing. Did I imagine it?’ She stared at the cat then looked quickly away. ‘Okay, okay, that’s how I wanted it to be so I thought it was’. She looked back. ‘And I know you were very taken with Ms Blackie and it’s no good expecting you to criticise her.’