A Rural Affair (50 page)

Sometime later I was awoken by the sounds of momentum gathering next door. A grumbling volcano. My children were bubbling
under like so much molten lava, surely about to erupt. Ah. There it was. Archie gave a shriek of outrage and Clemmie came
running in.

‘Mummy, I think Grandpa put Archie’s nappy on back to front, but when I tried to do it he screamed. He won’t let me.’

‘I’ll come,’ I managed gnomically, as, with a heroic effort, I heaved myself out of bed. I tested my feet for support, rocked
momentarily, then lurched next door.

Archie was indeed wearing a back-to-front nappy as he stood gripping the bars of his cot, together with what seemed to be
a T-shirt of Clemmie’s. But at least they were alive; at least my father had had a go, I thought gratefully, as I heard him
downstairs making tea. I lifted my baby son from his cot
and nearly fell over. Had to hold the wall. Somehow I organized a clean nappy, and together we went downstairs, one hand in
my son’s, as he insisted on doing every stair himself, one on my throbbing forehead.

‘Morning, Dad,’ I muttered, as my father caught Archie, who ran to him. He set him in his high chair. ‘Turn that down, would
you?’ I waved at the blaring radio.

Dad grinned, looking horribly chipper, clearly freshly showered. He made a long arm to the radio as I sank down at the table,
head in hands.

‘Morning, love!’ he chortled. ‘All right?’

It’s not often my father has the upper hand in the morning-after department; he was bound to milk it. I kept my head low and
grunted non-committally.

‘How’re you feeling, then?’

‘Marvellous.’

Terrible. It was all coming back to me in glorious technicolor. Some little blue glasses. Bob leering at me throughout dinner.
Chad’s desperate eyes. Hope careering round the dance floor as the horn blew to ‘John Peel’. Sam. Who I’d danced with, but
– oh God, what had I said? I sat up slowly. Covered my mouth as my father put a cup of tea and two Nurofen in front of me.

‘Oh God, Dad, I think I flirted outrageously with Sam Hetherington last night.’

‘No, no, love. Not so anyone would notice.’

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely. Anyway, nothing wrong with a bit of flirting. Makes the world go round.’ He sat down opposite and sipped his
tea.

‘No, but the thing is, I think I might have overdone it …’
My mind was a blur. I tried to clear it. ‘Declared undying love, or something. God, d’you think I did?’

‘No one takes that type of thing seriously at a party. Here, put some sugar in, get it into your bloodstream. Good night out,
though, wasn’t it?’ He ruffled Clemmie’s hair as she ran past to watch television in the other room.

‘So, you don’t think he noticed?’ I asked anxiously, remembering … oh Lord, had I nibbled his ear? While we danced? I seemed
to remember him brushing me off with a ‘No, Poppy.’ Surely not.

‘Not for one moment,’ Dad said firmly. ‘Anyway, people like that get attention the whole time. It’s like Brad Pitt, or whoever;
they think nothing of it.’

Brad Pitt. An A-list celebrity. That’s how far out of my league my father thought Sam was. Interesting. Interesting too how,
weeks ago, not so very long ago really, I’d felt he was not only in my league, but really quite proximate. At his great house,
however, in his bottle-green tailcoat, very much mine host, very much handsome bachelor of the parish, he was light years
away. Bachelor. No, not quite. Divorced. From Hope. And thinking of Hope, some strange hallucinogenic memory struck me, to
do with buttocks. I wrinkled my forehead in an effort to remember. Across the breakfast table, my father was optimistically
setting a rack of toast before me.

‘Dad, in the field, as we drove off, d’you remember a couple in a Land Rover beside us?’

‘Too busy trying to stop you falling out of the window to remember a Land Rover. Now, are you going to be all right if I get
off?’ He shot his watch anxiously out of his cuff. ‘I’ve got to get back for the horses.’

‘Yes, yes, fine.’ I waved my hand dismissively, drained by the strenuous effort of recall. ‘Go. Be gone.’

‘The kids had breakfast a couple of hours ago and then I put Archie back down so he’s had his kip.’

I blinked. ‘Really? God, what time is it?’

‘Eleven o’clock.’

‘Blimey. Right.’

This surely was kind of my father. The horses would be crossing their legs in their stables by now. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ I looked
up as he went to gather his keys from the side, his wallet. Then looked a little closer. There was quite a spring in his step.
Quite a jaunty angle to the flat cap he was setting on his head. ‘Did you enjoy yourself last night?’ I asked suddenly.

‘I did, as a matter of fact.’ He turned as he went to the door, reaching for his coat on the back of it. ‘That Peggy’s a nice
lady, isn’t she?’

‘She is,’ I said cautiously. ‘But she’s not on the open market, Dad.’

‘Oh, I know. We talked about that. Had a good old chinwag. And were getting on famously until I was told my daughter was –
anyway. As I say, she’s a lovely lady.’

‘What did you talk about?’ I asked, curious.

‘Hm? Oh, your mum. How I never got over her. Never found – or rather looked – for anyone else. And her and Roger. Funny. I
always had her down as a scatty, frivolous bird, but there’s a very thoughtful side to her. And the funny thing is,’ he looked
pensive a moment, gazed contemplatively at the back door, ‘I got the feeling she thought the same about me. That I always
play it for laughs.’ I kept very still at the table. ‘It’s our armour, I suppose. Our protective layer. To prevent anyone
getting at the soft underbelly. Anyway,’ he shook his head, like a horse ridding itself of flies: a regrouping gesture. Shrugged
his coat on. ‘We thought we might go
to the evening meet at Warwick on Friday. Just for a laugh, you know,’ he said quickly.

I nodded. ‘Good plan. She’d enjoy that.’

‘Only, sometimes,’ he paused as he got to the door, ‘it’s dull doing everything on your own, you know?’ He turned to look
at me. ‘When the world is geared for couples. Restaurants, parties, cinemas – life. It gets tiring. Sometimes it’s just easier
to be two. To fit in.’

He said goodbye. When he’d gone, I realized how I’d found that out last night. How, if you didn’t want to look conspicuous,
it was easier to be two. My dad had been alone for years, Peggy too, and I’d never appreciated the work behind that. They
both did a brilliant job, presenting a breezy exterior to the world, but it was a job: an effort. A very conscious public
face. For years they’d both climbed the stairs at night alone, got into bed, alone, and I’m sure that got easier, more of
a habit. But I couldn’t see the public bit getting easier. And if you didn’t want to disappear, didn’t want to get a bit blurry
round the edges, as some single people did, you had to put your back into it, didn’t you? Into being fun. And interesting.
And good to be around. Like Dad, and Peggy. Me too, now, of course. Lessons to be learned. Respect.

I hadn’t realized I’d said it out loud, but my son, watching me from his high chair, echoed it gravely: ‘Rethpect.’

I smiled and leaned across to take the squashed piece of toast he was offering me. Just then my back door opened and Angie
stuck her head around.

‘Coo-ee,’ she whispered, head on one side, anxious.

My smile became slightly wan. I dropped Archie’s soggy bread. ‘Coo-ee, Angie. Come in.’

‘Are you all right?’ She shut the door softly and tiptoed theatrically across the room. Sat down terribly carefully at
the table making sure the chain of her handbag didn’t make a noise. Annoying. Very dressed up too, I noticed, in a little
pink suit.

‘Fine, thanks, just a bit tired.’

‘Blimey, I’m not
surprised
. You shifted enough to float a small flotilla last night. I’ve never seen anyone so plastered. Mind if I help myself?’ She
reached for a piece of toast.

‘Do,’ I said drily, determined not to tell her the smell of the marmalade was guaranteed to make me heave.

‘And there’s nothing worse,’ she said firmly, buttering away, ‘than everyone avoiding you the next day and giving you sly
looks in the village, so I wanted to pop round and say it didn’t matter a bit. In fact we all enjoyed seeing you let your
hair down for a change. Especially when you went on stage and grabbed the microphone.’

I gazed at her horrified. ‘No.’

‘Mm,’ she nodded through a mouthful of toast. ‘Thanked everyone for coming. And then asked if we’d like to hear “Climb Every
Mountain”, but Sam wrestled you from the stage.’

‘Oh, God,’ I whispered, appalled, sinking my forehead into my hands. I had no recollection of that. Odd. Huge memory losses
in some areas and wild hallucinations about buttocks in others. What was in those glasses? What
was
schnapps? It shouldn’t be allowed.

‘And whatever you do, you mustn’t think the whole village is laughing at you over that man.’

‘Are they?’ I yelped, jerking my head up.

‘No, of course not. That’s what I came to tell you. I knew you’d be feeling wretched – and of course I’ve been there myself,
made a bit of a fool of myself in that department – so I came to say you absolutely mustn’t worry.’

‘Yes, but you cornered him in his kitchen and stuck a rose between your teeth,’ I said testily. ‘I didn’t do that.’

‘Well, you cornered him in the downstairs loo.’

‘No!’

‘We thought you’d passed out in there and Sam went to find you. You bundled him in and locked the door. He had to stop you
swallowing the key.’

I got up, horrified. Stared out of the window at the back garden. Then I swung back to her. ‘Oh God, I was thinking of moving
to Clapham, but that’s not far enough,’ I whispered. ‘It’ll have to be Sydney.’

‘That’s where Simon’s going, apparently,’ she said conversationally, as if we were discussing popping to Ikea. ‘Jennie had
a long chat last night. He’s been offered a job, wants to make a fresh start. Getting a divorce too.’

Angie had clearly done the rounds this morning.

‘I’ll look into flights,’ I muttered, tottering across to the computer. Ryanair. Quite testing at any time. Particularly now.
On second thoughts … I felt my way back to the table, holding on to the furniture.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, everyone drops a bollock now and again. It’s very refreshing. Can’t bear those who don’t, actually. Pious
twats. And he
is
very attractive, Poppy, it’s not your fault.’

‘Whose fault is it, then?’

‘God’s,’ she said firmly, after a pause. ‘He’s no business making men like that. Tom’s back,’ she said, apropos, clearly,
of attractive men. She reddened. ‘Or at least, he was last night. Whether or not he’s still there now is another matter. Perhaps
I shouldn’t have given in so easily.’ She looked at me anxiously. Ah. So that’s what this was all about. Ashamed of her own
behaviour, she’d come round wanting to remind me
of mine. But why should she be ashamed of sleeping with her husband?

I voiced this and she gripped my wrist across the table. ‘D’you really think so? I felt so cheap this morning, such a pushover,
so I slipped out to see you and Jennie. Didn’t want to seem un-busy. Told him I was going out for lunch, in fact.’

Hence the pink suit. ‘Leaving him doing what?’

‘Well, kicking his heels at home for a bit, then going back to his cottage, I suppose. Thinking how horrid and poky it is,
hopefully.’

I sighed. ‘Angie, he wouldn’t be back if he didn’t mean it.’

‘You don’t think?’

‘Of course not. It’s too public. For God’s sake, go home. He’s the one that’s made a fool of himself, not you. If you’re quick
he’ll still be there, and if I were you I’d sit down at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee and some Hobnobs and iron a
few things out. Then book a holiday.’

She gave this some thought. After a bit she got slowly to her feet, replacing the chain of her Chanel bag on her shoulder.
‘Maybe you’re right. D’you know, you’re quite wise, sometimes, Poppy.’ She peered at me, surprised.

‘It’s always easy to be wise about someone else’s life,’ I told her gloomily.

‘Ain’t that the truth,’ she agreed. Then she hesitated. ‘And I’m sorry I came round to, you know … ’

‘Gloat.’

‘You didn’t really lock him in the loo.’

‘Didn’t I?’ I breathed, relieved.

‘Nah. Just chased him down the corridor. You know how these things get exaggerated.’ She grinned.

I tried to grin back but my muscles wouldn’t quite make it.
Angie gave me a quick kiss before exiting, rather speedily, through my back door.

Later that day I ventured to the shop for bread. One or two people smiled knowingly at me in the village. I smiled thinly
back. Someone even hummed ‘Edelweiss’ behind me in the queue for the post office. I wondered if this was a family thing? That
just as my father thought he was Elvis whilst under the influence, I became Julie Andrews. Interesting. A psychologist would
have a field day. Perhaps even suggest a nunnery. And wouldn’t a habit be handy? To hide behind? I tiptoed home.

Three days later I got a message via email from Janice.

I cringed, toes curling in my trainers.

Away. I got up quickly from the computer. Well, obviously he was, miles away, if he had any sense. What papers, I wondered.
I gazed above the screen to where the patch of damp had spread across the wall, flaking the paint. I picked at a bit and a
whole sheet came off in my fingers. I could fix that now, of course. Easily. Build a new wall. Not that the thought afforded
much pleasure.

On the appointed morning, Jennie had the children for
me and I duly drove into town. The first snowflakes of the year were falling, swirling down onto my windscreen, melting softly
on impact. November. Soon it would be Christmas, my first one alone, I realized. I swept the snow away efficiently with the
wipers, wishing I could swipe away so much else. Start again. With a heavy heart I parked, put my head down against the gathering
blizzard and with a bitter wind sneaking around my neck, trudged up the high street in my old brown coat. Pushing open the
familiar door I realized I hadn’t accounted for this: hadn’t factored in the memory of this place causing melancholy to sneak
over my soul, a lump to form in my throat as I mounted the stairs. I wondered if I’d need oxygen when I finally achieved reception.
Or a hanky? Instead I plastered on a smile and handed my plant to Janice, hoping this wouldn’t take long.