Will You Remember Me? (25 page)

‘I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. Come with me. I do hope you like it!’ Claudia clasped her hands under her chin.

Poppy let Claudia hook her arm under hers and steer her to the back of the hall. There, in the middle of the square table, sitting on a silver plinth atop a pristine white cloth, was the most extraordinary cake she had ever seen.

It had three tiers – the bottom was dark chocolate, the middle milk chocolate and the top white chocolate – and the surfaces of all three were blemish-free and glossy. Each tier was decorated with chocolate shapes: white chocolate on the bottom, milk on the top and dark in the middle. It looked shiny and inviting, far too nice to cut. Not for the first time, Poppy lamented the state of her taste buds.

A chocolate flag stood proudly on the top, with ‘Love and Luck’ written inside the most beautiful scroll; her nan’s mantra. Poppy was touched that Claudia had remembered. At first she thought each tier was adorned with a coordinating ribbon, but these were in fact also made of chocolate. How the edges had been made that sharp and the lines so perfect, she had no idea.

‘Look at the shapes,’ Claudia urged.

Poppy peered more closely and saw that what at first had looked like discs were in fact images. There were silhouettes of Peg and Max, regimental medals that Martin had been awarded, the REME insignia, tiny images of Stonehenge and even a quill and ink bottle to represent the time she’d spent masquerading as a journalist. Some also carried the date.

‘Oh, Claudia! It’s beautiful. It really is. I don’t know what to say, but thank you!’

‘It’s from Plum Patisserie, all the way from Mayfair!’

Poppy had of course seen their pictures in magazines and read the articles, but she never thought in a million years that she would have one of her very own. ‘Plum Patisserie! I feel like a bloody celebrity!’

Claudia nodded. ‘And so you should. I wanted only the best for you tonight.’ She beamed at Poppy’s reaction.

‘I can’t believe you did that for me, for us. It’s perfect.’ Poppy let her eyes rove over the balloons, ribbons and decorations. She saw Peg dancing alone under the glitter ball, swirling in a circle until she wobbled. ‘It’s all perfect.’

‘Poppy!’ Martin shouted from the door.

Poppy looked up as he beckoned her over. By his side she saw their dear friend Rob Gisby and his lovely wife.

‘You go and chat to everyone!’ Claudia urged before heading off to join hands with Peg under the glitter ball.

Poppy walked as quickly as she could over to where they stood. Rob had aged but was still smiley, with eyes that crinkled at the sides. His moustache had gone grey. She flung her arms around his neck and held him tight.

Rob patted her back. ‘Hello, Poppy Day. What have you been up to, girl?’

Poppy pulled away and saw the flicker of shock in Rob’s eyes. She knew she didn’t look well. Even tonight, with the mask of make-up and a liberal sprinkling of glitz and glamour, there was no denying that she was sick.

‘It’s so lovely to see you, Rob – to see you both.’ She kissed Moira on the cheek.

‘He loves you, Poppy Day. We wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’

Poppy smiled at Moira’s soft brogue, it was soothing.

‘And I love him, but don’t tell him, will you?’

Moira patted the side of her nose. ‘Shan’t say a word, hen.’

‘How are you feeling?’ Rob looked worried. Martin had obviously filled him in.

‘Tonight, Rob, I feel like a million dollars!’

‘And you look it too.’ He smiled.

Poppy laughed. ‘You never could lie to me, but thank you anyway. Are we dancing later?’

‘You bet.’ Rob rubbed his hands together at the prospect.

‘Hope you’ve got plasters for where he’ll tread on your toes!’ Moira added as she and Rob walked towards the bar.

Martin snaked his arm around Poppy’s waist and pulled her towards him. ‘Isn’t this brilliant?’

‘It really is.’

‘I love you, Mrs Cricket.’

‘I love you, Mr Cricket.’

They kissed – to the sound of retching from Peg, who rolled her eyes in their direction and mimed being sick.

‘Aaaaagh! Oh my God!’ Jo screamed as she walked in. ‘This looks awesome! And look at Peg and Max!’ She pointed at the kids, who were now chasing each other around the dance floor.

‘You look gorgeous.’ Poppy hugged her mate, who was vampish in her red lipstick and black satin dress that skimmed her hips and clung in all the right places.

‘Oh, I don’t know about that!’ Jo shook her head, sending clusters of dark curls cascading over her shoulders.

‘Why are we so bad at taking compliments?’ Poppy wondered.

‘She’s right, Jo. You look fabulous,’ Martin chipped in. ‘Danny must be mad.’ Poppy raised her eyebrows in his direction.

Jo squealed, pivoted on her high heels and sauntered off to the bar, where a group of Martin and Danny’s mates stood clutching their pints and admiring the woman walking towards them. She turned to look back at Poppy and bit her bottom lip, her confidence fading.

Poppy made a shooing motion with her palm. ‘It’ll do her good to get chatted up a bit,’ she said to her husband from the side of her mouth.

Jenna and Ryan were late arrivals. He looked decidedly uncomfortable. Poppy noted the twitch of his fingers and the sweat that sat in little beads on his upper lip. Strange how he wasn’t nearly so cocky when faced with at least thirty blokes who all earned their living from ‘playing soldiers’. It made Martin smile. Jenna had made an effort and dazzled in her floaty silver tunic and matching silver heels. Her hair was wild and her red lipstick gave her whole outfit a lift. Poppy grinned at the sight of her mate looking much more like she used to, spirited and ready to take on the world.

The music played and people danced; beer flowed and food was eaten amid squeals of laughter and the babble of conversation. Martin accepted the many drinks offered to him, until he sported his soppy beer grin and swayed whenever he was stationary.

Poppy felt exhausted. It was only nine o’clock, but she was struggling, fighting the waves of fatigue that washed over her. She was determined to stay until the end. She nipped into the loo and popped two painkillers on her tongue.

‘Please, just give me a break tonight.’ She stared at her reflection and pleaded with the nasty cells, hoping they might stop pedalling, just until she could get home to bed. She wanted at least one dance with her husband.

The loo in the cubicle flushed and Moira walked out, adjusting her bosom inside her black velvet coatdress.

‘Are you okay, hen?’

Poppy wondered if she had heard her plea. ‘I’m tired, Moira, really tired. I just wish I had a bit more energy.’

Moira rubbed the soap between her palms into a lather and rinsed her fingers under the hot tap. Poppy handed her a paper towel.

‘Thanks. You know, Poppy, I think you are amazing. I always have.’

‘I don’t know about that, but thanks, Moira.’ She looked at the floor, unable to take her own advice on accepting a compliment.

‘What can we do to help you? Anything at all?’ Moira’s concern was genuine and touching.

‘Nothing, I’m afraid. Nothing at all. I’m just so glad you came.’

Jo burst into the loo. ‘I’ve found her! Here she is!’ She swayed slightly and her voice was loud. The Bacardi Breezers were obviously kicking in.

Jo held Poppy’s shoulders and steered her back into the hall to shouts and claps. Poppy hadn’t known she was being looked for.

Martin stood on the stage and held the microphone in his hand. ‘Can you come here, Poppy?’

‘Oh God, he’s not going to sing, is he?’ She laughed along with their guests as she made her way to the narrow steps that led up to where he stood.

Poppy gripped the handrail, taking each step slowly, one by one. Martin saw she was having difficulty and indicated to Rob, who handed him up a chair. He placed it next to him and led his wife by the hand until she sat, looking out at the sea of faces, their family and friends. Claudia stood at the front with Max on her hip and Peg leaning against her. Poppy gave Peg a little wave.

Martin tapped the microphone, making it whistle, before bringing it up to his mouth. ‘Blimey, I’m not very good at speeches.’ He stuck his fingers in his collar and pulled it to release imaginary steam.

‘Get on with it!’ one of his colleagues yelled from the bar.

‘Yeah, thanks, mate, I will.’ Everyone laughed.

‘It’s been… it’s been a bit of a year since I got back from tour.’ Martin swallowed and raised his eyes to the crowd, who were absolutely silent. ‘I think it’s what you might describe as a real rollercoaster. I was trying to think about what I should say tonight and I realised that our whole lives have been a rollercoaster, ever since we were kids.’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘We seem to have lurched from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows, and back again. But we have always been happy, because we have each other. I didn’t know what the future held when I married Poppy all them years ago, but I knew we’d always be all right because we had the most important thing – a deep, unshakeable love.’

Poppy looked up at her husband and nodded.

Martin coughed and continued. ‘That love has been the glue that has kept us together, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, in sickness and in health.’

Martin paused and the sobs could be heard around the room; women and men alike, catching their breath and swiping at noses and eyes.

‘And I want you to know, Poppy Day, that I wouldn’t have changed a single thing.’

He bent down and kissed his wife on the lips.

‘So, ladies and gentlemen, would you please raise your glasses to my bride, my wife and my best friend – Poppy Day!’

Shouts of ‘Poppy Day!’ rippled around the room like a shockwave, followed by the chinking of glass and clapping.

The DJ turned up the volume and ‘We Are Family’ belted out of the speakers. As everyone had already abandoned their chairs and were now in close proximity to the dance floor, they danced. Martin and Poppy gazed at the crowd of smiling people, at their friends, loved ones and children, who were all bopping and singing and having a ball. It was perfect – exactly what they had both dreamt of.

Poppy turned to her husband. ‘Thank you, Mr Cricket.’

Martin bent down and kissed her.

They left the stage and Peg ran straight at her mum, holding her tightly around the middle.

Poppy hugged her back, laughing at the enormous tiara that sat majestically on her little girl’s head. ‘I love you, Peg.’

‘I know.’ She smiled up at her mum.

Martin grabbed Poppy around the waist and pulled her towards him, more roughly than she was used to being handled. She swallowed the nausea that rose from her stomach. It wasn’t his fault, this was how he used to hold her, pawing at her, before she became something delicate. In a way, she was glad that for tonight at least, one of them had forgotten that she was ill.

‘Here she is – my girl.’ He swung her round and crushed her to him. She tucked her lips in, trying not to inhale the beer fumes. ‘You look bloody gorgeous,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘How about we slope off to the loo and I help you kick off that frock?’

Poppy gave a false laugh. ‘Mart, I can’t. I don’t feel that good. I feel really sick and a bit wobbly.’

He let go of her and took a step backwards, looking embarrassed. ‘Of course, I knew that.’ He put his hands in his pockets and walked backwards into the crowd.

‘But we can still have our dance?’ she shouted as she lost sight of him. ‘Shit!’ she muttered under her breath.

She looked from left to right. Peg popped up in front of her, her cheeks flushed from jumping up and down.

‘Where’s Dad gone?’ Poppy asked. ‘I want to have our dance.’
And then I can go home.

Peg shrugged. ‘He might be drinking more beer and getting more drunk with his mates?’

Poppy laughed. ‘Yes, he might be. You go and see if he’s at the bar and I’ll check the loo.’

Peg dashed off through the crowd.

Poppy sauntered across the hall, looking cool and unhurried, successfully masking the fact that each step required monumental effort.

The male and female loos were adjacent to the entrance, either side of the cloakroom where everyone had stashed their coats and other items. Poppy shivered. With no meat on her bones, she felt the cold more than she ever had. Though it was warm in the hall, she wanted her pashmina.

Placing her hand on the panel of the door into the cloakroom, she noted the sticky fingerprints that were smudged on its shiny surface; it could do with a wipe over, she thought. She smiled at her cleaning obsession. She was still smiling when she pushed on the door and looked up. The first thing she saw was Jo’s hand, splayed against a dark suit jacket. Her smile widened – she’d been right!
You go, girl!

She noted Jo’s hair, falling sideways in a curtain, her head twisted to the side to avoid the nose of her beau, whose own head was bent at the opposite angle. Jo was stooping slightly in her heels; the man she was kissing was a couple of inches shorter than her. This information, these facts, hit Poppy’s brain in nano-seconds. It was in one more blink of an eye that Jo leapt back and put her hand over her mouth, and in that same blink of an eye, Poppy realised that the person Jo was kissing was Martin. The same Martin who had just publicly declared his love for her in front of all their friends and family.

She felt her legs buckle. The strength that she had conjured to get her through the evening finally evaporated as she slid down the door. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come.

Martin wheeled round and dropped to where she sat slumped on the floor. ‘Oh Christ, Poppy!’

‘Claudia…’ Poppy managed.

Jo stepped over them and ran from the hall.

Martin bent low. ‘It’s okay. I’ll go and get Claudia and we’ll get you home. It’s okay.’ His breath came fast and shallow.

Her words, when they came, were so quiet he had to put his ear to her mouth to hear. ‘Get your fucking hands off me.’

Claudia turned the heating up in the car. She could see that Poppy was shaking as she bundled her into the passenger seat. She clipped Max into his seat and settled Peg next to him.