to me it might even be a relief. It was quite an epiphany.
I quietly replaced the receiver. The phone sat on the dresser, which was antique pine and rather old hat in these days of space-age designer kitchens, but I still liked it. Still liked the blue and white Asiatic Pheasant plates that ranged across it, a collection I’d made over the years, piece by piece. What I didn’t like, I realized, was the toby jug that sat in the middle of the top shelf. Phil had bought it on a trip to Yorkshire years ago: an ugly old man, his belly the swell of the jug. He’d placed it there, in pole position, and since everything else on the dresser had been chosen by me, I hadn’t had the heart to protest; so it had stayed. It had been there so long I’d almost forgotten it was there, or that I disliked it. Which was how things took root, wasn’t it? Accommodated out of a sense of duty, one becomes accustomed to them, and thus a permanence is achieved. I reached up for the jug, took it to the kitchen bin and dropped it in. The bin was empty, so it smashed, rather satisfyingly, on the bottom. Then I went back to the dresser and picked up the phone.
He’d have gone to some trouble, I knew: buying ingredients, concocting something really rather delicious, poring over cookery books – perhaps casting around for advice, ringing his sister even. Still, it couldn’t be helped. And better now than later. Because later, who’s to say I’d have the nerve? Who’s to say I wouldn’t paper over this crack, as I’d papered over many others in my time? Have it explained away as a nothing, when I knew, in my heart, it was a something?
He answered breezily; a little harassed perhaps, not relishing the phone ringing in the middle of his culinary devotions.
‘Hello?’
The walls of my throat had closed up a little. ‘Hi, Luke, it’s Poppy.’
‘Poppy, hi! You just caught me shelling the prawns. To tell you the truth I had no idea they came with their coats on; had to consult Delia on how to disrobe them. Slippery little devils, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, I suppose. Although actually you can buy them already shelled. Um, Luke, I’m terribly sorry, I’m not going to be able to make it tonight.’
There was a silence. When his voice came, he sounded crestfallen. ‘Oh no, what a shame. Why not?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not feeling too good.’
‘Really? Oh dear, what’s wrong?’ He was doing his best to hide his disappointment and sound concerned, but his voice had an edge to it.
‘I’m not sure. Sorry, Luke.’
My brevity wrong-footed him. There was a silence. Then he rallied. ‘Oh well, never mind. I expect I can freeze it. Sure you won’t change your mind?’
‘Quite sure, thanks.’ I realized I needed to get off the phone now. Before I said something I regretted. I realized I was furious.
‘Let’s get together soon, eh? I’ll ring you when you’re feeling better.’
‘I’m sure I’ll see you around.’
Luke wasn’t stupid. Far from it. Very astute, in fact, and he recognized the finality in that. Recognized too that I wasn’t even inventing a malaise – complaining of a tummy upset, a headache, saying a child was ill – and I wondered, for a brief moment, if he knew the real reason I was cancelling. No. How could he? But as we said goodbye, he did sound slightly shaken.
I, however, felt completely bloody marvellous. I was fizzing with fury but, boy, it felt terrific. I bustled around my kitchen like a whirling dervish, sweeping toys from the floor in armfuls, rescuing a Lego man from the vegetable basket, flinging yesterday’s paper in the recycling bin, wiping down surfaces, getting behind things I’d never got behind before. Then I seized the mop and gave my terracotta tiles the sloshing of their life. And once the superficiality had been achieved, I went for the profound. Thus Peggy found me, five minutes later, on my hands and knees, giving my Aga a jolly good seeing-to, wiping down the front for all I was worth: Jif in one hand, a new and very brutal Brillo Pad in the other.
‘Oh, hi, Peggy.’ I sat back on my heels. Gave her a dazzling smile.
‘Oh – I thought I was late,’ she said breathlessly, coming in on a blast of cold air in her mauve velvet coat. She shut the back door behind her. ‘How come you’re not dressed?’
‘I’m not going,’ I told her, opening the door of the cooler oven and disappearing with a wire brush. ‘Decided against it.’
‘Right,’ she said faintly. She was still out of breath and took a moment to watch me, bewildered. ‘Any particular reason?’
‘My oven needs cleaning,’ I told her, brushing furiously.
‘Oh.’
