‘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
