A Rural Affair

‘It’s very simple, love.’

‘Don’t –’ she shut her eyes for a long moment – ‘call me love.’

‘I had a rather hot vindaloo at lunchtime in Leeds, and perhaps a few too many beers with Ken from marketing – you know how he overdoes it – and then, on the way home, I experienced a spot of turbulence.’

‘Trains don’t do turbulence, Dan. You’re not on a bloody jumbo.’

‘No, I meant internally.’

His wife stared, uncomprehending.

‘I had an overconfident fart and soiled myself.’

There was an appalled silence.

‘Yes, so I went to the lavatory,’ Dan ploughed on heroically, ‘to sort myself out, and since my trousers and pants were beyond the pale, I threw them out of the window, sensibly having brought my overnight case in with me; except when I opened it, I realized I’d brought your case instead. Happily, though, you’d left an old jumper inside. Wasn’t that lucky? Otherwise I’d have been in real trouble.’

‘There’s nothing lucky about you, Dan, and trouble barely covers it.’ She seethed, fists clenched, simmering with rage. ‘You stupid, stupid man. Look at you, trussed up like a bloody fairy, and all because you can’t be bothered to check you’ve got the right case in the morning. Too busy lying in bed leaving everything to the last minute. Why are you such a git, Dan? Why? You’re like my fourth bloody child; it’s pathetic. And why d’you have to have a drink every lunchtime, hm? Why is that such an imperative? Why do you find it completely and utterly impossible to walk past a hostelry without –’ Suddenly she froze. ‘Get in,’ she said through gritted teeth, lips frozen like a ventriloquist’s. ‘Mrs Mason’s watching. Get in Poppy’s car now.’

Dan’s head swivelled, then, needing no further prompting, he leaped in my car, where Clemmie and Archie sat in the back, mute for once, eyes like saucers. Mrs Mason, from Apple Tree Cottage, a wizened, tortoise-like woman, here to collect Mr Mason from the six twenty-five and ferry him back home for his liver and bacon, was indeed staring incredulously from her Polo window, her own eyes round like the children’s, but more the size of dinner plates. Jennie, looking fit to be tied, gave her a tight little smile then turned on her heel and stalked, with dignity, in the opposite direction, towards the station car park, and the other car.

‘Shit. Keys.’ Dan leaped out of my passenger seat and sprinted after her, pink sweater bunched in his hand to stop it falling. He waved the car keys. ‘Darling … darling, you’ll be wanting these –’

Jennie turned and thrust a bunch of keys in his face. ‘I’ve got the spare keys, Dan. I thought of that before I left the house. Now stop running around the station like a girl and get back in that car, now.’

‘Righto.’ He sprinted back to me. By now I was choking into the steering wheel as he got in beside me.

‘Thanks, Poppy.’ He sighed.

‘My pleasure,’ I gurgled.

‘These things happen, don’t they?’

‘They certainly seem to. To you, at least.’

‘Not my finest hour.’

‘Nope,’ I agreed cheerfully.

He leaned his head back wearily on the rest as we pulled away, pink legs akimbo. Then he cocked his head in my direction, his blue eyes resigned. ‘Divorce? D’you think? This time?’

‘Oh, undoubtedly, Dan,’ I assured him with a grin as we sped off home and the sodden fields flashed past. ‘This time, undoubtedly.’

10

‘Forster,’ Angie was saying importantly, pencil poised over her notepad. Her skinny knees in black opaque tights were crossed and protruding from a very short grey skirt. She pulled her skirt down a bit.

‘Who?’ asked Peggy.

‘You know, E. M. Forster.’

‘Is that Foster in a posh voice?’

‘No, it’s got an r in it. Something like Howards End.’

‘Sounds promising,’ mused Peggy. ‘Who was Howard? And what was so special about his end?’

‘It’s a house, Peggy. That’s the name of the book.’

‘Oh, a house. Oh no, I don’t think so, do you? We might as well read Ideal Home. Tell