I didn’t, really. Well, OK, I might have been a bit piqued that he’d spent so much time flirting and amusing her, but no more than that. ‘I’m seeing him on Tuesday, anyway,’ I assured her. I hated disappointing my friends.
‘Are you?’ She brightened, as I knew she would. ‘Oh,
‘You sound like someone’s mother, Jennie.’
‘I am someone’s mother.’
‘Yes, but not mine.’ I smiled.
‘Fair comment.’ She paused. ‘Probably just humouring Sue last night, then?’
‘Most probably,’ I conceded, although privately I thought the giggling I’d heard behind the azalea bush in Angie’s front garden as I’d left the party might have been more than humouring.
‘Simon was on good form,’ I said conversationally, but not without a parrying thrust. A touch of touche.
‘Yes, he was, wasn’t he?’ she said lightly. ‘Although not with me.’
‘He was busy catching up with the Armitages, Jennie,’ I said, instantly regretting the parry.
‘You don’t have to placate me, Poppy. I’m married, remember? I’ve got my Toad.’ She grinned. ‘My life is complete. You’re the one that needs a man.’
She knelt and resumed her digging, humming to herself, which she didn’t do. I mean, years ago we all did; sing, even, but not recently. There was a strange contentment to her too, as she chivvied those weeds, which was as alien as the horticulture. I went distractedly up my path with the children. Something about Jennie and Simon’s behaviour last night had alerted me; the way they rather pointedly didn’t linger in each other’s company. It was as if, in private time, some modus operandi had been arrived at. As if they were beyond seeking each another out at a party and having tongues wag. Had some decision been made, I wondered nervously? I wasn’t sure. One thing I did know, though, was that the more I encountered Simon, the more I liked him. We’d had a good chat at Angie’s, and amongst other things he’d said how outrageous it was that the bus route from the village was in danger, and that for some old people it was their only independent way into town; they didn’t want to rely on lifts. Said it was the first thing he was going to tackle if he was elected, that and the threatened closure of the post office, which he was tackling anyway, elected or not. He was taking a petition round all the villages affected. Yes, a decent man. A sensible one too. Which Dan wasn’t always, I thought uncomfortably.
‘Where are you going, anyway?’ I heard her voice as I put my key in my door.
I turned. ‘Inside.’
‘No, with Luke?’
‘Oh. The King’s Head.’
Jennie looked astonished. Then delighted. She sat back on her heels on the grass. ‘Oh! How lovely!’
I too had been surprised when Luke had rung that morning, to change the venue.
‘Um, I know I said lunch in London, Poppy, but I’ve been thinking. What about dinner instead? At the King’s Head?’
The King’s Head was a fearfully expensive restaurant down by the river on the other side of the vale. It was very much London prices and fancied itself hugely; in fact it may even have been equipped with some Michelin stars. It was quite a number and not what I’d been expecting. On the other hand, I didn’t have to trek to London and pretend I’d been having a lovely time in Sloane Street, shimmying in and out of outfits, which, in my present mood, I was secretly dreading. I dreaded a lot at the moment. Wasn’t sure I had the heart any for any of this. Luke must have felt me hesitate.
‘I’d so love it if you said yes, Poppy. Please come,’ he said urgently.
It was a long time since anyone had insisted on a date with me, urgently or otherwise, and the King’s Head was a treat. I’d only been there once, on Phil’s birthday, and yes, obviously his mother and sister had come too. I rallied and agreed.
Tuesday night at eight, then, with Felicity, Angie’s daughter home for half term, babysitting, I made my way down the lanes across country, having elected to drive myself and maintain some independence. The hedgerows shivered darkly in the breeze, shaking themselves dry after the rain, the fields behind them damp and browned off for the winter. It was a beautiful soft autumn evening and I was tempted to just drive on up to the Beacon and sit in the car, watch the stars gather over the wide flat valley floor below, such a treat it was to be out of the house at night, no children. I knew the rules, though, and dutifully turned left where the lane plunged through the wood to Cumpton, then swung round the corner and under the arch of the pretty white inn, clad in dazzling red Virginia creeper, to the car park.
Luke was already in the dining room when I arrived: a good sign, I felt. I’d relied a lot on signs recently. I crossed the room to his table in the corner, remembering to hold my tummy in.
‘Poppy!’ He stood up, one hand holding the bottom of his tie. ‘How lovely. You look amazing.’ We exchanged a peck.
