Looking a bit temporary and as if he might well be on his way, Luke Chambers turned, halfway down my front path. He was wearing a pair of old Levis, a white T-shirt and a bright blue V-necked jumper. It wasn’t a bad look. He flashed me a smile, raked his hand through his blond hair and bounced back up the path.
‘Poppy, hi! What kept you? Were you enthroned or something? Compromised in the smallest room? I was about to give up on you and go and do some solitary drinking.’
‘Sorry. Archie was crying. Couldn’t hear the bell.’ Couldn’t raise a smile, either.
‘Oh, right.’ He hesitated, unnerved perhaps by my deadpan expression. And I hadn’t asked him in.
‘Yeah, well, I might not have pressed it hard enough, one never quite knows if it rings louder inside than out.’ He licked his lips as I didn’t reply. ‘Um, Poppy,’ he ploughed on, perhaps a mite nervously for him, ‘I wondered if you and the kids would like to have some lunch? Only I was going to go across to the Rose and Crown to grab a ploughman’s, and they don’t mind children, apparently, I’ve checked. As long as it’s in the saloon bar and not the public one. Oh, and they do a kids’ menu too, if a ploughman’s doesn’t appeal, nuggets and chips.’ It was said eagerly, nicely. Albeit in something of a rush. Rather as my words had tumbled out on the phone just now: the voice of someone who gives a damn.
I considered his offer. Another reason I’d sped out of the church via the side door with Jennie was to avoid Luke, who I knew would be looking for me after the service. It was a plan I’d hatched well before I knew the identity of the bride and groom. You see, I wasn’t sure I was ready for him. For the determined campaign I sensed he was about to wage on me, the steady romantic advance. I knew I was capable of falling for his ardour should he turn up the flame, which he appeared to be doing: this nice young man with his megawatt smile, his floppy blond hair and blue eyes. Eyes, it seemed, only for me. But why was I looking so closely? So minutely? Being so forensic about this? Naturally I’d been badly bitten, but still.
All at once my cold little house, my bickering children, my aged eggs in the fridge for lunch didn’t appeal. And the warmth of the cosy pub opposite, with its open fire and yes, OK, all manner of interested locals, all sorts of gossiping tongues – did. Suddenly it was no contest.
I shored up a smile on my doorstep, the most brilliant I could muster under the circumstances. Felt it wobble only slightly.
‘Thank you, Luke. I’d love to.’
19
The book club was to be held at my house that week, to save me securing yet another babysitter, but, one by one, its members called to express regrets. Jennie was first, and she came right out with it.
‘I’m not coming on Tuesday, Poppy, because I haven’t read the book. I can’t get beyond the first chapter. Wikipedia said it was one of the most difficult books in the English language and I can believe it. I’ve started it six times and each time I’m lost, confused and asleep in moments. Sorry. It’s obviously far too cerebral for me.’
‘But I haven’t read it either, Jennie,’ I said nervously. ‘Don’t leave me. What am I supposed to do? It’s at my house. Won’t I have to chair it, or something?’
‘No, no, don’t worry, someone else will do that. Ask Angie; she’ll love it. Or even Angus – he’ll love it even more. Make him feel important.’
But Angus rang not long afterwards, to confide the details of some sudden and mysterious malaise.
‘Sorry, Poppy, old girl, but not sure I’m going to make it to this one. Got a bit of a jippy tummy. Oh – and this infernal tickly cough too. Kept me up all night.’ He gave a shining example of it down the phone, hacking beautifully.
‘OK, Angus, not to worry.’
‘Shame, because the book is um … terrific. You’ll let me know when you get back to the thrillers, though, won’t you? What about that Danish fellow, Stig something?’ Why was I suddenly responsible for the reading list?
‘Will do, Angus.’
‘And nice to see you enjoying a spot of lunch with young Luke the other day. He’s a lovely lad, isn’t he?’
I ground my teeth and said goodbye. Responsible for the reading list, and also engaged.
Saintly Sue was next, in a bit of a huff.
‘It’s just not my sort of book, Poppy.’ As if it were mine! ‘So I’m afraid I won’t be coming. I know I suggested we read something a bit more thought-provoking, but I meant something contemporary, something Booker Prize-ish. This is like wading through quicksand. And it’s all very well flinging these heavy classics at us, but some people have got full-time jobs as well. We don’t want to come home to yet more work.’
