Catherine Alliott: A Rural Affair

Hence the pink suit. ‘Leaving him doing what?’

‘Well, kicking his heels at home for a bit, then going back to his cottage, I suppose. Thinking how horrid and poky it is, hopefully.’

I sighed. ‘Angie, he wouldn’t be back if he didn’t mean it.’

‘You don’t think?’

‘Of course not. It’s too public. For God’s sake, go home. He’s the one that’s made a fool of himself, not you. If you’re quick he’ll still be there, and if I were you I’d sit down at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee and some Hobnobs and iron a few things out. Then book a holiday.’

She gave this some thought. After a bit she got slowly to her feet, replacing the chain of her Chanel bag on her shoulder. ‘Maybe you’re right. D’you know, you’re quite wise, sometimes, Poppy.’ She peered at me, surprised.

‘It’s always easy to be wise about someone else’s life,’ I told her gloomily.

‘Ain’t that the truth,’ she agreed. Then she hesitated. ‘And I’m sorry I came round to, you know … ’

‘Gloat.’

‘You didn’t really lock him in the loo.’

‘Didn’t I?’ I breathed, relieved.

‘Nah. Just chased him down the corridor. You know how these things get exaggerated.’ She grinned.

I tried to grin back but my muscles wouldn’t quite make it. Angie gave me a quick kiss before exiting, rather speedily, through my back door.

Later that day I ventured to the shop for bread. One or two people smiled knowingly at me in the village. I smiled thinly back. Someone even hummed ‘Edelweiss’ behind me in the queue for the post office. I wondered if this was a family thing? That just as my father thought he was Elvis whilst under the influence, I became Julie Andrews. Interesting. A psychologist would have a field day. Perhaps even suggest a nunnery. And wouldn’t a habit be handy? To hide behind? I tiptoed home.

Three days later I got a message via email from Janice.

Dear Poppy,

I hope you and the children are well. I so enjoyed looking after them. And I hope you’re feeling better.

I cringed, toes curling in my trainers.

Sam has asked if you’d come in and sign some papers. He’s away this week, but doesn’t need to be here, apparently. I wondered if you could pop in tomorrow?

Away. I got up quickly from the computer. Well, obviously he was, miles away, if he had any sense. What papers, I wondered. I gazed above the screen to where the patch of damp had spread across the wall, flaking the paint. I picked at a bit and a whole sheet came off in my fingers. I could fix that now, of course. Easily. Build a new wall. Not that the thought afforded much pleasure.

On the appointed morning, Jennie had the children for me and I duly drove into town. The first snowflakes of the year were falling, swirling down onto my windscreen, melting softly on impact. November. Soon it would be Christmas, my first one alone, I realized. I swept the snow away efficiently with the wipers, wishing I could swipe away so much else. Start again. With a heavy heart I parked, put my head down against the gathering blizzard and with a bitter wind sneaking around my neck, trudged up the high street in my old brown coat. Pushing open the familiar door I realized I hadn’t accounted for this: hadn’t factored in the memory of this place causing melancholy to sneak over my soul, a lump to form in my throat as I mounted the stairs. I wondered if I’d need oxygen when I finally achieved reception. Or a hanky? Instead I plastered on a smile and handed my plant to Janice, hoping this wouldn’t take long.

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have.’ She took it, smiling.

‘Nonsense, it’s the least I can do. It was so kind of you and I didn’t even thank you at the time.’ Dad had obviously done that, when he’d belted up the stairs to spring the children from their beds, but still.

‘I got terribly drunk, as you probably heard.’ Bare-faced honesty, I’d decided, was the order of the day.

‘I heard you had quite a party.’ She grinned.

‘To be honest I don’t usually drink that much. My husband didn’t, you see, so the odd tipple I had was on a night out with the girls, which wasn’t that often.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s no excuse, I know, but whatever the hunt was serving that night surely went to my head.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t begin to drink one of those, let alone four or five as I gather you did. Go in, love, he’s waiting for you.’

I gaped, not at the four or five, but … ‘Waiting for me? I thought he was away?’

‘He was, but he’s back.’

Janice’s grin was widening. She was also ushering me across to his door; not exactly propelling me, but exhibiting the same sort of enthusiasm she had when she’d shooed me down to the party the other night, so that before I had time to think about it I was in his room, the door shutting behind me. I do remember wishing I hadn’t got my old coat and boots on, and that my hair wasn’t slicked quite so damply to my head.

Sam wasn’t in a suit at his desk, he was over by the window with his back to me. He was wearing a dark red jersey and jeans, looking impossibly young and handsome even from behind. My heart was beating fast.

‘Hello.’ He turned. Smiled.

‘Hello. You’re not supposed to be here.’

‘I know. But I didn’t know how else to see you. And since I’m your solicitor, I thought a few papers to be signed in my absence might be just the ticket. Wasn’t sure you’d come in so readily if you knew I was here. Thought you might be embarrassed.’

‘There are no papers?’

‘No papers. Or at least – not yet. There may be later, to do with getting rid of me.’ He shrugged. ‘Depending on how you feel.’

‘Getting rid of you? Why would I want to do that?’

‘Oh … a number of reasons.’ He looked hesitant a moment. Surprisingly unsure of himself. He crossed to his desk, walking around it, trailing his fingers on the green leather, eyes down. When he finally raised them, they were heavy with something I couldn’t quite place. He gazed at me a long moment, appraisingly. Then massaged the blotter with a frenzied fingertip.

‘I’d forgotten. You are … very lovely, Poppy.’

I felt the breath rush out of me. Not what I was expecting at all. I waited, every nerve strained, every sinew tightening. But then he did an extraordinary thing. He continued around his desk to his chair and sat, which left me standing on the other side. I was dumbfounded. Surely after such a sentence, baffling or otherwise, a tumble towards each other, arms outstretched, was pretty much mandatory? Had I misheard? Had he perhaps said, ‘You are very lonely, Poppy’? Ipso facto a loser? No, I was sure he hadn’t. Nonetheless I couldn’t stand in front of his desk like a fourth former, so I sat, in my usual chair, heart pounding. He sat too, in silent contemplation, it seemed, of his blotter, which he drummed lightly with his fingers. It was as if we were miles away from each other, and not just geographically; not just the vast leather-topped desk between us. The air seemed heavy with portent.

‘Sorry about the other night,’ I blurted, the first to blink. ‘Getting so pissed and everything, chasing you down corridors. Singing. I don’t remember much about it, to be honest. I don’t drink a great deal and I clearly overdid it.’

He looked up and smiled; it reached his eyes. He sat back in his chair and looked at me properly, still retaining the crinkly eyes. ‘I liked it.’

‘You did?’

‘Yes, I hoped it was in vino veritas . Some indication of how you felt. It’s certainly how I’ve been feeling, although obviously I couldn’t express it.’

‘Obviously,’ I whispered, thinking: why not? Why? In some senses this was hugely encouraging, but … was there another wife, I wondered wildly? Not just the one? Would number two spring from that cupboard by the door any minute now, head to toe in Chanel?