and put the car away. I could hear her voice on the phone now: ‘Oh no, Poppy, he was just genuinely concerned about you, about how you were going to cope, that’s all! After all, he is in finance and he probably wondered if you needed advice.’ Yes, that would be it.
When Archie’s eyes closed I laid him down; went back downstairs to the kitchen and rang Angie’s land line. But as it rang and rang, and just as I was about to try her mobile, a funny thing happened. Suddenly I wasn’t sure I wanted her reassurances, didn’t want to hear her falling over herself to assure me that I’d taken it the wrong way. I didn’t want any damage limitation, because, it occurred to me, I didn’t particularly want a reason to believe. Would be very happy without one. In fact it seemed to me it might even be a relief. It was quite an epiphany.
I quietly replaced the receiver. The phone sat on the dresser, which was antique pine and rather old hat in these days of space-age designer kitchens, but I still liked it. Still liked the blue and white Asiatic Pheasant plates that ranged across it, a collection I’d made over the years, piece by piece. What I didn’t like, I realized, was the toby jug that sat in the middle of the top shelf. Phil had bought it on a trip to Yorkshire years ago: an ugly old man, his belly the swell of the jug. He’d placed it there, in pole position, and since everything else on the dresser had been chosen by me, I hadn’t had the heart to protest; so it had stayed. It had been there so long I’d almost forgotten it was there, or that I disliked it. Which was how things took root, wasn’t it? Accommodated out of a sense of duty, one becomes accustomed to them, and thus a permanence is achieved. I reached up for the jug, took it to the kitchen bin and dropped it in. The bin was empty, so it smashed, rather satisfyingly, on the bottom. Then I went back to the dresser and picked up the phone.
He’d have gone to some trouble, I knew: buying ingredients, concocting something really rather delicious, poring over cookery books – perhaps casting around for advice, ringing his sister even. Still, it couldn’t be helped. And better now than later. Because later, who’s to say I’d have the nerve? Who’s to say I wouldn’t paper over this crack, as I’d papered over many others in my time? Have it explained away as a nothing, when I knew, in my heart, it was a something?
He answered breezily; a little harassed perhaps, not relishing the phone ringing in the middle of his culinary devotions.
‘Hello?’
The walls of my throat had closed up a little. ‘Hi, Luke, it’s Poppy.’
‘Poppy, hi! You just caught me shelling the prawns. To tell you the truth I had no idea they came with their coats on; had to consult Delia on how to disrobe them. Slippery little devils, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, I suppose. Although actually you can buy them already shelled. Um, Luke, I’m terribly sorry, I’m not going to be able to make it tonight.’
There was a silence. When his voice came, he sounded crestfallen. ‘Oh no, what a shame. Why not?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not feeling too good.’
‘Really? Oh dear, what’s wrong?’ He was doing his best to hide his disappointment and sound concerned, but his voice had an edge to it.
‘I’m not sure. Sorry, Luke.’
My brevity wrong-footed him. There was a silence. Then he rallied. ‘Oh well, never mind. I expect I can freeze it. Sure you won’t change your mind?’
‘Quite sure, thanks.’ I realized I needed to get off the phone now. Before I said something I regretted. I realized I was furious.
‘Let’s get together soon, eh? I’ll ring you when you’re feeling better.’
‘I’m sure I’ll see you around.’
Luke wasn’t stupid. Far from it. Very astute, in fact, and he recognized the finality in that. Recognized too that I wasn’t even inventing a malaise – complaining of a tummy upset, a headache, saying a child was ill – and I wondered, for a brief moment, if he knew the real reason I was cancelling. No. How could he? But as we said goodbye, he did sound slightly shaken.
I, however, felt completely bloody marvellous. I was fizzing with fury but, boy, it felt terrific. I bustled around my kitchen like a whirling dervish, sweeping