‘Thanks, but I think Frankie will be fine if you’d just keep a weather eye. Lob some fresh fruit over the fence every now and then.’
It occurred to me that a few weeks ago Jennie would never have trusted Frankie to look after the younger ones. They must have had a very good chat.
‘And what about you?’ She eyed me speculatively. I flinched. I knew that look. Once Jennie had sorted out her own life there was nothing she liked more than getting to grips with someone else’s. I wriggled under her laser beam but was trapped, like a moth on a microscope slide. ‘I thought you were going out last night? How come you were still skulking in your dressing gown when we burst in like the Addams Family?’
‘Ah. Well.’ I told her about Luke. About Angie. Then about Peggy.
She looked thoughtful a moment. Compressed her lips. ‘Bit of a knee-jerk reaction?’
‘What, mine?’
‘Well, yes. Angie casually mentions you haven’t exactly been left destitute, and suddenly his motives are all wrong and he’s a gold-digging fortune-hunter and you drop him like a hot coal.’
‘Well –’
‘You’re not exactly Jackie Onassis, Poppy.’
I flushed, remembering I’d compared myself to the very same woman last night. ‘No, of course not.’
‘You’ve just been left enough to buy a decent house and educate your kids, which the widow of any professional man who’s built up a business might expect. Luke could have worked that out for himself. And you’ve still got two children, as he rightly observed to Angie. Still come with baggage.’
I stared at her. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying you’re leaping to conclusions, courtesy of Peggy, who only thinks in black and white. Roger was the love of her life, ergo there will never be another. End of story. So she gads about teasing the elderly bachelors but will never bring herself to land one. Is that what you want?’
I sat down slowly. ‘Well, put like that …’
‘Life is not black and white, Poppy, it’s very grey, to the point of being grimy. There’s a great deal of compromise and shading of areas – ask me and Dan. Just because you went so wildly wrong with Phil, doesn’t mean all men are shits and you’re going to go disastrously wrong again.’
I gasped. ‘Did you have a glass to the wall?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, that’s what I think! What I told Peggy – that I will go wrong!’
‘I know, I can tell. And Peggy’s encouraging you to be forensic, to settle for nothing but perfection. She would. She’s all or nothing. Which is fine if you’re happy with nothing. Personally I like a little something.’ She crossed her legs.
I gulped, horribly confused. ‘Oh God. Oh God, I don’t know, Jennie!’ I wailed, shooting anguished fingers through my hair. I clutched at the roots. ‘When I talk to Peggy, I think – yes yes yes; and when I talk to you, I think – yes yes yes too! Why is that?’
‘Because you’re suggestible, like my husband,’ she said calmly. ‘Not a sheep, exactly –’
‘Oh, thanks!’
‘But very persuadable.’ She brushed an imaginary bit of fluff from her knee, warming up nicely. ‘It’s terribly simple really. Do you like him?’
‘Who, Luke?’
‘Yes of course Luke, not Dan. Although you’re more than welcome to him.’
‘Um, yes.’ I bit my thumbnail.
‘Enjoy his company? Enjoy spending time with him?’
I thought back to the pub lunch we’d shared: how he’d flipped beer mats to amuse Clemmie. Made me burst out laughing at the King’s Head.
‘Yes, I enjoy his company.’
‘Enjoyed kissing him outside your house the other day?’
I stared. ‘Bog off, Jennie,’ I muttered, blushing.
‘Do you love him?’
‘No. I mean … I don’t know.’
‘Exactly, of course you don’t! And why should you? You’ve only known him a few weeks. But give it a chance, Poppy,’ she urged. ‘You don’t have to decide tomorrow, or next week, or even next year, but how will you know if you don’t at least give it a chance? And if you’re worried about the money thing, just ask him.’
‘Oh, right, like – Luke, are you after my dosh?’
‘No, but you could happen to mention how Angie exaggerates like crazy – which she does – and has told half the village you’re rich as Croesus. Laugh it off.’
Half the village. I thought of Odd Bob propositioning me. Stalking me, even. Saintly Sue telling me she couldn’t compete with me in That Department.
‘Oh, Christ. Thanks, Angie,’ I muttered.
‘He’ll know that’s true, about Angie exaggerating, and you