side effects on a family, could last a hell of a lot longer. That hadn’t been grief; that had been shock. A very nasty one at that. I rang Dad and told him not to panic, I was fine, and knew he could tell by my voice I meant it. His relief was tangible and he rang off with a cheery goodbye and an assurance that he’d try not to come off the enormous chestnut hunter he was breaking in for somebody else to fall off on the hunting field.
In the mornings, after I’d taken Clemmie to school, I went for long bracing walks in the forest above my house, borrowing Leila, Archie’s hand in mine. The three of us would stride through the autumn leaves, Archie kicking them up in his wellies, laughing as colours as bright as jewels – amber, ruby and gold – fluttered down around his head. Just occasionally I’d stop, in this five-thousand-acre wood with not another soul in sight, to clench my fists and shout, ‘Bloody hell!’ to the treetops. ‘Bloody HELL!’ Archie laughed delightedly and they were, unfortunately, his next words. The burnished autumn colours seemed to inflame me more than ever, though, like that fire in my garden: fury was in my heart, my belly, and I’d return refreshed, but incensed. Truly incensed that Phil could have done that to me.
Thank God he was dead, I thought, surprisingly, one morning. At least, it was a surprise to me. I voiced it too, to the bird table, as I had a piece of toast at the kitchen window, then glanced guiltily to the heavens as two sparrows fluttered up to tell. But suppose he hadn’t died; suppose he’d carried on with Emma for years, deceiving me, making a mockery of my life – yes, thank God he was dead, I decided fiercely, throwing my plate in the dishwasher.
‘Thank God,’ repeated Archie gravely behind me, eating his Weetabix. Ah. I’d have to watch that.
The following day I saw Jennie in the shop as I went in for my paper. My newspaper. Which I hadn’t bought for weeks. Had had no interest in the outside world.
‘Choir tonight, isn’t it?’ I said cheerily.
A couple of elderly women in the post office queue turned, surprised.
‘Yes, seven o’clock. Oh, look at you, Poppy, you look so much better.’ Jennie beamed. ‘You’ve had your hair cut!’
‘Doesn’t she look a treat,’ agreed old Mrs Archibald, nudging her neighbour, Mrs Cripps, who agreed with a toothless grin. ‘Like the whole world has lifted from your shoulders, love.’
‘It has,’ I assured them, taking the apple Archie had grabbed from the fruit rack and passing it to Yvonne to be weighed. ‘In fact,’ I told them, ‘I feel blooming marvellous. Better than I’ve felt for years.’
If the old dears looked a trifle surprised at this, it was only to be expected, I thought, as I went on up the hill with my children to nursery: they didn’t know the minutiae, the background. Not many young widows could go from catatonic inertia to full-blown euphoria in days, but this one could. Oh, yes.
Miss Hawkins, too, looked delighted to see the three of us looking so clean and sparkling, and for the first day in a long time, Clemmie skipped in with her friend Alice without hanging on to my leg, or Miss Hawkins’s, or both.
That evening, when Frankie arrived, I was almost waiting by the door, keen to be off.
‘God, look at you,’ she said, struggling with her enormous bag of books to the kitchen and dumping it down on the table. ‘You’ve got make-up on and everything. You look loads better.’
It occurred to me she didn’t. Her hair was greasy and lank and there were spots on her chin; misery around the eyes. I must talk to Jennie.
‘Yes, it’s extraordinary what undiluted fury can do for you,’ I assured her.
‘Oh, yeah, you found out he was a love rat, didn’t you? Who would have thought. Your Phil.’
‘Who indeed,’ I said grimly, seizing my handbag.
‘I mean, he looked so, you know …’ She bit her thumbnail.
‘Dull?’
‘Well, I was going to say harmless.’
‘Nerdy? Unattractive to women?’
She looked uncomfortable. ‘Except he’s dead, isn’t he? Perhaps we shouldn’t … you know.’ She shrugged.
‘No, perhaps we shouldn’t,’ I agreed, but somehow I knew it would be difficult. And it was heartening to know Frankie hadn’t thought much of him.
‘What was she like?’ she asked, following me to the door.
‘His mistress?’
‘Yeah. Jennie said she called round. Bloody cheek.’