I didn’t notice – I hoped I wasn’t going to disappoint anyone. He was nice. Very nice. And good-looking too. So perhaps it was just the fact that he was always late and then basked self-consciously in the tiny spotlight this afforded that annoyed me? Or maybe he was genuinely busy and lost track of time? At Peggy’s I’d liked him more, I decided, as he played the opening chord in a dramatic manner. We’d perhaps even had a moment as we’d chatted over a glass of wine by the darkened window – which, let’s face it, was a far more conducive environment than this one. The organ didn’t help, this chilly, damp church didn’t help, and as we all launched into the Gloria and Molly into ‘Nights in White Satin’, I knew that didn’t help either.
After choir practice, I found myself walking out of church alone. Angie and Jennie were up ahead discussing dishes Jennie was making for Angie’s freezer, when Luke materialized beside me.
‘Hi.’ He pushed his fringe out of his eyes.
‘Oh, hi, Luke.’
I’d been looking in my bag for some money for Frankie. I hated rooting around for it while she stood waiting; liked to have it ready, so the transaction was swift and clean, prey as I was to the usual ridiculous middle-class hang-ups about paying anyone to work for me. As he wheeled his bike beside me, I eyed it warily. Hm. Now admittedly it was just a common or garden pushbike, but one thing could lead to another and before you know it he could be head to foot in blue Lycra.
‘I thought we pretty much nailed it tonight.’
I couldn’t help smiling at his rock ’n’ roll way of putting it. ‘I agree. We’re nearly there.’
Don’t be mean, Poppy, he’s just making conversation. And he was satisfyingly tall and slim but not skinny, I decided, as he strolled beside me in the light of a full moon.
‘D’you find it hard, that he’s here?’ he asked, glancing around. That endeared him to me immediately. Many people would have conveniently forgotten my husband was amongst us.
‘Not in the least. For one thing I don’t believe in ghosts, and for that reason I’ve always found graveyards rather comforting places.’ I thought of the one I visited quite regularly on the other side of Aylesbury. ‘Quite sleepy and peaceful and not remotely spooky, even at night. I’m glad he’s here and not in some urn on my mantelpiece. It means the children can come later if they want to. Have a chat.’
‘And even if there are ghosts, who’s to say they’d be more scary than the living? I can’t help thinking they’d be rather serene and calm, not having to live in the real world any more. Being well out of it.’
‘Exactly.’
We walked on.
‘I used to be fascinated by tombstones. Still am a bit,’ he admitted. ‘Imagining the people, their lives.’
‘Oh, me too,’ I said, surprised.
‘I mean, look at this.’ We stopped at a lichen-covered stone. ‘Imelda Ruskin, beloved wife of Arthur Ruskin.’
‘Yes, I know. When equally beloved wives, Rachael and Isabella,’ I pointed, ‘are buried over there.’
‘And Isabella was only twenty-two when she died,’ he reminded me, as we paused at her grave. It was one I knew well, had often wondered about. ‘Childbirth, d’you think?’ He nodded at the tiny grave beside her. ‘We know she was mother of Patrick.’
‘Or poison, to move Arthur on to wife number two perhaps?’
He laughed. Shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows? And was Arthur a warty old dog exercising a spot of droit de seigneur or a dashing young blade?’
‘Oh, a young blade,’ I said emphatically.
Arthur had always been a bit of an attractive cad in my eyes. Cutting a swathe through the damsels in the village, who all swooned for him, before popping his clogs elsewhere, somewhere more exotic. For Arthur wasn’t buried along with his wives in this churchyard. And nor would I be, I determined suddenly. Wouldn’t stay here for ever, to be slotted in beside Phil.
‘D’you ever make it up to London, Poppy?’ Luke said easily. ‘I thought we could have lunch.’
Well, I’d pretty much known he was going to ask me something like that. But London. No, I didn’t, as a rule.
‘Or a pub lunch here?’ He waved his hand at the Rose and Crown.
‘No, I make it to London,’ I said, thinking of Arthur and his travels. ‘I’d like that. Thanks.’
‘Good. I’ll book a table somewhere. West End? I imagine you’ll be shopping.’