I asked. The girls had been at the village school together.
‘Frankie?’ She turned at the door. ‘Um, no, I haven’t. I must get in touch with her.’
Somehow I knew she wouldn’t. Since she’d gone to boarding school, Felicity’s social path had been very different to Frankie’s. Not her fault, of course, but a shame, when they’d been close.
‘But it’s nice she’s got a boyfriend, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Frankie? I didn’t know.’
‘Oh. Well, I may have got that wrong. Maybe don’t say anything to Jennie? Just in case?’
In case of what, I thought, nevertheless agreeing as I closed the door behind her. In case he didn’t exist? Or in case he wasn’t suitable? The latter, probably. I did hope Frankie hadn’t been serious about flirting with the teachers at school. Don’t be ridiculous, Poppy. Nevertheless I couldn’t help thinking that if it was just a sixteen-year-old boy, why hide it? Why wasn’t Jennie up to speed? I went back to the kitchen to turn out the lights. Perhaps she was and didn’t want to share with me. Recently Jennie had become more secretive, and I respected that. We couldn’t know everything about our friends, could we? If we did, where would it end? Laying bare the contents of our heads and hearts and saying: here, take a gander at that? Imagine the shock on their faces.
The following morning, on my way to the village shop with the children, I felt perkier. On a scale of one to ten – always my acid test – I was five, rather than four. It was a beautiful blue-sky morning, so perhaps that helped, and being late in the year, long dramatic shadows were cast at my feet as I walked across the green. Trees mostly, but also the shadow of a man, right behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. Odd Bob, dressed uncharacteristically in a tweed jacket and tie, appeared to be tailing me. I turned. Stopped.
‘Hi, Bob.’
How bizarre. He appeared to have a buttonhole. A little white carnation in his lapel. He beamed. Caught up with me.
‘Hello, Poppy. How are you?’
‘Fine, thanks. You look very smart.’
‘Oh, you know. Thought it was about time.’
For what, I wondered as we continued to the shop together.
‘Um, Poppy. I wondered if you’d have dinner with me next week.’
I stared. Couldn’t believe my ears. Odd Bob? Jacket and tie? Outside the village shop?
‘Sorry?’
‘Yes, I thought maybe we could go to the King’s Head. How about Saturday?’
I blinked rapidly. Found my voice.
‘Well, that’s very kind, Bob, but I’m afraid I’m busy on Saturday.’
‘Sunday?’
Sunday wasn’t a natural night for a date, but Bob, minus a social compass, wasn’t to know that. I knew if I refused he’d say, ‘Monday?’ And so on until Christmas.
‘I’m afraid I’m not really ready to go out yet,’ I said, more kindly.
‘Really? You look fine. Just brush your hair, or something.’
I swallowed. ‘No, I don’t mean … sartorially. I mean, because my husband’s just died.’
Disingenuous, of course. And Bob was on it like lightning.
‘So how come you were ready last night?’
None of the usual codes and conventions to let him down gently would be of any use; it was like dealing with a child. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the usual posse of mothers who loitered outside the shop with their babies in buggies after buying milk and papers. They’d ceased their chatter and were listening avidly, amused.
‘Well, I suppose that’s what made me realize I’m not quite ready,’ I said finally. And oddly, it had a ring of truth about it. ‘I didn’t know, until I went.’ This was obviously deeply unchivalrous to Luke, but it was said quietly, out of hearing of the mothers. And since Bob, like a child, only understood the truth and not coded subtlety, it was the way forward. His face cleared.
‘You didn’t enjoy it.’
‘I wouldn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.’ I felt hot. Hoped my antiperspirant wasn’t going to let me down. ‘I wouldn’t say that, but it felt a bit strange to be out.’ True again.
‘You wouldn’t with me,’ beamed Bob.
Wishing my own social code didn’t prevent me from seizing him by the lapels and roaring, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Bob, stop this silly nonsense now!’ I found myself inclining my head, as if conceding that this was indeed a possibility. Suddenly I wondered if, total pushover that I was, I’d find myself next Saturday night at the King’s Head, opposite Bob, who might even bring his twelve dogs along; and who might,