One Thing Leads to Another

Later, Flin was to realize that the next couple of weeks were among the most exciting of his life. He saw few of his friends and spent as much time as he could with Poppy. At the house, his bed remained largely unslept in and at work Tiffany and Martina both commented on his sudden tardiness in the mornings. He knew Jessica would only ask him awkward questions about Mark and that Geordie would expect him to paint the house, so he tried to avoid them as much as possible. He was vaguely aware of a new-found selfishness, but then again, everyone was a bit one-track-minded at the beginning of a relationship and he felt sure his friends would understand. Mark, he knew, was away on business, but Poppy never mentioned him, and so it seemed a pity to spoil things by bringing him into the equation. Anyway, after all the time they had spent together, it seemed impossible to believe Mark was a serious threat. They picnicked in the park, strolled arm in arm along the river, spent long nights of making love … and she always looked so lovely and sexy, her long slender limbs a healthy golden brown from days spent in the summer sun. It seemed as though they lived in a world where no one else could play a part and Flin honestly wondered if his time with this gorgeous woman could possibly be more romantic.

The bubble burst rather suddenly. One evening, Flin eagerly bounced up the stairs to Poppy’s flat only to find Mark there. Impossibly good-looking, he had a chiselled chin squarer than a brick-end, making him seem healthy, confident and mature; self-confidence and success oozed out of every pore. Flin was taken aback. He had been convinced Mark must be out of her life. Still in his suit, Flin’s rival extended an arm for a predictably firm handshake, his cuff-linked shirt retreating to reveal an impressively solid and genuine-looking Rolex.

‘Good to meet you, Flin. What can I get you? Beer? Glass of wine?’ Suddenly Flin’s position as man of the house had been drastically reversed. It was more than disconcerting. Mark seemed so manly Flin felt he should opt for the beer. ‘Good man,’ Mark said, smiling, and disappeared into the kitchen.

‘Hi, Flin,’ said Poppy, coming out of the kitchen as Mark went in. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and said in a lowered tone, ‘Sorry, darling, I wasn’t expecting him tonight. But you don’t mind too much, do you?’

Course he bloody did, he minded a lot. Mark had just ruined his evening, possibly even his life.

Returning with the beer, Mark said, ‘So I gather you’re coming to the concert too?’

What was this? What concert? It was the first Flin knew about it. Momentarily caught off-guard, he assured Mark he was; then immediately regretted his split-second decision. Why was he being so nice to them both? Why not snarl at Mark and stake his claim to Poppy right there and then? But he knew he’d missed his opportunity and anyway, acquiescence was easier than confrontation. But even more galling, there seemed to be no dampening Poppy’s enthusiasm. If she had been worried about having her two lovers spending the evening together, she never showed it.

‘Flin, you’ve been promming before, haven’t you?’ she asked.

‘Um, no, I haven’t actually,’ he replied truthfully. He had only ever been to one classical concert and that was at school when he was going through his Brideshead phase.

‘Well you’ll love it. You just turn up, hand over your three quid and stand anywhere you want.’ Flin was hugely relieved to discover this was not going to set him back a fortune, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Poppy.

‘My poor darling, were you thinking it would cost twenty pounds?’ she laughed, adding for the benefit of Mark, ‘Poor Flin’s been worrying that this would be horribly expensive!’ Mark laughed too and assured Flin that he would never have come if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was so cheap. Patronizing bastard, thought Flin, laughing too.

‘It wasn’t the money,’ Flin lied, ‘but don’t we need flags to wave? I don’t want to make a promming faux pas.’

‘Flags are only for the last night,’ Poppy laughed. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun.’

Afterwards, Flin left them to it. His self-esteem, which had been riding at an all-time high, had plummeted spectacularly. People like Mark made him sick, although he knew this was essentially envy. Standing briefly outside the Albert Hall, Mark gave Flin his leave, saying, ‘Good to see you, mate,’ as though saying ‘mate’ meant he was in touch with all rank of man. Poppy smiled charmingly, as if everything was perfectly as it should be. In a moment, they were hopping into a taxi. Flin despondently trundled off to the nearest underground at High Street Kensington wondering how Mark had been able to hail a taxi that quickly outside the Albert Hall on a concert night. The situation had to change – and soon – but Flin was bleakly aware that he was leagues behind his rival in terms of wealth and stature.

Jessica and Geordie could not resist the ‘told you so’s’.

‘I’m sorry, darling, but it’s so obvious she’s using you. This boyfriend of hers – whilst being good-looking, rich and successful, is clearly treating her like shit and so she’s latched on to you to boost her self-esteem.’

‘It’s not like that at all,’ Flin told Jessica weakly.

‘All right, if you say so.’ She kissed him affectionately. ‘But just don’t trust her an inch. Take on board my woman’s instinct.’

‘Yeah, give her a wide berth,’ added Geordie. ‘You know what you’re like, you get all caught up in the romance and fling yourself headlong into completely unsuitable relationships. Anyway, what about your share of the decorating?’

A few days later, though, just as Flin was beginning to despair of ever seeing her again, Poppy suggested they go out for supper. He had very lamely offered to take her, but capitulated quickly on her insistence that it was ‘her shout’. She had suggested it, she said, he could take her to dinner next time. Sitting at an outside table, Flin smiled at her as she popped an olive neatly into her mouth and smacked her lips. She took his hand and rubbed it and then looked down at the table slightly anxiously, before meeting his gaze again.

‘I’m not being very fair to you, am I?’ She had suddenly grown serious. ‘I mean, you must wonder what’s going on?’

Flin did not really want to respond to that, so smiled wistfully instead.

‘Mark and I have been together a long time, and it’s difficult to end it all. But I know I should. You’re so much better than him in every way. And I’ve just adored the last couple of weeks. Mark’s a complete shit to me, you know.’ She took a large swig of her wine and accepted the cigarette that Flin offered her. ‘Tonight, for example,’ she said, exhaling her first drag, ‘he’s gone off for another of his boys’ nights with his City chums. I’m not allowed to join in, of course. I’m strictly persona non grata, not able to drink enough pints and talk about rugby and stocks and shares.’

‘But would you want to spend an evening doing that? It sounds pretty grim to me.’

‘No, of course not, but that’s not the point. It’s just that he’d rather do that than be with me.’

‘Surely not,’ said Flin, gallantly.

‘Flin, our relationship is totally on his terms: he still fancies me, and I’m sure he thinks I look nice on his arm at parties or what-have-you, but if I get in the way of him playing his sport, or seeing his stupid friends, then, well …’ She trailed off. All that cash must be nice though, thought Flin to himself. He couldn’t imagine she had to buy Mark dinner. Poppy had not finished, though. ‘I know everyone thinks Mark is so wonderful. Under normal circumstances you’d probably like him too.’ Flin doubted it, but kept quiet. She continued, ‘Things haven’t been great for a while, but then we’ll have a great weekend or evening together and I think perhaps everything is OK after all.’

‘But it’s not?’ said Flin.

‘No.’

Although Flin had been enjoying listening to Poppy telling him how awful Mark was, he was keenly aware that Jessica’s assessment of the situation had been uncomfortably accurate. But then again, now that Poppy was coming clean, this was clearly his opportunity to improve his own stakes. Delicate tact was what was required. ‘Hm,’ he said, feeling it was about time he said something decisive, but not quite managing it.

Poppy looked straight at Flin with large doleful eyes. ‘I just don’t feel I can trust him. Really, I’m a very insecure person. I need to feel wanted and … I don’t know … a bit special.’

‘Well, I’d look after you,’ he told her emphatically. ‘I wouldn’t treat you like an attractive appendage to have around whenever it was useful.’ Flin felt that was the sort of comment she was fishing for and a unique opportunity to prove that he was sensitive to a girl’s needs. She suddenly softened and smiled at him.

‘Sweet Flin. I think you would look after me, wouldn’t you? You’re lovely, you know.’

The next morning, she invited him to Italy, and the roller-coaster that Flin’s emotions had become soared again to the previous week’s high. Her parents were hiring a farmhouse in Tuscany, she told him, in the vine-laden hills between Florence, Siena and San Gimignano, and it was enormous and needed filling up. Her sister was going too and had invited three of her friends. The prospect seemed impossibly romantic to Flin and he immediately filled his mind with images of Poppy swanning around Italian side streets in long, light summer dresses. She was offering ten days in a beautiful part of the world, wonderful food, delicious wine and, most importantly, time alone without Mark to get in the way of long nights of love-making.

He had already made plans to go on holiday with Jessica and a few others later on that summer, but still had enough days spare to fit in the time in Italy. He had a bit of spare money – living with his sister had saved him a lot of rent and although he knew he would need that later on, convinced himself that cash worries should not be a serious obstacle. After all, Poppy’s parents were paying for the villa, he’d probably be spending just as much money if he stayed in London. And nowhere, but nowhere, was more expensive than London. So, all he was really looking at was the price of the airfare, and he could just about manage that. He accepted her invitation immediately.

Directly before Poppy was due to fly out with her parents, she had had to go on a long-arranged weekend with Mark. He had been invited by some clients to go fishing in Scotland and Poppy had agreed to accompany him. ‘It’ll be totally awful, but I promised and I have to go,’ she had said. Flin was not at all happy about it, but the promise of great things to come convinced him not to make an issue of it. To add to the complications, Flin’s late addition to the party meant that he could not get on the same flight as Poppy and the rest. He had to fly the next day, but Poppy assured him this was not a problem – she would simply meet him at the airport a day later.

Flin was careful not to tell Jessica or Geordie about Poppy’s weekend with Mark.

‘So the boyfriend’s finally gone, then?’ Jessica asked him.

‘Yes, he’s been shown the door,’ Flin lied.

‘Well, it seems I was wrong then. I hope you have a jolly time, darling.’

‘You bet I will,’ Flin told her eagerly. ‘Ten days of love-making with a beautiful girl and Tuscan hills as company.’

‘And her family,’ added Jessica.

‘Well, yes, but they’ll be off doing their own thing, I’m sure. Poppy’s hardly going to get me all the way over there just so I can join the family trips to the Uffizi.’

Jessica said nothing, but Flin was far too excited to worry about her scepticism. What did she know anyway? He was going to have a brilliant time, and at least Geordie was green with envy.

When he finally reached the arrivals door of the airport, there was no one there to greet him, no luscious Poppy in sight. There was an awful moment when Flin suddenly realized that he didn’t even know the address of the farmhouse, let alone a telephone number. But no sooner had he started to panic, there was a honking of horns and up screeched a tiny Fiat Panda with arms waving madly from the windows. Poppy jumped out, ran up to him as he advanced grinning inanely, and gave him a huge hug.

‘You’ve made it! How absolutely marvellous – you’re going to love this, it’s simply the most fantastic house in the most fabulous setting.’ And with that, they skipped back to the car, which already contained four people including Poppy.

‘Sorry it’s a bit of a squeeze, but you sit in the front,’ said Poppy. ‘This is Dad, this is Alice and this is George.’

Flin shook hands with Poppy’s father, a benign professorial-looking figure, and said, ‘Hello, hello,’ to the other two as the car lurched off into the city traffic. Her father may have a mild and gentle demeanour but Flin was quick to discover that his appearance was in strong contrast to his driving, which was fiendishly fast. Careering round corners, his expression never changed from one of quiet passivity – there was none of the deep-set determination or taut knuckles that are normally associated with motor-racing. Flin sat clutching his bag trying not to look at the road too much and feeling slightly conscious that he was the new boy and late arrival among what was really a bunch of strangers. Poppy and Alice chattered enthusiastically about the house and things that simply had to be seen, and Flin joined in whenever he could or should, all the time thinking that it would be good just to get there alive and talk to Poppy alone.

The journey lasted about forty minutes. Finally the tiny Fiat jolted along a track at a marginally slower pace with vines either side, then up a hill until they pulled into a courtyard. It was too dark to see whether the house lived up to Poppy’s superlatives – but even so he could sense a certain aura of splendour about the place. The four of them walked straight in to the flagstoned kitchen and Poppy’s mother strode over to greet the new arrival with a firm and formal handshake. Younger and taller than her husband, she cut an impressive figure in her three-quarter-length khaki trousers and white linen shirt.

‘Buon giorno, Flin, welcome on board. Call me Liz.’

‘Thank you so much for letting me come and join the holiday,’ said Flin in his very best sincere and polite voice, ‘it really is very generous of you indeed.’ He dumped his bag on the floor and then met Alice’s other two friends who had just appeared through the front door.

‘This pair of love birds are Max and Charlie and I think they’re marvellous,’ said Poppy, tugging on Charlie’s arm. Charlie was tiny – about five foot nothing and already bronzed, while Max looked relaxed and faintly disinterested in Flin’s presence, leaning against the doorway and twiddling his goatee. He made Flin feel instantly unfashionable.

‘How you doing?’ said Max and then extended one arm for a handshake before spluttering something from the depths of his lungs into his other hand. ‘Ugh, er, sorry,’ he recovered.

Charlie smiled sweetly. ‘You’ll love it here, it’s just so … um.’ She waved her hand and gazed bashfully at the ceiling. The word or phrase she was searching for did not come. She shrugged. ‘Yeah, it’s so, well, perfect.’

‘Come on, Flin, I’ll show you your room.’ Poppy took his hand and they walked through the kitchen and into a hallway and up some stairs. All the walls seemed to be white and the floor and stairs left bare stone. Flin’s room had two single beds, but even at that stage Flin was deaf to any alarm bells ringing. In the corner was a tiny sink and in front of the beds were two huge windows with wooden shutters.

‘Are you going to be OK in here?’ she asked, kissing him lightly on the shoulder. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come! Now, come down whenever you’re ready but I’ve got to go and help Mummy with the supper,’ and off she went.

Supper was quite lively, and it became clear to Flin that Liz liked good conversation with plenty of discussion and interesting debate. This was better than awkward silences, but Flin felt constrained by the fact that his conversation should be intelligent and pertinent at all times. Donald, Poppy’s father, spoke very softly, but seemed to be so revered by everyone that as soon as he opened his mouth everybody else immediately shut up and listened keenly to what the old sage had to say. He appeared to be rather amused by his strident wife; in fact he seemed rather amused by everything, demonstrated by the faintest hint of a perma-smile and a frequently raised eyebrow. Whilst a heated discussion about the value of television took place, Flin decided to keep quiet and assess the gathering. Alice and George were an item and had a room in the main house, which Donald and Liz clearly had no objection to, while Max and Charlie, who were also a twosome, had a room in one of the outhouses. Only then did it occur to Flin that he and Poppy were the only ones not sharing a room, and he began to feel just the tiniest bit irked. But then, he supposed, he was the last to arrive, and so put the matter out of his mind.

The meal seemed to last an aeon, and Flin began to feel increasingly frustrated. He was desperate to talk to Poppy on his own and to steal some kisses al fresco; Sussex revisited, but beneath an Italian moon. Eventually, after the coffee had been drunk and after helping to wash up, Flin excused himself and went outside for a cigarette. Poppy followed and at last the two of them were together and alone. He took her hand and kissed her soft cheek.

‘I can’t believe I’m here and that we’ve got over a week to go,’ he told her as they strolled down the steps into the garden. There was a pause. Poppy suddenly seemed quite unaccustomedly embarrassed. All at once, Flin knew what was coming.

‘Flin, I don’t want you to be angry, but Mark and I patched things up in Scotland. We did a lot of talking and I think I’ve got to give it another chance.’

He absolutely couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘I mean, it’s not as if we could have got up to much with my parents here anyway.’

Couldn’t they? What was she on about? Of course they could! Why invite him otherwise? Did she honestly think he’d come all this way just to be told that she’d decided, after all, that she wanted to stay with someone, who was, by her own admission, a total shit? Flin reeled. What could she be thinking? Had she gone completely insane?

He took a long drag on his cigarette. Outwardly calm, his mind was racing in a panic. With eight full days to go, he desperately needed to be rational. If he said what he actually thought, life would become even more difficult. She was offering friendship. If he turned that down, he would be in even worse trouble. He took a deep breath.

‘It’s a long way to come to be told that,’ he said with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘But this is a fantastic place and we are going to have fun, fun, fun with a capital F,’ he said, smiling weakly. Thank God it was dark.

‘We can still spend all our time together,’ she said, hugging his arm and warming to the fact that her announcement had been so painless. ‘I’m sorry though, and I do think you are gorgeous. You’ll be better off with someone far nicer than me.’

He felt sick. This was a monumental disaster, and there was absolutely no escape.

chapter four Geordie and Jessica have Dinner at Tommy Byng’s

Jessica was just about to go and run her bath when Geordie finally walked through the door. As always (and it was no different now they had moved to the new house), he immediately asked Jessica whether there was any post or messages for him.

‘Just some bills and a couple of messages for Flin from Josh,’ she told him, without looking up from her magazine. And as always, he pressed the answerphone anyway.

‘Yo, big man!’ said Josh’s voice. ‘I’ve got your new number. Nice one. I need someone to get drunk with and you’re the name I’ve pulled out of the hat. Call me immediately.’

The second message was even more concise: ‘Of course you’re not there – you’re getting laid in Italy you little Julio. Forgot. Ignore that last message.’

Geordie sighed. ‘No calls, no decent letters – not even a postcard from Flin.’

‘Poor you, how trying,’ replied Jessica, looking up at him. ‘Get yourself a drink and then come here and calm down.’

A short while later, Jessica had made it into her bath and was testing a new body scrub when the phone rang.

‘Hello,’ said Geordie, picking up the receiver in an instant.

‘Geordie, hi, how’s things?’

‘Flin! What are you doing calling? Where’s our postcard?’

‘I’ve only been gone four days. Give me a chance. Just thought I’d see how you guys are, you know … How’s our house?’

‘Great – I’ve painted the bathroom now and put up a new cabinet. What about you? How’s the holiday of love?’

‘Um, good, thanks. Really good. Great.’

Flin was being very odd, Geordie thought. Hardly very enthusiastic at all. ‘Flin, are you OK?’

‘Yeah, yeah, fine.’ Flin paused. ‘Listen, Geordie, is Jessica there?’

‘In the bath,’ Geordie told him, ‘why?’

‘Oh nothing – it doesn’t matter. Look, I’m running out of money – I’ll see you next week, OK? Have fun.’

Geordie immediately padded upstairs to tell Jessica.

‘Something has definitely gone wrong, the poor lamb,’ Jessica said through the bathroom door. ‘I knew that girl was a cow.’

‘He sounded very weird,’ Geordie confirmed as he stood on the landing, leaning against the bathroom door. ‘Not himself at all.’

‘Well, let’s hope he manages to resolve it, whatever it is,’ said Jessica, splashing.

Geordie nodded. ‘He’s always fallen in love too easily.’

‘I don’t think he’s ever been in love actually. I think it’s more that he thinks he is.’

‘Maybe.’

There was a short contemplative silence between them and then Jessica said, ‘Oh, dear – and this body scrub is hopeless. I’ll probably discover it’s scarred me for life. Geordie, my love, what’s to become of us?’

Geordie didn’t bother to answer. Although he was loath to admit it to himself, he felt pretty low.

Still, at least that night he and Jessica were going over for supper at Tommy’s. Tommy had been at school with Geordie and Flin and had then gone to the same university as Flin too. Through them he’d got to know Jessica pretty well – everyone knew everyone, after all. He shared a flat in the Olympia side of Barons Court with an old friend of his called Jim Dawson. Both were hearty, fun-loving, beer-chugging sport fanatics.

As it was a pleasant evening, Geordie and Jessica decided to walk. Taking far less time than they had supposed, they ended up arriving a bit too promptly. Jim had not even arrived back home from work. Undaunted, Geordie took out a four-pack, Tommy poured Jessica some wine and they all sat down in front of the telly, which was murmuring and flashing images in the background. Although Jim and Tommy had made a slight effort to make the place respectable – throws over the sofa, a few plants and framed pictures – the ashtrays, empty tankards and various balls and other sporting accessories clearly indicated theirs was a bachelor pad and nothing more. Even the plants, that most elementary indicator of domesticity, were insipid little fronds, while pride of place above the fireplace was a print of the fifteenth hole at the Belfry. Dominating one corner of the sitting room was a complex music system and a massive television, with CDs and videos scattered haphazardly below. Long-dried shirts, socks and boxer shorts crammed the radiators.

It was quite apparent that Tommy hadn’t even started preparing supper, and the arrival of his friends seemed to delay this further. He happily chatted away to them – how was work? What had they been up to? Where was Flin at the moment? He blew a multitude of smoke-rings from underneath the acutely curved peak of his Oakland Athletics baseball cap. Apparently Jim’s new girlfriend – Katie Symons – was coming too.

‘Lovely girl,’ said Tommy, ‘Jim’s got himself a humdinger.’ And then making up the party was a friend of his from work called Molly Duguid. ‘So not a major bash,’ Tommy continued, ‘but it means we can all put in some serious chit-chat.’ Then he got up and announced that he really should be applying his culinary talents and sorting out supper. Geordie’s ears had twitched at the mention of Molly and he couldn’t help wondering – as he did with any new girl he might meet – whether she was a) pretty, and b) single. Coming on her own was an encouraging sign, though.