I could hardly believe he was saying these things. ‘But I thought you’d enjoyed it. You said I looked beautiful.’
‘You did. But all the other men in the audience clearly thought so too. And I don’t like the idea of my wife being ogled by other blokes.’
‘So what are you saying?’ I asked. My head was beginning to throb with confusion and anxiety.
‘If you resign from your job, I’ll still marry you.’
He said it as though he was doing me a favour. I thought of the beautiful silk wedding dress I’d finished, which was now hanging in the wardrobe. Of the bridesmaids’ outfits for my cousins (all three of them!), which I was making now. Of the hot buffet with mushroom vol-au-vents, which had been paid for in advance, and the hotel, which had been booked along with a band after all that scrimping and saving. The silver-and-white invitations that had been sent out. The landlord’s deposit for our future home, which was due soon.
‘But how will we manage without the money?’ I asked. ‘We need it for the flat.’
‘I’m not agin you working,’ said Jock as though I was being stupid. ‘I just said you’d have to resign from the department store. My boss said he can find you a job at the factory instead.’
He spoke quickly, as if he had it all sorted. ‘You’ll like the girls on the line. They’re a friendly crowd. Not stuck up like that lot in the store. And we’ll be able to meet up at lunchtime. We can go to work together and come back together.’ He cupped my face in his hands again. ‘Won’t that be nice?’
I’m aware that this might sound controlling to you, Poppy. But in those days, most women wanted a man to be in charge. It made us feel safe and loved. Of course, I didn’t want to change jobs. But a dutiful wife did what her husband told her. Or so I’d been brought up to believe.
‘Yes,’ I said, swallowing back my doubts. ‘It would be nice.’
‘Good.’ Jock slid his hand up my jumper. ‘I can’t wait for us to get married.’
But that feeling of lightness and excitement had gone from my heart. It didn’t return for a few more years. And when it did, it turned my life upside down.
Now, as I read though this letter to you, I want to laugh at my old self. How stupid I was! How naive. Yet at the same time it taught me three lessons that I’m determined to pass down to you, Poppy, as well as to my precious granddaughters. The first is to value yourself. The second is to follow your gut. And the third is to understand right from wrong.
But I know what you’re thinking. It’s too late for that. For all of us.
5
Poppy
I wake bolt upright the next morning, sensing that something isn’t quite right but not knowing what. Then I take in the peacock-blue brocade curtains, so different from our creamy plantation shutters at home, and the modern dressing table at the foot of the bed instead of my old Victorian bureau in front of our lovely bay window with the view out to the park. And it all comes flooding back to me.
I’m in a hotel. I was here for the Association of Supporting Artistes and Agents’ Christmas party. And I saw Matthew Gordon. More than that, I spent hours talking to him about things I shouldn’t have done. I’d told him that Stuart probably wouldn’t notice I’d been gone for the night and that we led pretty separate lives. My skin crawls with embarrassment. Maybe the taste of last night’s booze – still in my mouth – is a clue, but that’s no real excuse. What if he tells someone that my marriage is shaky? A casting director, perhaps? Gossip is rife in this business. It’s unlikely it would get back to Stuart. Isn’t it? But any suggestion that someone is going through a rocky personal time can affect other people’s confidence in you. I saw it happen a few years ago to a rival who had a breakdown after her divorce. Her clients left in droves and she closed her agency.
But no. Why would Matthew do that? He’d said he’d forget it, hadn’t he? Besides, he’d divulged confidences too. Sandra had MS and was in a wheelchair. He’d actually cried. And then there was that whole conversation about children …
Enough, I tell myself firmly. This is why it’s not a good idea to go backwards in life. The past should stay in the past. Betty is always saying that and she’s right. You have to work your way forward. And right now that means getting back to my family. I have a sudden strong yearning to race home and slip into bed beside my husband, snuggle up to his back (Stuart rarely sleeps facing me), and then, when the alarm goes, get up to make breakfast for the girls. They’ll no doubt squabble and tease each other; Betty will be meditating upstairs, with incense wafting out of her room; Stuart will talk about cross-bites and how he needs to take the rubbish to the tip. Right now I yearn for the safe mundanity of it all. Even though the man I used to love more than my own husband is, right now, sleeping just across the corridor.
Stop right there. I glance at the neon hotel clock next to the bed: 5.30 a.m. Worry must have made me wake up early. If I’m quick, I can be out of here without bumping into Matthew outside the door. It’ll mean skipping breakfast, despite the fact that it’s included in the extortionate price I paid for the room. But so what?
The shower helps. The water gushes over my head, washing away all those confused thoughts. That’s all they are, I tell myself. Thoughts about what might have been. Not actual deeds. I haven’t done anything wrong. OK, so I was a bit indiscreet about my personal life, but if it does come out, I’ll just deny it. Even though, after Mum, I’ve always prided myself on telling the truth. But I feel uneasy. For some reason, it takes me back to the fact that I’d never told Stuart about Matthew when we met, because it still hurt. Then again, omitting information doesn’t count as a lie. Does it?
I blast my hair with the hotel dryer. It looks a bit of a mess without my air brush, which curls the ends and gives a good impression of a blow dry. I don’t have my usual foundation and blusher either. I wasn’t expecting to stay the night. What will my old love think if I do bump into him and he sees me looking like this? Not that you care, I tell myself. I just feel odd because Matthew had once played a big role in my life. It doesn’t mean anything now.
Slipping into yesterday’s clothes (turning the knickers inside out to make up for the lack of a spare pair), I grab my phone, glance at Matthew’s closed door and scuttle towards the lift so I can drop off the borrowed phone charger at reception. Then I remember. The weather! It’s still too dark to see properly through the window. What if I can’t drive back or get a taxi? I’d have to have breakfast here and I’d probably see Matthew. We might even share a table. Or would he be as embarrassed as me about those late-night confidences and pretend he hadn’t seen me in the cold light of day?
‘Looks like the snow didn’t settle for long after all,’ says the receptionist chattily.
A quick flash of disappointment zips through me followed by relief. This is a good thing, I tell myself. OK. I’m unsettled by bumping into Matthew after all these years, but that was just because he’d played such a big role in my life. My old life. Not this one.
‘Am I the first to check out?’ I ask, handing over my key.