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.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, the following week, be supplanted by Frank, or Dickie Frowbisher, and all the other oddballs of the parish thereafter.‘I’m sorry,’ I said, quite firmly for me – remembering the inner strength, remembering Mum and the steel I was going to find – ‘but I simply can’t make it.Goodbye, Bob.’And with that I pushed my buggy and my small child past him and headed into the shop for provisions.The eyes of the village, I felt sure, were upon me.16The Gloria was finally given an airing the following Saturday, but not, it transpired, for the couple who had originally chosen it to be sung at their nuptials.‘Why not?’ I asked Angie as we slipped into the choir stalls together.‘She dumped him, apparently,’ Angie told me rather too gleefully as we collected our hymn sheets.Angie was more than slightly anti-men at the moment.‘Who did? The bride?’‘Yup.Word is, she got cold feet.Called the whole thing off a week ago.The invitations had gone out, wedding presents had been opened – the whole bit.Takes some doing, don’t you think? The week before?’Blimey.It did.And I remembered how close I’d got to it with Phil during that terrible final week; the overwhelming feeling of panic as the whole thing gained momentum, like a runaway freight train, without me behind it.My mouth getting drier, not sleeping, everyone thinking it was excitement.Dad, Jennie, all looking at my wide eyes and thinking they were starry, not seeing the fear.Jennie, telling me all brides lost weight before the big day.Only my dressmaker looking concerned, because every time I had a fitting she had to take the ivory silk in a bit more.I remembered having my legs waxed the day before and the young girl asking if I was excited, and me suddenly sobbing, ‘No!’ How it had come out in a horrible, choked voice.She’d looked terrified and ripped those strips away in silence, the fastest leg wax in the world, whilst I’d pretended the tears streaming down the side of my face were due to the pain.I sighed, shuffling along the pew a bit as more people arrived.It did take some doing, and I hadn’t had the guts.Or the neck.Or the stomach.Or whatever part of the body it took to let a hundred and fifty people down – but not yourself.I was full of admiration for Miss Anna Braithwaite, as we gathered she was called, not a spinster of this parish, but yet another Londoner who’d wangled her way into our idyllic village church by dint of having a distant relative who lived nearby, where she’d lodged her suitcase for a couple of weeks, and become a bona fide country dweller.So yes, neck had been her particular body part; the one which had enabled her, first to swing the bucolic setting, and then to break a man’s heart.Would I have broken Phil’s heart? I picked up the Gloria song sheet as Angus slipped in beside Angie on the end, Sylvia electing the row in front.I couldn’t exactly imagine him prostrate with grief, punching walls into the night in a Heathcliff manner.More tight-lipped and furious.Livid.Nonsense, Poppy; you’re rewriting history.He was actually very much in love with you.He just hid it well.‘So who’s getting married, then?’ I asked Angie, thinking: never again.Never.‘A local couple, apparently, which is much more satisfactory.They got engaged last week and wanted to get married immediately but were told they’d have to wait ages for a slot.They were about to get hitched in the registry office but then this came up, so they grabbed it.’‘Good for them,’ I said admiringly
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