One Thing Leads to Another. Jamie Holland
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at school. He was also – and who could blame him? – truly struck by the beauty of the scene: the moon and stars above them, an owl calling in the trees nearby, the gentle gurgle of the babbling brook and the smell of damp, summer grass. Her face seemed magical. He loved looking at the pale outline of her neck and shoulders, creamy light against the dark blue of her skin in shadow, which was rising and falling with her quickening breath. He felt earthy and manly, Mellors with his Lady Chatterley, enveloped in the smell of the damp grass and soil. D. H. Lawrence would have approved.
Afterwards, it suddenly seemed cooler and they were soon back inside the house. A tender kiss and Poppy floated tantalizingly upstairs, the moment gone for ever. But as Flin settled down on the sofa, his mind was positively humming. Was that it? Tomorrow, would she act as though nothing had happened? Could her current relationship survive this? Or was his liaison at the gazebo nothing more than a one-night stand? Having gone over the same thoughts without progressing further for about the thirty-eighth time he finally drifted off to sleep.
At 6.03 a.m., he woke up on the sofa with itchy eyes, a pounding head and a mouth that felt as though it had been in the Sahara for a week with no water bottle. Sun poured through the open curtains in the drawing room. It was another beautiful English summer’s day, and Flin, aware that thoughts of further sleep were useless, decided to walk up to the downs above the house. After a couple of pints of water and some Aquafresh had considerably improved his mouth situation, he was sure fresh morning air would clear the eyes and head. And so it proved.
Up on the downs, his feet sodden by the dew, he found the view everything he had imagined it would be. The sun broke through the morning haze of the valley below, a sylvan carpet encased by soft-curved hills of chalk. Droplets of dew covered the anthills and he marvelled at a prospect so fresh and succulent and green. He breathed in deeply, the pure, cooling air cleaning his nostrils and lungs. All his anxious thoughts had disappeared. Whatever the future held in store, nothing could take away his wonderful evening the night before. Smiling, he thought about the pleasure he would gain from reporting back so positively to Jessica and Geordie. Even at twenty-five, he still felt ridiculously competitive with Geordie and this pact had made him more so. He didn’t know why; it wasn’t as if relationships were a question of one-upmanship, but it had simply always been like that ever since they were young.
When he returned and went into the kitchen to make a much-needed cup of tea, Poppy was already there.
‘Where have you been so bright and early?’ she asked, kissing him casually on the lips.
‘For a walk on the downs. It was fantastic, absolutely beautiful up there,’ he told her as she poured him a mug.
‘How brilliant of you,’ she responded, then added, ‘I adore it here, and I love it when other people love it too.’ Then someone else came in and they were no longer alone. As more people woke, Poppy held court, organizing teas and coffees, and never tiring of putting in more toast, croissants and brewing more hot drinks. She was a perfect host, Flin thought, admiringly, so charming to everyone – including him but not especially so, as though nothing had ever happened at all.
She had affectionately kissed him goodbye, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be hearing from her again, and admitted as much to Jessica and Geordie when he arrived home later. Geordie was still fiddling about with power drills and planks of wood, and Jessica was painting in a pair of old dungarees, yellow emulsion already covering her hands.
‘So, I think we will still be a house of singletons for a bit longer,’ he told them as Geordie passed him a paintbrush.
‘Oh, well, never mind, darling, I’m sure it’s for the best,’ said Jessica. ‘You certainly don’t want to get caught up in some sordid love triangle. Much better you fall in love with someone who’s unattached. Take it from me.’
‘I agree,’ said Geordie, ‘and now you’re playing catch-up with the painting, so get stuck in.’ Flin reluctantly obliged, lamely slapping paint onto the sitting-room walls, but all the time his mind thinking furiously about Poppy and whether she might, after all, call again.
Tiffany wanted to know all about the party when Flin arrived back in the office the following Monday; she had lived Flin’s eager anticipation of the week before and was dying to know the outcome.
‘Sounds to me like you had a pretty successful time: a party at a great house and a night of hot passion,’ she laughed after Flin had given a detailed account of his weekend’s events.
‘As one-night stands go, it was pretty good,’ Flin admitted with an air of wistfulness not lost on Tiffany.
‘Well, you never know.’ She smiled consolingly at him from her perch on his desk. Flin wondered why he didn’t see more of Tiffany out of office hours – they had lunches together and sometimes went for drinks after work, but so far that had been it – clearly a work friendship only. He supposed they had separate friends, but even so he felt he should ask her over to supper one night now he was in the new house. Or perhaps they would have a house-warming party and she could come to that. Conscious he’d done rather a lot of talking about himself recently, he asked about her weekend. She’d gone to a big party to say farewell to one of her friends who was going back to Australia, and then – and this had been the best bit, she laughed – she’d gone to the Tower of London on Sunday. ‘It was fantastic,’ she effused, ‘and I loved seeing all the inscriptions in the cells. You just don’t get that kind of history back home.’
Flin hadn’t been there since he was a child. As a teenager, you didn’t come up to London to go to museums – you came to hang out at Camden Lock and to see the Cult at the Brixton Academy. And since he’d been living here, sightseeing hadn’t really occurred to him; there always seemed to be something else to do.
‘Have you been to the Natural History Museum?’ he asked her, suddenly remembering how he’d marvelled at the enormous dinosaurs when he was little.
‘No. Is it good?’
‘Brilliant, as far as I remember. I’d love to go again and see whether the dinosaurs really were that big.’
‘There’re dinosaurs?’ said Tiffany, clapping her hands together excitedly. ‘Well, let’s definitely go one day. It’d be fun.’
‘OK, you’re on,’ agreed Flin. But before they could discuss it further, Martina was yelling at them for the weekly department meeting, and they headed off without ever fixing a date.
By the middle of the week, Flin was convinced his weekend foray would be nothing more than a pleasant memory. But then, out of the blue, Poppy phoned. Tiffany took the call and put her through to him, saying in conspiratorial tones, ‘I think it’s her.’ Firstly she apologized profusely for not ringing earlier and then asked him over to her flat. She’d cook him supper and they could watch a film or something. His spirits soared. She was coming back for more. Perhaps in those two days she had even cleared the way with Mark.
Jessica preached caution. ‘Now don’t go blindly rushing in like normal – you know what you’re like.’
‘Of course I won’t,’ Flin assured her. ‘It’s just a bit of a laugh.’
‘Well, that’s fine, but don’t go falling madly in love with her until the boyfriend’s out of the way, that’s all I’m saying. Otherwise it’ll only end in tears.’
‘Clearly he’s on the way out though,’ Flin told her, ‘otherwise she wouldn’t be asking me over for a little one-to-one at her place.’
Jessica and Geordie both gave each other knowing looks, but Flin had little time for such cynicism. They were just jealous because he was making such good progress in the competition. This new romance with Poppy was fun and he was going to make the most of it. Spontaneity bred excitement and made life interesting.
Arriving at Poppy’s mansion block on Prince of Wales Drive, Flin felt his pulse quicken with anticipation. Someone was leaving the main front entrance, so he walked straight in without calling on the intercom. At the top of the third flight of stairs he arrived at the door of her flat and knocked firmly,