One Thing Leads to Another. Jamie Holland
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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