Will You Remember Me? (2 page)

Poppy tucked the shoulder-length layers of her hair behind her ears. ‘Well, as I said, that film was very special for me.’

‘I like that movie too, Mum.’ Peg beamed.

‘I saw the black-and-white version though, Peg. The original.’

Peg considered this. ‘Black-and-white films make me really sad.’ She spoke to her hands, folded in her lap.

‘Why’s that, Pickle?’ Martin asked in the rear-view mirror.

‘Cos everyone in them is dead.’ This she delivered with her palms upturned and her voice doleful, as if she was standing on a West End stage.

For some reason this struck Poppy as funny. She snorted her laughter into her palm and Martin followed suit.

Peg folded her arms across her chest. ‘You two drive me crazy!’

This was fuel for their already giddy state. The two of them laughed until their tears spilled and they wheezed for breath.

‘I really missed you.’ Poppy gazed at her husband, the one person who could make her giggle even harder just by giving her a well-timed glance.

‘I missed you too.’ He grinned at his wife, who reclined in the passenger seat.

‘It’s New Year’s Eve,’ Peg stated.

‘Yes, love, it is, and tomorrow is a whole new year! It’s exciting, isn’t it?’

‘Are we going to have a party?’ Peg sat forward, eyes wide.

‘No, I don’t think so, we are far too boring.’ Poppy pictured a night alone with her man, the kids tucked up, a glass or two of wine, and hours and hours in which to make up for their long, lonely months of separation. She felt a stab of excitement at the prospect. Her soldier was home.

‘Jade McKeever says her mum and dad always have a party and they drink champagne and beer and cocktails. Last year, her dad’s friend got drunk and weed in the downstairs cupboard because he got mixed up and thought it was the loo.’

‘Well, that certainly sounds like fun.’ Poppy grinned at her husband.

‘We don’t have to have a party, Peg. I could just wee in the downstairs cupboard anyway.’ Martin winked at her.

‘Oh, Dad, that’s gross!’ Peg stuck out her tongue.

‘You started it.’ Martin laughed. ‘Is Jade McKeever Ross’s girl?’ Martin had worked with Ross, a fellow mechanic, in the past.

‘Yep, and Jade is Peg’s new life-coach, apparently.’ Poppy rolled her eyes.

‘We
never
have parties. I’d like you to have one so I can sit on the stairs and watch everyone getting drunk!’ Peg was on a roll.

‘You don’t have to get drunk at a party, Peg. Sometimes it’s nice to go and have a dance and chat to your friends—’

‘Wee in the cupboards,’ Martin interjected.

‘Yes, that too.’ Poppy slapped his arm. ‘We didn’t even have a proper wedding reception, did we, Mart?’

‘Nope. Didn’t need all that fuss, I was just glad to get my girl.’

Poppy pictured Jenna and a couple of Martin’s mates from the garage singing ‘Ta da da da…’ repeatedly to the tune of ‘Here comes the bride’ as they arrived at the back bar of their local.

‘Who caught your bouquet then, Mum, and tied ribbons and tin cans to your lovely white car?’

Poppy smiled. Peg had definitely seen too many wedding-themed movies. ‘I didn’t have a bouquet or a fancy car. It was just Daddy and me and a few of our mates in the pub near where we lived. I had a lovely day, even without the fuss.’

‘Would you have liked all that – tin cans and a fancy bouquet?’ Martin asked, his face now serious.

Poppy considered this. ‘Sometimes I think it would have been nice, but if I picture a reception or a big party, then I see the kids there, so I guess I didn’t miss not having one. But maybe a party one day would be good. We could do it for our silver wedding or something?’

Martin nodded. That sounded like a plan and was sufficiently far off not to send him into a panic over finances and organising. ‘Am I
really
your best present?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Yep. Although when I’m rich and famous and have my kidney-shaped swimming pool, am wearing a diamond on my finger the size of an ice cube and have danced in my evening dress in the rain, that might change.’

‘You’ll still need me to pick you up and carry your bags though, right?’ He leant towards her.

‘Always. That’s your job, to pick me up when I fall and carry my bags.’

‘And kill baddies!’ Peg piped up from the back. They’d quite forgotten she was listening. It set them off giggling again.

Finally, as Peg dozed and Max snored, Poppy turned to her husband. ‘How was it? Out there?’ She looked straight ahead.

Martin exhaled through bloated cheeks. As usual he would spare his wife the reality of life on tour, the crushing loneliness, the boredom. ‘Oh, busy. Hard work, a shitty place, the usual. I’ve had enough, really, Poppy.’ He ran his hand over his face and rubbed his chin.

She nodded.
Me too.
‘Well, if you can stay here for a bit, that’ll be okay, won’t it?’ She tried to offer a small flicker of consolation.

‘That’ll do me, mate. It’s all I want, to come home to you and the kids every night. Trouble is, I don’t know how long it’ll be until I’m off again, and it’s the uncertainty I don’t like.’

‘I know. I know.’ She placed her hand on the back of his and thumbed his tanned skin.

‘I hate being away from you and the kids, but it also makes me realise how lucky I am. Imagine all those blokes like me who are away and don’t have our heartstrings.’

Poppy smiled and squeezed his hand. It was their thing and always had been, the belief that they had heartstrings that joined them across time and distance. Linking them as one, no matter what.

Poppy gave a long yawn.

‘Am I keeping you up or are you just bored?’ he joked.

‘Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m permanently knackered.’ She sank back into the seat.

‘Ha! It’s me that’s travelled across the globe, hopping on and off planes and sitting up half the night and it’s you that’s yawning!’ Martin tutted.

‘I know. I think I’ve found it harder work than I realised, having you away this time. But you’re back now and that changes everything.’ She grinned, wrinkling her nose in the way that Peg had inherited.

An hour or so later they were back in the rolling Wiltshire countryside.

‘It’s bloody beautiful here, isn’t it?’ Martin grinned, leaning forward against the steering wheel to take in the bright sky and snow-covered fields.

Poppy nodded. They’d traded the concrete of East London for all this green, open space and the novelty was still acute for both of them.

As she stepped out of the car, Poppy looked across at their army quarter, one of twelve identical houses that had been built in the 1970s for the MoD. It was flat-fronted and rather ugly on the outside, but inside, the lounge/diner was quite spacious, the large windows let in lots of natural light and the kitchen was a useable square. There were two good-sized bedrooms and a third that people used either as a study or, like Poppy and Martin, allocated to their second or third child.

Martin lifted the bags from the boot of the car. ‘God, it’s bloody freezing! Hope you left the heating on.’

Poppy tutted. ‘Of course I did. Can’t risk a pipe freeze in this weather. I do manage, you know, when you’re not here. It’s a case of bloody having to!’

Martin smacked her bum as she walked past and made her way inside.

Jo, their neighbour, ran down her front path in her slippers, blushing as she patted her hair, which had been hastily shoved into a band. ‘Mart! Oh God, wasn’t expecting to see you. What you doing home? Thought you had another couple of months to go?’

‘I did, but they cut the tour short.’ He smiled. ‘I didn’t want to say anything to Poppy in case everything changed. You know how it can.’

Jo nodded. ‘Don’t I just.’

‘It was all very last-minute, but I got to Oxford on Christmas morning in the early hours.’

‘You lucky sod.’ Jo wrung the tea towel in her hand; she wanted her husband home too.

‘Danny all right?’ Martin asked after his drinking buddy and fellow armchair Spurs supporter; he had been one of the last to be deployed to Afghanistan.

‘Yeah. Y’know.’ Jo shrugged. She didn’t need to elaborate on how horrible it was to be separated, especially over Christmas.

‘Give him my best.’ Martin nodded, sincere.

‘Will do, mate. Tell Pop not to worry about tonight. We were going to open a bottle of plonk and watch a bit of telly, but tell her I’ll catch up with her in the week.’ Jo hovered.

Martin nodded again in her direction. He had no intention of allowing Poppy to honour this engagement; tonight he wanted her all to himself.

Poppy stood in the kitchen and watched as her man lumbered through the door, laden with bags of laundry, presents and the detritus that gathered in the car on any journey.

‘You’re home,’ she whispered.

‘The place looks lovely!’ Martin grinned, taking in the immaculate leather sofa, shiny laminate floors, cushions plumped just so and dust-free surfaces. He smiled at the tiny Christmas tree in the window and the Santa statues on the side table; he was glad they had made the effort even though they were away for Christmas itself. It made the place feel like home. He loved how Poppy cared for their house; he felt a sense of pride every time he opened the door. ‘And bloody huge! Living inside a tent and washing in a communal block every day makes this feel like a palace!’

‘Is that right? Better get me a tent then. I’ll kip in that for a couple of weeks and then come in and be as chuffed as chips with this grotty quarter.’ Poppy slipped her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him on the mouth, running her fingers over his shorn, fair hair. He knew she loved this house and loved looking after it, finding it far from grotty.

‘How soon can we get the kids off?’ he whispered gruffly into her hair.

‘Well, that depends. If I had a hand with cooking tea and getting them into their PJs, it would all happen a lot quicker.’

‘Consider it done.’ Martin clapped his hands, loudly. ‘Right, Peg, Maxy, who wants what for tea?’

The two thundered into the lounge. ‘Chicken nuggets, chips, peas and chocolate mousse please, Dad!’ Peg shouted.

‘Yes, nuggets!’ Max nodded his agreement.

‘Coming right up.’ Martin bowed. ‘Is that on the same plate?’

The kids giggled. ‘I love having my daddy home!’ Peg pogoed up and down, Max joined her.

‘Tell you what, babe, why don’t you go have a shower, have a moment to yourself,’ Martin said to Poppy as he headed for the kitchen.

Poppy smiled. She liked having their daddy home too.

She kicked her pants on top of the jeans and T-shirt that lay in a heap in the corner of the bathroom, and let the water splat against the shower tray. She usually jumped into the slightly chilly deluge and started scrubbing as it warmed, but not tonight. Instead, she carefully laid out her silky nightie, dressing gown and only matching set of bra and pants, then positioned her perfume bottle ready for a quick spritz before she went downstairs.
He’s home!
She grinned into the mirror and practised her smouldering pose: hair over the shoulder, cheeks sucked in slightly, eyes fixed. She laughed; she was rubbish at that stuff and she knew that, after eighteen years together, Martin would only find it comical, not alluring. She felt sexy enough without trying to do sultry as well.

Steam engulfed the space as she let the hot water wash over her. She squeezed a blob of her new, expensive shower gel into her palm – a gift from Claudia that she had been determined to save for special occasions. Well, this was certainly a special occasion: it was New Year’s Eve. Again she smiled at the thought that her man was on the floor below her instead of miles and miles away, across a sea or two.

Poppy inhaled the shiny, amber-coloured liquid. It smelt of vanilla and honey; lovely. She rubbed her hands together to make lather and ran her palm over her arms, neck and chest. Like most people, she had a familiar ritual for her washing routine, doing it in the same way and soaping her body parts in the same order. To deviate would feel odd. She considered this and smiled, wondering how long it had taken for this sequence to become habit. Did other people for example start at their feet and work upwards? Poppy grimaced; that would be entirely wrong.

She began to sing, loudly. ‘Let your love flow…’

‘Mum! Mum!’ Peg banged on the bathroom door, then tried the handle and realised to her delight that it wasn’t locked. She strolled in and gathered up Poppy’s silky nightie with its lacy edges and side split. ‘What is
this
? Mum, is this a dress? It looks fancy! Are you going to a party after all?’

Poppy turned her face to the shower nozzle and let the water cover her blushes. ‘Oh no, that’s just a very comfy nightie – it’s nice and cool when it gets hot.’

Peg ran her fingers over the silky material. ‘But it’s a bit snowy outside, Daddy’s freezing!’

Poppy turned off the shower, knowing that her allocated ‘me-time’ was over. ‘Yes, I know, but it can sometimes get a little toasty if we leave the heating on.’

‘Why don’t you just turn the heating off?’ Peg stared at her with her head cocked to one side and her nose wrinkled.

‘Good point, love. I shall do just that.’

As Poppy wrapped herself in the large towel and ran her fingers through her hair, Peg slipped her mum’s nightie on over her head and tucked the bottom of it into her jeans. ‘Dad says we can go on the trampoline!’ She clapped her hands.

If anything good happened or they were celebrating an anniversary, the whole family always took to the trampoline, deciding beforehand how many bounces were appropriate, ten being the most. The impending arrival of Max two years ago had merited a ten, and so had the loss of Peg’s first baby tooth. The occasions weren’t always the most traditional.

‘Really? Tonight?’ Poppy tried to hide her slight irritation; this wasn’t how she’d seen their evening of passion beginning.

‘Yes! It’s New Year’s Eve! And we’ve got a lot to look forward to.’

Poppy kissed her little girl’s forehead. ‘Yes we have, my darling.’

‘I mean, I’m going to be nine next year and I’m getting a new pet, aren’t I?’

Poppy nodded as she reached for her toothbrush. She was still hoping that acquiring a guinea pig might lose its appeal, even though Martin had readily agreed to the idea.