Poppet

The Promise

WHEN MELANIE ASKS where AJ got to this morning, he lies. He tells her that Patience called – Stewart was acting up and needed another walk. Patience had a headache so AJ had to drive home and do it, because the dog is so nuts lately he can’t be trusted to go out on his own without running away into the forest. AJ hates the lie, almost dents it, his teeth are so tight as he delivers it, but he hasn’t got the balls to tell her what he’s done. He dreads the moment the phone rings and Caffery’s voice on the other end announces: I’m going to have to come out to Beechway.

He’s going to be ready by then. He’s made himself a promise. He’ll have explained it all to Melanie by then and she’ll be fine about it. She’ll understand, because she will have come to her senses. He stands in the gents’ and looks at himself in the mirror and makes himself repeat it.

‘AJ, you are going to find the right time to tell her. Swear it now, swear it? I promise. On Stewart’s life, I swear.’

At five p.m., when he’s finished all the rotas and the overtime sign-offs, and checked that the care-plan reviews have been written up, he is done in. The late nights have caught up with him. He locks his office and heads home. Melanie has a board report to prepare, so she’s going to follow later.

Patience has spent the day preparing another challenge for ‘breakfast’ – a proper English kedgeree, served with boiled eggs, chopped chives and coriander. Her disappointment when AJ walks in alone is written all over her face.

‘Awww, Patience, don’t make her do it again. She passed once.’

‘Girl needs feeding up.’

‘You’ll just make her ill.’

Patience purses her lips and busies herself around the kitchen, getting a mug of coffee and cream, tomato ketchup for the kedgeree. AJ ought to be the size of a house with all the food she dishes up.

‘Did your washing – it’s ironed and hanging in your wardrobe. Just in case you wanted to say thank you for that.’

‘Thank you, Patience.’

‘And for your information …’ She ladles dusky yellow kedgeree on to his plate and sets it in front of him. ‘The patron saint of good dress sense has paid us a visit. Your Hawaiian shirt got blown away.’

‘What?’

‘Off the line. Disappeared.’

‘Patience,’ he says warningly. ‘That was my favourite shirt.’

‘I know. And I’m telling the truth. I pegged it like the others. Must have been the wind. Clearly it’s got better taste than some of us.’

She turns away and clucks around, tending to her jam. Lifting the lid of each saucepan and peering inside, releasing huge plumes of steam. AJ sighs and picks up his knife and fork. By the time she has finished her jam duties the windows are covered in condensation and AJ has cleaned his plate. She snatches it up, carries it to the Aga, heaps it with more kedgeree.

‘Steady,’ he says. ‘There won’t be enough for Melanie.’

‘We’ll see,’ she says sourly. ‘We’ll see.’

AJ gives her a narrow, thoughtful look, wondering what’s going on. He thinks he knows. He picks up the ketchup and squirts it on the kedgeree. ‘So?’ he says, casually clicking the bottle closed. ‘What do you think?’

‘What do I think about what? What do I think about your Hawaiian shirt? You know the answer to that. What do I think about your job? You know the answer to that. What do I think about the way you spoil your dog? You know the answer to that.’

‘And you know what I’m talking about.’

Patience makes a disapproving noise at the back of her throat. She takes the kedgeree pot to the Aga and puts it on the warming plate, clunking down the heavy lid.

‘Well? Come on – spit it out.’

‘I like the way she eats,’ she says guardedly. ‘She eats like a proper human being.’

‘Apart from that, what do you think?’

She doesn’t answer. She picks up an oven glove and bends to check the jars sterilizing in there.

‘Patience? I asked you a question.’

She slams the oven door. ‘I heard your question. I did hear.’

‘And your answer?’

‘I’m worried.’ She wipes her hands quickly on the tea towel and drops it on the table. ‘If you want God’s honest truth, I think this time it’s different.’

‘Different?’

‘Yes – this is the first time I’ve seen my nephew acting like a grown-up and not a twelve-year-old boy who’s just worked out what his weenie is for.’

‘Is there a problem with that?’ AJ puts his knife and fork down. ‘Being serious?’

‘Hey,’ Patience says gently. She sits opposite him, watching him with her kind brown eyes. ‘You don’t know who you are – you really don’t. You don’t know how precious you are to me. I never had my own children – and isn’t that a blessing, because they’d be wild as boars if I had. But long before Dolly died, when you were still a little snotty kid about the size of a jelly bean and so ugly it hurt to look at you, me and Dolly both swore that whatever one of us went first, it would be the other who brought you up. She might have popped you out into the world, but as far as she and me were ever concerned you had two mothers. Maybe not perfect mothers, neither of us, but together I think we did a good job.’

‘And?’

Patience gives one of her rare smiles. She’s got teeth cleaner than poured milk, and when the light comes into her eyes she’s the prettiest woman alive. ‘I’m a mother bear, sweetheart. The first time my little boy’s put his heart on the line, and I want to be sure you’re going to be treated right and that the lady in question hasn’t got something else in her mind.’