Called

LIGHT | 1-2

WE REACHED THE SUPERMARKET at ten twenty-five. Having shopped with Poppy for the previous four years, the ritual we shared came naturally to us, and the first place we headed was the clothing department.

Poppy paused in her study of a T-shirt sporting a lurid logo, turning as I picked up a pair of jeans in one hand and a skirt in the other. “What are you doing?”

I waved the hung clothes about like she couldn’t otherwise see them. “I’m not sure which to get.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Well, you’re not buying that God-awful skirt. I won’t let you.”

“But Peter likes me in skirts.”

She took a step closer, her finger pointed my way. “Let him take you shopping for the damn things, then.” Before I could blink, the flowery chiffon piece landed back on the rail with all the other flimsy garments. “You’re thirty-two, not fifty-two.” Her eyes flashed for a second. “It’s high time that man of yours remembered we’re not all nearing forty.”

Sean!

I jerked at the suddenness of the name popping into my head.

“Jem?”

My eyes dart left and right. A frown formed on my forehead, and I reached up, surprised by the tremble of my hand. Whether from excitement, fear, some kind of nervous reaction, I felt wrong—again.

“Jem?”

My fingers smudged over a fine coating of sweat upon reaching my brow, the discovery deepening my frown, rather than reducing it.

“Jem?”

Gripping my shoulder, Poppy shook me, and I turned to her.

Consternation filled her eyes. She gave a slow headshake. “I’ve no idea where you just went to, but you definitely were not inside your head for a minute there.”

I gave another wipe across my forehead. “Sorry, Pop. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Are you okay?”

I nodded, tried to smile. “I think so.”

After watching me for a few seconds longer, Poppy loosened her grip and, bending, grabbed something from the floor. “Are you getting these jeans?”

I hadn’t noticed them fall. “I shouldn’t.” I blinked to bring myself back. “I’m running out of space in my bottom drawer.”

“For goodness sake, Jem, just buy the damn things. Wear them in front of him. What can he say?”

I shrugged.

“Why do you let him tell you what to wear?”

“It’s not like that,” I said. “Peter just prefers me to dress nice.”

Poppy scowled before making a visible effort to rein it in. “Well, you look nice in jeans. Buy them.”

“But I’m running out of space—”

“Okay.” She put the jeans in my trolley, herded me along. “I have two spare drawers in my wardrobe—”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You haven’t got a wardrobe. You’ve got an entire room dedicated to fashion.”

She grinned. “Exactly. It’s called a walk-in wardrobe, Jem. And I have space. So, if you want to buy more stuff, do so. Just come over earlier to change when you want to wear any of it.”

“Thanks, Pop.”

***

* * * *

AS ALWAYS, THE SHOPPING trip preceded a trip to the supermarket café, where our regular lunch of fish and chips came with chatter of our week. Poppy was a blissfully happy, unmarried-but-long-term-dating mother of two. I was a happy wife and provider of food and s*x. Yet, however many times I tried to tell Poppy I was happy, she never believed me. She told me I was in denial, that I’d never had another relationship to compare with. She argued that I believed Peter made me happy because I didn’t know any different. Poppy always had a habit of saying exactly what she thought.

“So,” she said, waving her fork about, “that dream—did you have it again?”

“Which one?”

She rolled her eyes before settling them into place to give me the look.

I breathed out a laugh and nodded. “Twice more.”

“And you’re still in the forest?”

“Uh-huh.” I popped a piece of battered fish in my mouth.

“Anything else happen?”

“Nuh-huh,” I managed through chews.

“Weird.”

I nodded, almost said, ‘Not as weird as the name that keeps bothering me’.

For some reason, I decided to keep that little detail to myself. I couldn’t even recall knowing anyone named Sean.