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What was I thinking?
“I haven’t quite got to the McDowell book yet.” I clear my throat. “Although obviously
it’s on my reading list.”
“I believe Stoicism has often been misunderstood as a philosophy, isn’t that right,
Poppy?”
“Absolutely.” I nod, trying to look as knowledgeable as possible. “It’s completely
misunderstood. Very much so.”
“The Stoics weren’t emotionless, as I understand it.” He gestures with his hands as
though lecturing to three hundred people. “They simply valued the virtue of fortitude.
Apparently they displayed such impassiveness to hostility that their aggressors wondered if they
were made of stone.”
“Extraordinary!” says Paul with a laugh.
“That’s correct, isn’t it, Poppy?” Antony turns to me. “When the Gauls attacked Rome,
the old senators sat in the forum, calmly waiting. The attackers were so taken aback by their
dispassionate attitude, they thought they must be statues. One Gaul even tugged the beard of a
senator, to check.”
“Quite right.” I nod confidently. “That’s exactly it.”
As long as Antony just keeps talking and I keep nodding, then I’ll be OK.
“Fascinating! And what happened next?” Paul turns expectantly to me.
I glance at Antony for the answer—but he’s waiting for me too. And so is Wanda.
Three eminent professors. All waiting for me to tell them about Greek philosophy.
“Well!” I pause thoughtfully, as though wondering where to begin. “Well, now. It was …
interesting. In many, many ways. For philosophy. And for Greece. And for history. And
humanity. One could, in fact, say that this was the most significant moment in Greek … ness.” I
come to a finish, hoping no one will realize I haven’t actually answered the question.
There’s a puzzled pause.
“But what happened?” says Wanda, a little impatiently.
“Oh, the senators were massacred, of course,” says Antony with a shrug. “But what I
wanted to ask you, Poppy, was—”
’That’s a lovely painting!” I cry desperately, pointing to a picture hanging on a pillar.
“Look over there!”
“Ah, now, that is an interesting piece.” He wanders over to have a look.
The great thing about Antony is, he’s so curious about everything, he’s quite easily
distracted.
“I need to check something on my calendar,” I say hastily. “I’ll just … ”
My legs are shaking slightly as I escape to a nearby pew. This is a disaster. Now I’ll now
have to pretend to be a Greek philosophy expert for the rest of my life. Every Christmas and
family gathering, I’ll have to have a view on Greek philosophy. Not to mention be able to recite
Robert Burns’s poetry.
I should never, ever have cheated. This is karma. This is my punishment.
Anyway, too late. I did.
I’m going to have to start taking notes. I take out my phone, open a new email, and start
typing notes to myself.
THINGS TO DO BEFORE WEDDING
1. Become expert on Greek philosophy.2. Memorize Robert Burns poems.3. Learn long Scrabble
words.4. Remember: am HYPOCHONDRIAC.5. Beef stroganoff. Get to like. (Hypnosis?)64
I look at the list for a few moments. It’s fine. I can be that person. It’s not that different
from me.
“Well, of course, you know my views on art in churches.” Antony’s voice is ringing out.
“Absolutely scandalous … ”
I shrink down out of view, before anyone can drag me into the conversation. Everyone
knows Antony’s views on art in churches, mostly because he’s the founder of a national
campaign to turn churches into art galleries and get rid of all the vicars. A few years ago he was
on TV and said, “Treasures such as these should not be left in the hands of Philistines.” It got
repeated everywhere, and there was a big fuss and headlines like PROFESSOR DUBS CLERICS
PHILISTINES65 and PROF DISSES REVS (that one was in The Sun).
I wish he’d keep his voice down. What if the vicar hears him? It’s not exactly tactful.
Now I can hear him laying into the order of service.
“Dearly beloved.” He gives that sarcastic little laugh. “Beloved by whom? Beloved by
the stars and the cosmos? Does anyone expect us to believe that some beneficent being is up
there, loving us? In the sight of God. I ask you, Wanda! Absolute weak-minded nonsense.”
I suddenly see the vicar of the church walking up the aisle toward us. He’s obviously
heard Antony, from his glowering expression. Yikes.
“Good evening, Poppy.”
I hastily leap up from my pew. “Good evening, Reverend Fox! How are you? We were
just saying … how lovely the church looks.” I smile lamely.
“Indeed,” he says frostily.
“Have you … ” I swallow. “Have you met my future father-in-law? Professor Antony
Tavish.”
Thankfully, Antony shakes hands quite pleasantly with Reverend Fox, but there’s still a
prickly atmosphere.
“So, you’re doing a reading, Professor Tavish,” says Reverend Fox after he’s checked a
few other details. “From the Bible?”
“Hardly.” Antony’s eyes glitter at the vicar.
“I thought not.” The Reverend Fox smiles back aggressively. “Not really your ‘bag,’ shall
we say.”
Oh God. You can feel the animosity crackling through the air between them. Should I
make a joke, lighten the atmosphere?
Maybe not.
Reverend Fox checks his notes. “And, Poppy, you’ll be given away by your brothers?”
“That’s right.” I nod. “Toby and Tom. They’re going to lead me down the aisle, either
side.”
“Your brothers!” chimes in Paul with interest. “That’s a nice idea. But why not your
father?”
“Because my father is … ” I hesitate. “Well, actually, both my parents are dead.”
And, like night follows day, here it is. The awkward pause. I stare at the stone floor,
counting down the seconds, waiting patiently for it to pass.
How many awkward pauses have I caused in the last ten years? It’s always the same. No
one knows where to look. No one knows what to say. At least this time no one’s trying to give
me a hug.
“My dear girl,” says Paul, in consternation. “I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine!” I cut him off brightly. “Really. It was an accident. Ten years ago. I don’t talk
about it. I don’t think about it. Not anymore.”
I smile at him as off-puttingly as I can. I’m not getting into this. I never do get into it. It’s
all folded up in my mind. Packaged away.
No one wants to hear stories about bad things. That’s the truth. I remember that my tutor
at college once asked me if I was all right and if I wanted to talk. The moment I started, he said,
“You mustn’t lose your confidence, Poppy!” in this brisk way that meant “Actually I don’t want
to hear about this, please stop now.”
There was a counseling group. But I didn’t go. It clashed with hockey practice. Anyway,
what’s there to talk about? My parents died. My aunt and uncle took us in. My cousins had left
home anyway, so they had the bedrooms and everything.
It happened. There’s nothing else to say.
“Beautiful engagement ring, Poppy,” says Reverend Fox at last, and everyone seizes on
the distraction.
“Isn’t it lovely? It’s an antique.”
“It’s a family piece,” puts in Wanda.
“Very special.” Paul pats my hand kindly. “An absolute one-off.”