My friend Poppy Fairweather has the gift of the gab like no other. She’s striking, sharp-tongued, and as bright as a button, but every now and then she’ll play the sweet, demure girl so perfectly you just want to scoop her up and give her a cuddle. She’s got that act down pat.
I remember this one time on a coach trip. The bus was packed full of tourists. The driver was a no-nonsense bloke named Mick. We had a long overnight journey ahead, and Mick didn’t have a co-driver. He glanced back at our rowdy bunch and said,
“It’s a fair way yet, and I don’t fancy nodding off at the wheel, do I? Any of you ladies fancy keeping me company? Sit up front, have a bit of a chinwag? I’ll owe you one.”
Everyone pulled a face—felt sorry for him, sure, but nobody fancied staying awake either. We all just wanted to doze off and wake up at our destination.
Enter Poppy. She volunteered to keep Mick entertained while the rest of us snoozed. She moved up front, smoothed down her skirt, and batted her eyelashes—all innocent and shy.
“I’m not much of a talker, terribly shy really, but I’ll give it a go.”
The passengers settled in, Mick put his foot down, miles rolled by, and Poppy started up:
“What shall we chat about, captain? How about I tell you about my first love? Or, well, one of them—I was about nineteen at the time…”
“Fire away, love!” Mick encouraged. “I was young once too—back in the last century. Go on then, cheeky!”
“Well, in those ancient times,” Poppy teased, “I had my first—or second, or third—love. Honestly, it was somewhere in the top ten. I won’t name names. Let’s just call him… Binky.”
Mick gripped the wheel and nodded along as Poppy spun her tale. She described how they’d met, how passion had overwhelmed them right there on the high street at dusk.
“Binky and I realised we’d been searching for each other our whole lives!” she gushed, eyes bright. “We’d just finished lunch when we stood up and went straight toward destiny! We found each other at a crossroads under the first evening stars, while the pubs were just starting to get rowdy…”
“You’ve got a way with words!” Mick chuckled. “So what happened next? Sparks flying, eh?”
“It would’ve been perfect—if we’d had anywhere to go!” Poppy sighed. “His place was out, mine was out. All our mates’ flats were taken, couldn’t afford a room…”
“Ain’t that just life?” Mick sympathised. “I’ve been there—hormones raging, girl willing, and nowhere to take her. Might as well have laid her out on the pavement!”
“We searched everywhere, no luck,” Poppy went on. “Got desperate enough to check the park benches—even they were all taken! Love must’ve been in the air that night. Then Binky says, ‘Alright, pet, maybe another time?’”
Mick nearly swerved off the road.
“What?! ‘Another time’?! That Binky’s a proper muppet. If it were me, I’d have—where’d you dig up that wet lettuce?”
Poppy laughed, a mischievous, almost mythical sound.
“I’m teasing, Mick! Clever Binky found a way. He took me to this high-rise he knew, where the roof hatch never locked…”
“Ah, better!” Mick grinned. “Roof’ll do—long as the girl’s keen and the night’s dark enough. Stars, clouds, bit of romance… Not that I’d know, but back in my day—ah, never mind. Carry on, Pop.”
When Poppy’s in full flow, she could out-talk a poet. Softly, breathlessly, she described the midnight sky above them, how tiny they’d felt up there, just two specks under the ancient universe.
“…moaning with desire, we started undressing on that roof…” Her voice was honey-sweet. “I wore this patterned crop top with tricky little clasps at the back. Broke my nails wrestling them open! My skirt, light as dandelion fluff, slipped down my thighs, baring smooth skin… The warm breeze tangled in my wild curls—oh, I had proper princess curls back then!”
Mick was wide awake now, growling and shifting in his seat. Who could sleep through this? Poppy’s a stunner now—imagine her at nineteen! The whole coach would be drooling.
“I stripped down to nothing, desperate to lose myself in passion!” Poppy practically sang. “There, in the half-light, was the delicate curve of my last scrap of lace… the scent of our bodies, of longing, of heat… And then Binky said…”
“Yes? Go on!” Mick urged, breathless.
“He said, ‘You look cracking, Poppy! Fancy getting undressed again?’”
Mick nearly veered into the next lane.
“What kind of daft sod says that to a naked woman? I’d have given that berk a thick ear! But I’ll hand it to you—you tell a cracking story. Vivid! You ought to be on one of those phone lines.”
The coach sped on, headlights cutting through the night. Poppy, in her spellbinding way, launched into the next chapter—how their bodies tangled, hearts pounding like drums, every touch electric until they melted together, two souls merging under the vast night sky…
“And? And?” Mick urged, on the edge of his seat. “Don’t stop now!”
“…and then Binky said, ‘Missed!’”
Poppy giggled. Mick howled, slapping the wheel. Needless to say, every ear in that coach was pricked—nobody slept a wink. Later, the little minx told me,
“Serves them right! Thought they’d nap while I did all the work? Not a chance. If I’m awake, everyone’s awake.”
