Next morning, Poppy woke bright and early, with a feeling of optimism in her stomach. It felt a bit like starting a diet or a new regime. She was motivated and positive. She might just be that one in a million. She placed the collection of pills on her palm and, looking at the shiny, colourful display, she counted them, like Max would. ‘One… two… three… four…’ She smiled at the thought of her little counting boy.
‘Bisphosphonates,’ she said out loud, verbalising this new word in her vocabulary. She replayed in her mind what Mr Ramasingh had said about what they were for: ‘to slow down the process of bone breakdown while allowing the production of new bone to carry on as normal. Bisphosphonates can strengthen existing bone and reduce the damage caused by the cancer in the bone.’
So be it, thought Poppy as she threw the pills onto the back of her tongue and drowned them with water. She pictured them bashing into the bastard little pedalos and blasting them to harmless smithereens. ‘Ha! Take that!’ She smiled at her reflection.
Walking the recycling box to the end of the path, she saw Jo in her pyjamas and slippers doing the exact same thing.
‘Good morning, lovely! God, it’s chilly!’ Poppy pulled her sweatshirt around her shoulders.
‘You need a bit more meat on your bones. You can have some of mine,’ Jo quipped. ‘Are you dieting, Poppy? I’d definitely say you’ve lost weight, but you don’t need to, honestly, mate.’
Poppy cringed. She was now able to pull her jeans down without undoing the zip and she didn’t like it one bit. ‘I’m not trying to lose weight. I’ve just been so busy, I forget to eat sometimes, and all that rushing around doesn’t help.’
‘I wish I could forget to eat.’ Jo lifted up her pyjama top to show her friend her more than ample tummy.
Poppy laughed. ‘I think the bloke at number ten just choked on his cornflakes!’
Jo turned to the house a couple of doors down and did it again. Poppy snorted her laughter.
‘Ooh, I know what I meant to show you.’ Jo raised the phone that nestled in her palm. ‘Look what my sister sent me. The loveliest pictures of her and the kids.’ Jo opened the image and handed her mobile to Poppy. It was a fabulous picture of them laughing. ‘She got this London photographer who came to the house. He usually does all the actresses and whatnot and you should see the others, they’re all like this. Not cheesy or too formal, but the best photos I’ve seen. You should think about getting the kids done. It wasn’t too pricey.’
That was a light-bulb moment for Poppy. That’s what she should do, get some photographs taken and capture the now.
‘Have you got his details?’ she asked.
‘He’s called Paul Smith and he’s based in Greenwich, in London, but he’ll come out to you. And apparently he is drop-dead gorgeous, which is a bonus!’
Poppy nodded. ‘Send me his number.’
Sipping her coffee at the table, Poppy waited for the day to begin in earnest. She liked the idea of having photographs taken, something a bit more formal than the hurried snaps they captured on phones and loaded onto the laptop, where they simply sat, unlooked at. She had very little to remind her of her own childhood, other than a few blurry shots from her childhood home. This gave Poppy an idea.
Later that evening, while Peg did her homework and Max coloured in a picture at the table, trying to copy his big sister, Poppy stood at the stove stirring chilli. Martin arrived home from work.
‘Hello, did you get my boxes?’ Poppy asked.
Martin walked past her and smacked her bum. ‘Well, yes, it’s nice to see you too, my beloved!’ He nodded and pointed to a large white carrier bag on the dining table.
Poppy turned the ring down to a gentle simmer and wiped a splodge of the rich sauce that had splashed from the pan onto the worktop. Then she took the bag up to their bedroom and pulled the boxes from their packaging. They were perfect, one lilac and the other dark blue, just the right size and each with a sturdy lid. Encased in a tiny metal rectangle on the front of each was a small sliver of white card on which to write the contents. Poppy opened the drawer in the side table and pulled out one of Peg’s black felt-tipped pens. She held up each box, writing first ‘Peg’ and then ‘Max’ in the spaces.
‘Dinner’s ready!’ Martin called up the stairs, interrupting her task.
Poppy smiled. She’d known he wouldn’t be able to resist taking over if she left the kitchen for long enough.
‘Coming!’ She placed the boxes neatly in the bottom of her wardrobe and trotted down the stairs. The next stage would just have to wait.
Poppy was halfway down when she let out a loud, guttural yell. It left her body without warning. It was instinctive and primal and it not only scared her but Peg and Max too. Both kids ran to the foot of the stairs, their eyes wide as saucers. Peg placed her hands on her little brother’s shoulders and pulled him to her as Poppy staggered backwards and leant on the wall, unable to get a breath. The pain in her breastbone was so acute it had literally knocked the air from her. She was aware her face was contorted, but could do little to control it.
‘Oh shit,’ Poppy panted. She laid her head against the wall and slowly, slowly was able to catch her breath. Her whole body shook. It was the first time she had experienced a pain so all-consuming that it was the only thing she could think about, a pain that hijacked every nerve in her body and left her weakened, trembling and afraid of when it might return. She stared at her children, who looked equally scared.
Martin came out of the kitchen. ‘What on earth was that noise?’ He looked from his kids to his wife, who was hovering on the stairway. Her skin had turned grey and was covered with a fine mist of sweat. ‘Christ! What’s the matter, love? What happened?’ He climbed the stairs with his arms outstretched, not sure where to touch or how to help.
Poppy took a couple of deep breaths and laughed as she addressed the kids, wiping the tears and sweat from her eyes. ‘I’m so silly! I tripped and I think I hurt my back! I’m fine now though. What a stupid mum you’ve got!’
‘Stupid and a bit noisy!’ Peg shook her head in disdain and made her way back to the table, where a hot bowl of chilli and rice awaited her. Max toddled after his sister.
‘Are you okay?’ Martin’s brows knitted in concern.
‘I’m fine! Don’t know what that was, my back just twinged, must have twisted it.’
Poppy ignored the look of panic that Martin shot her as she sidled past him. She took up her place at the table and did her best to eat, ignoring the tremor of the fork in her right hand.
Nine
It was the morning of Poppy’s hospital appointment. She was dreading discussing the progress of the treatment so far. She had hardly slept and now wandered around the kitchen in her rubber gloves, looking for something else to scrub. The hob had been given a good going-over and she had emptied out the cutlery drawer and washed it thoroughly, before polishing the knives and forks and replacing them in their size-appropriate trays.
Martin came in and opened and shut the fridge. What he was hoping to find in there, God only knew. ‘Cor, you were fidgety last night, my little super-scrubber. Think you might have had ants in your pants. Lucky ants.’ He kissed her as he walked past.
Poppy noted his trackie bottoms and T-shirt. ‘Sorry, love, I had a restless night, don’t know why.’ She found the little lies were easy to pile on top of the bigger ones. ‘Why don’t you go for a quick run? Max’s soundo and Peg won’t be up till I call her; it’ll do you good. Go on, go running in them there hills!’ She pointed out of the window.
‘I feel guilty going for a run and leaving you cleaning.’
‘Go!’ she shouted. ‘I’m fine, honestly. Go get some fresh air.’
‘Sure you don’t mind?’ Martin asked as he reached for his trainers from the cupboard under the stairs. He straightened up and kissed her hard on the mouth. ‘See you in a bit.’
She turned her back and poured disinfectant on her cloth, which she then wiped over the bin.
&nbs
p; ‘Poppy?’
‘Yep?’ She looked over her shoulder.
He spoke from the front door. ‘You sure there’s nothing on your mind? It’s not like you, tossing and turning all night. Was it your back again?’
Poppy dug deep and produced her brightest smile. ‘No! I’m fine. Now go running while you have the chance. No one likes a fat soldier, Mart!’ She hurled the tea towel in his direction.
He ducked and laughed as he closed the door behind him.
After breakfast, as soon as Martin and Max left to walk Peg to school, Poppy sank down onto the sofa and closed her eyes. She felt tired, very tired. Smiling and laughing her way through the days was proving harder than she thought. She looked at the photo propped against the wall, of her and Martin on their wedding day. It showed them in their best outfits, sipping Guinness through a straw from a shared pint glass. They looked happy, making up for what they lacked in white lace and flowers with a deep, devoted commitment.
Her nan had told her it was the difference between wanting a wedding or a marriage, which had foxed Poppy at the time: what was the difference? Now, all these years later, Poppy knew exactly what she meant. Their marriage was built on an unshakeable foundation of love and dedication. Both were secure in the knowledge that they would be there for each other no matter what, through the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health… And in that second, Poppy knew that she had to tell her husband. She held her shaking hands inside each other and practised what she might say.
She would tell him the moment he got back from the school run. There was no easy way to do it, but she knew she had to dig deep, find her courage and give him the facts as she saw them. Those facts being that this was a challenge, but that she would win. She was determined. Gathering the paper from the hall floor, she opened it and lifted the small print to her face.
Emily Grace Manson, called by the angels at six weeks. Baby sister in heaven of Joe and Billy. Private family ceremony. Know, Emily, that for the brief time we had you, you were loved.
‘Ah, bless her heart.’ Poppy sighed. She picked up the pad and tore two strips of paper from the bottom sheet. On the first she wrote:
Your first word, Peg, was ‘Mumma’! I was very happy that you picked me to say first, and you’ve been saying it ever since! I hear your little voice in my head when I am not with you and it makes me very happy. Xx
On the other she put:
The day we brought you home from the hospital, Maxy, was a real adventure. Peg had decorated the lounge with strips of coloured paper and balloons! We had only ever called you Max, but as we put you in her little arms so she could hold you, she kissed you and said, ‘Welcome home, Maxy!’ and that was it, it stuck! Xx
Poppy folded the two strips and placed them in her pocket.
Martin came home singing, he was in a great mood. His earlier run had done him good.
Max sat on the rug and loaded his digger up with Lego bricks before dumping them into a box using the scoop. This task would keep him busy for an age.
‘Do you need a lift into Salisbury today? I could drop you on the way to work.’
‘No, I’ll jump on the bus.’ She smiled. She had told him she was going for a manicure and a spot of shopping. Max was off to toddler group and the mum of one of his friends was going to hang on to him until she got back or Martin finished. Poppy wasn’t really sure how long it would all take.
‘Why don’t we have a coffee and a catch-up before you go to work?’ she asked, casually, planning on holding the mug but not drinking anything, as per her hospital appointment instructions.
‘Can do, love. I’m not meeting the warrant officer until later. I know, let’s really push the boat out and have a biscuit as well.’ He reached for the digestives and shook them in her direction. ‘Living the dream, Pop!’
‘You’re easily pleased.’ She beamed, hesitating. Then she took a deep breath. ‘Mart?’
‘Yes, love?’ He waited for her to speak.
Poppy felt her stomach flip with nerves, still unsure how to begin.
The front door bell rang.
‘Bugger it,’ Poppy muttered under her breath as she made out Jo’s outline through the glass. She sighed and opened the door, searching for a smile. It quickly faded, however, at the sight of her friend. Jo’s face was streaked with mascara, her tears running like liquorice stripes down her cheeks. Her eyes were red and swollen and her mouth quivered.
‘Oh, Poppy!’ Jo fell against her friend, who wrapped her in her arms and patted her back, like she did the kids.
‘Hey, it’s okay, love. It’s okay,’ she soothed.
‘No, it isn’t okay, nothing is. I don’t know what to do!’
‘Come and sit down. What’s the matter?’ Poppy steered her towards the sofa and watched as her friend, seemingly weakened, slumped down onto the cushions, shredding the damp kitchen roll that she twisted in her fingers.
Poppy felt her heart hammering in her chest. Had something happened to Danny? It was a constant unspoken fear for them all. Poppy thanked God that Martin was home. She braced herself, ready to hear Jo’s news.
Jo shook her head. ‘I just can’t believe it. I can’t.’
‘Can’t believe what?’ Poppy coaxed. ‘Have you had a shock?’
‘A bloody shock? I should say so. I keep hearing his voice, telling me over and over, and it won’t sink in, it just won’t. It’s not bloody fair.’
Poppy sighed. ‘Whose voice? What’s not fair, love?’
‘Life! Life’s not bloody fair!’ Jo sounded angry.
Poppy ran her tongue round her dry mouth. ‘Have you heard from Danny?’
‘Yes. This morning, earlier. He phoned, the fucking coward.’
Poppy sat up straight, shocked to hear Jo’s language and sentiment. Maybe it was the shock. ‘He phoned?’ It didn’t make any sense. If he was hurt…
‘Yes, can you believe it, ten years of marriage thrown away with a bloody phone call. He said being away has given him time to think. I could have screamed. All I’ve got is time to think, too much time! I could kill him, I could. He’s a fucking coward, couldn’t wait till he got home and pay me the courtesy of a face-to-face conversation. That’s all I got – a muffled phone call, no doubt with half of Bastion listening in. All these years, trying for a baby, it was all I ever wanted and they said it probably wasn’t me and now those years are behind me, what a waste. Too fucking old and he took those years from me!’
All thoughts of her illness flew from her mind. Poor Jo. Her lovely mate did not deserve this. ‘Jo, you need to calm down and tell me exactly what Danny said.’
‘He said he wants a divorce, said he hasn’t been happy for a while and that I should pack up my stuff before he gets back as he’s given up the quarter.’
‘Shit!’ Poppy sat back and rubbed her face.
‘Yes.’ Jo nodded in agreement as she unfurled the remnants of her tissue. ‘Shit.’
Martin skulked out of the kitchen. ‘Think I’ll leave you girls to it.’ He gathered up his jacket and beret and left the house.
Two hours later, Poppy lay in the austere, echoey room in her blue hospital gown. She was on a narrow, white, fixed bed that looked part kitchen counter, part supermarket conveyor belt. Above her hovered a large white machine that reminded her of something you might see at the dentist’s or in one of those vintage episodes of Star Trek, like the ones she’d watched in her youth.
‘What the bloody hell am I doing here?’
‘All okay, Mrs Cricket?’ A robotic-like voice floated through the speakers.
Poppy gave the thumbs-up and felt her cheeks flush. She had forgotten there were speakers and a microphone and that a team in the adjacent room could hear her every word. She closed her eyes and thought of Jo, poor Jo. One phrase stuck in her mind: ‘Now those years are behind me, what a waste.’ Poppy felt strangely thankful, knowing that not one second of one day had been wasted in her life with Martin. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her,
her other half, to whom her heartstrings were joined. She remembered him striding across the playground at school one Valentine’s Day. He had marched across the tarmac, ignoring the taunts and jibes of their classmates, and delivered a huge padded card of a kitten in a wine glass, with the words ‘I Love You’ emblazoned across the top in swirly gold script. She still had it somewhere, probably in the loft gathering dust along with her other treasures. She hoped something similar would soon happen to Jo; hoped she would find someone who would make her feel like the most important person in the world, the way Martin did her. Poppy didn’t need diamonds the size of ice cubes or kidney-shaped pools; she knew what it was to be loved and that gave her riches beyond compare.
The CT scan was finally done and Poppy waited in the reception, feeling a little like she had a chill. She asked the lady behind the desk to call her a taxi; she didn’t feel up to the bus.
The taxi dropped her outside the house. Poppy paid the driver in silence. She was in no mood for small talk. Martin was home and Max was playing in the hallway when she put her key in the door.
‘Where have you been?’ Martin shouted from the kitchen.
‘I lost track of time and then I went for my beautician appointment and felt really awful, bit fluey. So I didn’t stay, I just came home.’ She gave a feeble smile.
‘I’ve been worried sick!’ He dried his hands on a tea towel. ‘You didn’t answer your phone.’
‘Oh God, sorry, love. I’m out of battery. I didn’t mean to worry you.’
‘Well you bloody did!’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t look well,’ he noted, his voice softening.
‘Hello, my lovely boy,’ she cooed, reaching down to stroke her son’s head. Suddenly, she bent over and clutched her stomach. ‘Oh God, Mart, I need to get to the loo!’ Her tone was urgent.
Will You Remember Me? Page 8
