Will You Remember Me?

by Amanda Prowse

  Thirteen

  Poppy stood in front of the shower and flicked the tap, listening as the water hit the tray. Raising her arms, she tried to summon the energy to take off her clothes. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, knowing that this morning, like last night, she didn’t have it in her to step into the cubicle and wash herself. Instead, she turned the tap off, rinsed her face, cleaned her teeth and began slowly gathering up the pants, socks and discarded pyjama bottoms from the bathroom and bedroom floors. She’d shower later. She stood on the landing with the laundry basket in her hands, taking a minute to rest before she attempted the descent. She hated how physically weak she felt.

  ‘Bastard pedalos,’ she whispered.

  Cocking her head to hear better, Poppy sighed at the unmistakable sound of crying that came from Peg’s room. Placing the basket and its grubby contents at the top of the stairs, she walked back and tapped on her little girl’s bedroom door.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  There was no reply.

  Poppy listened to the shuffling of the duvet, the sniff and then the deep breath that belied the age of the girl who opened the door. Peg greeted her mum red-eyed but grinning, knowing already how to paint on a mask that told the world all was well. It was a mask that would get her through the darkest of days and a mask Poppy knew only too well. Her daughter’s bravado sent a jolt of love through her veins.

  Peg pulled the door wide and bounced back into the nest of duvet that she had only just vacated.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Poppy leant on the chest of drawers with her arms folded across her chest.

  Peg nodded and picked at the embroidered pattern on her quilt.

  ‘It’s just that I thought I heard you crying.’

  Peg sat up and used the heels of her hands to plug her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m having a bit of a sad day and I don’t know why.’

  ‘Oh, love, you’re allowed a bit of a sad day. We all are. Is there anything I can do to help? Anything you want to talk about?’ Poppy recalled the advice: she was to let Peg ask for information and guidance. Far better that they went at her pace.

  ‘Not really.’ Peg looked up. ‘It’s just that I’m trying really hard at school, I’m trying to talk less and I’m still not register monitor. Mia-Rose has had three goes and I haven’t been picked once!’ And just like that, another wave of tears broke their banks and cascaded down Peg’s cheeks.

  Poppy knelt on the carpet next to the bed. ‘Do you know why you haven’t been picked, Peg?’

  Peg took a deep breath and shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘I do,’ Poppy said. ‘You haven’t been picked because Mrs Newman is a miserable, bitter cow.’

  ‘Mum!’ Peg gasped, before breaking into giggles that shook her whole body. ‘You said “miserable cow”!’

  ‘It’s true, Peg, Mrs Newman is a bloody miserable cow. What is she?’ Poppy smiled as Peg lay back on her mattress and fought for breath through her laughter; it was wonderful to see.

  ‘She’s a cow!’ Peg placed her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, unable to believe the conversation she was having with her mum.

  ‘That’s right. I want you to remember that just because someone holds a certain position or is in charge, it doesn’t mean they always know best or that they are smarter than you.’

  Poppy saw an image of Major Helm, Martin’s former reporting officer, who she had butted heads with when trying to bring Martin home from Afghanistan. She hadn’t allowed his rank slide to curtail her behaviour. What had she said to him? ‘I am not “every other army wife”. I couldn’t give a shit about coffee mornings and convention!’ She remembered the look he had given her, part furious, but also confused, unable to comprehend her lack of deference.

  ‘Okay, Peg?’

  ‘Okay, Mum.’

  ‘That’s my girl. But you are not to say that word again – promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ Peg beamed, tears abated. Her smile was now genuine, the kind that caused her nose to wrinkle and her eyes to shine. ‘I get upset about Jade McKeever sometimes as well…’ Peg plucked at her duvet cover.

  ‘Why? I thought she was your best friend?’

  Peg shrugged her shoulders. ‘She is, but sometimes…’ She hesitated.

  ‘Sometimes what, love?’

  ‘Sometimes she’s a bit mean to me.’

  Poppy took her little girl’s hand into her own. ‘Well, all I know, Peg, is that best friends are kind to each other, not mean. They look out for each other and they make each other happy.’ She thought of her own childhood best friend, Jenna, and how she used to burst into their little flat like a ray of sunshine.

  Poppy had been happiest when in the company of her girl friend and could only picture the two of them slumped on the single bed in her bedroom, laughing uncontrollably until they cried and one or both had to scurry to the loo. No matter what topic, whether boys, music, make-up or something far less important, she and Jenna found almost everything hilarious. Poppy knew she had never laughed in that way before or since.

  ‘Did you and your best friend ever fall out, Mum?’ Peg asked, hopefully.

  Poppy shook her head. ‘No, never. Not properly, maybe the odd disagreement, but it was always sorted out before one of us had to go in for our tea.’ She declined to mention that their lives were now so far apart that their closeness existed only in memory. She and Jenna were proof that life was lived on the spin of a coin, where one small decision could determine a path from which it was often impossible to deviate.

  Peg sighed. ‘Sometimes I cry if I think about Jade being mean to me.’ This too she addressed to the duvet.

  ‘It’s up to you who you choose for your friends. But if I was going to give you a bit of advice, I’d say that if Jade is mean to you and makes you cry, then I think maybe you need to find a different best friend, don’t you?’

  Peg nodded.

  ‘Now, go get showered and off to school we go!’

  Peg nodded. ‘I’m quite excited.’ She raised her shoulders and bared her teeth. ‘It might be my turn to do the register today!’

  ‘You never know, my love.’

  Poppy clumped down the stairs, pausing halfway to catch her breath. She could hear Martin laughing with someone in the kitchen. She looped her hair behind her ears and patted the back of her head to make sure the bald patches and clumps of shorter hair were hidden. She was surprised to see that it was Danny leaning on the cooker with a mug of tea in his hand. He had been back from Afghan for a little while but still had the unmistakable tan that started at his T-shirt sleeves and was darkest at the back of his neck.

  ‘Hello, Poppy. Hope it’s okay, just nipped in for a cuppa with Mart.’ He looked at her sheepishly, unsure of the reception he could expect.

  ‘Course it’s all right. We’re not taking sides, are we, Mart?’ Poppy looked at her husband.

  ‘No, course not,’ Martin confirmed.

  ‘No, we aren’t,’ Poppy continued. ‘But if we were, Dan, we’d say that dumping your wife via the telephone after all those years of marriage was a really shitty thing to do.’

  Danny exhaled through bloated cheeks. ‘That’s fair enough, Poppy, but there was a bit more to it.’ He scratched his scalp. ‘I was in a hurry.’

  ‘You were in a hurry?’ Poppy couldn’t keep the disdain from her voice.

  ‘I met someone a while ago, through work, and I was kind of seeing her while Jo and I were still married for a while…’

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Poppy rounded on Martin, who shook his head and splayed his palms.

  ‘No, he didn’t, no one did,’ Danny said.

  Poppy stared at Jo’s husband and tried to find the words. ‘Blimey, Danny, that is really nice work.’ She thought of her friend, who had done nothing but keep a nice home and wait for his return. ‘As I said, we don’t take sides in this house, but if we did, I would tell you that you are a nasty little shit-head who has caused a lot of unnecessary pain for someone that really did
n’t deserve it and I would tell you to get the fuck out of my house. If we were the type to take sides, which we are not. Are we, Mart?’ With that, she swept past the two men and proceeded to stuff the laundry into the washing machine, without looking up.

  Danny placed his mug on the work surface. ‘I think I’d better…’ He indicated the wall of the house next door with his thumb.

  Martin nodded.

  They heard the front door click shut as Danny closed it behind him.

  Poppy stood upright and looked at her husband. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing!’ Martin held his hands above his head in surrender. ‘I didn’t say a word.’

  ‘Good.’ She pecked him on the cheek as she walked past. ‘And if you want to talk to your unfaithful, stupid, dickhead friend, I’m not stopping you. You can just do it next door. I couldn’t look Jo in the eye if I’d entertained him in here, like it was all okay, which it’s not.’

  Martin nodded and picked up Danny’s mug, which was nearly full.

  ‘Don’t be too long!’ she bellowed at his back, feeling inexplicably angry at him, even though he had been as much in the dark as she had.

  That afternoon, Poppy sat in the car, refusing to display her blue badge, seeing it as yet another reminder to everyone that she wasn’t well. This was not something she was happy to share with the world just yet; doing so would feel like losing part of the fight. She decided instead to take her chances with all the other illegally parked parents, so she sat just beyond the school gates with the window down, waiting for Peg to come trotting across the playground. She missed picking up her little girl and had gathered all her energy to make the trip.

  She reached for the newspaper on the passenger seat and read while she waited.

  Lizzie Innes Bishop, 39. We are sad to announce that Lizzie lost her battle. Beloved wife of Clinton and mum to Jonah and Phoebe. Lizzie’s mantra was ‘run with it!’ and she did, every step of the way. Keep running, we’ll miss you, Lizzie.

  Poppy swallowed the lump in her throat. Thinking about Jonah and Phoebe, she hoped they were okay, these two children that she didn’t know. She crammed the paper into the side pocket of her door and her fingers touched on a small, flat, square packet, a leftover gift from some fast-food chicken in a box. Unfurling a wet wipe from its pouch, she proceeded to give the dashboard a good wipe over, before starting on the cubby behind the gear stick, as good a time as any to have a little clean.

  Peg appeared and stood a few feet away from the car on the pavement. She didn’t see her mum instantly, as she was deep in conversation with her friend and mentor, the one and only Jade McKeever.

  ‘But it’s true, Jade,’ Peg pleaded.

  Poppy watched as her little girl twisted handfuls of her skirt into her bunched-up fist. ‘For tea we have sweeties and cake and marshmallows and lemonade!’

  ‘What, every night?’ Jade looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Yes, every night.’ Peg nodded.

  ‘Don’t you have to have vegetables and meat and stuff?’

  ‘No, not in our house. We can have anything we want and it’s always sweeties!’

  ‘Why don’t you get really fat then?’ Jade smirked, with her chin jutting forward and her faux diamond earrings glinting in the sun. Poppy hated the way Jade used her body language to intimidate her daughter.

  Peg considered this as she looked down at her own skinny, bruised legs. ‘Because when we have finished eating, my mum gives us a magic tablet that gets rid of all of our fat so we can have the same again the next night.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, Peg fibber-fox! You are such a liar.’ Jade stuck her face right into Peg’s.

  Poppy felt a red tide of anger rise within her. Yes, Peg was fibbing, but the way Jade sneered in such close proximity to her daughter’s face was horrible. And judging by the look of resignation on Peg’s face, it wasn’t the first time she had been subjected to such an assault.

  ‘But it’s true!’ Peg looked close to tears.

  Poppy mustered all her energy, sprang out of the car and strode towards her daughter. ‘Hey, Peg! How are you?’

  She watched as her daughter tried her best to find a smiley face. ‘I’m fine!’ It tore at Poppy’s heart to hear Peg resort to the phrase that she herself had used so often during tough times.

  ‘Good, good.’ Poppy patted her hair. ‘And how are you today, Jade?’

  ‘I’m fine too, thank you.’ Jade smiled sweetly.

  ‘Great!’ Poppy beamed. ‘I was wondering, Jade, it’s been a while since we’ve seen you, why don’t you come over for tea sometime?’

  Jade gazed at Peg’s horrified expression. ‘I would love to, thank you, Mrs Cricket.’

  ‘You are welcome. It’s Peg’s birthday soon, we were going to invite you over anyway. I’ll give your mum a ring.’ I’ll show you, Jadebloodymckeever!

  Jade narrowed her eyes at Peg and smiled as she ran towards her mum’s car.

  Peg was quiet on the back seat of the car.

  ‘You okay, Peg? You’re a bit quiet.’

  She nodded. ‘I don’t want Jade McKeever to come to my house for tea.’

  ‘Why not? I thought she was your best friend? It’ll be a good chance to show her Toffee!’ Poppy looked back over her shoulder. ‘And I know we said only a family celebration for your birthday, but it’ll be nice to have a little birthday tea in advance, don’t you think?’

  Peg shrugged and sank down on the seat, unable to find the words.

  Peg’s mood didn’t seem to have improved overnight. It was time to get her up and off to school, but, unusually, her bedroom door was closed. Poppy knocked.

  ‘Peg?’

  ‘Go away!’

  Poppy twisted the handle and spoke through the gap. ‘Go away? That’s not quite the welcome I was expecting! Can I come in, please?’

  Peg didn’t answer; Poppy took this as approval and slipped inside the door. The smell of ammonia was overpowering. Poppy casually drew the curtains and threw open the window. ‘Let’s let the day in, shall we? No point living in this beautiful place and not appreciating the view.’

  Peg, with her gaze averted, gave a little nod.

  ‘When I was little, I only had a tiny window high up on my bedroom wall and even if it had opened and I’d been able to reach it, it looked out on grubby concrete walls and someone else’s washing! Can you imagine?’

  Peg ignored her, clearly not in the mood for a chat.

  Poppy tried a different tack. ‘How did you sleep? Did you have any sweet dreams? Any bad ones?’ She sat down on the edge of the duvet and tried not to stare at the pyjama bottoms and bath towel that had been rolled into a damp ball and shoved under Peg’s desk.

  ‘Mummy?’

  ‘Yes, my love?’

  ‘Is it my fault you’ve got this horrible bug?’

  ‘Oh, Peg, darling. God, no, it’s not your fault! Whatever gave you that idea? No, of course not. It doesn’t work like that, Peg. It’s no one’s fault and you can’t catch it, they don’t know why I got it, it’s just really bad luck.’

  Peg tried to sniff back the tears that slid down her nose and over her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, Peg, come here, darling. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay. Let me cuddle you.’

  ‘No!’ Peg was adamant.

  Poppy let her daughter cry and sat quietly by her side.

  ‘Why did you think it was your fault, Peg?’

  ‘I heard you say I was going to give you heart failure or turn your hair grey, and so I thought I might have made you poorly. And I know I talk too much, but I can’t help it, I’ve always got something I want to say.’ Fresh tears now fell.

  ‘Oh, Peg, I don’t remember saying that, but if I did, I was only joking.’ Poppy bent low until her daughter had no option but to look her in the eye. ‘You are the best thing that I have ever done, you and Maxy, the very best things ever. You make me happy; every single day you make me happy. Even when you are not here, just the thought of you makes me smile.’
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  Peg gave a brief smile.

  ‘That’s more like it.’ Poppy kissed her. ‘Don’t ever forget it, Peg. I would not change one single thing, not one, because being your mum is something I would not swap for all the tea in China, and you know how much I like tea, right?’

  Peg laughed.

  ‘And don’t ever stop talking. I could listen to you all day.’

  ‘Sometimes you do!’ Peg sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.

  Poppy laughed. ‘Yes, sometimes I do and those are the best days I have. I don’t ever want you to keep things bottled up, my darling. Come and talk to me or Daddy anytime, or Granny Claudia or Jo. There are lots of people you can talk to if anything is bothering you, ever. Okay?’

  Peg nodded.

  ‘Mummy?’

  ‘Yes, Peg.’

  She bit her bottom lip. ‘I did a wee in my bed.’

  ‘Oh, my darling girl, everyone wees somewhere they shouldn’t at least once and no one minds a jot. How about I run you a nice warm bubbly bath before school and you can have a soak and a splash while I strip your bed and get things cleaned up? How does that sound?’ Poppy kissed Peg’s scalp.

  ‘Sounds good, Mum.’ Peg allowed herself a small smile.

  Poppy bent over the running taps to swirl the strings of bubble bath that sat on the surface of the water. It happened in an instant. She felt the breath stop in her throat as a stabbing pain shot along her spine. ‘Shit!’ She lowered herself onto the loo and tried to steady her breathing. Her tears came suddenly and without warning. She was in too much pain to be brave.

  * * *

  The day of the birthday tea arrived, bright and sunny. Poppy worked diligently, giggling as she did so. She carried bowls and packets from the kitchen, removed wrappings, shook out ingredients and artfully arranged vibrant displays on their dining room table. She took photographs at every stage, so that she could later pop them into her daughter’s memory box. The final picture was a selfie, of her in front of the table, over which she scrawled: