Will You Remember Me?

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘No, not really. I thought I’d be pointing out our volcanoes – the Pitons – and naming trees!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Poppy said, cringing.

  ‘Don’t be. It’s been quite an education. You feel like family – you are family!’ He grinned.

  ‘Shall I call you Uncle Simon?’ Peg asked.

  ‘You can call me anything you like!’

  ‘Apart from Katniss, I bet – I’m not allowed to call a new baby Katniss or my new guinea pig Katniss, even though I really wanted to.’

  ‘You’ve lost me!’ Simon glanced at Peg in the mirror.

  Poppy turned to look over her shoulder again. ‘Tell you what, Peg, let’s see if you can be quiet until we arrive, okay?’

  Peg mimed zipping her mouth shut and threw the imaginary key out of the window.

  ‘She can call me Katniss if she really wants to,’ Simon said.

  Peg beamed from behind her sealed mouth and bounced on the seat. She liked her new Uncle Katniss, very, very much.

  ‘You mentioned on Skype that you and Kate hadn’t been married long?’

  ‘That’s right. She loves to tell the story, so I won’t steal her thunder.’ Simon smiled his wide grin at his niece. ‘It’s coming up for four years.’

  He turned his jeep into a steep winding driveway that led up to their home. The pale pink single-storey building appeared to sit on stilts, leaving a cool shady area below the house. A white wooden trellis formed the front wall to a terrace that ran the length of the property and it was covered in bright red hibiscuses in full bloom.

  ‘This is so beautiful!’ Poppy climbed out of the jeep and shielded her eyes as she looked beyond the garden and out to the sea in the distance. ‘I can’t believe I’m here! Thank you, Simon. Thank you so much.’ She smiled at him.

  ‘No, thank you. It means the world that you came.’ He lifted the suitcase and made his way towards the house.

  ‘Hello, hello! Welcome, welcome!’

  Poppy turned in the direction of the voice that came from the front terrace of the house. Kate looked unmistakably English – a middle-aged lady with shoulder-length mousy brown hair and wearing cropped jeans and a floral shirt. She bounced down the stairs, waving a tea towel and grinning.

  ‘And this is Kate!’ Simon said, with obvious joy in his voice.

  ‘Hello, Kate.’ Poppy opened herself to Kate’s embrace, relishing the hug that lasted a fraction too long: Kate’s way of acknowledging her illness.

  ‘Oh, Poppy, it’s so lovely to meet you in real life. And you must be Peg!’ Kate bent down to Peg’s height.

  ‘Yep.’ Peg nodded. ‘I’m going to be a pilot.’

  ‘How wonderful!’ Kate clapped her hands together. ‘Think you might fly back to St Lucia one day?’

  Peg nodded again. ‘Yes, I think I will. I might work for British Airways as the money is quite good. I’ll bring my dad to visit if you like!’

  There was a second of silence as the adults quietly recognised the unintended accuracy of Peg’s words – that Poppy would no longer be alive when Peg was old enough to fly.

  Kate changed the subject as Simon carried their case inside. ‘I’ve made a lemon drizzle cake, my specialty – hope you like it! Who’s hungry?’

  ‘Me!’ Peg’s arm shot up in the air as though she were in school.

  ‘Ah, here she is!’ Kate turned to greet the little girl who had suddenly appeared among them. ‘I knew the mention of lemon drizzle cake would draw you out! Poppy, Peg, this is Matilda.’

  ‘Hi!’ Matilda stood in front of Kate with her hands reaching back and gripping her jeans, a safety blanket of sorts.

  Kate caressed Matilda’s head. ‘You and Peg are nearly the same age. Why don’t you go and show her the chickens?’

  ‘Sure.’ Matilda reluctantly let go of her denim anchor and walked towards the back of the garden. ‘Come on.’ She beckoned to Peg.

  Poppy and Kate watched as the little girls slipped into step, side by side.

  ‘Are Kate and Katniss your mummy and daddy?’

  ‘Why do you call him Katniss?’ Matilda laughed loudly.

  ‘Because he said I could,’ Peg replied matter-of-factly.

  ‘They are kind of my mum and dad…’ Matilda started to explain.

  That was the last they heard as the conversation was taken out of earshot.

  ‘How are you feeling, Poppy?’ Kate looked concerned.

  ‘Tired, but fine.’

  ‘And we are not to keep asking her if she is okay – isn’t that right, Poppy?’ Simon shouted as he came back into the garden.

  Poppy laughed.

  ‘Do you fancy a rest? Your room is all made up and you’ve had a long journey.’ Kate was sweet, kind, motherly.

  ‘No, but thanks. I’d love a cup of tea though and a bit of your famous lemon drizzle cake!’ Poppy hoped she could get the cake down.

  The three sat on the terrace sipping tea as the heat slipped from the day.

  ‘I still can’t believe I’m here.’ Poppy stared at the sea, amazed at how easy it was to wake in one country and go to sleep in another.

  ‘Simon is so pleased to have found you.’ Kate patted his hand.

  ‘I am indeed. Kate encouraged me to look for my birth family. I don’t know if I’d have had the courage if she hadn’t suggested it.’

  ‘He had a gap in his life, a knowledge gap that needed filling.’ She smiled at her husband.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Simon agreed. ‘My adoptive parents died within a year of each other a couple of years back and it got me thinking. I was sad not to have located Dorothea before she died.’

  ‘She was an amazing lady, really. My lovely nan – just an ordinary woman, or so I thought. I had no idea that she had this life before she had my mum.’

  Simon rested his arms on the table. ‘It was a hard letter to write to Cheryl.’

  No one commented on Cheryl’s lack of interest.

  ‘I’d managed to trace the place of my birth to a mother and baby home in Battersea, London, which I vaguely knew about from my parents. But the records were sketchy. I already knew who my father was because my mum – my adoptive mum – had been told by one of the nuns at the home that he was Solomon Arbuthnott, a St Lucian. She never forgot his name. But it was harder to get Dorothea’s details. There was a great deal of shame in being pregnant and unmarried, especially in a mixed-race relationship; it was very different in those days.’

  ‘In some ways,’ Kate whispered, acknowledging that the two of them had also faced prejudice.

  ‘How did you two meet?’ Poppy asked as she sipped a glass of cordial Kate had poured her.

  ‘Oh, Kate came here as a tourist and I lured her in!’ Simon laughed.

  ‘You hardly lured me in! I met him on a beach – that’s true. He was with Matilda, who was tiny; gosh, so tiny.’ Kate paused, smiling at the memory. ‘Matilda gave me a shell, which I still treasure and Simon invited me up to the mission in Dennery, a suburb back towards the airport on the road you just came from.’

  Simon picked up the thread. ‘The mission is still running, but I spend most of my time fundraising for it now. It’s entirely dependent on donations and sponsorship and I quickly realised that I couldn’t run it full time as well as keep it going financially. So there’s a team there now, looked after by Fabian, who’s been there since the beginning. I still visit nearly every day, but I’m no longer stripping beds and washing pots.’

  He beamed at Kate, who continued the story.

  ‘I went up and visited him and the kids he was looking after and fell in love with him and the place.’ She paused and stared briefly at the horizon. ‘It was a tricky time in my life,’ she said quietly, then turned to face Poppy again. ‘I went back to the UK and stuck it out for a couple of years, but I couldn’t get him out of my head. Then one day, completely out of the blue, he turned up on the doorstep of my house in Cornwall – our house in Cornwall now. He smiled at me, took my hand and that was that!’


  ‘I haven’t let her go since,’ Simon said.

  ‘And as I told you, we are soon to become grandparents!’ Kate grinned. ‘My son Dominic and his wife Fiona are having a baby! We know it’s a little boy and they want to name him Noah. I can’t wait, but whenever I talk about him, I cry!’ She fished up her sleeve for a tissue to blot her tears.

  Poppy smiled. ‘That’s so exciting – a little boy! It’ll be great. You must miss them all.’

  ‘Yes, I do. But it’s more than that. Noah is a symbol of all the good things I wished for my kids. He will be very precious.’ Kate blew her nose.

  The two girls reappeared and took up their seats at the table. They held hands. Firm friends already. Matilda was nearly a year older than Poppy and therefore an object of fascination and someone to be emulated.

  ‘Do you know Jonty Mantiziba?’ Peg asked.

  Matilda shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Does he live in St Lucia?’

  ‘No, he lives in England. He’s in my class, but he’s black too.’

  Simon laughed loudly. ‘Not all black people know each other, Peg.’

  ‘I know that, Uncle Katniss!’ Peg sounded incensed. ‘I just wondered…’ She drummed her fingers on the table.

  ‘Why don’t you two get your costumes on and I’ll take you to the beach for a dip!’ Kate suggested.

  ‘Yeeeeees!’ They clambered off their seats and rushed inside.

  ‘Did you ever meet Solomon Arbuthnott?’ Poppy asked, hoping that Simon had met at least one of his birth parents.

  ‘Yes, yes I did.’ Simon looked at the table and paused. ‘Do you think Dorothea ever thought about me?’

  ‘Knowing her, I’m sure she did. She seemed a little preoccupied for most of her life and maybe it was you she was preoccupied with. Of course I’ve thought about that a lot since I found out, and I’ve remembered certain things.’

  Simon sat forward, eager to hear the details that he’d been longing for.

  ‘It was hard watching her deteriorate with dementia. I hated it. It made me sad that she lost so much of herself.’

  ‘It’s a terrible disease,’ Simon acknowledged.

  ‘She used to say to me things like, “How did I end up here, Poppy Day? Where did everyone go?” And all I could do was mop up her tears and stroke the back of her hand. And I’d say, “I don’t know, Nan. I don’t know what happened.” I never lied to her, never would. But it was hard.’ Poppy felt her tears pool at the memory.

  ‘Did Cheryl not help you with her care?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Not once.’ Poppy was embarrassed at having to admit to these less than attractive traits in her mum, Simon’s sister. ‘Just before I really lost Nan to dementia, she told me she had a baby. I didn’t believe it, thought it was just more of her rambling – she was convinced Joan Collins was her daughter for a while, but that’s a whole other story!’

  Simon laughed.

  Poppy drew breath, her expression serious now. ‘But I remember she said two things. One day, she clutched my hand as if she was desperate and she said to me, “I’m sitting here thinking about that other baby. I wonder what he is doing right now. Do you think he could be close by?” And I just said, “I guess so, Nan.” And then she said, “He went to a good family; I made sure of that,” and now it’s clear to me that she must have meant you. And another day that I remember clearly, she said, “I wasn’t even allowed to say his name, not ever, not once, let alone have a bloody photograph. My little boy, my Simon.” And then she cried, really cried, and it was horrible to watch. All I could do was hold her hand and tell her it was all okay and that it was a long time ago. I didn’t know what else to say.’

  Poppy looked up and was aghast to see the fat tears that rolled down Simon’s face. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Simon! I didn’t mean to upset you. I feel awful.’

  Simon shook his head. ‘No, no. It’s wonderful! Wonderful to hear about her and to know she thought of me, said my name! It’s a hard thing to describe, because I had a fantastic mum and dad, a really happy childhood. I was very loved. But it never quite goes away, that feeling that someone didn’t want you.’ He paused and tried to contain his tears. ‘But whatever the circumstances of my birth and my adoption, it sounds like she kept a little bit of me – here.’ He placed his hand over his heart. ‘Thank you for looking after her.’

  ‘Well it was easy for me, wasn’t it? I loved her.’ Poppy shrugged. It had been easy for her: her nan had been kind and funny and as her own mum was pretty shite, she had been very glad to have her in her life.

  ‘She sounds lovely.’

  ‘She was.’ Poppy thought back. ‘What bothered me the most, after she’d gone downhill, was that the people who met her when she was like that – her carers…’ Poppy smiled at the memory of the fabulous Nathan, who Dorothea had taken into her confidence and her heart. ‘They only ever knew her like that. They never knew she was once this funny lady, who liked to lark around and who had a spark. They never saw that. To them she was just another old person wearing elasticated trousers.’ Poppy curled her toes against the warm wood of the terrace. ‘I wish I could give you something interesting, tell you about her amazing career or that she climbed mountains, but that wasn’t her, she was just my ordinary nan.’

  Simon withdrew his folded arms from the table and wiped the residue of tears from his face. ‘It sounds to me as if she did climb mountains, in her own way.’

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, I brought you some photographs!’ Poppy bent down slowly and reached for her handbag. Between two folded sheets of paper sat the photographs of her nan. She peeled them off and placed them in Simon’s palm. She leant into him, touching the first one with her finger. ‘This is Dorothea and her husband, Wally, my grandad, on their wedding day in 1962. It was taken in the back garden of the house she grew up in, in Limehouse, east London. Her mum and dad were Reg and Joan Simpson. That was her maiden name: Dorothea Simpson.’

  Simon shook his head. ‘This is marvellous! I can’t believe it – this is what my mum looked like!’ He held the picture close to his face, to better scrutinise it. ‘She looks beautiful.’

  Poppy smiled and touched the other photograph. ‘I don’t remember being told much about that one, but it’s the late seventies and she is sitting in the little kitchen in the flat that I grew up in, in Walthamstow. She was a lousy cook, apart from the odd bacon sandwich, so it was obviously some occasion if she’d gone and splashed out on a plate of fondant fancies!’

  ‘I shall look at these over and over. I can’t thank you enough.’ Simon was clearly touched by her gift.

  ‘Uncle Katniss! Look what I found!’ Peg shouted as she approached the table. She was wearing her swimming costume and holding a large shell, its surface covered with nodes and tiny cracks. ‘It’s enormous!’ she squealed.

  ‘That’s a conch shell,’ Simon told her. ‘The conch live in shallow waters and on the reefs and they are molluscs – like snails, but much bigger! People eat them.’ He turned to Poppy. ‘This one is actually from Solomon’s garden.’

  ‘It belonged to your birth dad?’ Poppy asked.

  Simon smiled. ‘Yes. He was quite attached to it. It’s very old.’

  ‘Be careful with it, Peg,’ Poppy admonished.

  ‘If you hold it up to your ear you can hear the sea,’ Simon said to Peg.

  Using both hands, Peg duly held the shell up to her ear and concentrated. She was silent for a second before her eyes widened. ‘I can! I can hear the sea!’ she shouted.

  ‘I told you.’ Simon winked at Poppy.

  ‘Which sea is it I’m listening to?’ Peg asked with her nose wrinkled.

  ‘I think it’s any sea you want it to be.’

  Peg nuzzled the huge shell against her face. ‘I think it’s the sea at Bournemouth, where my dad took me and Maxy for a walk on the sand.’

  Poppy felt a wave of longing for her little boy, wishing she could hold him in her arms right now.

  ‘If Dad and Maxy are in Bournem
outh and I can hear the sea there, they might be able to hear me!’ Peg shouted.

  Poppy and Simon laughed.

  She moved the shell around so her mouth was near the opening. ‘Hello, Dad! Hello, Max! I’m here in St Lucia, but I can hear your sea. Can you hear me? If you can, give my love to Toffee.’ She then blew a kiss against the pearlescent pink mouth of the conch.

  Poppy put her head in her hands. ‘I think my daughter is the only person in the whole wide world who would think of communicating across the globe by conch shell. I don’t know where she gets it from.’

  Twenty-Four

  When Poppy woke up, it took a second for her to remember where she was. When she did remember, she smiled and closed her eyes, feeling a sense of relief that she was here in paradise and there was a whole day ahead of her in which she could do as she pleased. Peg’s side of the bed was empty. Poppy stretched her aching bones and stared at the sun streaming through the window. It was wonderful to wake in natural heat: no glug of radiators or whir of fans, just the warmth of the sun as it permeated the walls and filled the room. She sat up and looked out at the vibrant green garden with its spiky palms, lush plants and fiery red blooms. A proper Caribbean garden.

  Swinging her legs to climb from the bed, she was immediately anchored by a sharp pain in her lower back. ‘Jesus H. Christ!’

  She sat back against the pillows, unscrewed the lid of her little pill bottle, counted the capsules into her palm and hurled them down her throat. ‘Do your worst, boys,’ she said, visualising the bastard pedalos. There wasn’t one part of her body that on one day or another didn’t cause her discomfort. It was exhausting.

  There was a light rap on her door.

  ‘Come in!’ Poppy did her best to sound comfortable and calm. She didn’t want to worry anyone more than she already had.

  Kate popped her head into the room. ‘Morning, Poppy. Did you sleep well?’

  Poppy ran her hand over the pale lemon quilt and pushed her head into the heavily starched pillowcases with little sprigs of lavender embroidered on them. ‘Kate, in a room as beautiful as this, it would be very hard not to.’