Numbered

by Amy Andrews

  ‘Bad,’ he grunted, thinking about the meds he and Julia had injected her with that morning in the jarring heat of the train carriage. ‘But that’s not what I want to talk about.’

  ‘Okay,’ Scarlett said slowly, hands worrying at a silky edge of sari. ‘Shoot.’

  He would like to. He would like to shoot this selfish, careless woman, who had made Poppy feel unloved.

  He stopped himself. No, worse than unloved. Unliked. As if there was something inside his lovely, funny, clever Poppy that had made it impossible for her mother to like her.

  Because of what? Some man.

  Quentin knew right then and there that if they ever had children, Poppy would never make them feel that way, no matter what happened between the two of them. Poppy had more love – more like – in her little finger than this woman had in her whole body. As quickly as he thought it, he remembered that there would never be any children with tawny-brown eyes and quick, clever brains. The resulting punch to his gut almost knocked him off course.

  He drew in a breath and fought hard to remember why he was sharing this rickshaw with this selfish witch. Not only had she made Poppy feel unliked, she had abandoned her, at some school. She hadn’t been there for the speech nights and the show-and-tells and all the rest of the crap that you signed on for when you made a person. And, worse, she had left Poppy again, now. When Poppy had asked her to come with them on the bucket-list trip, she had said no.

  No. Because she had to go to freakin’ India. To her freakin’ orphanage. Even though her daughter, her only child, her beautiful, beautiful Poppy was dying.

  So yeah, they needed to have some words.

  ‘Don’t let her down.’ Quentin growled the words at Scarlett, turning in the crowded contraption to give her the full death-stare treatment.

  Scarlett’s eyes widened as she considered the set of his face and the clenched fists in his lap. ‘Of course not,’ she said lightly, smoothing her sari skirts. ‘I never would, Quentin, you need to understand that. Poppy is my daughter and I—’

  ‘Enough of the bullshit, okay?’ Quentin had heard excuses and self-delusion too much in his life. He had no reason to play nice with this woman and he didn’t intend to. ‘You have hurt her. Her whole life you’ve hurt her, and please don’t pretend like you don’t know it. I don’t know what it is with you and her, but I do know this. I love her, and she’s dying, you get that? She’s dying and I won’t have her hurt, or let down, or disappointed, by you or by anyone. I don’t care who you are, her mother or the Dalai Lama himself.’

  Scarlett’s chin set hard – so like Poppy. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘And what are you going to do, if I do something you consider inappropriate?’

  That was a very good question.

  What would he do? Beating the hell out of her seemed extreme, and kind of wrong. Kind of. At least it would seem wrong to say it out loud. That he knew.

  ‘I’ll take her,’ he said, meanly, because he wanted to hurt Scarlett, at least enough that she behaved herself. ‘I’ll take her away, for the end, and that will be it. You’ll never have a chance to make up for everything.’

  Scarlett’s face crumpled and her voice was a low croak. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  He studied the woman in the voluminous sari. Her chin was still thrust out Poppy-style, and her eyes had a hard gleam to them, but her bottom lip quivered slightly, and her hand shook where she pulled at her sari. He thought about her face when she had asked Poppy to come to India, way back in Brisbane, before Tuscany, and the lights, and Dharamsala. For some reason, she had wanted Poppy to come very much. There was something Scarlett believed was going to come together because of Poppy coming here. She had to have seen how much it had hurt Poppy, how broken she had been when her mother had chosen India yet again.

  ‘Understand this,’ Quentin said, turning away from her slightly so she got the vibe that the discussion was over. ‘I would do it in a heartbeat. And if you hurt her again, I will.’

  By the time they arrived at the village, the atmosphere on the rickshaw was denser than a room full of drummers, and Quentin almost vaulted from his seat and threw the rupees at the driver in his eagerness to be away from Scarlett. It was a small place, not unlike the villages they had passed through on their way. A cluster of flimsy dwellings, some on stilts, some hugging the ground. Some slightly larger buildings, a clearing where a few women sat on the ground, deep in conversation.

  It took a moment for Quentin’s eyes to adjust to the differences as he made his way over to Poppy and Julia’s rickshaw to help her down. It was like looking into a picture, rather than at it. First, he noticed that the villagers seemed rounder, sharper and altogether better fed and dressed than those raw-boned and hollow-eyed people in the towns they had passed through. Then he noticed that the dwellings, while flimsy, had a look of permanence to them that he had not seen in the other places. There he had looked at the buildings and wondered whether a stiff breeze might blow them over, Big Bad Wolf style. There were gardens, too, bordering the village and creeping out to where it met the rice fields.

  He held out his arms to Poppy when he reached her rickshaw and she almost fell into them. ‘You okay?’ Her face was very pale, and her tawny-brown eyes were sharp and questioning.

  ‘Never better,’ he assured her, turning to where Scarlett was being greeted like royalty by the women who had been sitting chatting in the central clearing. ‘Your ma and I had a grand chat.’

  ‘Really?’ Poppy looked unconvinced. ‘What about?’

  ‘Orphan stuff,’ he said, looking around for something to assist him in a swift change of subject. He resisted the urge to go with ‘Oh look, there’s another mangy dog,’ as one of them ambled over to Poppy and lolled ecstatically at her feet.

  ‘For the love of god,’ Julia exclaimed, folding herself out of the rickshaw and handing some cash to the driver. ‘Someone call the RSPCA and get rid of all these disgusting mutts. We’re going to catch the freakin’ bubonic plague.’

  ‘I think that was rats,’ Quentin said, relieved not to be the only one troubled by the dogs.

  ‘Wow,’ Poppy breathed, staring in the direction of Scarlett. ‘Check it out.’

  Scarlett stood in the middle of a mob of women, touching their faces as though bestowing blessings. For their part, they touched her sari and pressed their faces hard against her fingers when she touched them.

  ‘What the hell is that all about?’ Julia rolled her eyes. ‘Your mum never mentioned she was running a cult here.’

  Scarlett floated towards them on her multi-coloured sari cloud and the crowd followed her like a bridal procession. She beamed, opening her hands to encompass the three of them and say something to the local people in their dialect. They all nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’m merely explaining who you all are,’ she said, as she turned back to speak to them again. ‘I hadn’t said much about it all before this.’ She faltered, swallowed, then forced a smile on her face after a quick glance at Quentin. ‘I wasn’t sure if you could make it.’

  ‘Wow,’ Poppy said, watching the faces of the local people as they listened intently to her mother. ‘They adore you.’

  Scarlett shrugged. ‘It’s not any magic, really. It’s just that we have to sweeten them up so they’ll accept the kids.’ She gestured off up the hill, into the distance. ‘Orphans are bad luck, pretty much as low as it gets on the caste ladder here. No-one wants the place here, not really. So we can’t only help them, we have to help the whole village.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Julia said.

  Scarlett shrugged again. ‘It’s practical. We made a lot of mistakes in the beginning. Before we realised this stuff, the kids used to get stoned on the way to school. The people couldn’t face seeing them getting better fed, dressed and schooled than their own kids. This way, we bring them all along, and the kids get left alone.’

  Quentin couldn’t help but admire the approach.

  He considered the incline and caught up to Poppy. ‘P
iggyback?’

  Two days ago she would have refused in horror, but he was pretty sure the morning’s illness, the train trip and the rickshaw ride had weakened her pride a little.

  ‘Why the hell not?’ She laughed, stopping and smiling at him in a way that looked very relieved. He turned around and crouched and she climbed onto his back. He’d learned that she preferred piggyback rides to him picking her up and carrying her in his arms; that made her feel like a baby, an invalid. Piggybacks, on the other hand, seemed fun and adventurous. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and he held her under her thighs for further support. ‘Giddyup.’ She giggled as he galloped to catch up to Scarlett and Julia.

  When they made it to the top of the hill, the sight that met them caused Quentin to stop suddenly, and momentarily lose his grip on Poppy. ‘Holy shit,’ he breathed.

  ‘Holy shit indeed,’ she echoed.

  A series of low, long wooden huts on short stilts greeted them. They were simple and uniform but pleasing to the eye. Tall gardens overflowing with flowers ringed the buildings and what looked to be a central eating hall stood to one side. A squarer hut stood at the other end of the township. A modest sign at the entry declared, ‘The Poppy Devine Home for Orphaned Children.’

  ‘She named it after me?’ Poppy’s voice seemed caught in her throat.

  Quentin resisted bitching that Scarlett might have been better off staying with her own daughter so she wouldn’t feel like an orphan herself. But it didn’t seem like the right moment.

  As they watched, a sea of small children in neat school uniforms mobbed Scarlett and Julia. They were saying some word Quentin couldn’t quite work out but it sounded something like ‘Mama’. Scarlett had her arms wrapped around as many of the tiny people as possible, hugging and chattering to them, gesturing at Julia, who looked bewildered but was grinning at the contagious enthusiasm. Scarlett turned and gestured to Quentin and Poppy, and as she did the children surged forward.

  ‘Poppydevine, Poppydevine,’ they were all shouting, grabbing at her skirts playfully and kissing her hands. Quentin pulled her in hard against him, even though he could feel her happiness at this sea of irrepressible childish joy. He was worried she was going to be accidentally pulled over in the crush.

  Scarlett and Julia pushed through. ‘Fuck me,’ Julia exclaimed, quickly covering her mouth as she realised she’d dropped the f-bomb in front of a sea of children, albeit ones who probably had no idea what she had said. ‘Now I know how it feels to be a rock god, Ten.’

  Poppy raised her palms towards Scarlett. ‘How do they all know me?’

  Scarlett smiled, tears pooling in her eyes. ‘I have a lot of photos of you in my office.’ She gestured to the square hut.

  Poppy stood, leaning against Quentin like she was trying to make sense of it all. Scarlett stood in front of her, uncharacteristically quiet as the moment seemed to stretch, a collectively held breath while they all wondered whether something would happen to break the brittle distance between Poppy and her mother. Even the children seemed to comprehend that something strange and adult was at work. A sea of little faces seemed to flick from one to the other like they were watching a tennis game.

  After a while, all the miniature bodies around them started to press in closer, like they wanted the two women to work this moment out, wrapping their arms around whichever piece of Scarlett or Poppy they could get their hands on. Quentin watched as a sea of small people fanned out from his fiancée and her mother like an exotic flower. Poppy started to sway towards her mother, who was watching Poppy with a silent appeal in her eyes. But at the last moment, she leaned back against Quentin again and cleared her throat, motioning that she should go somewhere and sit down.

  Quentin felt churlishly glad. He didn’t want Poppy to give in to Scarlett’s need to make it all better right away. It wasn’t selfishness, some desire to have her all to himself. He just worried that down that path lay more hurt for Poppy.

  The children seemed to deflate as the moment passed, but they all remained fixated on Poppy and Scarlett; all but one. One little boy could not tear his hands or his eyes from Julia. He looked to be five or six, but it was hard to tell because he was terribly skinny and had a shaved head. He was so different from the others, who appeared robust and healthy, that Quentin assumed he was a new arrival. Whoever he was, he had developed a major and instant crush on Julia.

  ‘So beautiful,’ he was repeating in reverential tones as he stared solemnly up at her. He held out his arms to her and she picked him up, even though Quentin was sure the way his nose was running would be making Julia want to reach for her hand sanitiser. Once he drew level with Julia’s face, the boy touched it softly with his skinny brown hand. ‘Are you a giant?’ he enunciated in perfect English.

  Julia guffawed and wrapped him in a quick squeeze. ‘No, pet,’ she said, smiling so blindingly at him that he blinked as though dazzled. ‘But I tell you what, while I’m here, you can be my special mate if you like.’

  Eventually, Quentin was the one who had to break the spell. ‘I’m sorry, guys.’ He coughed awkwardly. ‘But I really need to get Poppydevine inside to rest.’

  They all chattered in agreement, unpeeling themselves from the women and grabbing whichever hand or piece of clothing of the newcomers they could reach.

  Quentin caught snippets of their words as they were moved towards one of the low buildings.

  ‘A dorm, Poppydevine.’

  ‘Just for you, Poppydevine.’

  ‘You will love it, Poppydevine.’

  And they weren’t wrong. The look on Poppy’s face as she was ushered into the low building was like nothing Quentin had ever seen – not at the lights, not in Dharamsala, not even when he made love to her. As she looked around at the simple dorm that had been filled to the brim with a thousand kind of exotic flowers – garlands, streamers, bouquets – she looked, finally, as though she was utterly at peace.

  ‘This is your room,’ Julia’s little fan declared. ‘For Poppydevine. And the giant ones.’ He looked appealingly at Julia. ‘But I can stay in here with you. If you wish. In case you are lonely.’

  Julia burst out laughing and picked him up for another squeeze.

  * * *

  It was well past the children’s bedtime, and Poppy, Julia and Scarlett were sitting on the small patio of Scarlett’s office-cum-quarters, watching the outline of the orphanage in the light of the moon and listening as Quentin picked at the guitar, playing a sad song about a girl with red hair.

  Julia smiled at him.

  ‘It’s nice to see you two liking each other,’ Poppy murmured from her spot lying beside Quentin on the daybed.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Julia snorted. ‘I only tolerate him for your sake. The minute you’re gone, he’s off my Christmas-card list.’ She grinned, and wrapped a piece of hair around one finger. ‘Spike, on the other hand, I may need to check in on occasionally. Purely for musical development purposes, of course.’

  But she smiled at Quentin and he smiled back.

  Poppy roused herself sleepily from the daybed, sat up and looked across at Scarlett, who was examining some papers, tapping her feet to the music. She caught her mother’s eyes and raised her hands in appeal. ‘Why, Mum?’

  The cosy, sleepy vibe of the evening changed, and all the warm-blooded creatures that drowsed in the humid evening snapped to attention.

  Quentin’s hand closed protectively around Poppy’s waist.

  Scarlett looked over her bifocals and frowned in bewilderment.

  Poppy gestured around her. ‘Why all this? Why name it after me?’

  Her mother dragged in a breath and stood up, pushing back her chair. She stepped towards Poppy and eyed Quentin carefully before she spoke. He had the distinct impression Scarlett was wary of what she might say, lest she violate the rules he had laid out in the rickshaw. But this time he knew the time had come, and it was not his fight to get in the middle of.

  ‘I know I was no good,
Poppy, my darling,’ she said slowly. ‘I was so young when I had you, and foolish. My heart was broken and I didn’t know how to fix it. I wanted to reach out to you, but I was so damn bad at it.’

  She eyed Quentin again and he nodded at her, as Julia watched on in hushed fascination.

  Poppy’s face was hard and closed, but she also nodded at her mother to go on.

  ‘I came here and it felt like a way to atone.’

  Poppy sighed, a slippery, disappointed gesture. She sagged back against Quentin and he wanted to scream at Scarlett to try harder, do better.

  The older woman plugged on, stepping another foot closer. ‘I never intended this.’ She gestured around her in a slow sweep. ‘It happened by accident, I swear. One by one. The first time I found a child who had been left at a train station, waiting for his family to come back.’ She paused and stared into the distance as though remembering. ‘They had told him to wait there, that they would return for him. He was still there six months later.’

  Scarlett kneeled at Poppy’s feet and reached out for her daughter’s hand. Poppy hesitated, then sat forward in her seat, leaning away from Quentin, who felt the loss like a physical pain, as Poppy took her mother’s hand.

  ‘It felt like I couldn’t fix us, but I could somehow change their circumstances for them.’ She shrugged, and the tears spilled down onto her cheeks. ‘I should have visited you more often; I should have tried harder. I should have made it work. But every time I did, I seemed to mess it up, and the gap grew wider and wider. Oh, Poppy …’ She was openly crying now and Quentin’s innate desire to comfort a woman in distress warred with his concern for his lover. Poppy said nothing, but she held onto her mother’s hand and watched her face, as though Scarlett must say more, as though surely she had more to say.

  Scarlett reached up to wipe away some tears, then brought Poppy’s hand to her cheek. ‘I am so sorry, my darling, darling girl. I can never make it up to you, what I did.’ The tears spilled anew as she pressed Poppy’s fingers to her tear-stained face. ‘I don’t deserve you coming here. I don’t deserve another chance.’