‘Two slices.’ Poppy’s stomach rumbled its agreement. ‘Okay, maybe three.’
‘But no more – you know how my mum likes to cook.’
‘Enough for an army.’ Poppy rolled her eyes then plopped herself down at the nearest table and began to fiddle with the tea menu propped between the honey and sugar jars. ‘What’s a soothing tea? Chamomile, yeah?’
Ben went to the window, where he’d set up a miniature herb garden, and snipped a few leaves off the peppermint herb. ‘I wouldn’t go chamomile at this time of day, you might find yourself curling up in that pile of soft unicorn toys over there and having a nap. Peppermint tea will do the trick. It’s great for taking the edge off and, in my experience, it doesn’t send me off to the land of nod quite the way chamomile does.’ Ben walked the peppermint over to the kitchen door. ‘Be back in a second, I’ll just rinse these leaves.’
Poppy slumped back in her chair, glad for the moment alone so she could organise her thoughts… and try and detangle the hot mess that was her feelings. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples.
Damn it, she only had herself to blame for the warring that was going on between her heart and her head.
One moment’s clarity combined with a split-second of homesickness – not for home itself, but for Ben – had seen her book the first one-way flight she could find home, intent on setting up the business she’d longed to create, while reconnecting with the one person in the world who’d accepted her for her.
And now she’d gone and kissed that person, muddied the waters, and things were awkward. If she’d just left Ben alone – if she’d just kept her hands to herself – she wouldn’t be sitting here facing her fears. Wouldn’t be facing the one person who had the potential to hurt her every bit as much as her mother had. More.
‘You okay, Poppy?’ Ben returned with the freshly washed leaves. Placing them in one of his chic double-walled cups, he poured hot water over them and brought the cup to the table, along with two chunky slices of ginger loaf with a pat of butter on the side. ‘You look like a woman who’s about to meet a death squad. It’s only peppermint tea, I promise it won’t kill you.’
Poppy attempted a smile. Typical Ben, trying to cheer her up as always. ‘I’m fine.’ She wrapped her hands around the glass and breathed in the fresh, minty aroma. ‘You know when I was living in New Zealand I went to this fancy café, and they had peppermint tea on the menu. Said it was their special “house-made tea”. I ordered it thinking it would be something special. But guess what? Their house-made tea was exactly this. Fresh leaves with hot water dumped on top. And it cost the same as a coffee.’ Poppy grinned ruefully to herself. That experience pretty much summed up life. You choose something thinking it’s going to be special, then you get it and it’s not quite what you thought it was.
‘Something amusing?’ Ben slipped into the chair opposite, a cup of his customary green tea in hand.
Poppy shrivelled her nose and shook her head. ‘Not really. I was just thinking about how often you expect something to be a certain way, and it’s so often nothing like your expectation.’
‘Like family.’ Ben’s head angled to the side, his eyebrows drawn together in quiet concern. ‘How come you haven’t told your mum you’re home, Poppy? Surely she’d want to know.’
Poppy thought back to the few emails her mother had sent after she’d upped and left. There’d been nothing for almost two years. Then one had appeared on her birthday. Then sporadically after that. Never filled with declarations of love, or asking when she’d return, they simply asked where she was and what amazing things she’d seen. Why she’d sent them Poppy didn’t know. Probably an attack of the guilts. Yet the part of her that had wanted to make her mother happy, had yearned to please her, to see the smile she gave others so easily turned in her direction, made her reply. Nothing deep and meaningful. She just told her mum where she was, what she’d seen, and left it at that. If her mother wanted a closer relationship to her she was going to have to be the one to make all the effort. Poppy wasn’t putting her heart on the line, again.
Poppy tapped the side of the glass, watched the leaf release its colour, its flavour, into the water. Perhaps the only way she could truly move on was to confide in Ben. Explain the fear. The pain. Explain what kept her away for so long. ‘We couldn’t have grown up in more opposite kinds of families, could we, Ben?’
Ben nodded. ‘Understatement of the year. It was just your mum and you. An artist and her freedom-loving daughter. The absolute opposite of a lawyer, a housewife and their goody-two-shoed son.’
‘And the rest.’ Poppy twirled the glass round. ‘Did you know any other kids who didn’t have to go to bed at a set time? That got to eat chocolate for breakfast if that was all they could find? That could go for walks at any time of the day or night without getting into trouble because their mother didn’t so much not care to check on what they were up to, as didn’t care full stop?’
‘Oh, Poppy, don’t say that. Don’t say your mother didn’t care. Of course she did. How could she not?’
Poppy nearly laughed. To someone like Ben, whose life had been cocooned by a mother who adored him and a father who was proud of him, hearing that would be beyond shocking. ‘You know, despite the lack of parental laws I grew up with, I do wonder how I became the sort of, somewhat, kind of well-adjusted person I am today.’ Poppy took a sip of her tea, hoping its calming effect would work its magic. ‘Although, I think your influence had a lot to do with it. You and your rules. “We must go to school, Poppy, or we’ll get detention.” If I had a pound for every time you said that to me…’
‘If I didn’t you’d have dragged me along with you to who knows where to do God knows what. The rules were my only defence against your persuasiveness. And even then, my rules only worked with you half the time.’
Cute that Ben thought she’d backed down because of ‘rules’. She’d backed down because what she’d wanted to do was live like Ben. Go to school. Follow the rules. But she’d acted out, tried to do things that might capture her mother’s attention, in the hope she’d also capture her affection, and the love, the acknowledgement she craved.
‘If only my powers of persuasion still existed – your side of the shop would be looking a little more colourful right about now,’ Poppy half-joked as she noticed a space in one of Ben’s shelves where a tea trio gift set had sat before being sold. She had a unicorn teacup that would fit in perfectly. Maybe she’d sneak it up there later on when Ben wasn’t looking. But first she had to get back on track. She could distract herself all she wanted, but Ben needed answers and it was time she gave them to him. ‘Where was I? Oh, how could I forget? My mother.’ She took another sip of the tea and forced herself to swallow it despite the lump that was building, blocking her throat. ‘The thing is, she didn’t love me. I wasn’t a blessing like you were to your parents, I was a hindrance. And she made sure I knew it. Why do you think my clothing was always so old? It wasn’t because I wore it out, it was because I had to steal it from bags left outside the charity shop. And all that “freedom” I had? I was running from an empty, cold home. Mum was always out partying, and being out in the world was less scary than being home, alone. And nothing I did to try and make her love me made a difference. I was a mistake she couldn’t take back.’
Ben pushed his chair back, planted his elbows on his knees, knotted his hands together and leaned forward. A deep line ran down between his brows. His eyes narrowed, like he was trying to put the pieces of what Poppy was telling him together. Like he was trying to understand. ‘How can you say that, Poppy? Of course your mother loved you. How could she not? You were funny, sweet, and so full of heart.’
Poppy closed her eyes and breathed the tears that threatened to build away. She’d cried enough over her mother’s disregard for her. She wouldn’t shed another tear. ‘Easily. I can easily say she didn’t love me, because I experienced that lack of love daily – ignored, treated like wallpaper, yelled at when I tried to get h
er attention, when I interrupted her work, berated for asking for clothing, food, for a stupid bloody birthday present. I was even stupid enough to try and get her attention when her friends were around, thinking she wouldn’t treat me terribly in front of them, but it only made her worse. Telling me to go away, that my chattering only bored and annoyed her friends. That the saying “children should be seen and not heard” didn’t apply to me, that in my case I should neither be seen nor heard. And then she’d laugh her light, brittle, cut-crystal laugh and her friends – all too busy pandering to her rising stardom as an artist – would laugh along too. It took me a while to learn her rules, but I got there. I learnt not to be seen. Not to be heard. I learnt it was safer, less hurtful, than facing her disgust at her “good-for-nothing daughter”. And those were her words, not mine.’
Ben rocked back in his chair, like her words had given him a violent shove. ‘Oh, Poppy. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’ He steepled his hands and gazed at the tips. ‘I mean, I knew you and she would fight. I heard the odd argument. Saw the next day that you’d been crying. But I thought it was just the usual teenage stuff that my parents and I would fight about. Not being allowed to go somewhere or do something. Not having the latest fad bought for you because everyone else had one. God, to think all this time I thought your home must have been like a wonderland to live in. No rules. No pressure. Parties galore. Freedom to be who you wanted to be…’
Poppy caught a wistfulness in Ben’s tone. He sounded like he’d been forced to walk the line, rather than been born to stick to the straight and narrow. ‘Freedom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, I made my own rules. I could go where I wanted, whenever I wanted, but I did it alone. It got lonely. Freedom’s not so wonderful when you don’t have anyone to share it with. Sure, I had friends while travelling, but they moved on as travellers do.’ Poppy mustered a smile and a half-shrug, but it fell away quickly. ‘The thing is I yearned for the kind of life you had, but then I guess when you face constant expectation the way you did, well, that isn’t ideal either.’
‘What I can’t wrap my head around is that you lived there like that for so long, that you put up with it for so long, and not once did you mention any of it to me.’ A shadow of hurt flickered through his eyes. ‘But then, I shouldn’t be surprised. You never mentioned your plans to leave. You just upped and disappeared.’
Poppy’s stomach, already tight with tension, flick-flacked over and over, sending a wave of nausea through her. Ben sounded bereft. Like he was reliving that day. She should’ve told him she was leaving Muswell Hill. Going as far away as the money her grandma had left her when she’d passed could take her. But she couldn’t have. Not after what he’d said the night she decided to leave. To face the person who said he loved her after being told by the one person who should love her that she wasn’t wanted… it would have driven her to push Ben away. To make him hate her in order to save him from his feelings. ‘I couldn’t tell you I was going. It would have been too hard. You’d have tried to make me stay. And I couldn’t. Not under that roof. Not for one second longer.’
‘But what tipped the scales? What could possibly have been so much worse than what was already going on around you that you’d pack a bag and scarper like that?’
Poppy closed her eyes. She could see the moment, clear as she could see Ben in front of her. Her mother sitting at the kitchen table wearing a silver sequin party dress. A glass of red wine in front of her. Her ever-present sketchbook open on the table, a graphite pencil poised over the paper. She was so beautiful and brilliant, imaginative and intelligent, amazing and artistic. And charismatic. Their house had an open-door policy, and her mother had entertained with wild abandon.
To find her mother alone was rare, so she’d stopped by the kitchen and sat at the table, hoping for kind words, for a sign her mother cared. She was a fool to have even tried.
Poppy sucked in a steadying breath and released it. ‘That night, we’d gone out, remember? To celebrate the end of school?’
Ben nodded. ‘Kind of. I was off my face. Don’t remember much about the end of it, to be honest.’
‘Yeah, I thought that might have been the case.’ The knots in Poppy’s gut loosened a little. She’d suspected Ben had no recollection of professing his love for her. Was glad for it. It was one less thing to complicate their lives. ‘After we got home I thought I’d get some water in me before bed, so I went to the kitchen, which is where I found Mum. She was sitting at the kitchen table, drawing as always, and I thought…’ Poppy shook her head, folded her arms over herself. ‘I thought maybe now that I’d finished school she might see me as an “adult”, an equal, that maybe we could just chat. Like mums and daughters were meant to do. But of course, I was an idiot to think that.’
‘Not an idiot, Poppy. Just expecting what every kid should expect. To be treated well.’
‘Well, that expectation got me nowhere. Actually, I lie. It gave me another emotional kick to the gut. Because the moment I sat down she began to talk. To draw out my future for me. And to explain my past.’ Poppy held on tightly to her teacup, resisted the urge to put her hands over her ears, knowing doing so couldn’t silence the echo of her past. ‘She told me she’d fulfilled her end of the bargain. That now I had finished school she was free of me.’ Poppy scraped her chair back. She couldn’t sit still for a second longer, not with her blood roiling as hot and violent now as the day she’d faced rejection one time too many. She paced back and forth, crossing from one side of the shop to the other – from stark and austere to magical and merry. God, their shop was a physical metaphor of her life. The life she’d left, with its lack of emotional connection, to the one she’d tried to create, full of life and love. But no matter how hard she tried she never felt like she belonged in either world. She was as disconnected now as she was then. ‘She must’ve seen my confusion because she began to laugh. Told me I was naïve. Told me I expected too much from life. Told me she was forced to keep me, that my grandmother had given her free use of the house and the money to send me to a good school, in exchange for her keeping me. And how could she say no? She was young. Unmarried. My supposed father had taken off the moment he found out my mother was pregnant. And all she wanted to do was draw. To work on the portraits that she eventually became renowned for.’ Poppy sank her top teeth into her bottom lip, grazed the soft skin. Allowed the pain to bring the now into focus. ‘Just when I thought she was done, that she’d said her bit, she stilled, then took hold of my hand, held it tight. Gave me a reason to believe we had a chance. Then she said the words I’ll never forget. “I should have turned my mother down. I should have had a termination.”’
‘God, Poppy, no. Surely not.’ Ben reached out and clasped her wrist. Loose enough she could pull away. Strong enough she was forced to stop her pacing. ‘I wish you’d told me. If I’d known I’d have…’
Poppy sank back into her chair. ‘You’d have what, Ben? Asked your parents to take me in? You know that would never have flown. And I wouldn’t have wanted to live with you. No offence. It’s just…’
‘What you wanted was for your mother to love you the way you loved her.’ Ben finished her sentence.
‘Exactly. And when I realised that night that it was never going to happen, I made a decision that it was time to put myself first. So, I packed a bag, grabbed my passport, my savings and told her I was leaving as I walked out the door. I told her that I was going abroad, off to discover the world and all it had to offer. Some stupid part of me thought she might try and stop me. That my leaving would shake her out of her self-absorption. But it didn’t. She didn’t…’ Poppy mashed her lips together, breathed in the calming scent of peppermint, exhaled the pain she’d buried deep in her heart, that was now threatening to choke her. ‘She didn’t care. “Good. Have fun.” That’s what she said, then she dismissed me with a flick of her hand. And that was that. I was no longer her daughter.’ Poppy gripped the edge of the table, fighting for control, her knuckles bulging, whitening
against her skin. ‘And you ask me why, Ben. Why I don’t believe in love? Well that’s your reason why right there. Because what I grew up surrounded by was not love. It was selfishness. It was intolerance. It was heartache. And pain. I don’t believe in love because I never saw it. Never experienced it. Because I wasn’t worth loving.’ Poppy clutched the now-warm cup and brought it to her lips, held it tight so Ben wouldn’t see the way her hands shook.
‘You don’t truly believe that, Poppy. Surely.’ Ben’s eyes were fixed on the table, as if he were afraid to see that she did mean what she said.
‘I do. The evidence speaks for itself.’ A rogue tear slipped down her cheek. She swiped it away. Refused to let the memory consume her, drag her down. ‘But, I can’t hide from my past any longer. I’m going to march up to your parents’ front door tonight, and if my mother sees me, then she sees me. And she can decide what, if any, steps she wants to take. I’m done with this pity party, Ben. Life is too short.’
Ben’s lips parted like he was about to say something, then shut again. Instead he gave a curt nod. ‘Okay. Well, I’ll text Mum and let her know we’ll be there.’
Poppy knew Ben saw through her brave face. Her tough talk. He’d always had an impeccable radar like that. Knowing when she wasn’t being straight up. But he also knew not to call her on it. That it would only cause her to dig her heels in deeper.
And Poppy knew, deep down, if she truly were as brave and tough as she made out she wouldn’t be hiding from love. Ruling it out. But she had to. She couldn’t put her heart on the line like she had that night with her mother ever again. Because that night had carved a crack in her heart. One more rejection from someone she loved, someone like Ben, would break it.
The Little Unicorn Gift Shop Page 13
