Text copyright © Rachel Billington 2012
The right of Rachel Billington to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 (United Kingdom).
First published in Great Britain and the USA in 2012 by Frances Lincoln Children’s Books, 4 Torriano Mews, Torriano Avenue, London NW5 2RZ www.franceslincoln.com
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the United Kingdom such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House, 6-10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1- 84780-192-0
eBook ISBN 978-1-78101-056-3
Set in Palatino and AvenirLT
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
in November 2011
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
ChapterThree
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Ninteen
Chapter Twenty
Part Two
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
For Chloe, Phin, Raphael, Jacob, Claudio, Flora and all the children with mums or dads in prison
PART ONE
Heathrow Airport. London.
A big man with red curly hair is coming through the Customs Hall. He walks past the duty officers with a swagger. He even smiles a little. One of the officers beckons him over, crooking his forefinger.
The man freezes for a moment, then looks round as if he hopes they want someone else behind him.
The officer takes a step towards him. Two more officers appear from behind a screen. One is armed.
The man looks down at the large black suitcase he is pulling. There’s another smaller case on top. He seems to have lost several inches in height and his smile has gone for good.
The three men close round him.
‘Would you mind coming this way, sir.’ It isn’t a question.
Arriving passengers edge quickly past the little group, as if whatever the man has, might be catching.
The light in the hall is silver green and perhaps that is why the man’s face has turned from ruddy pink to sickly grey. Or perhaps the light has nothing to do with it.
Chapter One
Poppy woke with flashing lights whirling round her head.
‘Don’t, Dad. I’m awake.’ She opened her eyes to prove it and saw, first, the red and green lights in the glass globe, and then her mother’s grey staring eyes, magnified by the glass.
‘Where’s Dad?’ It was Dad – Big Frank – who had had the idea of holding the globe above her head to wake her up. He was like that. That’s why she called him Big Frank. He was larger than life. Always having fun, trying to surprise. It felt silly when Poppy’s mum tried to play games. Maybe being Polish meant she had a different sense of humour.
‘Where’s Big Frank?’ Poppy knew her mum didn’t like her using the nickname but she could never resist it.
‘You know he’s away.’ Eyes and lights disappeared abruptly. ‘Time to get up.’
Poppy’s dad had been away for ages. It was only being asleep that made her forget. She called, ‘When will he be back?’ But her mum was out of the door.
Poppy pulled on her track-suit because it was gym day at school and rolled the rest of her uniform into a bag. Then she tinkled a bit on the piano, which was in her bedroom because there was nowhere else for it and Irena (that was her mother’s name – not Irene like in English) was a piano teacher, so it had to be somewhere.
‘Stop it, Poppy!’ her mum shrieked from downstairs. She was easy to wind up, particularly first thing, particularly if someone messed with her beloved piano.
‘Sorry.’ Poppy knew she was being annoying because she missed Big Frank, which wasn’t her mum’s fault. At least, she supposed it wasn’t her fault.
After this bad start, the day went on as usual. Poppy and her mum walked to school together and Poppy carried her bag without complaining and gave her mum a hug when she said goodbye.
Irena might be a bit different from other mothers, being Polish and musical, but she tried her best to do good. That’s what Big Frank had said when Irena baked a cake for his birthday that looked and tasted like a cow pat.
‘Your ma may not be a five star chef, but she’s always trying to do good.’ He’d raised Irena’s arm in a victory salute, ‘Your mother is that rare species, a GOOD WOMAN!’ which Poppy thought well over the top. But that was her dad: pushing things to the limit.
‘What are you smiling about?’ Poppy’s best friend, Jude, met her as they went into the locker room. Jude was short for Judith, which she didn’t like because Judith had cut off the head of a man called Holofernes. In a story, of course. Privately, Poppy thought Jude was well capable of doing damage to an enemy, although she might think removing a head too messy. Jude was very neat.
‘Nothing.’ Poppy side-stepped Wimpy Will, who was as usual looking as if he might vomit. He was supposed to have some rare illness but no one was convinced. Jude had christened him Wimpy Will.
‘I bet I can guess,’ Jude persisted, her round brown eyes staring knowingly.
‘Guess what?’ asked Poppy, although she knew perfectly well.
‘Why you’re smiling.’ Jude flicked her shiny pony- tail.
‘How much?’ asked Poppy.
‘How much what?’ How much do you bet?’
‘A tube of wine-gums.’
‘I don’t like wine-gums.’
‘Fruitellas?’
‘I hate Fruitellas.’
‘Rollos?’
‘OK. So why was I smiling?’
‘Because you were thinking of your dad!’ Jude gave a honking laugh of triumph, then turned to go into assembly. Her springy, confident walk made her pony-tail swing.
Poppy followed. Thing was, everyone recognised her dad and he did make people smile – even Jude. Poppy and he shared the same red curly hair which made her proud, even though the hair itself was a nuisance. However much she brushed, it always escaped into wild tangles.
Her dad had been picking her up most days this summer and he always had some joke. One time, he’d been wearing hologram glasses which gave him goggly protruding eyes and made everyone scream with horrified laughter. Another time, he’d lined up all Poppy’s friends, told them to open their mouths and tried to throw in chocolate peanuts. Miss Docherty had stopped that. ‘
‘You win, Jude,’ said Poppy. ‘Thinking about my dad did make me smile. But you’ll have to wait for your money. I’m broke.’
Poppy and Ju
de were occasionally allowed to walk home together with no adult, and this was one of the days. Jude’s parents both worked and Irena was sometimes teaching. Jude had two older brothers, Ben and Rico, who were in the senior school and quite often they linked up, although the girls pretended not to like it.
‘Boys are so loud!’ Jude liked to say, pursing her mouth, although Poppy knew she thought her brothers were wonderful. Ben was nearly six foot and he was only fifteen.
On this afternoon the boys caught them up and Ben shouted, ‘You’re like two snails crawling along.’
‘And I suppose you’re Gerard and Rooney,’ called back Poppy.
There was no hurry, she thought, the sun was warm and it was nice to walk slowly, chatting about Ulrika’s new disgusting spiky hair and the awful Will who lived nearby so there was always a danger of meeting him. ‘Smelling of sick,’ said Jude with relish.
It was a bit disappointing when Jude went home with her brothers but then, she always did just what she wanted. Her house had four floors and a garden and a huge trampoline.
That was the thing about being an only child: you had to make a plan if you wanted someone to do things with.
Poppy let herself into her house – they had just the ground and first floor – feeling a little sorry for herself.
‘Poppy! Is that you? Poppy!’
It was a surprise to find her mother in the kitchen – quite frazzled too, by the sound of it. Who else would it be but her? Unless it was Big Frank. Now, that would be better news.
‘It’s me, Mum.’
Irena stood in the kitchen holding a cup of tea. She usually looked pretty with her slim figure, big eyes and shiny chestnut hair. Just now she looked dreadful. Her eyes were red like a ghoul and her face like puff pastry.
‘What’s the matter? asked Poppy. Not that she really wanted to know. Grown-ups always had something the matter and it was best to steer clear. Jude said her mum had once thrown a plate at her dad which had missed him and made a dent in the wall behind. So then she’d circled the hole in red and written, ‘There are limits.’
Jude said it was a clever way of getting the living room redecorated and her dad was Italian so he liked shouting, but her mum was the one who threw the plate because she was an activist. Poppy’s parents never argued; the worst that happened was Irena getting at Big Frank, her Polish accent growing stronger and stronger. But Poppy only heard it at night through her bedroom wall.
‘You’re home early.’ Poppy pulled her homework out of her bag on to the kitchen table and tried to avoid looking at her mum. She could sense her standing watching, not even drinking her tea.
Suddenly, her mum said in a strange loud whisper, ‘He’s not coming back.’
There was no way Poppy could avoid hearing this. ‘What do you mean? Mum, what are you saying?’ She felt her voice rising. She hadn’t even asked who was not coming back. It was horribly obvious.
‘Your dad.’ Irena spoke in a dull voice now, then she sat down at the table wearily. ‘Dad’s not coming back.’
For a moment Poppy couldn’t say a word. But the silence was terrifying. Poppy went over to the hunched figure of her mum and began to shout, ‘Why don’t you explain? Do you mean he’s never coming back? Do you mean you’re splitting up? You’re divorcing?’ She could only say the word because she knew it was impossible. It had to be impossible.
‘No. No! Of course I don’t mean that.’ Irena’s voice was louder now, and she looked at Poppy – which was better than sitting with her head bowed. ‘He’s just not coming back soon.’
‘But how long? What does “soon” mean?’ Although Poppy was still shouting, she felt tears at the back of her eyes.
‘I don’t know how long. I really don’t.’ Her mum was back to that strange loud whisper. Tears were trickling from her eyes, which for some reason made Poppy even crosser.
‘I bet it’s your fault!’ she yelled. ‘He’s going because he wants to get away. . . She never finished the sentence because her mother took a step towards her, and slapped her face. Hard.
Poppy, completely shocked, stood holding her hand to her cheek.
Irena stared at her, horror-struck. ‘I’m sorry! Oh, everything is bad. But never, never say he not wants me.’
Sobbing, she ran from the room and up the stairs to her bedroom.
Poppy sat down and put her head in her hands. Her cheek was still hurting. Probably it was bright red. She thought vaguely that she was a little girl and that her mum loved her and her dad loved her – so what had happened?
She replayed their voices in her head, hers angry, her mum’s miserable – until she’d lost her temper and flown at her. Her mother never lost her temper.
Poppy didn’t understand. Everything was horrible and she couldn’t even ring Jude because, although she was her best friend, she could never ever tell her what her mum had done. Her mum loved her. They loved each other. Oh, why was everything so bad? Bad. BAD. And where was her father?
Too shocked to cry or to do her homework, even though she had an essay to write on a subject she really enjoyed, Poppy shut her eyes and did absolutely nothing.
After about an hour, her mother came quietly into the room and stood beside her. Poppy turned round and looked at her as if she was a stranger. She noticed her mum had a scared expression on her face, as if she’d seen a ghost.
‘I never forgive myself,’ she whispered. ‘I am so very sorry, my darling Poppy. My darling, special daughter. Flower girl, my own lovely Poppy.’
For a moment Poppy thought of all the mean things she could say, like, ‘Your priest will forgive you in confession, won’t he?’ or, ‘You’re not fit to be a mum!’ or even, ‘I hate you!’ But the truth was, she wanted all this horribleness to be over and to be back where they were before.
‘Oh, Mum! I’m so sorry for shouting at you.’ Poppy flung herself into Irena’s arms and they stayed like that for a long time, just hugging and feeling safe together.
When they separated, Irena began to make supper more slowly than usual – no singing, which she often did, but still, things seemed back to normal. Of course, they weren’t really.
As Poppy took out her homework, she began to think all over again: where is my dad? What is the story about Big Frank?
She looked at Irena’s back. Dare she ask her?
‘You like grated cheese over your baked beans?’ asked Irena, half-turning. Her voice was all quavery.
No, decided Poppy, I’m definitely not going to ask her tonight. Maybe in the morning. Or maybe she’ll tell me.
Then it struck her that perhaps her mum really didn’t know, and that was the most frightening thought of all.
The man has handcuffs holding his big hands tight together. He looks dazed, as if he can’t believe where he is or what’s happening to him.
Around him, the business of the court goes on but he hardly hears it.
The man in charge of things makes a pronouncement and from one of the benches, a woman with soft chestnut hair and big grey eyes shouts, ‘No! No!’
The big man doesn’t even look in her direction. He stares at his lap and seems to shut his eyes for a moment.
Then he’s taken away again. A burly policeman holds him on either side. The whole event has hardly taken more than a few minutes.
Chapter Two
A week passed and it was another Monday, and Poppy still didn’t know what had happened to her dad.
The hot sunny spell had broken and it was drizzling a little but she didn’t mind that. All her favourite lessons were on Monday and she didn’t object when Will tagged along on the walk to school, nor even mind when Jude went into assembly without waiting for her.
‘Hi, Jude,’ she called, and was a little surprised when Jude ignored her and went into a huddle with a group of other girls.
At break, when they were all in the playground – it had stopped raining and it felt good to be outside the stuffy building – Jude did come over.
‘Good weekend?�
�
‘We went up to Hampstead Heath to see the kites.’
‘With your dad, were you?’ asked Jude, with a sunny smile on her face. There was something altogether odd about her expression, Poppy thought, sort of sly and excited.
‘He’s not back yet,’ said Poppy, uncomfortably. ‘He’s abroad, working.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Jude’s voice had a nasty jeering tone, as if she knew a secret.
At this point Tania joined them. She was a gentler girl than Jude – Poppy tended to think her boring. Now she just looked embarrassed.
‘Have you told her we know?’ asked Tania softly to Jude but loud enough for Poppy to hear.
‘I’m just trying to find out if she knows,’ answered Jude, staring at Poppy, ‘and I don’t think she does. Or else she’s a very good liar.’
‘That’s so bad!’ exclaimed Tania, looking even more embarrassed. ‘Why don’t we just drop it, then.’
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Poppy. She hated the look on Jude’s face, who was supposed to be her friend, and now silly Tania seemed to be trying to protect her.
Another girl from their group, a sporty girl called Amber, came over to them. She wore the same embarrassed look as Tania.
‘Tell me!’ commanded Poppy. She had always been a leader among her friends. She and Jude, top dogs, good at work, lots of go. She’d never felt like this before, with girls like Tania and Amber almost looking as if they were sorry for her.
‘Oh, leave it,’ said Amber. ‘The bell will ring any minute, anyway.’
‘But I think she should know.’ Jude looked at Poppy thoughtfully. ‘Do you want me to tell you?’
Poppy felt her heart hammering against her ribs and her mouth dry as dust. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
Jude took a deep breath, ‘Your dad is in prison. In prison,’ she repeated louder. She looked up, her dark eyes bright. ‘That’s where your wonderful hero dad is: in prison!’
Poppy's Hero Page 1
