Poppy's Hero

by Rachel Billington

  ‘Here. Quick, Poppy.’ Her mum waved her over. ‘He’s nearly out of money.’

  ‘Hi, Dad. How are you?’

  ‘Not so good today, Popsicles. My tummy’s had enough of being fed on two pounds a day.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Poppy’s heart gave a lurch. Had Will’s talk about her dad escaping if he was ill actually made him sick?

  ‘Stomach cramps. Not to worry. I’ve bent your mother’s ear till it’s nearly off. Good day?’

  But just as Poppy was thinking what to answer, the phone went dead.

  Seeing her surprised expression, Irena took the phone back.

  ‘Dad says he’s got stomach cramps.’ The way Poppy said it, it sounded as if she was accusing her mum, but Irena didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Never had a day’s illness, your dad. A great big healthy fellow. That’s what a couple of weeks in prison does to you.’

  Poppy thought to herself, that’s why we’ve got to get him out. To her mum, she said, ‘Will he have to go to hospital?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think it’s that bad.’ Irena turned away. ‘What do you like for tea?’

  Poppy thought, her mum shouldn’t pretend everything was normal. How could she eat tea when Big Frank was in prison with stomach cramps? However, she answered, ‘Baked beans,’ because it was easy.

  If Big Frank did go to hospital, it just might be the best thing ever.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Hiya!’

  Angel appeared in that sudden way of his. It was school break-time.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘You’re innocent dad’s on A wing,’ Angel said right away. Poppy wished he wouldn’t sound as if he was making a joke about her dad’s innocence. ‘Same wing as my dad,’ Angel added. ‘Which might be useful.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Over Angel’s shoulder, Poppy noticed Will approaching. They couldn’t have been more different – both from each other and everyone else – Angel with his mass of black hair, low-slung trousers and confident slouch, and Will so thin and pale and intense.

  ‘My dad’s out soon, as it happens,’ Angel said.

  ‘Out,’ repeated Poppy, stupidly. ‘Because he’s innocent?’

  Angel stared at her as. ‘Because he’s done his time. Not that I’ll see much of him. He’ll be up to his usual tricks.’

  Poppy was struggling with the idea that there were men around who had been in prison. Men who were not innocent – in other words, guilty!

  ‘You mean, he could pick you up from school.’

  ‘Some chance.’

  ‘But he could.’

  ‘Could if he would. Wouldn’t if he could.’ Angel turned the line into a song and tapped his feet.

  Poppy saw Will hesitate, as if trying to decide whether to turn back.

  ‘Here’s my friend Will,’ she said.

  Angel turned. ‘Hiya.’

  ‘Hi.’ Will shuffled around.

  ‘This is Angel,’ said Poppy nervously.

  ‘I guessed,’ said Will.

  And Angel laughed. Somehow the laugh broke the tension and the boys gave each other high-fives, although, as usual, Will wasn’t much good at it.

  ‘We’re going to photograph Grisewood Slops after school. Want to come?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  The bell rang for the end of break and Angel sloped off.

  ‘Do you think he’ll come?’ asked Will, as they went to the classroom.

  ‘Don’t know.’ Poppy wasn’t sure she understood anything much about Angel.

  Catching the bus to the prison was becoming quite a habit, Poppy thought. Will said he’d rather not climb

  upstairs, so they sat together behind the driver.

  ‘I spoke to Big Frank yesterday,’ said Poppy. For some reason she still hadn’t told Will about her dad being ill. She suspected Will would say, ‘That’s terrific. Now we’ve got a real chance of getting him out. . .’ and it didn’t seem right to be pleased if her dad was ill.

  ‘I’ve got a camera,’ said Will.

  ‘I suppose we could have taken photos on our mobiles.’

  ‘Not such good quality.’ Will sounded cross and Poppy suspected he still wasn’t feeling well.

  As they got off the bus there was a sudden noise above their heads. Looking up, Poppy saw Jude and Amber and several other girls banging on the window at the top of the bus and shouting her name.

  Blushing scarlet, she waved briefly and followed Will, who’d already started walking towards the prison. The bus started, and as it overtook her, she caught a glimpse of the girls still waving and banging.

  What must they think? That she was visiting her dad with Will? What would they be imagining? It made her squirm with embarrassment. Thank goodness Angel hadn’t appeared!

  Just then, there was a squeal of brakes and protesting tyres.

  ‘Hey!’ Angel was at the kerbside astride a magnificent bike, the sun glinting off its handlebars. He was wearing a lime-green T-shirt which also seemed to glint and gleam.

  ‘That’s quite a bike,’ said Poppy.

  ‘Present from my dad.’

  Poppy thought that his dad must be doing quite well, even if he was in prison. By now, Will had come back to join them.

  ‘Don’t want to draw attention to ourselves, do we?’ He looked disapprovingly at Angel.

  Angel smiled. ‘Just had a bit of news from inside.’ He nodded in the direction of the prison, ‘Your dad’s not too well. They might take him to the hospital.’

  ‘Poppy!’ Will turned on her reproachfully. ‘Did you know? And not tell me?’

  Poppy’s hot blushes (her first lot of blushes had only just subsided) gave him the answer.

  ‘Best chance of escape,’ continued Angel.

  ‘That’s just what I was telling her last night!’ interrupted Will.

  Angel glanced at him before continuing, ‘Although the hospital’s just down the road.’

  ‘You mean, he’d walk?’ asked Poppy.

  ‘No chance. Into the sweat box, even for a couple of metres.’

  ‘What’s the sweat box?’ asked Poppy.

  ‘Van for transporting prisoners,’ said Angel. ‘Six or more of them squeezed into little cages. No ventilation. Sweat boxes.’

  I suppose my poor dad travelled in the sweat box to the prison, thought Poppy, but she didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to interrupt the planning.

  ‘We’ve got to get to the screws,’ continued Angel

  ‘Bribe the prison officers, you mean?’ said Will.

  ‘That’s it. Depends who they are, of course. My dad might be able to fix that.’

  Will and Poppy looked at each other. When they made plans, it all seemed a bit fantastical, as if it came out of a film, but Angel’s ideas sounded as if they really might happen.

  ‘Another thing.’ Angel was rolling his wheels backwards and forwards. His bicycle seemed like a powerful horse pawing the ground, impatient to be off.

  ‘No point in taking those pix.’ He extracted a piece of folded paper from his pocket which, because his jeans were so low-slung, nearly reached his knees. ‘Internet,’ he said, as Poppy took the paper and opened it.

  Will looked over her shoulder. ‘I missed that,’ he muttered. The photograph showed a good aerial view of the prison – far more useful than anything they could get.

  ‘Blueprint for escape,’ said Angel, ‘See you.’ And he was on his bike and away.

  ‘Seems to be allowed to do anything he wants,’ said Will grumpily.

  ‘I suppose if your dad’s. . .’ began Poppy. She had been going to say ‘If your dad’s in prison, there’s more freedom,’ until she remembered that her dad was in prison and it didn’t give her more freedom. ‘If we’re not going to take the photographs, I’d better go home,’ she said instead.

  ‘I might as well snap a few since we’re here,’ said Will, and Poppy thought that he didn’t want to hand everything over to Angel. She thrust the internet map more firmly into her pocket. It seemed
odd that anyone could print it off the internet, but all the better.

  They walked on towards the front of the prison. Although they were on the other side of the road with the tube train running noisily behind them, Poppy felt exposed. What would people think of two children standing staring at the prison gates?

  ‘If I get out my camera, they might think we’re spying,’ said Will.

  ‘I was thinking just the same. What if the screws’ – Angel’s name for prison officers – ‘look out and see us?’

  ‘They might arrest us.’

  We’re not exactly a threat, are we?’ Poppy tried to sound bold. ‘I mean, we’ve only got a camera – not knives.’

  ‘Or guns.’

  ‘Of course we haven’t got guns. All we’ve got is your mum’s camera.’

  Will frowned. He seemed unwilling to give up the sense of danger. Poppy supposed that if you were ill so much, you longed for excitement. The point was, it wasn’t his dad in prison. He hadn’t been inside. So it probably wasn’t completely real for him. Just good fun. Like his Ogre Kingdoms Ironlungs.

  ‘We are a threat because we’re planning a Great Escape!’ said Will firmly.

  ‘Why don’t you take the photographs, then?’

  ‘OK. OK.’

  In the end, Poppy stood half in front of Will while he lined up his photograph and then stood aside at the last minute. As Will was taking his third photo and Poppy was saying, ‘That’s it, then,’ they both got a sudden shock as the massive red prison door between the two towers opened and out drove a white van at speed. It turned right and passed on their side of the road so that they could see the darkened windows and the two uniformed drivers.

  ‘A sweat box,’ breathed Will, taking a quick photo.

  But Poppy turned away. It made her feel sick that her dad might be inside.

  ‘It’s not going in the direction of the hospital,’ said Will, as if reading her thoughts.

  On the way back, Poppy was very quiet. The bus was crammed full so that they had to stand. Even so, Will kept trying to talk, in a kind of coded way so that she hadn’t any idea what he was saying – except that it was something to do with the escape, which he referred to as ‘ESCP’.

  When they parted, he was still talking, promising a new drawing based on the print-out of the photographs.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Poppy, which was a lie because the more she thought about the prison, the less likely it seemed they’d ever get her dad out that way. It was the hospital plan or nothing.

  Wearily, she put her key in her front door.

  ‘Where were you? Where’ve you gone?’ When Irena was upset, her English had a way of letting her down. Now she was very upset. ‘Will’s Mama came home early and no Will. No Poppy!’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’ Poppy tried to sound casual. ‘We went for a walk, that’s all.’

  ‘Walk! You walk!’ Irena waved her hands in the air. ‘And you not tell me! Your mama. You turn off your phone.’

  ‘We went for a walk, Mum. It’s not like we’re in prison. If we want. . .’ Poppy stopped. How had prison popped out like that!

  ‘Oh, my Poppy!’ Now her mum was in tears.

  By tea-time, everything was back to normal and Poppy was even considering doing her homework, when her mum suddenly said, ‘I forget’ – perhaps her English wasn’t quite back to normal – ‘Jude rang. She said your mobile was off, which of course I also know.’

  ‘What did she say?’ Instantly Poppy was on her guard. Had Jude told her mum where she’d seen her?

  ‘Nothing. She said nothing.’

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘What were you doing outside that prison yesterday?’

  Poppy had no time to think what to say to Jude, because she caught up with her on the way to school.

  ‘What do you think I was doing?’

  ‘Did you go inside?

  ‘I have been.’ By now they were walking side by side with Jude’s brothers ahead and Irena behind, talking on her mobile. It was quite like old times.

  ‘Was it terrifying?’ Jude’s eyes were wide.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Poppy carelessly. As if she’d tell Jude the truth of it – the endless waiting, queuing, being searched, seeing her dad like a sad stranger. All the people so upset around her. ‘There are sniffer dogs,’ she added.

  ‘Alsatians,’ breathed Jude.

  ‘Looking for drugs,’ said Poppy, avoiding telling her that the dogs were Spaniels.

  ‘And did you see lots of dangerous men? Murderers? Rapists? Kidnappers?’

  ‘They don’t wear labels round their necks, saying “Burglar” or “Murderer”,’ Poppy said tartly. ‘For all I know, they might be innocent, like my dad.’

  ‘You mean, they’re all in it together?’

  But Poppy was tired of the game. She thought, Jude only wants details so she can tell Amber and the others.

  ‘If your dad’s innocent, he’ll be let out,’ said Jude.

  ‘Can’t be soon enough.’ Poppy began to walk faster.

  ‘My mum says he hasn’t been tried yet.’ Jude caught her up. ‘She’d heard it was coming up soon. In court, she told me.’

  Poppy said nothing because she was so shocked. Her mum hadn’t told her that.

  Jude took hold of her arm, ‘Want to meet after school?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Poppy knew Jude was not just out to get the gossip, that she really meant to be kind, but she was too confused to act on it. ‘I’ve got to catch up with some work.’

  ‘You can’t miss Dr Who.’

  Poppy thought that even Dr Who didn’t seem very important any more. ‘Perhaps,’ she said again.

  The rest of the day seemed too long. Will was off sick again, so Poppy didn’t even have him to talk to. At lunch break, her old friends were all gathered in a corner talking about the new Sarah Jane Adventures. She could hear their excited voices and was tempted to join them. Instead she sat on a wall in the sun and tried to read a book about outer space. But she didn’t have the energy for that, either. Sadness was very tiring. No wonder her mum came back from her piano lessons far too exhausted to talk to her about anything important. Like her dad going to court.

  ‘Want the good news or the bad news?’ Angel had done his usual here-I-am-out-of-the-blue trick.

  ‘Good, please,’ said Poppy.

  ‘Your dad’s in the pink of health.’

  ‘What’s the bad?’

  ‘That’s the bad news too. No chance of escaping.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Reading, are you?’ Angel pointed at her book.

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘I’ve never got on with books. Too fake. If I was a writer, I’d put down what was happening in real life, on the streets, in people’s homes. Not magic stuff.’

  ‘But you must like Harry Potter books.’

  ‘Kids’ stuff.’ Angel shrugged.

  ‘But you are a kid.’

  ‘The movies are all right. But you just sit there, don’t you. Just sit and let it wash over you. Not like having to read all that rubbish.’

  Poppy wondered, but obviously couldn’t ask, just how good Angel’s reading was. As far as she could make out, he didn’t spend much time in school. ‘I like reading in bed before I go to sleep,’ she said.

  ‘Too much noise at my place. Gabriel’s usually stuffed in with me, for starters. Our flat’s like Piccadilly Circus. Everyone up all hours.’

  Poppy thought this sounded fun. ‘There’s only my mum and me at home. It’s very quiet.’ She paused. ‘Of course, it’s different when my dad’s there.’

  Angel looked at his feet. He was wearing large silver blue and white trainers. They must have been very expensive.

  ‘I spoke to my dad last night.’ He hesitated.

  ‘Does your dad call every night?’

  ‘Day too. Got a mobile, hasn’t he.’

  ‘I didn’t know mobiles were allowed in the nick!’

  Angel laughed. ‘Not allowed. Off regulations. Does
n’t mean my dad hasn’t got one.’ I see,’ said Poppy, thinking it was no wonder Angel broke school rules with a dad like that.

  ‘My dad said last night,’ Angel began again, ‘that your dad’s in court soon.’

  ‘I know,’ said Poppy quickly.

  ‘Yeah.’ Angel looked relieved. ‘You know what he’s pleading, then?’

  ‘What’s “pleading”?’

  ‘Pleading?’ Angel looked confused, as if he wasn’t used to explaining words. ‘Like saying where he stands. Giving his p.o.v.’

  ‘So what point of view’s that?’ said Poppy, who still didn’t understand.

  ‘He’s pleading guilty, isn’t he. Done a plea bargain, my dad said, turned in one or two others. That kind of thing.’

  ‘Guilty,’ repeated Poppy, a horrible feeling starting in her stomach.

  Angel stopped and looked at her. ‘He won’t get so long inside, then.’

  ‘But he’s innocent!’ cried out Poppy.

  ‘I didn’t say he wasn’t innocent, did I? I said he’s pleading guilty. Gets him a shorter sentence, doesn’t it.’

  Poppy felt as if her head was bursting. ‘But if he’s ‘innocent, he shouldn’t get any sentence at all.’

  ‘That’s the law for you.’ Poppy noticed that Angel’s eyes didn’t meet hers and his big silver-blue trainers were moving about as if they wanted to carry away their owner.

  ‘You don’t believe he’s innocent, do you?’ she said unhappily.

  ‘All dads are innocent. Didn’t I say that first time we met?’ Poppy could see his relief when the bell went.

  ‘I suppose you’re off somewhere exciting,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Classroom,’ Angel grinned. ‘Last chance saloon. My dad’ll murder me if I get excluded. And he’s out next week.’

  That evening Irena spent hours playing passionate tunes on the piano. When Poppy looked in – after all, it was her bedroom – tears were pouring down her mum’s face and dripping on the keys. ‘It is Chopin,’ she cried, without stopping playing. ‘He has the heart and emotions of a Polish genius!’