Will You Remember Me? (16 page)

‘Peg?’

‘Go away!’

Poppy twisted the handle and spoke through the gap. ‘Go away? That’s not quite the welcome I was expecting! Can I come in, please?’

Peg didn’t answer; Poppy took this as approval and slipped inside the door. The smell of ammonia was overpowering. Poppy casually drew the curtains and threw open the window. ‘Let’s let the day in, shall we? No point living in this beautiful place and not appreciating the view.’

Peg, with her gaze averted, gave a little nod.

‘When I was little, I only had a tiny window high up on my bedroom wall and even if it had opened and I’d been able to reach it, it looked out on grubby concrete walls and someone else’s washing! Can you imagine?’

Peg ignored her, clearly not in the mood for a chat.

Poppy tried a different tack. ‘How did you sleep? Did you have any sweet dreams? Any bad ones?’ She sat down on the edge of the duvet and tried not to stare at the pyjama bottoms and bath towel that had been rolled into a damp ball and shoved under Peg’s desk.

‘Mummy?’

‘Yes, my love?’

‘Is it my fault you’ve got this horrible bug?’

‘Oh, Peg, darling. God, no, it’s not your fault! Whatever gave you that idea? No, of course not. It doesn’t work like that, Peg. It’s no one’s fault and you can’t catch it, they don’t know why I got it, it’s just really bad luck.’

Peg tried to sniff back the tears that slid down her nose and over her cheeks.

‘Oh, Peg, come here, darling. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay. Let me cuddle you.’

‘No!’ Peg was adamant.

Poppy let her daughter cry and sat quietly by her side.

‘Why did you think it was your fault, Peg?’

‘I heard you say I was going to give you heart failure or turn your hair grey, and so I thought I might have made you poorly. And I know I talk too much, but I can’t help it, I’ve always got something I want to say.’ Fresh tears now fell.

‘Oh, Peg, I don’t remember saying that, but if I did, I was only joking.’ Poppy bent low until her daughter had no option but to look her in the eye. ‘You are the best thing that I have ever done, you and Maxy, the very best things ever. You make me happy; every single day you make me happy. Even when you are not here, just the thought of you makes me smile.’

Peg gave a brief smile.

‘That’s more like it.’ Poppy kissed her. ‘Don’t ever forget it, Peg. I would not change one single thing, not one, because being your mum is something I would not swap for all the tea in China, and you know how much I like tea, right?’

Peg laughed.

‘And don’t ever stop talking. I could listen to you all day.’

‘Sometimes you do!’ Peg sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.

Poppy laughed. ‘Yes, sometimes I do and those are the best days I have. I don’t ever want you to keep things bottled up, my darling. Come and talk to me or Daddy anytime, or Granny Claudia or Jo. There are lots of people you can talk to if anything is bothering you, ever. Okay?’

Peg nodded.

‘Mummy?’

‘Yes, Peg.’

She bit her bottom lip. ‘I did a wee in my bed.’

‘Oh, my darling girl, everyone wees somewhere they shouldn’t at least once and no one minds a jot. How about I run you a nice warm bubbly bath before school and you can have a soak and a splash while I strip your bed and get things cleaned up? How does that sound?’ Poppy kissed Peg’s scalp.

‘Sounds good, Mum.’ Peg allowed herself a small smile.

Poppy bent over the running taps to swirl the strings of bubble bath that sat on the surface of the water. It happened in an instant. She felt the breath stop in her throat as a stabbing pain shot along her spine. ‘Shit!’ She lowered herself onto the loo and tried to steady her breathing. Her tears came suddenly and without warning. She was in too much pain to be brave.

* * *

The day of the birthday tea arrived, bright and sunny. Poppy worked diligently, giggling as she did so. She carried bowls and packets from the kitchen, removed wrappings, shook out ingredients and artfully arranged vibrant displays on their dining room table. She took photographs at every stage, so that she could later pop them into her daughter’s memory box. The final picture was a selfie, of her in front of the table, over which she scrawled:

The world’s greatest mum!

As instructed, Martin finished work early and collected Jade and Peg from the school gates. The two little girls hopped into the back of his car.

‘How’s your dad, Jade? I’ve known him for a long time.’ The two men had gone through training together.

‘He’s okay, thanks.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘I can’t wait for my tea. I’m starving!’ Jade enunciated the last word and fired it in Peg’s direction like an arrow. Peg was strangely quiet.

‘Peg says she’s got a guinea pig that speaks!’ Jade piped up.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Martin replied, without any hesitation or trace of a smile. ‘He can’t say much, mainly “din-dins” and “goodbye”, but he doesn’t like talking to strangers, only Peg’s really good friends, so he might not say anything tonight.’

Jade stared at Martin, unable to think of a single response. Peg sucked in her cheeks and smiled into her lap.

Poppy opened the front door and greeted the two girls. ‘Hello, ladies! How was your day? Hope you are feeling hungry!’

Jade stood in the hallway. ‘I think our house is a bit bigger than yours,’ she said as she dropped her school bag and coat on the floor.

Poppy bit her lip.

Jade marched into the lounge and halted at the sight in front of her.

The table was set, but not in any way that Jade McKeever had ever seen a table set before. Pink fairy lights were strung across the ceiling and hung over the table. On top of a pristine white tablecloth were glass bowls full of sticky jelly sweets in every colour imaginable; separate bowls were crammed with chunks of chocolate, and plates of shiny cookies gleamed in the light. Tall glasses nearly overflowed with strawberry milkshakes, each with a natty red-and-white-striped straw protruding from the top. Dishes of ice cream dotted with sweets and latticed with loops of caramel sauce sat at regular intervals. There were vases crammed with candy canes and liquorice sticks, and a platter piled with strawberry laces that looked like spaghetti, garnished with lollipops that fanned out from the pile. Dainty iced fairy cakes had been arranged on a three-tiered cake tower and jugs of cola with floating ice sat in wait, complete with crazy neon straws through which to sip the usually forbidden drink. All these brightly coloured, sugar-laden goodies were eclipsed however by what occupied the middle of the table: the pièce de résistance was a very grand three-foot-high chocolate fountain. Peg was in awe of it. The girls stood and watched as the rippling waves of pale chocolate undulated over the side; their eyes darted to the fat marshmallows, enormous strawberries and apple slices that sat in dishes awaiting a good dunking.

‘Hope you’re hungry.’ Poppy, her tone nonchalant, pulled the chair from the table and gestured for Jade McKeever to take a seat. Jade, who was uncharacteristically silent, sat.

‘Oh, Peg,’ Poppy started, ‘I was chatting to Toffee earlier and he said the usual – “din-dins” et cetera – and then, you won’t believe what he said!’

Peg beamed at her mum. ‘What did he say, Mum?’

‘He said he’d got you tickets for a Princess Pamper day for your birthday, a bit of an early present! A special gift from him. It’ll be lovely, a total makeover – nails painted, hair curled, the full works.’ Poppy pulled the two shiny gold tickets from her back pocket and popped them on the table next to her little girl.

‘You can take a friend, how about Amelie Smith? She’s such a lovely girl.’ Poppy smiled, sweetly.

‘I’m her friend!’ Jade practically shouted.

Poppy bent low. ‘Well, that’s good to hear, Jade, because any friend of Peg’s is a friend of ours, welcome here anytime. And anyone that isn’t, isn’t!’ She jumped up and clapped. ‘Right, I’ll leave you to it. Peg, don’t forget to take your magic anti-fat tablet before you go to sleep, because you’re getting the same tea tomorrow night.’ Poppy wandered from the room, without so much as a backward glance.

After Jade McKeever was eventually dispatched home, Peg sat in the tub, surrounded by bubbles. Poppy knocked and entered and took up a seat on the loo, taking the opportunity to chat to her daughter.

‘How’s my girl doing?’

Peg looked into the foam. ‘I don’t think I will ever forget today, ever.’

Poppy crouched down by the side of the bath and placed a blob of foam on her little girl’s nose. ‘You know, Peg, you are a fabulous girl and you will become a fabulous woman.’

‘A fabulous woman pilot,’ Peg corrected.

‘Yes, darling, a fabulous woman pilot. But the point is, Peg, if people don’t love you for you, then they don’t deserve to be loved at all. You don’t ever have to lie or be anything other than yourself, because you are fabulous, inside and out. Promise me you will remember that, always?’

Peg nodded. ‘Okay. I love you, Mum. And thank you for the Princess Pamper tickets. I’m so excited!’

Poppy stood and placed her hands on her hips. ‘Well, don’t thank me, thank Toffee!’

‘Mum, is it true, are we getting that for tea tomorrow night as well?’

Poppy leant on the door frame. ‘No, Peg, we most certainly are not.’ She winked at the chocolate-smeared face of her little girl.

Poppy walked along the corridor and was surprised to find Mr Ramasingh sitting at his desk; there would be no waiting for him today. Martin had decided to stay in the car with Max, who was grizzling on the back seat. He’d woken in a bad mood and nothing was making him feel better. She suspected he was simply feeding off the edgy, nervous vibes that she was emitting. She was disappointed not to have Martin by her side: it would have been a chance to involve him in the process and to make her feel less secretive about the whole thing. But she was also relieved, especially after he had taken several corners at speed, beeped his horn at a couple of innocent cyclists and shouted at least one expletive at someone who he deemed was inappropriately parked. She didn’t trust his firecracker nature when he was this wound up and that did little to help
her
nerves. And Max’s constant crying had done little to help his mood.

‘Come in, come in!’ Mr Ramasingh gestured and stood, shutting the door firmly behind her. ‘How are you feeling today?’

Poppy noticed that he avoided eye contact with her as he took up his seat and punched the keys on his keyboard.

She sat opposite his desk and placed her bag on the floor. ‘Same, really. I keep getting a sharp pain, a painful pain, if that makes sense.’ She squirmed at her lack of eloquence. ‘Not all the time, but when I get it, it knocks the shit out of me.’ There, that was what she had wanted to say.

Mr Ramasingh sighed and nodded. He opened the large brown cardboard folder and extracted two X-rays, laying them alongside a sheet of what looked like graph paper.

When he spoke, his words were slow and considered. He now gave her his full attention. ‘The aim of your treatment was always to try and control your symptoms, help you feel better.’

Poppy nodded. She got it: no cure. Not yet.

‘We have been monitoring your cancer via the scans and X-rays that you have had.’

Poppy watched as he took a deep breath. She glanced at the empty chair next to her, convinced her nan was close by.

Mr Ramasingh continued. ‘It has been nearly four months since your diagnosis and you have coped very well, but I’m afraid to say that your treatment has had little to no impact on your disease.’

‘No impact?’ She thought of the days spent feeling horrible, only made bearable because she believed it was helping.

‘None. And that can happen, sometimes. The cancer puts up its defences and we simply can’t break them down.’ Mr Ramasingh knitted his fingers to make a wall.

Poppy thought about this. ‘So what do we do now? More chemo? Stronger drugs? I don’t mind if it makes me feel worse, as long as it does its job.’ How would it be to feel lousy all the time, she wondered. Those days of diarrhoea and sickness had felt never-ending.

‘No, Poppy.’ The doctor removed his glasses and stared at the woman sitting across from him – the mother, the wife. He paused. ‘We are not going to give you any more treatment.’

Poppy looked at the photograph on his desk. ‘Why not?’ She wanted it spelling out.

‘Because there is very little point, and in my opinion, it will only make you feel very sick, but without the benefit of aiding your recovery.’

‘So that’s it?’ She stared at the man who was severing her lifelines one by one. His words echoed inside her head. She thought of Peg at school and Max and Martin sitting in the car, waiting for her. She looked up at Mr Ramasingh, who was still talking.

‘We will of course continue with your pain management and carry on helping to control your symptoms, but we will stop all intervention therapies.’

Mr Ramasingh reached into his drawer and produced a glossy pamphlet. ‘I have some information here—’

Poppy shook her head as she picked up her bag and stood up. ‘Please, not another sodding leaflet.’

A few minutes later, she climbed into their Golf, taking Martin by surprise.

‘What did he say?’ Martin stared at her.

‘Erm… it was… Can we talk about it when we get home?’ She flicked her eyes towards Max on the back seat, who was thankfully calmer now and holding a book upside down. Her voice was quiet.

‘Well, just give me a clue!’ Martin raised his voice.

Max kicked the back seat and let out a garbled noise. Poppy looked at her son and then her husband.

‘For God’s sake, Poppy.’ His patience was at its limit.

Max let out a deafening wail.

‘Just take me home!’ Poppy banged on her thighs with her flattened palms. ‘Stop going on and on!’

They drove home, the silence only broken by Poppy’s whimpers and Max’s cries. She couldn’t hold back the fat tears that clogged her nose and throat. Martin drove with one hand gripping the top of the steering wheel with such force that his knuckles were white, the other hand like a claw on top of the gear stick as he rammed the gearbox through its paces on the bends. Max cried and Poppy didn’t blame him. She reached behind her seat and stroked his leg.