Will You Remember Me? (18 page)

She kissed Poppy and patted her hair. ‘You have beautiful hair, Poppy. It was the first thing I thought when I met you.’

‘It’s getting a bit thin and is very patchy at the back.’ Poppy ran her fingers though the reddy-brown layers, letting her fingers graze the skin of her head in places.

‘No matter, it’s still beautiful. Right, off you go. Hope you both have a great day and don’t worry about rushing back. We are going to have a ball; it will be bliss, just me and the children. I’ve written them a new bedtime story and we are going to make sweets this afternoon. I used to make them with Miles and he loved it – peppermint creams, coconut ice and chocolate truffles. We shall stuff them until we feel thoroughly sick!’

‘Oh, goodness, that sounds like fun. Think we might stay here instead!’ Poppy smiled.

‘Take care of him, Poppy.’ Claudia nodded at Martin, who was putting a blanket in the front seat. Poppy kissed Claudia on the cheek and climbed into the car.

Martin indicated and pulled the Golf into the Packway. Poppy stared at the parade of shops that catered mainly for squaddies and their families. It was busy as usual. Girls wearing skinny jeans and chunky fur-lined boots, with their hair scraped up into topknots, were leaning on pushchairs and catching up. Poppy, envying them their smiles and easy banter, wondered what occupied their minds. It felt like a long, long time ago that she had been able to natter freely without thoughts of her disease invading her every waking moment. There was, as always, a dog tied up outside the newsagent’s, waiting patiently and enjoying the attention of everyone that nipped in or out.

A queue snaked its way through the door of the post office. Service wives, girlfriends, husbands and partners waited patiently with boxes and padded envelopes, the contents of which became harder to keep original. But no matter how random, the offerings would still be treasured: the currency of love, flying between the patch at Larkhill and any number of BFPO addresses.

Poppy instinctively turned to the back seat to check on the kids, but of course it was empty.

‘Well this is nice, eh? No kids. We could even put the radio on and listen to a grown-up programme and not that bloody
Junior Pop Party
CD. Just think, Mart, a car journey with no Justin Bieber or One Direction!’

Martin laughed. ‘I won’t miss them – Justin and Harry, that is.’

But Poppy knew that he didn’t mean it. She knew that, like her, he was thinking of all the car journeys he’d taken as a kid in his mum and dad’s old banger, a Carpenters tape on a loop in the background. No debate, no discussion, just sitting in the back quietly, trying not to gag on their fag smoke. So different to how Peg usually jumped in the car, happy and confident and demanding her parents be her own personal DJs. God knows what she’d be like at sixteen. Poppy felt a lump rise in her throat and coughed to swallow it.

The Wiltshire countryside gave way to motorways and pretty soon they hit the North Circular, then Wembley, Brent Cross and finally the Crooked Billet roundabout, meaning they were nearly home. Home. Not home any more, but with all their childhood memories wrapped up in concrete and sitting in one postcode, London E17 would always be a place they held in great affection.

Poppy let her gaze wander over the smoke-stained chimneys, the blackened paintwork, graffiti-covered walls and diesel-splashed roads. She noticed the pockets of black dust that sat against the kerbs and lodged against the railings. And despite the unfavourable comparison with the green open spaces among which she now lived and the fresh, clean air that filled her lungs with every breath, her stomach flipped with excitement. It was lovely to be here, where her nan would forever reside and where she and Martin had met.

‘Dirty, isn’t it?’ It was as if Martin had read her thoughts.

She nodded. ‘But still lovely.’

He nodded in her direction. ‘Oh yes, still lovely, girl.’

Martin parked in the road outside the house and walked round the car to open the door for Poppy.

‘Thanks, love. We’ll just stay for a bit, have a cuppa and then make tracks, okay?’

‘Fine.’ He tried his best to make his smile genuine.

Poppy tried not to notice the stained sofa that sat minus its cushions on the patch of overgrown grass inside the fence; tried to ignore the piles of dog poo that had been deposited uniformly along the path. She looked up at one of the upstairs windows, which had been boarded over with a piece of plywood, crudely tacked and barely hiding the enormous crack in the pane beneath it.

A green recycling box was a third full of rainwater and overflowed with cigarette butts, empty cans of Carling and several bottles of WKD whose lurid-coloured contents had long been drained. Bugs feasted on licks of sticky sauce smudged over the sides of empty foil containers.

There being no bell, Poppy rapped on the door with her knuckles.

‘She’s ’ere!’ came the loud shout from inside.

‘Waaaaaaagh!’ Jenna screamed as she crushed Poppy against her ample chest. ‘Ooh my God! I’ve really missed you.’ She kissed her friend all over her face. ‘Come in, come in! Kids, make some space.’

Poppy looked down at the three toddlers, a girl and two little boys, who she hadn’t seen before. They peered up at her with chocolate-smeared faces and grubby sweatshirts.

‘Who are these little didders?’ Poppy asked.

‘Ryan’s kids by his two exes. He has them every other weekend. Or should I say,
we
have them every other weekend.’ Jenna twisted her mouth and curled her top lip as she crossed her eyes and poked out her tongue, telling Poppy all she needed to know about the situation.

Then Jenna narrowed her eyes, studying her friend properly for the first time. ‘Blimey, you all right, Poppy? You look like shite!’

Poppy cringed. ‘I’m okay.’

‘Boys, come and say hello to Aunty Poppy,’ Jenna barked into the sitting room.

Her two sons, Malik and Adil, who were only a year or two younger than Peg, sloped into the hallway. They had identical haircuts with intricate patterns shaved into the sides of their heads. Their large eyes shone and they smiled, showing off their dimples and beautiful mouths.

‘Hello, gorgeous boys!’ Poppy hugged them before handing them a stiff cardboard bag each. ‘I got you some S.W.E.E.T.I.E.S – didn’t realise the little ones were going to be here!’ She spelt out the word so as not to alert Ryan’s babies. The two boys looked at her and then each other, a little nonplussed.

‘Come in, come in. Kettle’s on.’ Jenna squeezed Martin and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Hello, mate. Boys, take the little ones upstairs and they can watch telly in your room while we chat.’

The boys, good as gold, did as they were told, shepherding the smaller ones up the stairs with kind words and hands on their little backs lest they should topple backwards. It made Poppy’s heart lurch.

‘They’re so lovely, Jenna.’ Poppy felt a swell of affection for the boys she had known since birth.

Jenna smiled. ‘They are angels. Their dad has them two nights a week and he’s strict on manners. They’re both smart as well, doing great at school.’

‘Must take after their mum then,’ Poppy quipped.

‘Blimey, Poppy, I don’t think I did a full day from the age of twelve!’ Jenna laughed as she and Poppy remembered the lengths Jenna would go to in order to miss school.

‘I remember coming in from school and you’d been hiding in my bedroom all afternoon. Don’t think even my nan knew you were there!’ Poppy laughed.

‘I was naughty, not like you, Mrs Girly Swot.’

‘Hardly.’ Poppy looked at the floor, not wanting to admit to having been keen at school. Even at thirty-two, she was still too embarrassed to share her love of learning.

Jenna walked ahead, giving Poppy a chance to study her. She had gained weight: her black leggings stretched over her thighs and were almost translucent where they touched her dimpled skin. Her heels were cracked and had a purplish tinge as they slipped and slapped in her flip-flops. Her hair, once pristine, her pride and joy, was now scooped up and held fast with a wide clip. Her roots were dark and greasy, while the bleached-blonde ends hung limp and straw-like. Her skin was pale and peppered with spots; she looked to Poppy like she needed a big bowl of veg and a brisk walk in the sunshine.

‘Ryan, Ryan!’ Jenna yelled at her partner. He lay slumped in the armchair in front of a vast TV with his long legs outstretched and a roll-up smouldering between his fingers. The look he flashed the duo who had interrupted his morning viewing said it all. He rose slowly and placed his cigarette in the ashtray beside him, freeing his hands to grasp Poppy by the shoulders and plant a kiss on her face.

‘All right, Poppy.’

‘Yes, good thanks, Ryan,’ she lied. Her nose wrinkled at the sour tang of cigarette smoke, body odour and food that hung in the air. It was the smell of her childhood home.

Martin held out his right hand and gave the man a firm handshake. ‘Nice to see you, Ryan.’

‘Yeah, you too, mate. Just catching up on the darts.’ Ryan’s delivery was fast, as though he was impatient to get the visit over.

Martin nodded. The feeling was entirely mutual. ‘Nice one.’ He sat on the sofa and the two men stared at the screen. Far better than having to find a mutual topic of conversation.

Martin stole glances at the man who now lived with Poppy’s childhood mate. He had a large earring that was a wide hoop inserted into his left earlobe. Martin could see clean through it to the tattoo of a star on his neck; he wondered what the point of it was.

‘Can we go and get a DVD?’ Malik appeared in front of the screen and addressed his mum’s boyfriend.

‘Get out of the way – we’re watching this!’ Ryan swept his arm left to right as though he had Jedi powers that could make the boy move. It worked. Malik ran from the room.

Martin tensed and felt his bowels spasm. He remembered the way his dad would dismiss him from the room, reminding Martin that this was his house and they lived under his rules. Watching as Malik ran from the room, he saw his eight-year-old self and recalled the sinking feeling in his stomach that accompanied the idea that he had no refuge, nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, like an interloper under his parents’ roof.

He hoped the day would come sooner rather than later when one of them, Ryan or Malik, packed their bags for good and went off to find a different life. Martin had only met the boys’ dad once, but he had seemed like a good sort. He pictured him on all fours, crawling around the room with his sons, who were much younger then, riding on his back.

Poppy was horrified at the conditions in which Jenna prepared the tea. Every inch of the work surface was covered in something and the clutter made the large room feel claustrophobic. There was an array of cereal boxes, the kind Peg would whine for but wouldn’t get, whose contents were spilled in small piles where they were placed. Empty cans of baked beans, ravioli and soup stood there with their jagged edges and dribbles of sauce running down the sides. The aluminium draining board was dull and covered in tea- and coffee-coloured sploshes. In the sink itself sat a mountain of cold, flabby oven chips and pieces of fried egg, as though someone had forgotten to switch on the non-existent waste disposal. A tortoiseshell cat with black points to his ears and three dark socks trod nimbly between the dirty plates and detritus, pausing occasionally to look up at Poppy, his expression haughty, as if to say, ‘Look how I have to live…’

A clothes horse in the corner next to the radiator was draped with tracksuit bottoms and several pairs of boxer shorts. Two enormous Alsatians lay top to toe on an old duvet under the window; their hair formed a gritty mat under Poppy’s feet.

‘They’ve got big, haven’t they?’ Jenna flicked her head towards the dogs, who had been puppies the last time Poppy had seen them. She nodded yes, they had.
Bloody enormous.
One of them lifted his head and gave a loud, bassy bark that made Poppy jump.

‘Shut up, Prince!’ Jenna yelled in stereo with Ryan, who bellowed the same from his chair of power in the front room.

Prince glanced at the cat and Poppy wondered if they conversed about their woeful environment when they were alone.

Poppy grabbed an empty carrier bag, picked the food from the sink and deposited it inside. Jenna leant on the work surface and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke into the already stuffy atmosphere. Poppy then ran the hot tap, filled a sponge with water and washing-up liquid and rubbed it around a frying pan that sat on the work surface.

‘You gonna do the whole house, Pop?’ Jenna asked as she drew on her cigarette.

‘Hmmm?’ Poppy looked at her friend, distracted as though on autopilot. She laid the pan in the sink and put the sponge inside it. ‘Sorry, Jen… I…’ She couldn’t explain her desire for order.

With tea made, the four sat in front of the large TV screen in the sitting room. The walls were bare and a layer of dust covered the shelving unit and the saggy furniture. It made Poppy sad to think of the kids spending time in this depressing environment. She had grown up poor, but this was nothing to do with money; it was about laziness and neglect, and bore no connection to the size of a bank balance. She had to almost shout to compete with the commentary and cheers from the darts match.

‘Phil “the Power” Taylor, bloody legend.’ Ryan nodded at the screen.

Martin gave his first genuine nod.

‘It’s lovely to see you, Jen.’ Poppy smiled at her mate.

‘’Tis, mate. Been too long. Mind you, if you will live in the bloody sticks…’

Poppy smiled. Give her the sticks any time. ‘It’s not all bad, Jen.’ She reluctantly sipped at her tea.

‘I couldn’t stand it. Where do you go if you run out of milk or fancy a wander up the shops?’

‘We do have shops!’ Poppy laughed. ‘Just not on the doorstep.’

‘That’s the life you get if you want to play soldiers,’ Ryan piped up, then went back to licking his cigarette paper and rolling it into a skinny tube.

Martin felt his jaw tighten but said nothing.

Ryan wasn’t done. ‘I don’t know how you put up with it. Having to take orders: go here, go there.’