Will You Remember Me? (21 page)

‘I won’t be here for her next birthday, or the one after that, or any of them. This is the last. Her ninth, that’s all I got.’

He stroked the line from hip to thigh, still enjoying the feel of the curve after all these years. ‘Hey, don’t talk like that,’ he said, soothingly. ‘You never know, we might just be lying here this time next year having this same conversation. You don’t know.’

‘But that’s just it. I do know and it’s breaking my heart.’ Poppy turned and twisted her body into his arms. Martin held her tight. Her tears were rare.

‘It’s so hard, Mart, trying to keep everything great for the kids because I think it might be the last thing they remember.’ This admission made her tears fall even faster. ‘And trying not to fall apart or go nuts, because that’s what I feel like doing sometimes. I feel so bloody awful a lot of the time that I just want to curl up and hide under the duvet and not see or speak to anyone, but I don’t have that luxury. I have to keep going and I have to try and keep things normal. Sometimes it feels like all my energy is being taken up just coping with this bloody illness and I have absolutely nothing left.’

He kissed her forehead. ‘You are doing a great job. You are making it the best for them that it possibly can be and most people wouldn’t have the strength to do what you are doing. I’m so proud of you.’

Poppy placed her cheek against his skin and cried hot tears from swollen eyes that left her face and hair wet. Angry thoughts clouded her mind as she gave in to a rare bout of self-pity. ‘I don’t want to be doing a great job! It’s so bloody unfair – why me? Why after everything we have been through is it me that has to go through this? I wish it was someone else. Someone mean or someone evil and I know that’s a horrible thing to say, but I don’t care. It’s not fair, why did it pick me? I just wanted to have a normal little life and watch my kids grow up. That’s all I ever wanted – it’s not too much to ask, is it?’

Martin stroked her shoulder and let her rage exhaust itself. Eventually Poppy wriggled even closer against her husband and closed her eyes. She wanted to block out such thoughts, she wanted sleep. Inhaling the scent of him, she wished absurdly that she could crawl into him and never resurface. Soon, despite the threat of fractured nightmares, her breath fell into a rhythm and sleep arrived.

‘I GOT A SCOOTER!’ Peg screamed loud enough to wake the whole of Wiltshire.

Poppy rolled over and looked at her husband, then buried her head in his T-shirt. ‘Something tells me she might have found her presents.’

‘What gave you that idea?’ He kissed her scalp. ‘Are you feeling a bit better?’

‘Yes, much,’ Poppy lied, doing what she did best, trying to keep everyone happy.

‘IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!’ Peg hollered.

They both laughed as they rose slowly and reluctantly from the warmth of their bed, thrust arms into dressing gowns and rubbed sleep from their eyes.

Poppy palmed small circles on her lower back, which for some reason was particularly painful. She went into the bathroom and swallowed her morning dose of drugs. ‘Try harder, little soldiers. You’ve got to kick the shit out of those pedalos. Do your very best.’

‘All okay in there?’ Martin called from the bed.

‘Yep, just talking to myself.’

They descended the stairs to find Peg tearing at the ribbons on the handlebars of her scooter. Poppy bent down slowly to retrieve the length of shiny pink satin, which would go into her memory box later, with the date and a message:

This was wrapped around the handlebars of your new scooter, Peg, the greatest form of transport you have owned to date! May all your birthdays bring you joy and happiness, and know that on the day you were born I loved you with my whole heart and I always will. x

‘Happy birthday, darling.’ Poppy smiled from the kitchen door as Peg ran her hands over the thing of beauty that she had coveted for a while.

‘Thank you, Mum and Dad. I love it! I really love it! Can I go out on it now? Please?’ She was practically jumping up and down.

Martin opened the front door. ‘Be my guest.’

They sat on the sofa with their first cup of tea of the day, listening as Peg tore up and down the pavement in her pyjamas and slippers.

‘The neighbours are going to hate us,’ Poppy said as she sat back and closed her eyes.

Peg had insisted on scooting to school and Martin had been coerced into walking alongside her with Max in the pushchair. At the end of the school day he set off early, deciding to walk the long way round and leave Poppy on the sofa. A few minutes of shut-eye would do her no harm at all.

The front door bell rang and Poppy opened the door to see Jo smiling on the doorstep and holding a large white box.

‘Hey, I knew you’d come! It’s lovely to see you.’ Poppy ushered her friend into the hallway. ‘I don’t half miss having my mate next door.’

‘I miss you too, and the kids. More than you know.’

Poppy noted Jo’s weight loss, which suited her. She was still lacking her rosy glow, but all in good time. ‘Well, you’re here now.’

‘How you doing?’ Jo squinted to get a better look at her friend.

‘So-so.’ Poppy didn’t want to dwell on the subject. ‘The times I go to knock on your door! I forget you’ve gone. I don’t like it, Jo, not one bit.’

‘I know how you feel. It’s weird being here. I see the house is all locked up.’ Jo flicked her eyes to the wall next door. ‘Have you seen shit-face?’

‘Yep, briefly. I left him in no doubt about how I feel about the whole thing.’

‘Thanks, Poppy. You’re not going to believe this…’ Jo took a deep breath. ‘But I heard he’s having a baby with his new bit of stuff. No wonder he was in such a hurry to get me packed up and moved on.’

‘Oh, Jo!’ Poppy put her hand on her friend’s arm, knowing that this above all else would be the hardest thing to bear.

‘I know. I can’t get my head around it. I don’t want him any more, Poppy, not after the way he treated me. I figure I deserve better. But the idea of him having the baby I wanted so badly with someone else…’ Jo shook her head. ‘It’s killing me.’ Poppy watched as her friend’s face threatened to dissolve into tears. ‘But I’m not going to cry today, I do enough of that at home. Today I am going to be happy because I get to see my birthday girl. Is she not back yet?’

‘No, but she’s on her way now. Mart’s walking her home. Come through, you don’t need an invite!’ Poppy stood back.

Jo grazed her mate’s cheek with a kiss. ‘Don’t go mad, but I made Peg a cake. Ta da!’ Jo put the box on the dining table and removed the lid, revealing a vast pink cake covered in tiny pink marshmallows and with three sparklers sticking from the top ready for lighting.

‘Oh my God, look at that! Did you really make it, Jo?’

‘Yep! It’s taken me all day, but I bloody love that Peg and I can’t wait to see her face!’ Jo smiled.

‘She is one lucky girl.’ Poppy admired the fondant creation, ignoring the grinding pain in her joints and the slight blurring that was obscuring her vision. ‘Thank you, Jo. It’s bloody amazing. Did you hear her this morning, out at the crack of a sparrow’s fart on that bloody scooter? She was making so much noise, I thought you might have got the echo over in Marlborough.’

‘Ah, so that’s what woke me up!’ Jo laughed.

The two women were still admiring Jo’s handiwork when they heard Peg clatter up the garden path and smack into the front door.

‘No brakes,’ Poppy explained.

‘God help you!’ Jo grinned.

Poppy opened the door and smiled at Peg, who lay in a crumpled heap on the ground. ‘Come on, birthday girl, you’ve got a visitor.’

‘It’s Aunty Jo, isn’t it? I saw her car. Did she get me a present?’ Peg stood up and dusted down her knees.

‘Peg!’ Poppy remonstrated. She turned to Jo and grimaced.

‘I did better than a present, I made you this!’ Jo stood to one side with her arms outstretched and her palms turned upwards towards the cake.

‘I LOVE IT!’ Peg screamed and jumped headlong into the sofa, her squeals muffled by the sofa cushion.

‘I think she likes it,’ Poppy said.

Max ran in on his sturdy legs. ‘Cake for Maxy!’

Jo bent down and lifted him, smothering his rosy cheeks with kisses. ‘Hey, Maxy! You are getting so big! And doing good talking too, clever boy.’

‘Five… six… seven…’ Max added for good measure.

‘Still counting?’ Jo enquired.

‘Yep, anything and everything. He’s going to be a maths genius, this child,’ Martin said with pride.

‘Vorderman, eat your heart out.’ Jo laughed.

Poppy lit the sparklers and Peg stared at the flickering rainbows that shot from the top of her cake. It was hypnotic.

‘Don’t forget to make a wish, Peg!’ Martin encouraged.

Peg closed her eyes and her lips moved silently up and down, mouthing her wish. As the sparklers died and sat forlornly in their sugary pink base, she sighed. ‘I did a wish for you, Mum, so that you could stop being sick in the night.’

Poppy caught Martin’s eye, both of them unaware that their daughter had been privy to her trips to the bathroom in the dead of night. ‘Thank you, lovey.’ She was genuinely touched.

‘And the reason I could wish for you was because the other thing I
would
have wished for has already come true.’

‘Oh? What’s that, love?’ Poppy asked as the cake was cut and heaped into bowls.

‘You are not going to believe it, Mummy, but Mrs Newman made me register monitor! When she made the announcement, I listened like I do every morning and I always look down so she can’t see how sad I am when I am not picked. But today she said it! She said, “And the register monitor is… Peg Cricket!” She even got my name right. And I know you are not supposed to, Mum, but I couldn’t help it: I ran up to her desk and I put my arms around her neck and I gave her the biggest cuddle you can imagine. I squeezed her so tightly that her glasses popped off. I told her it was the third best day of my life, after getting Toffee and Daddy coming home for Christmas.’

‘What did she say when you said that?’ Poppy was curious.

‘She said, “Hard work and persistence pays off.”’ Peg beamed, still unable to believe her luck.

‘Ain’t that the truth.’ Martin winked at his wife as they tucked into birthday cake.

Poppy forked a spoonful to her mouth but declined to eat it at the last minute. She couldn’t muster the enthusiasm for something that looked so exquisite but turned to sawdust the moment it touched her tongue. She placed the tiniest morsel in her mouth and swallowed the crumbs that stuck to the dry husk of her throat. ‘Mmmm… this is lovely.’

Two days later and the excitement surrounding Peg’s birthday had dwindled. Poppy’s mood was not quite so jovial as she drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, waiting impatiently for Mr Ramasingh. Martin had insisted on accompanying her to the clinic and despite her protestations, she knew she needed him to lean on, in every sense, although his presence made her even more nervous. The room was a tad chillier than usual, making the white walls and grey blinds seem even more austere. She decided this was probably a good thing; she couldn’t picture what kind of art or knick-knack would be appropriate for the conversations that flowed across his tidy desk.

‘Ah, good morning, good morning, Poppy. and nice to meet you at last, Martin.’ Mr Ramasingh shook hands with Martin and took up his position. ‘You look tired,’ he noted as he tapped into his keyboard.

Poppy liked the way he avoided small talk. There was no verbal meandering: he was straight to the point and she knew where she stood. ‘I am. I’m not sleeping too well and I keep being sick. And I’ve had terrible diarrhoea, but that seems to have calmed down a bit, thank God.’

The doctor nodded. ‘You need to take your anti-sickness medication, and do you remember what I told you about sleep? You are not to worry about the clock on the wall, you have to listen to the clock in here.’ He placed his hand over his heart, or at least where his heart might be. Peg, who maintained that people’s hearts were always exactly in the centre of their chests, would have said about six inches too far to the left. ‘You need to listen to what your body needs and if it needs sleep, sleep! Nothing else matters as much as getting through the day and having the best rest you can get.’

Poppy nodded. It was easy for him to say, with his beautiful wife at home to pick up the toys and cook the supper while he was here trying to fix people. Who did he think was at home with her, performing wifely duties? Martin was brilliant, doing all he could, but it wasn’t easy juggling his job and caring for her and the kids.

It was as if he read her mind. ‘We can get you some help, you know, if you need it.’

Poppy shook her head. ‘No. No, we’re fine, thanks.’ The last thing she wanted was another row with Martin over busybodies poking their noses into their business. Martin squeezed her hand.

‘I wanted to ask you something, Mr Ramasingh.’ She sat forward in the chair.

‘Fire away.’ He stopped tapping and placed his clasped hands on the blotter in front of him.

‘Am I allowed to go on holiday, abroad? My uncle lives in the Caribbean, St Lucia, and wants us to go over.’ She bit her lip, desperately wanting him to say it was okay.

‘Well, if you feel up to it, yes. You would have to take some precautions – make sure you have enough medication with you, and you’ll need good health insurance, which can be ridiculously pricey. And you must take care of those bones of yours. Don’t forget, they are weakened, Poppy, and you don’t want to go breaking anything abroad. But all that said, if you feel you want to and are able to, then why not!’

She beamed. ‘Why not!’

‘And you are going too, Martin?’

‘Yes. It will be good to get away. A new environment, a bit of sunshine…’

‘It will be good.’ The doctor nodded his agreement. ‘It’s easy to forget, when all the focus is on your wife, just what
you
are going through. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but we can put you in touch with a team of specialists who will do anything from helping with form filling to just giving you an ear to talk to.’

Martin nodded. ‘It is tough,’ he almost whispered.