Will You Remember Me? (33 page)

‘Cheryl? Oh God, when is she arriving?’ Poppy looked at her friend. ‘I’d forgotten all about her coming over.’ It was the last thing Poppy wanted, her mum sticking her nose in.

Almost on cue, she heard the wail from the end of the ward.

‘Oh, please God, no!’ Her prayers went unanswered and there, trotting across the lino-covered floor in a pink neon vest, cropped denim jacket, jeans, high heels and enough gold to put Mr T to shame, was none other than her skinny mother.

Cheryl, gripping a hankie to her face, practically elbowed Peg and Jo off the chair.

Jo stood and looked at her friend. ‘See you soon?’

‘You betcha.’ Poppy smiled, feeling nothing but relief that the awkwardness was behind them.

‘Go with Aunty Jo, love. I’ll see you in a bit.’ Poppy gave her a look that urged her little girl to go quickly and quietly. She guessed that Martin was hovering in the corridor somewhere, hiding, if he knew his mother-in-law was coming in.

Jo took Peg’s hand as Cheryl wailed loudly, ‘Oh my God, Poppy! When you said you were ill, I had no idea that you meant
ill
ill. I’d have come sooner. I mean, every Tom, Dick and Harry has cancer nowadays, don’t they? It doesn’t mean… this!’ She waved her hand over her daughter’s body, lying under a taut white sheet, attached to its drip.

Jo ushered Peg from the room.

Cheryl scraped back the chair and placed her head on the side of the mattress, exposing the black roots of her hair. She cried wordlessly, with her face in her hands and her body juddering with every sob. Poppy looked at her mother’s skin: her mahogany tan was mottled with dark spots and the skin looked loose, like it might slide off her bones. It reminded Poppy of an overcooked chicken. She carried with her the pungent perfume of cigarettes and a sweet scent, applied liberally. It made Poppy gag.

‘Don’t cry, Mum.’ Poppy thought it was typical that, even here, in this situation, she was forced to take control.

When Cheryl eventually did look up, her face was streaked where her make-up had been washed away by her tears. She rubbed at her eyes, spreading her thick eyeliner under the lids, which made her look like a panda.

‘You look so bloody thin.’ She sniffed.

Poppy smiled at these words from a woman who existed on liquid calories and looked as if she were in just as much need of a good feed.

‘I know. Not by choice. I don’t feel like eating and I’ve been quite sick.’

‘And what’s all this shite?’ Cheryl pointed at the cannula in the back of her daughter’s hand and all the rest of the medical paraphernalia. She shook her head and blew her nose loudly. ‘I had no idea. I’ve known people get diagnosed with cancer and be right as ninepence within a month!’

‘It just depends what sort and where it is, Mum, and I’m one of the unlucky ones.’ Poppy stared at her mum, whose tears continued to fall.

‘And what did you have to go gallivanting off to the Caribloodybean for? That was a stupid thing to do.’

‘Because I wanted to. It was wonderful. Simon and his wife are lovely.’

‘Are they now?’ Cheryl twisted her lower jaw and smirked. ‘And what did he have to say about you being ill? What did old Holy Joe think his God was playing at, taking a young mother from her babies? What kind of bloody God is that?’

‘I did talk to him about it, actually, and it helped.’ Poppy smiled at the memory of Simon’s words and soothing tone.

‘I can’t get my head round it, Poppy Day. I just can’t. I’ve cried all the way to the bloody airport and on the plane.’

‘Did Frank come with you?’

‘Who?’ Cheryl looked confused.

‘Frank, snoring Frank. Isn’t he your boyfriend?’ Poppy remembered a conversation earlier in the year.

Cheryl jiggled her shoulders and folded her arms across her chest. ‘Oh God, no. Frank isn’t my boyfriend. I’ve got a new bloke now. He’s lovely, Poppy. You’d love him.’

I doubt that.

‘His name’s Paco; he’s Spanish.’ She nodded as if to emphasise the significance. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this one, Poppy. He’s smashing.’

‘Well, I hope it all works out, Mum.’

‘Christ, me too. I’m getting too old for all this malarkey.’

Ain’t that the truth.

Cheryl reached into her large white leather handbag and removed a packet of Marlborough cigarettes and her lighter.

‘You can’t smoke in here.’ Poppy could hardly believe she had to say it.

‘I know! But if I can see them, it calms me, knowing I can have one in a bit.’

Poppy shook her head. This was beyond her understanding.

Cheryl toyed with one of the longer gold chains around her neck. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about when you was little…’

Poppy lifted herself and sat higher in the bed, ready to listen.

‘And the thing is, love, I don’t remember much about it…’ Cheryl let her eyes glaze and looked into the middle distance.

Poppy thought about what she wanted to say.
I remember it, Mum – all of it. Going to school hungry and in dirty clothes, waiting for you to come in, not being able to sleep until I’d heard you and whoever you were sneaking in shut your bedroom door.
But instead of saying this out loud, she remembered Simon’s words: ‘Punishing her would only make you feel better for a very short time and it would make her feel bad for a very long time.’

‘And that makes me really sad, love,’ her mum continued. ‘I don’t have any memories of taking you to the park or letting you paint a picture.’

Again Poppy bit her lip.
That’s because we never did those things.

‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is, Poppy, I look at the kind of mum you are to Peg and Max and I envy you. You are a great mum, not like me. You’ve always been such a great kid, a lovely woman. I know I don’t deserve you.’ Again her tears spilled. ‘And now I’m losing you and it feels like I missed my chance and it feels like shit.’

Poppy looked at her mum. ‘That’s cos it is shit, Mum. But there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it.’

‘I want you to know, Poppy, that I will be there for them kids after, whenever they need anything. They will only have to pick up the phone.’

Poppy stared at her mum, not wanting to expose the lie. Instead she again thought of her uncle’s sage advice. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

Cheryl wiped her face with her raggedy bit of tissue and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Anyway, I’ve decided that we are not going to sit here and be miserable! We are going to write you a bucket list.’

‘What?’ Poppy said in disbelief.

‘It’s where you write up all the things you want to do before… before… you know.’

‘I know what it is.’ Poppy tutted. ‘I just can’t believe you’d think I’d want to do one. Look at me! I think bungee jumping and shark diving are a little beyond me now.’ She gave a rueful smile.

‘It can be anything you want it to be, and I’ve been having a good old think. We can contact people and tell them about you and they will come and see you!’

‘But I don’t want anyone to come and see me.’

‘Course you do!’ Cheryl swatted her arm, narrowly missing the drip. ‘Are you telling me if I got Gary Barlow to walk in right now and sing you a bit of a song, you wouldn’t like it?’

‘No.’ Poppy was adamant. ‘I wouldn’t like it at all.’

‘But you love Gary Barlow!’ Cheryl sounded almost offended.

‘I do love Gary Barlow, but I don’t want him in here singing at me, not with me looking like this. I’d be mortified.’

‘I don’t think he’d mind; he’s not judgemental, our Gary.’ Cheryl spoke as if she had personal knowledge. She sighed, clearly rethinking her strategy. ‘What about if I got you a signed photo of the cast of
TOWIE
– that Joey Essex is lush.’

Poppy laughed in spite of herself. ‘Mum, it’s a lovely idea, but I don’t want to be visited by a celebrity and I don’t want a signed photo of anyone. I just want to get home and spend time with Mart and the kids. I want it to be as normal as possible for as long as possible.’

‘Well, can I pick you up anything nice to eat? A Marks sandwich or some soup?’

‘No, Mum. I wish I did fancy something, but I don’t. Thanks though.’

Cheryl refolded her arms. She was out of options. The two sat quietly for a second or two.

‘Actually, Mum, there is one thing you can do for me.’

Cheryl sat forward. ‘Anything, Poppy Day. You just name it.’

Poppy watched as her mum’s fingers twitched in her lap and her eyes darted to the packet of cigarettes that sat within her reach. ‘You can tell me who my dad is.’

‘Ah, Poppy, good morning, good morning! Martin not with you?’ Mr Ramasingh swept into the ward and sounded, to steal a word from Martin, ‘jolly’. She found it more than a little irritating, like sitting next to someone on the bus who whistled when you had a headache, or having someone tell you about an unexpected windfall when you were scrabbling around in your purse for your fare.

‘Not yet.’

‘Good, good. How are we doing?’ he asked as he studied the flipchart attached to the bottom of her bed.

‘We are peachy.’ She smirked.

‘Mmmnn… you say peachy but your tone and demeanour would suggest otherwise.’ Still he smiled and she couldn’t stay irritated at him for long.

She placed her head in her hands and closed her eyes. ‘If you must know, I’m well and truly fed up.’

He didn’t respond, guessing there was more to come. He was right.

‘I am as weak as a kitten, I could sleep all day, every day and I hurt. I really hurt. I’m sick of spending my days in pain and feeling so low.’ She paused, picturing the bastard pedalos, which clearly weren’t getting destroyed fast enough. ‘I think I need stronger tablets to go home with, but that scares me as I’m already not very with it a lot of the time and I need to keep things as normal as possible for the kids.’

‘The thing is, Poppy, this situation isn’t very normal and it’s no bad thing to let your kids glimpse that. It will make it less of a shock for them when things deteriorate.’

She sighed. ‘I feel poorly and I hate it.’

‘I’m sure you do.’

She sat upright. ‘To think I used to wish for a kidney-shaped swimming pool, a diamond the size of an ice cube and the chance to dance in a fancy frock in the rain! Now all I want is to sleep through the night, not feel like throwing up every minute and be able to taste some food!’

‘We need to talk about your care, Poppy. I mean, yes, I can change your tablets for you today and we can see how that goes. But there is also hospice care. Hospices are not only there for end of life; they can be used for pain relief and respite as well. Have you heard of Hawthorne House?’

Poppy shook her head.

‘It’s a wonderful facility and when you need to make use of it I can make the arrangements for you. If that’s what you decide is best.’

‘Why did this happen to me?’ She let the single tear slip from her eye and made no attempt to wipe it away.

‘I don’t know,’ he whispered.

‘I am totally pissed off with it. I’m exhausted. It’s not fair.’ Unusually for Poppy, she cried without restraint.

‘I’m afraid life is rarely fair.’

He did what he thought best in these situations and passed Poppy the box of tissues. Poppy wondered if he was thinking of his wife.

Martin padded up the ward with his hands in his jeans pocket. Poppy noted the way he peered ahead, as if nervous of what he might find. He beamed when he saw her in her clothes and sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hair was brushed and she looked considerably better than she had when she’d arrived a few days before.

‘Hello, soldier, have you come to take me home?’

Martin could only nod, swamped by the realisation that he didn’t know how many more times she would be coming home.

‘I love you, Poppy Day.’

‘Good. In that case, pick up my bag and give me your arm.’

‘Do you want me to get a wheelchair?’ he asked nervously.

Her look of withering disdain was all the response he needed. Martin helped her from the bed and watched as she steadied herself on his arm. They walked very slowly from the ward and neither of them looked back.

Back in Larkhill, Poppy stepped over the threshold and was delighted to see the house looking so perfect; Claudia must have been working hard.

‘Welcome home, darling. Cup of tea?’ she asked the second Poppy was on the sofa.

‘Yes, please.’ Poppy beamed at the angel woman who always knew exactly what her family needed.

Peg held Toffee up for a welcome home kiss and Max cried at yet another change in his up-and-down routine. Poppy cradled him to her on the sofa. His fat little legs dangled by her side as she rocked him. ‘Sshhhh, Maxy. It’s all going to be okay, my darling boy.’

Later on, Claudia took Max and went into Amesbury with Martin to do a big shop. Peg sat at the table, eating beans on toast and kicking her leg against the chair. Poppy was lying on the sofa gazing at her daughter, so happy to be home.

‘Mummy?’

‘Yes, Peg?’

Poppy watched as Peg toyed with the food on her plate and considered how to phrase her next sentence.

‘I know that your bug’s called cancer.’

Poppy drew in a sharp breath. How had she heard? Who had told her? It was horrible to hear the toxic word uttered from her little girl’s mouth.

‘I heard what Cheryl said in the hospital,’ Peg offered by way of explanation.

Poppy hung her head, thinking of her daughter carrying the word around in her head like a dark secret. ‘Yes, that’s right. It’s called cancer.’

Peg sighed, absorbing the confirmation.

‘Jade McKeever says her nan got some cancer and she died.’

‘Oh.’ Poppy didn’t know how to respond to that.

‘And she told me that Jake Porter’s dad had cancer in his lungs and he died.’ Peg stirred the beans on her plate.

Poppy took a deep breath, mentally preparing for what would come next. She watched Peg hesitate, unsure whether to ask the question that threatened to leave her mouth, fearful of her mum’s reply.

‘And then she said that because you’ve got some cancer, you are probably going to die. Is that true, are you going to die, Mum?’ Peg didn’t lift her eyes from her plate.