‘Not at all. Shall we come with you?’
‘No, no! You stay here, get settled. It’s literally a little something I want to pick up for the kids.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to get them any more, really.’
‘It’s important and I want to.’ She kissed Poppy’s cheek as she passed.
It felt natural, nice. Poppy had learned to welcome the human touch that had been absent during her childhood; being constantly pawed and kissed by the children had worn away any last vestiges of awkwardness.
Claudia was back within the hour and quickly set about preparing more tea.
‘How are you really doing, Claudia?’ Poppy asked, quietly, sincerely.
Claudia placed the teapot on the work surface and turned to face the young woman who under different circumstances might have been her daughter-in-law, the kind of girl she’d hoped Miles might marry.
‘Oh, you know.’ She let her eyes narrow with the beginnings of a smile. ‘Good days and bad days, same as ever. It’s not going to change for me, Poppy. I think I am as healed as I can be. It actually doesn’t bother me anymore that I’m a bit broken; I don’t want to heal any more than this. It keeps him present. I’m resigned to waking up every day with these rocks of grief hanging from me, weighing me down. I think about him all the time. Even now, if the phone rings, I think, oh, that’ll be Miles. Or I might wake up and think, naughty boy, he hasn’t phoned me for an age. And when I remember, it’s like I’m receiving the news again for the first time; the shock nearly knocks me over, every single time.’
‘I think about him all the time too.’
Claudia squeezed Poppy’s hand. ‘He was lucky to have a friend like you.’
Poppy shrugged, awkward at the sentiment, not wanting to cry, not here, not today. ‘And I was lucky to have him. He was a great friend to me and when I look at Peg and Max it breaks my heart, partly that he didn’t get to meet them, but also because he didn’t live long enough to have this life. He’d have been a great dad.’
Both women paused in silence to consider this fact.
‘I’m hun-ger-reee!’ Peg hollered from the sitting room, breaking the solemnity of the moment.
Both women smiled and Claudia immediately rushed to the doorway of the sitting room. ‘Come and see what you fancy.’ She held out her hand, into which Peg slipped hers. ‘I have a larder full of goodies, all your favourite things!’
‘Max too!’ he shouted as he stood and ran over to grasp her other hand.
Claudia opened the stable door of the large food cupboard to reveal a haul that would put any well-stocked supermarket to shame. The shelves were bursting with Christmas biscuits, the tins of which were decorated with snowflakes and snowmen, leaping reindeers, Father Christmases and angels with large trumpets. There were boxes of chocolates and jars of nuts with red ribbons tied around the lids. Pickles, chutneys and relishes sat next to crackers awaiting lumps of soft cheese. Rows of glass jars held shiny strawberry jam, sticky orange marmalade and the clear, golden honey that Peg liked to swirl over a plump, warm muffin. Red-and-white-striped candy canes poked their heads from buckets, squeezed between fat, twisted pretzels and dainty iced cakes decorated with sugar-paste holly leaves and packed into cellophane boxes. Several large boxed panettoni, their soft bread stuffed full of juicy raisins and candied orange and lemon peel, stood ready to be eaten over the coming days, roughly carved into thick slices and slathered with butter and scarlet homemade jam.
‘Wow! Granny Claudia! You got all my favourite things!’ Peg beamed.
‘What you would like, amore mio?’
‘I’d like some chocolate and a piece of cake, please.’ Peg glanced at her mum, who gave her a lopsided smile and swallowed the suggestion that she go easy on the sugar. It was Christmas after all.
‘Would you like chocolate and cake too, Maxy?’
Max gave an exaggerated nod, making sure his chin hit his chest before being thrown back into the air.
‘You ruin these children!’ Poppy laughed, thinking that these were the memories her kids would recall in years to come, so very different from her own lonely musings on Christmas Eve. She remembered wishing, hoping, for a book from Santa but being given eyeliner instead, bought on the knock from the catalogue; she remembered curling her feet, chilly, into her nightie for warmth, waiting for the sound of her mum’s key in the door and her drunken stumbling in the hallway as she issued a loud ‘Sshhhh!’ to whichever beau she was trying to smuggle in.
The four of them sat contentedly in front of the fire and ate sugar-coated treats washed down with tea and pop. Max actually licked the sugar and cinnamon crumbs from the empty plate. Darkness fell and, as was their tradition, Granny Claudia turned off the lights and lit the candles. They all snuggled up on the sofa and she read their favourite, poem, peeping over the pages at their faces, rapt and shining in the flickering candle glow.
With the lines ‘When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, / But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer’ ringing in their ears, Peg, Max, Claudia and Poppy slipped their thick coats, hats and gloves on over their nighties and PJs and ventured out into the back garden. This custom had also started a couple of years back and while they were still to succeed in spotting Santa Claus dashing through the night sky, the possibility that they might was magic itself. They pulled the two cold wicker chairs, lined with fleecy blankets, into the middle of the patio and the children sat on the laps of the adults as all stared at the sky, waiting to see if the sledge would break through the thin cloud. Peg gazed up, wide-eyed, with her head under her mum’s chin. She was torn between wanting to believe and knowing it wasn’t logical. They saw stars, planes, a couple of bats, but no Santa on his sledge. Undeterred, they returned inside, Poppy convinced that she might have heard the jingle of bells behind them and Max nodding in agreement.
Once the kids were tucked up in the twin room at the back of the cottage, Poppy soaked in a hot bath full of bubbles, letting the water wash away the last few days. She placed her hand over her heart and felt its steady beat beneath her fingers. She felt the pulse of her heartstrings and closed her eyes, picturing her man, god knows where on Christmas Eve. ‘I miss you and I love you.’ She let the tears slip down her cheeks; after all, she was in the bath and this was allowed.
With her wet hair wrapped in a warm towel and her dressing gown tied over her thick pyjamas, Poppy descended the stairs and found Claudia on the sofa, under a duvet.
‘They are soundo. They’ve had the most wonderful night.’
Claudia smiled. ‘I have too.’
‘Are you sleeping down here?’ Poppy asked.
‘Yes, I thought might like to tonight. I shall watch the fire die and make sure Rudolf eats his carrot and the bearded chap gets his mince pie and brandy.’ She winked at Poppy. The kids had left the snacks on a little tray in front of the fireplace and the first thing they would do upon waking would be to check for crumbs and bite marks. Even Peg.
‘Ooh, if you see him, ask him if I can have a dishwasher. Tell him I’ve been really, really good.’
‘I’ve told you I’ll get you a dishwasher if you’ll let me.’
‘No.’ Poppy shook her head. ‘I’m only joking. I don’t know what I’d do with one, in all honesty, and washing up is my thinking time. I stand at the sink and shove my hands in the suds and switch off, it’s quite therapeutic!’
‘I’ll have to take your word for it, darling.’ Claudia smiled. ‘Fancy a nice drop of red?’
‘Well, ordinarily no, but I can’t have you drinking alone, can I?’
‘You are too kind!’
Poppy sidled under the duvet at the other end of the sofa while Claudia went to fetch the fancy pants bottle of wine and two very large glasses. Sinking down, Claudia pulled the duvet over her legs and uncorked the bottle, sending the heavenly woody scent up into the rafters of the cottage. Poppy was no wine buff, but when she took a sip of this deep, warm red, her nerves tingled and her taste buds whoop
ed with joy, warning her throat of what was about to arrive. She swallowed the rich claret and savoured the spiced berry aftertaste that lingered.
‘This is lovely!’ Poppy held the glass up to the firelight and studied the long tears that clung to the glass.
‘Miles’ father used to say, no matter how hard-up we got, there were two things he would never tolerate: cheap shoes and cheap wine. Typical Italian!’ Claudia smiled. ‘He was a lovely man. I still miss him, although poor old thing has rather been pushed from my thoughts as Miles has taken precedent. He looked like his dad, exactly like him in fact, but his personality was more like mine, a little bit cautious, bookish. I was glad that I could claim part of him.’
‘Ten years this year.’
Claudia took a large gulp. ‘Yes. It feels both like a lifetime ago and yesterday, depending on my mood.’
Poppy nodded. It was the same for her.
Claudia stared into the fire. ‘I keep thinking that there will come a time when he will have been dead longer than he was alive and I’m not sure I want to be here then. It will make him feel very far away from me.’
This idea made Poppy feel unbelievably sad. ‘I think about the future too. I know that someday someone will want to tell Peg and Max our story and it’s not like when I was a kid, when you had to scrabble for scraps of information – they will only have to pop a few words into a search engine and there it’ll be, my life, my story, warts and all!’
‘They will be so proud of you. They are already. You’re a fabulous mum.’
Poppy beamed at the best compliment she could receive. ‘I want to be.’ Her voice was small. She pictured walking home from school and spying her mum drunk on the floor of the pub in the precinct, propped against the wall, her legs folded, her T-shirt vest slipped to reveal her bra and a small glimpse of her chest. Poppy shuddered.
Claudia continued. ‘Oh, you really are and you will find a way to tell them. Give it to them in bite-sized chunks. It will happen organically, you wait and see.’
‘I hope so. I’m glad Mart’s happy, I really am. It’s important to me that he is doing something he loves, but sometimes I just wish he’d get a normal job so we could have a normal life. No more moving, no worry and no separation. I’d love to stay where we are.’ Poppy hadn’t realised she was crying until the sob left her throat. ‘I’m sorry, Claudia, I didn’t want to fall apart, not tonight.’
‘You don’t have to apologise to me, ever.’ Claudia held Poppy’s wine-free hand.
‘It’s just that sometimes I feel a bit overwhelmed by the idea of packing up again – another new school, worrying how the kids will take to it, new neighbours, new city. I’m not saying I want them to live like I did, never going anywhere or seeing anything new, but in some ways it was quite comforting to go to bed at night in the place where we had always lived, everything familiar and knowing everyone around me. There must be a happy medium, surely. I want to stay in a house where the kids’ heights are notched on a cupboard door and I want to live somewhere long enough to plant something and watch it grow!’
Poppy took another sip of wine. ‘Oh God, listen to me, rambling on. I’ve got a lot to be thankful for, I know.’
‘It’ll all come, darling, you wait and see.’ Claudia squeezed her hand.
Both looked to the stairs as Max started crying and appeared on the top step, quickly followed by Peg, who carried him down. She plonked him on the sofa and climbed onto her mum’s lap.
‘Well, this is a lovely surprise!’ Claudia beamed. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’ She stroked the hair from Max’s forehead.
‘Maxy had a bad dream.’ Peg lay against her mum.
‘Oh no. Are you okay now, Max?’ Poppy bent and kissed him.
‘Damonsters!’ His bottom lip trembled.
‘Oh, darling, there are no monsters.’ Poppy glanced at Claudia. ‘And tonight you have got Peg right by your side, keeping you safe.’
Max nodded, somewhat mollified.
Peg sat up straight. ‘That’s true, Mum, but I don’t sleep in the same room as Max every night, do I?’
‘No, love.’ Poppy looked perplexed, unable to see where this was heading.
‘You know what Maxy needs?’ Peg grinned as if the most marvellous idea had just occurred to her.
‘What?’ Poppy asked.
‘A guard guinea pig! One that sleeps in my room, that I can look after and not lose interest in, but is trained to keep an eye on Maxy and keep him safe!’
Poppy and Claudia laughed until their tears flowed. It was partly the wine, partly Peg’s unashamed sales pitch, but also because it was Christmas Eve and all emotions felt somewhat magnified.
An hour after the kids had been restored to bed, Poppy yawned. ‘Do you mind if I leave you to it?’
‘Not at all. No doubt we’ll be up early tomorrow.’
‘Probably.’ Poppy smiled. ‘Do you want me to sleep down here with you? I don’t like leaving you on your own. Especially as you don’t have a guard guinea pig!’
Claudia’s eyes twinkled. ‘What are you going to do with her? No, I’m fine, darling. You go on up. I like my own company, this is my thinking time. There is something quite magical about tonight, don’t you think?’
Poppy bent low and kissed Claudia on the cheek. ‘I do now.’
‘Night night.’
Poppy poked her head into the kids’ room. She loved to watch their chests rise and fall with each breath, their hair spread over their pillows like halos. She felt the familiar twist to her heart that threatened to burst with love for these two little people she and Mart had created.
It was 4 a.m., according to the display on her phone, when Poppy was jolted from sleep. She had heard a noise, possibly the loo door being closed or possibly the central heating in this old house whose sounds were so different from that of her own. Propping herself up on her elbow, she listened for any cries coming from the kids’ room. When there were none, relieved and happy at the prospect of more sleep, she turned her pillow over and with the cool cotton against her cheek, fell back into a deep slumber.
‘He’s beeeeeeeen!’ Peg screamed from her room, providing the alarm that woke the whole house.
Poppy checked her phone: it was five in the morning. She thought of her nan, who used to walk around the flat with a torn paper crown from a cracker stuck on her head, and Wally, dozing in his chair, his stomach full of turkey and Christmas pud, relieved that he hadn’t been served his usual bacon. Then her thoughts turned to Mart, who would be waking up alone. ‘Happy Christmas, my darling man, wherever you are.’
Poppy closed her eyes and twisted the little gold band on the third finger of her left hand, proof that someone wanted to be married to her – a fact that gave her a jolt of joy every time she remembered his teenage proposal. The two of them had been mucking around together in the concrete play area of the flats. Mart was leaning on a post, drawing on a fag and watching her on the swings. And she was swinging higher and higher, kicking her legs back and forth.
‘Look, Mart,’ she’d yelled, ‘I’m going to do a looper, right over the bar!’
‘Don’t, Poppy, you’ll hurt yourself.’ He looked away.
‘I won’t, I bet I can do it!’ Poppy pumped her legs, taking the rickety swing up higher until it was level with the bar.
He could hardly stand to watch as the chain squeaked and her legs blotted out the sun with rhythmical regularity. It happened suddenly – the seat wobbled and she flew through the air with a guttural shriek, landing in a heap by the bins. Winded, she sat up and held her aching ribs.
‘Poppy!’ Mart ran to where she had landed and crouched down, holding her hand between his palms. ‘Are you hurt?’ His breath came in short bursts.
She swallowed and composed herself, running a mental checklist and grateful not to have landed splat down on the tarmac. ‘I think I’m okay!’ She giggled with relief as a large bruise started to spread up her arm and thigh.
‘You silly cow! You frightened me,�
� he snapped.
‘I was only mucking about. You’re not the boss of me.’ She shook her hand free.
Martin Cricket cupped her face in his hands and spoke in a voice so low, she had to concentrate to hear. ‘I never want to be the boss of you, but I do love you. I always have and I always will. If I even think about you getting hurt, I feel sick. I want to take care of you, Poppy Day, and I want you to take care of me. I want you to marry me and I want us to live together until we get old and die.’
‘What?’ Poppy shook her head. Maybe she was concussed.
‘Will you marry me, Poppy Day?’
She had stared up at him and considered what it would be like to be looked after by this man she loved. Then she had smiled, knowing that this was where she belonged, right by his side. Nodding, she’d kissed his palm with a shaking hand. ‘Yes, yes, I’ll marry you.’
Peg thundered into the room and jumped on the bed. ‘Happy Christmas, Mummy!’
‘Happy Christmas, my darling.’ Poppy kissed her daughter, who jumped off and lifted Max up onto the mattress. All three snuggled under the duvet, kicking their feet, bubbles of excitement filling their stomachs.
‘Has Father Christmas brought you presents, Max?’
‘Yes!’ Max grinned. Poppy ran her fingers through his blonde hair, sticky with sleep and juice that had splashed from his sippy cup.
‘There is a pillowcase full of presents at the bottom of my bed and Max has one too and I honestly think that Father Christmas left them for me, Mum! I really do.’ She beamed at Poppy.
‘Well, good.’ Poppy didn’t want to find out how the conversation might progress.
‘Can we go downstairs and open our presents?’ Peg now bounced up and down.
Poppy rubbed her eyes and scraped her hair into a scrunchie. ‘We can go downstairs but I don’t want us to disturb Granny Claudia just yet.’ She was sure Peg’s hollering could have been heard back in Larkhill, but wanted to give Claudia a moment alone on this joyous and difficult day. ‘Why don’t we tiptoe downstairs and give her another half an hour? Do you think we can do that?’
Stories From The Heart Page 35