Poppy's War

by Lily Baxter

  Violet sidled forward to snatch the tray from Poppy’s grasp. ‘Bet you didn’t get nothing for me,’ she hissed.

  Poppy put her hand in her skirt pocket and pulled out two small packages. ‘I did as it happens.’ She placed one of them on the tray. ‘I hope you like it.’

  Violet’s mouth formed a small circle of surprise as she peeled off the paper to reveal a pair of clip-on earrings. ‘Oh, thanks. You shouldn’t have.’

  ‘It’s Christmas,’ Poppy said, walking past her to give the larger present to Mrs Toon. ‘It’s only small, I’m afraid. I couldn’t afford a big bottle.’

  Wiping her hands on her large white pinafore, Mrs Toon tore off the paper and her face crumpled into a smile. ‘Evening in Paris, my favourite scent.’

  Olive left the tray she was preparing to take upstairs and glanced critically at the gift. ‘Very nice too,’ she remarked stiffly.

  Poppy plunged her hand in her pocket and brought out another package. ‘For you, Olive.’

  Olive sniffed and took the present gingerly, as if she were afraid it might bite her fingers off. ‘I didn’t expect anything neither.’

  ‘Well, open it, you silly girl,’ Mrs Toon remonstrated cheerfully.

  ‘And where’s mine, Popeye?’ Nancy demanded with a curl of her lip. ‘Don’t suppose you got anything for the likes of me.’

  ‘Why don’t you wait and see?’ Poppy kept her hands in her pockets while she waited for Olive to rip the paper off her present.

  ‘Very nice too.’ Olive held up the string of glass beads for the others to admire. She smiled. ‘Thanks, Poppy.’

  ‘All right for some,’ Nancy muttered beneath her breath as she stashed the clean crockery away in the oak dresser.

  ‘I almost forgot,’ Poppy said, making her way round the table to hand a small flat package to Nancy. ‘Here’s yours.’

  Ripping off the brown paper, Nancy stared at the diary, frowning. ‘Ta! Very nice I’m sure.’

  ‘I thought you could keep your dates with young gentlemen from getting muddled up,’ Poppy said sweetly.

  ‘Who told you about that?’

  ‘Sally Pitman’s in my class at school. Everyone knows you stood her brother up last week.’ Poppy had the satisfaction of seeing Nancy looking distinctly put out. She opened her mouth to reply but a loud jangling from the bell board made everyone turn with a start.

  ‘Olive, front door,’ Mrs Toon said, straightening her white cap. ‘They’ve started arriving already and here am I, all behind like the cow’s tail.’

  Poppy’s heart did a convulsive leap inside her chest. She had kept the secret so well that she had almost forgotten that Guy was due today. She raced after Olive as fast as her legs would carry her.

  Chapter Six

  TO POPPY’S INTENSE disappointment it was Pamela who entered first, resplendent in a sable coat with a matching Cossack-style hat and high-heeled shoes that were totally unsuitable for walking anywhere, let alone on stony country lanes. Hector followed her with Rupert in his arms and their chauffeur, Harper, brought up the rear with their luggage. Marina emerged from the drawing room, holding out her arms. ‘Pamela, darling.’

  Leaving a waft of expensive perfume in her wake, which Poppy guessed had cost more than a shilling in Woollies, Pamela glided across the floor to kiss her mother. ‘It’s good to be home, Mummy.’

  Hector put a squirming Rupert down on the floor. ‘Go and say hello to your grandmama, there’s a good chap.’

  But instead of toddling towards his grandmother Rupert flung himself at Poppy with a cry of delight. ‘Poppy.’

  Marina bristled visibly. ‘As the boy seems to prefer you, Poppy, I suggest you take him upstairs to the nursery.’ She beckoned to Hector. ‘Come into the drawing room where at least the temperature is above freezing. Olive will see to your luggage.’

  They disappeared into the drawing room, and Olive picked up the suitcases. ‘Olive do this; Olive do that. Where’s their Christmas spirit, that’s what I’d like to know?’ She pushed a smaller valise towards Poppy with the toe of her shoe. ‘Make yourself useful and take this one. It looks like it might belong to the kid.’ She stomped off, hefting the cases up the main staircase with a mutinous look on her face that dared anyone to challenge the fact that she had not taken the back stairs.

  Left alone in the entrance hall with Rupert and the huge Christmas tree, Poppy realised that as far as Mrs Carroll was concerned she would always be on a par with the servants. In fact she was probably less valued than Violet or Olive because she had no useful part to play in the day to day running of the house. Rupert tugged at her hand and she smiled, swinging him up in her arms. ‘You’re pleased to see me at any rate. Look at the pretty tree, Rupert.’

  ‘Poppy,’ he said, tugging her hair.

  ‘Come on then,’ she said, settling him on her hip as she picked up the valise. ‘Let’s take you to the nursery. They’ve lit a fire in your honour, which is more than what I get.’

  It was a reluctant Nancy who brought them their lunch, grumbling that she had to do Violet’s work as well as her own and it wasn’t fair. Poppy said nothing.

  When they finished their meal, she took Rupert into the bathroom and changed his nappy. She washed his hands and face put him down for his nap. Even though he fought sleep he succumbed quickly. She gazed down at him and felt a tug of something like love even though he was not related to her in any way. His eyelashes formed golden crescents on his rosy cheeks and his soft fair baby curls spread out on the white pillowcase. She crept out of the room, leaving the door ajar so that she could hear him when he awakened.

  She went to sit on the window seat, gazing down onto the driveway at the front of the house. The Pallisters’ car, a large black limousine, was where they had left it but there was no sign of Guy’s roadster. She sighed and picked up a copy of Vanity Fair that she had borrowed from the school library, but she could not concentrate on the exploits of Becky Sharp, even though their situations were in some way similar. She found herself wondering what Mum and Gran were doing now. She could imagine them sitting round the kitchen table peeling spuds for roasting with the bird next day. Dad would come home later with a goose or a turkey that he had bought last thing from Smithfield Market where bargains were to be had if you waited until closing time. Joe would bring beer for himself and Dad, and a bottle of gin for Mum and Gran. Tea would be toasted crumpets and margarine with mince pies to follow, and afterwards they would sit round the fire and roast chestnuts on the coal shovel. She could smell the fragrance of red hot chestnuts and the spicy aroma of mince pies. She always left one out for Santa Claus with a glass of beer, which was empty next morning. She knew now that it was Dad who drank the beer and probably Joe who ate the pie, but when she was younger she had firmly believed that the jolly old man in the red hat had come down the chimney to fill her stocking.

  A whimper from the nursery made her jump to her feet. Outside a pale watery sun had fought its way through the clouds. On an impulse she decided to dress Rupert in his outdoor clothes and take him to his favourite spot by the lake to feed the ducks. Visiting the kitchen first, she was relieved to find that Mrs Toon seemed more kindly disposed towards her after the gift of perfume, and she gave them some stale bread for the ducks and two fingers of freshly made shortbread for themselves.

  Outside, as Poppy had hoped, the air was crisp and cold and the threat of snow seemed to have blown away on the westerly wind. Their feet crackled on the dead leaves underfoot and the sun’s feeble rays reflected off the dark water of the lake. The ducks quacked and waddled over, greedily snapping up the chunks of bread as Rupert tossed them inexpertly into the water. When the last crumb had been swallowed the ducks paddled their way back to roost on the small island in the middle of the lake. A cold wind whipped through the bare branches of the trees as the sun plummeted towards the horizon and Poppy took Rupert by the hand. ‘Time to go indoors, love.’ He looked up at her and grinned, licking the last crumbs of shortbread from his
lips. ‘More ducks,’ he said hopefully.

  ‘More ducks tomorrow.’ They set off walking slowly towards the house, but the sound of a car coming up the drive made her stop. She did not have to look to know it was Guy’s roadster, but as she turned slowly her heart gave a great lurch as she saw him at the wheel resplendent in his RAF uniform. Amy was sitting beside him in the passenger seat with Algy balancing precariously on the dicky seat. Snatching Rupert up in her arms she ran towards the drive, waving frantically. Guy smiled when he saw her and she felt as though she was going to burst with happiness. By the time she caught up with them they were unloading the car.

  Light from the entrance hall spilled onto the steps as Pamela emerged from the house, closely followed by Hector. She paused on the bottom step, staring at Guy in astonishment. ‘You idiot, Guy, why didn’t you tell us you’d enlisted? Just wait until Mother finds out.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything because I knew there’d be a fuss, Pam. This way it’s a fait accompli.’

  ‘I know what that means.’ The words tumbled from her lips before Poppy could stop herself. Everyone turned to look at her and she felt the colour rush to her cheeks.

  Guy ruffled her hair. ‘It’s good to see you again, Poppy. Amy’s told me how well you two have been getting on.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake come indoors,’ Pamela said, folding her arms about herself with an exaggerated shiver. ‘It’s freezing out here. Poppy, take Master Rupert upstairs to the nursery; I don’t recall giving you permission to take him out.’

  Hector put his arm around her shoulders. ‘The boy needs fresh air and exercise, Pam. You mollycoddle him.’

  ‘I do not.’ Pamela broke away from him and mounted the steps, tossing her golden hair so that it caught the light.

  She has a pageboy bob just like Ginger Rogers, Polly thought wistfully. She wished that her hair was that shade of blonde instead of being dark. Even when it was confined to two long plaits she could not quite control the strands that escaped to curl in tendrils round her face. She jumped at the sound of Amy’s voice.

  ‘Do go indoors, Poppy dear; it really is getting very cold.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And don’t take too much notice of Pamela. She doesn’t mean to be sharp with you.’

  Algy staggered past them with his arms filled with packages tied with coloured ribbon. ‘Give me a hand, old girl. There’s more in the car. I think Guy’s bought up the whole of Oxford Street.’

  With a suitcase in each hand, Guy followed him up the steps. ‘Don’t listen to him, Amy. You’re the one who shouldn’t be standing outside in this weather. Take the children indoors.’

  Poppy stared after him in dismay. She was not a child. Her hand went automatically to the glass heart around her neck; she could feel its shape through her woollen jumper.

  ‘Guy’s right. We must be mad standing out here when there’s a lovely fire inside. Come on, Poppy.’

  Holding Rupert’s hand, Poppy followed Amy into the house, but she knew there was going to be trouble the instant she saw the expression on Mrs Carroll’s face. Her smile of welcome had been replaced by tight-lipped disapproval. ‘Are you completely insane, Guy?’

  ‘Merry Christmas to you, Mother.’

  ‘Don’t Merry Christmas me. How could you do such a thing without consulting your father and me?’

  ‘Oh dear, she is upset,’ Amy murmured, clutching Guy’s arm as if she wanted to shield him from his mother’s wrath.

  ‘Perhaps we’d better make tracks for home, sis,’ Algy said in a low voice. ‘I think Guy needs time alone with his family.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Guy said firmly. ‘You’re both family as near as damn it, anyway, and we won’t allow this to spoil Christmas, will we, Mother?’

  ‘We’ll see what your father has to say.’ Marina stalked off in the direction of the drawing room.

  ‘What did I tell you just now?’ Pamela hissed in Poppy’s ear. ‘Take Master Rupert to the nursery and make sure that he eats his supper. I’ll come up and kiss him goodnight when he’s ready for bed.’

  Finding herself left alone with Rupert yet again, Poppy picked him up and carried him to the nursery, but he was fractious and all her attempts to amuse him failed. She could not stop thinking about Guy and wondering what was being said in the drawing room. He looked so handsome in his uniform, and she simply could not understand why his mother was not bursting with pride to have such a brave son.

  Rupert had begun to snivel, but his attention was diverted when the nursery door flew open, helped by Nancy’s foot. ‘What a way to spend Christmas Eve,’ she muttered, eyeing Poppy as if it were all her fault. ‘Here’s your supper, Popeye. I hope it chokes you.’ She dumped the tray on the table, causing Rupert’s milk to slop onto the cloth.

  ‘Thank you,’ Poppy said, lifting Rupert into his high chair.

  Nancy hesitated in the doorway. ‘I suppose you’re happy now?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Your heart-throb has come home all dolled up in uniform.’

  ‘Mr Guy is a brave man, fighting for his country.’

  ‘And you’re a stuck-up little bitch.’

  ‘Go away, Nancy. You’re upsetting Master Rupert.’

  Nancy hovered in the doorway, seemingly unwilling to let matters lie. ‘You think you’re the bee’s knees since Miss Amy took you under her wing, but you’re still common like the rest of us. The family won’t never accept you as one of them. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Popeye.’ She slammed out of the room, leaving Rupert staring after her with his mouth open.

  Poppy scooped up a spoonful of chicken broth and put it to his lips. ‘Don’t take any notice of her, Rupert. She’s a mean old fox-face.’

  Early next morning, Poppy saw to it that Rupert was washed and dressed with a feeling of resentment gnawing inside her. His mother had not come to kiss him goodnight as promised and no one had thought to hang a stocking at the end of his cot. If Poppy had been at home the smell of bacon frying and hot toast would be wafting up from the kitchen. Cooked breakfast was a special treat reserved for birthdays and Christmas. Even though she was too old for toys, there would have been a stocking filled with nuts, sweets, an apple and an orange and some small gifts. It seemed callous to treat a little kid this way, but the Carrolls did everything differently all round. A wave of homesickness washed over her. She fingered the silver chain and the glass heart, closing her eyes and picturing Mum’s face when she had said goodbye. In her pocket she had an envelope that had come on Christmas Eve bearing a London postmark. Inside, tantalisingly enough, was another smaller envelope with the inscription Do not open until Christmas Day.

  Olive delivered the breakfast tray with an air of resignation. ‘Merry Christmas, Poppy.’ She left the room without giving Poppy a chance to respond in kind.

  Half an hour later, Pamela collected Rupert and Poppy was alone at last to open her letter. Her fingers trembled as she ripped the envelope apart and a card dropped onto the tablecloth. On examination it was a book token to the value of seven and six. She could hardly believe her eyes. Mum and Dad must have been saving up for weeks to give her such a magnificent present. She snatched up the slip of paper that had fluttered out with it.

  Dear Poppy,

  Knowing how you love to read we all clubbed together to get you this book token so you can choose something you really want. Joe has joined up because the papers say that he’d be called up soon anyway. Your dad is disappointed that he is too old to go back in the army, but as you can imagine, love, Gran and I are very pleased. Anyway he does important work on the railway and we all have to do our bit.

  Take care of yourself, love, and let’s hope it’ll all be over soon and you can come home. Give my kind regards to Mr and Mrs Carroll and that nice Miss Amy.

  Lots and lots of love,

  Mum.

  Poppy’s eyes filled with tears as she read and reread the note, but she swallowed hard and braced her shoulders. Mum would tell her not to cry and Gran w
ould say, ‘Keep your chin up, girl.’ But it was not that easy. A large teardrop splashed onto the paper causing the ink to smudge. Mum’s writing brought home closer and yet her family were as far from reach as ever. She dashed her hand across her eyes as she heard the latch click and the door opened. She looked up and saw Guy standing in the doorway. The letter fell from her nerveless fingers but he moved swiftly and caught it before it fluttered to the floor.

  ‘News from home, Poppy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not bad news, I hope?’

  ‘Not really. Except that my brother Joe has joined the army.’

  ‘Good for him. You must be proud.’

  She raised her eyes to his face and his sympathetic smile brought a rush of tears that simply refused to stop. He sat down at the table and taking a starched white handkerchief from his pocket he pressed it into her hand. ‘Chin up, Poppy.’

  She blew her nose into its soft folds. ‘My gran always says that.’

  ‘Your gran sounds like a very wise woman. You must tell me all about your family when there’s more time, but now I want you to dry your eyes and come downstairs with me.’

  Poppy slanted a sideways look at him. He is handsome like a film star, she thought, but just now his face had a touch of hardness about it that had not been there before he went away. His thick, wavy hair, which was more or less the same colour as Rupert’s, had been cut very short. She realised that he was regarding her with a smile on his lips. ‘Penny for them, Poppy.’

  ‘They’ve cut your hair too short.’

  He stood up to look in the mirror above the fireplace. ‘You know, I think you’re right. Next time I’ll tell the barber not to be so keen.’

  She stared at him in amazement. ‘Will you really?’

  ‘I certainly will. And now we’d better hurry or we’ll be late for morning service.’

  She stared at him, thinking that she must have misheard. ‘I’m going to church with you?’

  ‘Absolutely, and then you’re going to have Christmas lunch with the family.’