House of Straw

by Marc Scott

  The thumping sounds inside her head continued, they were unrelenting. Poppy tried to work out how the hell she had got here. The last thing she remembered was driving down a darkly lit country lane that seemed to go on forever. She couldn’t remember stopping. Maybe that spiritual sat nav, the one that had taken her back to the flat, had guided her car to this place. Slowly the events of the previous day began to filter through to her brain. She looked down at her feet and noticed the thick brown stain on her right boot. She knew what it was, it was blood, it was Cameron’s blood. Her tired eyes moved slowly upwards and she studied the cuts on her hands and the spatter of bloodstains on the sleeve of her beloved jacket. She knew now that it was bad. Was he dead? Did she kill him? Had she killed Cameron?

  The thoughts of her actions were enough to start Poppy moving. Something told her she had to make some big decisions and make them fast, but her aching head was still telling her to lie down and to sleep it off. Reaching over to the front seat of the Omega, Poppy grabbed her handbag and looked inside for her purse. She had just two £5 notes and several coins. She searched her bag in the hope she had some cigarettes in there. Just one would do, just one would ease the pain, but there were none. Taking out her mobile, she switched it on, hoping that the battery would not be dead. She was in luck, the phone came back to life. She knew that things were bad. Maybe in a few seconds she would find out just how bad they really were. Her mobile revealed that there were twelve missed calls, five from Danny, two from Rahwaz, two from the restaurant number and three from a withheld caller. She knew that those ones would be from the police. There were several voice messages, but she couldn’t face those, not without a cigarette or two. There were also half a dozen text messages waiting to be opened, but they would also need to wait.

  Her body ached all over and the bass drum continued to beat loudly inside her head, playing its own punishing tune, one she did not care too much for. Suddenly Poppy began to feel a watery sensation starting to build up at the back of her throat, as if there was a noxious substance that was screaming to be released. Zipping up her jacket, she pushed open the car door and swiftly made an exit into the fresh air. The blazing rays from the sun hit her like a sledgehammer, making her giddy and completely distorting her vision. She choked loudly, as if she knew that she was about to vomit. She didn’t try to hold it back. Bending forwards she spewed up at least half the alcohol she had consumed the night before, together with an assortment of foul-smelling bits of food. Her eyes watered as she released a second load. This time it was more liquid than anything else. A passer-by, walking his dog, watched on in disgust as she gagged loudly, before clearing the remaining contents of her stomach with one final stomach-wrenching effort. The man with the dog did not stop, why would he?

  As she stood upright and spat out the tiny fragments of vomit left in her mouth, Poppy had a much clearer view of her surroundings. This was the lake she had visited as a child. She was confused as to how she could have found this place after all this time. Maybe it was a dream, maybe everything was a dream, she had not gone crazy last night, maybe everyone was OK. But looking down at the stains on the sleeve of her jacket and the cuts on her knuckles, she knew that this was far from a dream.

  As Poppy wiped over her face with her sleeve, she noticed that the pavilion was open. The screams and shouts of children’s unbridled excitement ripping through the morning air, as families began queuing for the rowing boats. Through her bleary eyes, Poppy could make out the shapes of the small army of toddlers, dressed in colourful T-shirts and shorts, dragging their parents’ hands toward the small vessels moored at the edge of the lake. For a few seconds her mind took her back there, to when she was one of the small excited children, when she was the little girl who always sailed in the best boat and had the best captain on the lake. She began to wonder if Captain Stripey and Captain Hooknose still visited this place. Maybe they came here with their grandchildren now. Maybe she would see them again, maybe she would remember how good it used to feel to be here, long ago, before she ever knew the bitterness of rejection.

  Poppy’s Omega was not in a good state, its bodywork was covered in scratches and dents and the passenger side wing mirror was hanging by a thread. The vehicle looked as if it had been abandoned by joyriders. The car’s bonnet was pointing directly at the lake, as though its purpose had been to carry its driver into the water. Poppy asked herself that question. Was a watery grave meant to be her final ending? In truth she did not know the answer, she had been so drunk the previous night she was capable of anything. Maybe that was it, perhaps she had decided that she had finally had enough. Maybe she wanted to finish things, to put an end to her miserable existence. After all, who would really miss her if she died? Danny could find a new waitress, Cameron could find a new punchbag, Matt already had a new fuck-buddy and her so-called sister, well, in Poppy’s mind, she could just ‘fuck off and die!’ Maybe the Reverend Joe would hold a service for her, in memory of that ‘screwed-up sour-faced sinner’ who never listened to his advice and refused to follow the path to righteousness.

  Dragging her feet across the increasingly familiar fields, Poppy made her way towards the pavilion. She could feel the fresh breeze from the water on her neck and smell the algae blooms resting at the edge of the lake. As she neared the jetty and heard the laughter of children echo around her, the ghosts of her past life began to appear in her head. ‘Row faster, Daddy, row faster, they are catching us,’ she would bark at him. Those big strong arms and bulging muscles would never let her down. She could see his body now, moving backwards and forwards at the head of the boat, his firm hands gripping tightly onto the oars. ‘Faster, Daddy, faster.’ He would pull those silly faces at her, making all sorts of weird grunting noises as their boat glided across the lake. She would be yelling her instructions at him and he would be laughing loudly at the ‘slowcoaches’ in the other vessels. A sudden chill ran down her spine as she strolled past the empty boats that were swaying in the water, waiting for their new captains to board. Maybe it was a sign of a sudden change in the warm air or could it be one of those ghosts from her past, reminding her that this place had not been so bad after all.

  As she passed the long white fence and entered the pavilion, Poppy attracted several stares from the families seated at the tables. Who could blame them? She looked a complete mess. She noticed immediately that the interior of the cafeteria had not changed. The main seating area was painted in bland cream and brown shades, the same as she remembered it. Old black and white photographs of the lake, taken during the 1940s, still hung proudly on the walls. They may have been moved around, but they were the same pictures. The refreshment counter with the ice cream freezer was still in the far corner. Even the display of sweets had not changed its position. Time had stood still in this pavilion for more than two decades. Even the women behind the counter had a familiar look about them. In her throbbing head, Poppy began to wish that time had stood still for her too.

  She thought that it might be best to have a small makeover before venturing to the counter. Her somewhat bedraggled appearance and pale features were already a talking point of most of the customers. She made her way to the toilets. They too were still located in the same corner of the tea room. In truth that was probably the only place they could be. Poppy sat down in one of the cubicles and relieved herself of the remainder of the large bottle of vodka that was still floating around in her system. She rested her head against the side panel for a few seconds, still feeling somewhat weary, her eyelids feeling heavy. She was desperate to return to her slumber. Her rest was cut short by the sounds of a woman calling out to her daughter who had strayed into the toilets. They say that there is no rest for the wicked, that would certainly be true on this day.

  Poppy left the temporary sanctuary of the cubicle and made her way to the washbasins. A small smile cracked on her troubled face as she remembered on her last visit here how she could barely see the top of her head in the large mirr
or that was now facing her. As she searched in her bag, hoping to find a hairbrush, a small but very familiar tone sounded out in her head. It was unmistakable, it made her skin crawl, it made her jump. ‘What have you done now, Popsy?’ the tiny voice asked. ‘What have you done now?’ As she looked up, she heard it again. ‘Why did you do it, Popsy girl, why did you do it?’ Poppy began to shake. Her senses could not take in what was happening, and then, before she had the chance to find some sanity, an image of the girl appeared in the mirror. She was standing behind her, Nikita was here with her.

  Poppy stared at her reflection and then beyond it, she could see the small figure of her friend standing behind her. She was as clear as anything. The mirror was telling her that it was her, those messy double buns sitting proudly on her jet-black hair told her that it was her, but her brain refused to be fooled by the image. The waif-like figure asked her again, ‘Why, Popsy girl, why did you do it? You have spoiled everything now.’ Poppy began to tremble, as the face of the figure in the mirror became much clearer to her. The little pixie shook her head and continued. ‘Nothing to say for yourself?’

  Poppy responded. Her voice bore something of a tremble. ‘You can’t be here, I know you can’t be here, Nix, I know this isn’t you.’

  ‘And you can be here. You can be at this place, can you? What gives you the right to be here?’

  ‘It was my memory, Nix, not yours, the lake was always my one place, I told you that.’

  The tiny figure in the background laughed, that beautiful high-pitched laugh that always made Poppy smile. ‘Well, maybe it is my place now,’ she said. ‘Maybe I have taken this away from you, like you took everything away from me.’

  ‘No, Nix, no!’ Poppy shouted. ‘I told you what happened, I told you everything. It wasn’t my fault that they took him away, I swear.’

  ‘But it was, Popsy girl, we both know that it was your fault.’

  Poppy was still shaking, still trying to come to terms with the vision in her head. She closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds. But when she opened them, she was still there, Nikita was still behind her, she was still smiling. ‘Why did you stop, Popsy, why did you stop at the edge of the lake?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Didn’t you want to join me? We could have so much fun again, you and me. It could be just like old times.’

  ‘No, Nix, you are not real! You are not real!’

  ‘Poor Popsy girl has messed up again, this time it’s her boyfriend that she cuts up into pieces. And poor Popsy girl has no one else to blame but herself. Poor, poor Popsy girl!’

  ‘No, you are not real, Nix! You can’t be real!’

  The figure behind her laughed, that impish little laugh that told Poppy that she was there, her friend was there with her. ‘You see, I was right,’ Nikita said. ‘I told you that one day we would both be famous.’

  ‘No!’ Poppy yelled at the mirror. ‘I don’t want to be famous, I never did!’

  ‘Poor Popsy, now she doesn’t want to be famous.’

  ‘You are wrong, Nix, I heard the voices again, they told me to do it, they always make me do it.’

  ‘Still blaming those voices, Popsy girl. Come on, that’s old news now, I know that, you know that, all those bloody shrinks knew that!’

  Poppy became very agitated, she wanted to lash out, but she couldn’t, she would never have hurt Nikita. She closed her eyes again and screamed loudly at the mirror. ‘It’s the voices, Nix, you know it’s the voices. You need to leave me alone! You need to go away!’

  Suddenly the door swung open and Poppy’s attention was drawn to her side, to the entrance for the toilets. A startled woman stood there. She was holding the hand of a small child, she was just a few feet away. She gave Poppy a strange look before walking back out into the tea room. Poppy looked back at the mirror but saw only her own reflection. She was gone, her pixie friend was gone. She turned on the taps of the basin in front of her and dowsed her face with cold water. She was still shaking slightly. Her friend’s grinning features were now fixed in her brain, she couldn’t get Nikita out of her head. She splashed more water across her head to flatten her hair. Her reflection in that mirror told her she resembled a scarecrow, no wonder everyone had been looking at her. Before she left the toilets, Poppy looked into each of the cubicles to see if her friend was hiding in there. She knew that it was not possible, she knew that she wouldn’t find her little pixie, but your brain can tell you to do strange things when you know that your time is coming to an end.

  Pushing past the woman and the young girl who had been waiting outside the toilets, Poppy returned to the cafeteria area inside the pavilion. It was busier now, most of the tables were full and the queue for the refreshments had doubled in size. Poppy desperately needed a cigarette, a shot of alcohol, a fix, anything, anything at all to make this numb feeling in her body go away. Joining the refreshment queue, she gazed down at the families seated around her. They all looked so happy, so full of life, not a care in the world.

  As she neared the front of the queue, Poppy felt the throbbing pain return. She touched her forehead and rubbed the bump above her right eye. An image of the girl she had butted the previous day came into her mind. She didn’t want to deal with those thoughts, not now. Her eyes began to squint as the bright fluorescent lights behind the counter drew nearer. She was still a little unsteady on her feet, something that a few of the people in the queue felt worthy of conversation. Poppy stared back at the toilets and closed her eyes. Maybe when she opened them she would see her friend appear, she would be sporting those crazy buns in her hair and that mischievous smile would be beaming all over her face.. She would know what to do now, Nikita would have the answers. She would help Poppy get through this nightmare. But she didn’t, Nikita never would appear again.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the calm and welcoming voice said. ‘Can I help you, young lady?’

  Poppy opened her eyes and found herself at the front of the queue. The kindly-looking woman in a bright green apron smiled at her from behind the counter and asked again, ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Tea,’ Poppy replied. ‘A mug of tea and do you sell cigarettes?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘No, love, afraid not, the nearest shop for tobacco is on the Crawley road, about two miles away.’

  Poppy scrambled some coins together to pay for her drink and carried her cup over to a table by the window. She could sense now that she was the topic of conversation of many of the friendly faces sitting at the tables. She found herself sitting opposite a table with two small children – a pale-skinned girl in a yellow dress and a slightly older boy who had his head buried in a comic. The woman sitting with them was busy on her phone, complaining about the roadworks that had held up their journey that morning. Poppy sipped her tea at first and then took some larger mouthfuls in the hope that the taste would soothe the terrible furry feeling in her throat. She looked down at the sleeve on her coat. The blood-stains were much clearer now and seemed much darker beneath these brighter lights. She peered out of the window, across the lake. Several boats had now entered the water and were already halfway round the island in the middle. She remembered how her father would tell her that there was treasure on that island, real treasure. He told her that one day they would land at the island and dig up all the treasure and they would be rich. He said that they could buy their own boat with all the money, a much bigger boat, too big for the lake, one that was made for the sea. They could go on a real adventure then, across the ocean, where they would find people that only spoke in a different language. They would catch fresh fish and cook it, adding fried chips with lots of salt and vinegar. They would eat their meal on their boat and then play games with all the other children on the sandy beaches. It always made Poppy happy when he told her that story. She wanted to believe him. But they never did land on the island, they never did find that treasure.

  As
Poppy looked over at the table opposite, the small girl in a yellow checked dress was staring in her direction, looking at her in a strange way, as though she could see some food on her face. The child wasn’t smiling, she just sat there, observing Poppy’s every move. Poppy felt conscious that her appearance may be scaring the little girl. She brushed the straggling strands of unkempt hair behind her ear and continued to drink her tea. The young girl was still staring though, watching Poppy as if she was some sort of circus act. Her observer began to chew on the end of a straw, biting off the end of it as if it was edible. Poppy recognised something in the girl that she had seen many years before, a tiny child full of big dreams, her head full of mischievous thoughts and made-up games. Poppy wanted to be that little girl, she wanted to be that normal child, sitting there with her normal family, living a life that normal people live. If only she could get the chance to be that little girl again and have a different life. She would not be here now, sat in a room full of strangers, no one to care for her or love her, an empty shell of a person who had nothing but bad memories for company and nothing in her life that was worth living for.

  Poppy’s mobile rang twice while she was unknowingly entertaining the bemused child. The first call had been from Danny, the second a withheld number. She answered neither. She was desperately searching her mind to consider her options, but in truth she knew that her fate was inevitable. The money in her pocket might buy her a few days, maybe a week, if she slept in her car. But she knew that she would be kidding herself if she thought that she would be able to run forever. A strange sense of guilt hung over her aching head at that moment, not for what she had done to Cameron or that girl in the restaurant, not even for scalding Matt with the hot drinks. No, the only person she felt any sense of remorse for was Danny. She had let him down, after all that he had done for her, all the faith that he had shown in her. She had thrown it all back in his face. She hung her head in shame.