House of Straw

by Marc Scott

  As Poppy began to replace the remnants of her father’s life back into his wallet, she noticed a tiny compartment at the back. There was something inside, it was hard, it felt like coins. When she unzipped the small pocket, it dropped out. It was an object that made the hairs stand up sharply on the back of her neck. She held it in the palm of her hand and began to shake. It was broken now, both the letter ‘T’ and ‘D’ were chipped in half, the lion had lost its tail, but she remembered that keyring as if she had only bought it the day before. Why had he kept it all this time? Why had he done this to her? It wasn’t fair, she didn’t want this, she needed to despise him, she didn’t want to remember him in good ways. Why had he kept this token of her affection for all these years?

  Suddenly, something happened, something very strange, an overwhelming feeling of vulnerability hit Poppy. She felt very weak, as if her knees were about to collapse beneath her. Just then, her lip began to tremble and then a tear, a large tear, escaped from the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek. She wiped the tear away as if to dismiss it. There was no way that she would give this man, dead or alive, the satisfaction of seeing her cry. But she could not stop the second or the third tear as they slithered down her face. Before she knew what was happening both of her eyes had clouded over and that mountain of ice in her veins had begun to melt. She felt a pain, as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. It hurt, it hurt so differently to any pain she could ever remember. She clutched the tiny souvenir and held it close to her chest. Her mouth was dry, but she felt the need to speak. Her voice was weak and croaky, but her words were distinct. ‘They broke me, Daddy, they all broke me, and you let them do that!’

  The tiny trickles of tears had suddenly become a stream, an unstoppable stream. ‘You just left me there, you just left me there, alone. I never knew why you didn’t come back for me, Daddy, you promised you would come back for me. I waited there, at the big window, every Saturday, I waited there, looking out for you. I thought we would go out, away from that place, I thought you would take me somewhere, anywhere. We could have had ice cream, the mint one, with the chocolate sauce and the hundred and thousands. You knew that was my favourite, you always knew that, Daddy, didn’t you?’

  Poppy wanted to stop speaking, but she couldn’t, her heart would not let her. ‘They laughed at me, all of those other kids, they just laughed at me. They told me that you were never coming back, but I still waited, every week, I still waited at the window. I just wanted to see you again, Daddy, I needed to know that you still cared about me.’ As Poppy dried some of the tears from her face with the bloodstained sleeve of her jacket, she looked at the photograph of her and her father again. She had a different feeling inside now, she didn’t know what it was. ‘What did I do that was so bad that you would just leave me with all those evil people? I tried my best to be a good girl, to make you and Mummy happy. And now this is what you have made me, this, this terrible person, this monster, you did this to me, Daddy, you made me like this.’

  Just when Poppy thought that she had said enough, that she should stop, there was more, she couldn’t hold back now, she had to tell him everything that had been burning inside her for all these years. ‘I wish I knew, I wish you was here to tell me, to tell me what I did that was so wrong that you would just give up on me. I just need to understand.’

  Poppy turned around slowly to look back down at the silent figure, lying peacefully beneath her. ‘I never said I hated you, Daddy.’ She took a moment’s silence, perhaps remembering some better days, maybe at the boating lake, maybe somewhere else. Moving her arm forward she reached down and touched his face gently. ‘I never said I hated you, I never said that, even after what you did to me. I can’t ever forgive you, Daddy, but I will never ever hate you.’ With those words, Poppy kissed her fingers and pressed them down onto her father’s cold lips. Something very real began to evolve inside her troubled mind, as if she had suddenly realised that this would be the last time she would ever see him.

  ‘Goodnight, Daddy!’ she said, just as the innocent little girl in that photograph had done all those years before.

  * * *

  Shortly after leaving the hospital Poppy made a journey to some local shops. She knew that she needed petrol for her car but felt sure that her trusty Omega would get her to her last destination. She spent most of the £30 that she had just inherited from her father on some essentials: a toothbrush and some toothpaste, two £5 pay-as-you-go SIM cards, some sanitary towels and some tobacco and Rizla papers. Making a small slit in the wrapper of the towels she pushed the SIM cards inside to conceal them inside the box. She knew that these would provide a small bargaining tool in the place where she would end up that day. She had originally toyed with the idea of spending the money with a dealer she knew, close to the Marfield. She was still in a state of bewilderment. She thought it might be a good idea to take something, maybe take the edge off the terrible moment that she was living in. But something told her that she would be better off having a clear head for the trials that lay ahead.

  Arriving at Chez Blanc, she was a little surprised to see that most of the lights were turned off inside the restaurant. The car park was empty, apart from Danny’s vehicle parked in the corner. Riffling through her glove compartment Poppy found an envelope. It was a bit creased and grubby, but it would have to suffice. She searched her bag hoping to find a pen but had to settle for an eyebrow pencil from her makeup bag. Poppy pondered on her thoughts for a few seconds before scribbling some words down on the envelope. ‘Danny, please sell car to help pay for damages. I am giving myself up.’ Placing her car keys inside the envelope, she sealed it and sat in deep thought for a few minutes. This place had been good to her. The restaurant and Danny had always felt like another safe place in her life. She looked over at the dimly lit windows of Chez Blanc and remembered how good it had felt when he had called her that day to tell her that she had got the job. There were some good moments from here that she could take with her, despite everything that had happened in the past few days. They would always be good memories that might help her get through her next ordeal. Turning the envelope over Poppy added a few simple words with her pencil, in the hope that Danny would not judge her crazy actions too harshly. He had truly been one of the only people she had ever met who cared about her as a person. Someone who was prepared to forget her past and accept her for what she really was. Someone she had felt that she had been truly able to call a friend. Poppy scribbled her final message for him. ‘I am sorry. Please don’t hate me. P x’

  As Poppy left her car, she noticed some movement inside the restaurant and walked slowly to the back window, peering through the glass at a slight angle so she would not be seen. Most of the lights were turned off but she could make out the shape of someone sitting at a table in the dining area. It was Danny, he was alone. A very big part of her wanted to enter the back door and give him a hug, a very tight and very long hug, to tell him that she was sorry. Maybe she would never let him go. A crazy thought entered her head as she rubbed the glass to see him more clearly. Maybe there was another way out of this mess. If she asked him, she felt sure he would help. Maybe he could hide her in his wine cellar, she could live there, at least until the police stopped looking for her. She wouldn’t want anything, maybe some of the leftover food each day to keep her alive and she could clean the restaurant for him in return. In a few weeks the police would stop looking for her. She could change her hairstyle, maybe cut it all off, she could pretend to be someone else. ‘Nikita’, she could say that her name was ‘Nikita’. It seemed mad but just for the tiniest moment in Poppy’s mixed-up brain it all made sense. If anyone in this world was going to give her another chance, it would be Danny.

  But as the image of the restaurant owner became clearer, she could see that Danny was not totally alone. There on the table in front of him was a bottle of brandy, a large bottle of brandy. It was half empty. Her sudden rush of blood to the head was replaced wit
h an overwhelming feeling of guilt. For the second time that day, Poppy had a feeling that was totally alien to her, it was a feeling of shame. This was her fault, this was all her fault. Her face slowly changed to one of despair and she dragged her feet across the car park to where Danny’s car was situated. She slid the envelope underneath his windscreen wiper and began the short walk down the high street in the direction of the police station. This was it, there was no way out for her now.

  * * *

  It wasn’t very busy inside the police station. There was a young couple being seen to by the duty officer, and a black woman with a teenage boy were sitting on the chairs in deep conversation. Poppy gave her name to the woman at the desk and stated the reason for her being there. The woman raised her eyebrows and looked Poppy up and down, as though she was already sizing her up for her new prison uniform. While she was waiting, Poppy checked over the items she had bought earlier and packed them in a small carrier bag. It was so very quiet and peaceful in the reception area, she could hear most of the discussion between the woman and her teenage son. They appeared to be rowing over whether they should tell the police who they thought had stolen his pushbike. The boy seemed to be arguing the point that he was better off without his transport than facing the wrath of the group of lads who he had seen take it. Poppy reached into her jacket pocket, remembering that she still had the souvenir tucked away in there. As she looked again at the chipped keyring, the symbol of a day she was unlikely to forget in a hurry, her eyes lit up as she suddenly remembered the morning she had given it to him, how her father had hugged her tightly when he unwrapped it and told her that it was the best present he had ever received.

  She was still deep in thought and had not noticed the main door opening behind her, nor had she seen the three burly police officers and the WPC rushing towards her. Suddenly Poppy’s legs were taken from beneath her and her forehead hit the floor, the weight of two of the big brutes in uniform forcing her downwards, while the others grabbed her arms. They were all shouting at her, telling her not to resist. An officer’s knee pushed down hard on the back of her neck, despite the fact that she was making no attempt at all to struggle. Both of her arms were twisted up behind her back and she suddenly felt the sharp squeezing on her wrists, as the handcuffs were forced into place.

  As she lay there on the floor of the police station, she could see it, somewhere between the shiny shoes of one of the police officers. The keyring. It was only a few inches from her face. She wasn’t sure why, but it gave her a reason to smile. And that is when it hit her, that is when Poppy knew that she was back, she was back where she belonged, the world would not miss her, it would be a safer place now that she was in custody.

  Something in her head told her that it would be a very long time before she would see freedom again.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A dark gloom had settled over the walls of Downview prison, the blackening skies above giving a clear sign that the unusually mild November weather was coming to an end. Bree was out of her comfort zone, a million miles out of her comfort zone. Her pink cashmere coat stood out like a giant colouful lollipop amongst the scruffy jeans and tacky tracksuits of the other visitors. She felt nervous, yet excited. She was still finding it hard to take in the fact that her sibling had agreed to her visit. She did her best to avoid eye contact with any of the people around her as she shuffled her feet along to join the small queue leading into the prison.

  As the small crowd of visitors moved through the entrance gate, Bree clutched her precious Louis Vuitton bag close to her chest, not realising that this would be the last place on earth that anyone would try to steal it. She listened closely to the conversations around her. They seem like normal people, she thought, just like me, just visiting their loved ones in this daunting arena. Her heart raced faster as she entered the main prison building. It had been five weeks since she had last seen her sibling in court and nearly three months since the incident at the bistro. Bree was trying hard to think of things to say, but for that moment her mind was totally blank.

  The guards went through their usual search procedures and one by one the visitors were ushered into a small hall. Everything seemed so surreal to Bree. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought that she would be in a place like this. She studied her surroundings as she sat in a seat in the middle of the visiting room. The walls were bare, they were a dirty shade of vanilla, the tables were old and wobbly and looked as if they had not been cleaned for weeks. Her fellow visitors were laughing and joking amongst themselves as they waited for the captives to arrive. They all seemed to be taking this in their stride, as if it was a day out to the funfair or the zoo.

  A large cheer went up amongst the visiting crew as the first of the inmates appeared from behind a door in the corner of the room, followed closely by several more. Bree was expecting to see stripy prison suits or bright orange all-in-ones, like those she had seen in American crime movies. But she was wrong, the inmates were all dressed in standard clothing. The only thing that made them stand out were the bright red bibs covering their tops. Two uniformed guards, one male, one female, led the prisoners into the arena and watched on as the exhibits were met by their loved ones. Bree was fascinated by the array of women adorned in bibs. Most of them looked so rough. Bright and menacing tattoos stood out on some of their necks and arms, some were missing teeth, one or two, however, looked, well, just like normal people. The last inmate to appear was Poppy. She bowled into the hall as if she owned the place. Bree overheard the girl at the table to her side whisper to her visitor, ‘That’s her, that’s the mad bitch I told you about.’

  As soon as Poppy had entered the fray Bree raised her arm, but her sibling had already seen her and was making her way towards her. As she neared the table Bree sensed that her sister looked smaller than she had remembered. As her washed-out features and disheveled appearance slowly became more apparent to her visitor, she could see scratch marks on her knuckles and she was wearing a bandage on her right wrist. As Poppy sat down Bree could not help but notice that she also had cuts and bruises on the side of her face and her left ear seemed to be twice the size it should be. When she was opposite, the bright fluorescent light above her head revealed the two old scars on her neck. They were long and deep, as if someone had once attacked her with a knife. Bree breathed in deeply, the moment had finally arrived.

  Poppy looked around the room, handing out a harsh stare to the mixed-race girl sitting at the adjacent table, before opening the conversation. ‘Fuck! Are you wearing perfume, missy?’

  Bree nodded. ‘Creed Aventus,’ she said, her mouth feeling dry as the words left her lips.

  ‘You did know where you were coming today?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Bree muttered, realising that the generous spray of her fragrance was now lingering around their table.

  ‘I don’t know why you wanted to come, missy,’ Poppy said. ‘I said all I had to say in the restaurant.’

  Bree’s mouth was still dry, but she found a small voice again. ‘I wanted to come here to see you, err… I wanted to err… Thank you for letting me come.’

  Poppy shrugged her shoulders. ‘I can’t really stop you anymore, can I?’

  Bree’s heart was racing, she was here, she was sitting opposite her sister. She had been waiting for this day for weeks, but now she was lost for words. She sat up straight in her chair and tried again. ‘I bought you these,’ she said, handing Poppy two fashion magazines. ‘I was going to get you a book, but I didn’t know what…’ Poppy interrupted her. ‘A book! A fucking book?!’

  Bree quickly realised her mistake. What in God’s name ever made her buy those magazines? she thought. She quickly changed the subject. ‘They searched me when I came in, they had dogs sniff inside my bag.’

  ‘They search everyone,’ Poppy replied. ‘Even the posh fuckers with snooty labels hanging around their necks.’

  ‘Oh, what for d
rugs and stuff?’

  ‘Drugs, blades, SIM cards. You didn’t manage to sneak any of those in, did you?’

  Bree shook her head and laughed. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Shame!’ Poppy said, her attention once again distracted by the girl on the table to her side.

  ‘What’s it like, prison?’ Bree asked. ‘What’s it really like in here?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just one big fucking hen party from start to finish,’ Poppy replied, hoping that her visitor would see that she was being sarcastic.

  Bree was still staring at the bruises on her sibling’s face. ‘Did you do that in here?’

  ‘It comes with the territory.’

  ‘And your hand?’

  ‘Why did you want to come here? It’s not to talk about my welfare in prison?’

  ‘You are my sister.’

  ‘Let’s get this straight. If your mother really did fuck my old man, we are half-sisters, not full sisters, we are just half-sisters, have you got that?’

  Bree nodded. ‘But we are still related.’

  ‘Oh, so you want to come here every week now and tell me how my new family are doing? Which uncle bought a Mercedes and what you thought of the fucking play you went to see at the theatre?’

  ‘No, of course not. I came here to see how you were, to see if we could, maybe, I was hoping that we might be able to clear the air.’

  ‘What, and you bring me fucking magazines! Jesus Christ!’