youth.
‘What the bloody hell am I doing here?’
‘All okay, Mrs Cricket?’ A robotic-like voice floated through the speakers.
Poppy gave the thumbs-up and felt her cheeks flush. She had forgotten there were speakers and a microphone and that a team in the adjacent room could hear her every word. She closed her eyes and thought of Jo, poor Jo. One phrase stuck in her mind: ‘Now those years are behind me, what a waste.’ Poppy felt strangely thankful, knowing that not one second of one day had been wasted in her life with Martin. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, her other half, to whom her heartstrings were joined. She remembered him striding across the playground at school one Valentine’s Day. He had marched across the tarmac, ignoring the taunts and jibes of their classmates, and delivered a huge padded card of a kitten in a wine glass, with the words ‘I Love You’ emblazoned across the top in swirly gold script. She still had it somewhere, probably in the loft gathering dust along with her other treasures. She hoped something similar would soon happen to Jo; hoped she would find someone who would make her feel like the most important person in the world, the way Martin did her. Poppy didn’t need diamonds the size of ice cubes or kidney-shaped pools; she knew what it was to be loved and that gave her riches beyond compare.
The CT scan was finally done and Poppy waited in the reception, feeling a little like she had a chill. She asked the lady behind the desk to call her a taxi; she didn’t feel up to the bus.
The taxi dropped her outside the house. Poppy paid the driver in silence. She was in no mood for small talk. Martin was home and Max was playing in the hallway when she put her key in the door.
‘Where have you been?’ Martin shouted from the kitchen.
‘I lost track of time and then I went for my beautician appointment and felt really awful, bit fluey. So I didn’t stay, I just came home.’ She gave a feeble smile.
‘I’ve been worried sick!’ He dried his hands on a tea towel. ‘You didn’t answer your phone.’
‘Oh God, sorry, love. I’m out of battery. I didn’t mean to worry you.’
‘Well you bloody did!’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t look well,’ he noted, his voice softening.
‘Hello, my lovely boy,’ she cooed, reaching down to stroke her son’s head. Suddenly, she bent over and clutched her stomach. ‘Oh God, Mart, I need to get to the loo!’ Her tone was urgent.
‘God, are you okay?’ Martin rushed forward.
Poppy shook her head.
‘It’s okay, love, up you go.’ He picked up Max and stepped away from the bottom of the stairs. Poppy did her best to make it to the bathroom, moving as fast as her aching bones would allow.
She shoved open the bathroom door with her elbow as she pulled her coat up and tore at the buttons on her jeans. ‘Christ, no!’ She nearly made it.
Martin ventured upstairs ten minutes later, to find his wife sitting on the bathroom floor, her back against the radiator. She was naked and wrapped in a large towel, and she was crying. She had used the showerhead to hose herself down in the bath and her clothes were in a heap in the corner.
‘Can you throw them away please, Mart?’ She prodded the pile with her foot.
‘Throw them away? Can’t I just wash them for you? I don’t mind.’
‘I mind. Please throw them away.’
‘Okay, love, will do.’ Martin bent down and retrieved the sodden pile. He fought his gag reflex. ‘I’ll be back in a sec to get you into bed. What on earth do you think it is? Should I call the doctor?’
‘No!’ She was adamant, shaking her head through her tears. ‘It’s just that horrible bug still. I don’t want to give it to the kids.’ She retched once more as though she was going to be sick, but nothing came.
True to his word, Martin came straight back to the bathroom. ‘Come on, let’s get you into bed and get you toasty.’ He hooked his arms around her back and
‘What the bloody hell am I doing here?’
‘All okay, Mrs Cricket?’ A robotic-like voice floated through the speakers.
Poppy gave the thumbs-up and felt her cheeks flush. She had forgotten there were speakers and a microphone and that a team in the adjacent room could hear her every word. She closed her eyes and thought of Jo, poor Jo. One phrase stuck in her mind: ‘Now those years are behind me, what a waste.’ Poppy felt strangely thankful, knowing that not one second of one day had been wasted in her life with Martin. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, her other half, to whom her heartstrings were joined. She remembered him striding across the playground at school one Valentine’s Day. He had marched across the tarmac, ignoring the taunts and jibes of their classmates, and delivered a huge padded card of a kitten in a wine glass, with the words ‘I Love You’ emblazoned across the top in swirly gold script. She still had it somewhere, probably in the loft gathering dust along with her other treasures. She hoped something similar would soon happen to Jo; hoped she would find someone who would make her feel like the most important person in the world, the way Martin did her. Poppy didn’t need diamonds the size of ice cubes or kidney-shaped pools; she knew what it was to be loved and that gave her riches beyond compare.
The CT scan was finally done and Poppy waited in the reception, feeling a little like she had a chill. She asked the lady behind the desk to call her a taxi; she didn’t feel up to the bus.
The taxi dropped her outside the house. Poppy paid the driver in silence. She was in no mood for small talk. Martin was home and Max was playing in the hallway when she put her key in the door.
‘Where have you been?’ Martin shouted from the kitchen.
‘I lost track of time and then I went for my beautician appointment and felt really awful, bit fluey. So I didn’t stay, I just came home.’ She gave a feeble smile.
‘I’ve been worried sick!’ He dried his hands on a tea towel. ‘You didn’t answer your phone.’
‘Oh God, sorry, love. I’m out of battery. I didn’t mean to worry you.’
‘Well you bloody did!’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t look well,’ he noted, his voice softening.
‘Hello, my lovely boy,’ she cooed, reaching down to stroke her son’s head. Suddenly, she bent over and clutched her stomach. ‘Oh God, Mart, I need to get to the loo!’ Her tone was urgent.
‘God, are you okay?’ Martin rushed forward.
Poppy shook her head.
‘It’s okay, love, up you go.’ He picked up Max and stepped away from the bottom of the stairs. Poppy did her best to make it to the bathroom, moving as fast as her aching bones would allow.
She shoved open the bathroom door with her elbow as she pulled her coat up and tore at the buttons on her jeans. ‘Christ, no!’ She nearly made it.
Martin ventured upstairs ten minutes later, to find his wife sitting on the bathroom floor, her back against the radiator. She was naked and wrapped in a large towel, and she was crying. She had used the showerhead to hose herself down in the bath and her clothes were in a heap in the corner.
‘Can you throw them away please, Mart?’ She prodded the pile with her foot.
‘Throw them away? Can’t I just wash them for you? I don’t mind.’
‘I mind. Please throw them away.’
‘Okay, love, will do.’ Martin bent down and retrieved the sodden pile. He fought his gag reflex. ‘I’ll be back in a sec to get you into bed. What on earth do you think it is? Should I call the doctor?’
‘No!’ She was adamant, shaking her head through her tears. ‘It’s just that horrible bug still. I don’t want to give it to the kids.’ She retched once more as though she was going to be sick, but nothing came.
True to his word, Martin came straight back to the bathroom. ‘Come on, let’s get you into bed and get you toasty.’ He hooked his arms around her back and
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