Then we put on our coats and gloves and headed out into thewinter wonderland to build the real thing...
*****
Christmas Day itself was non-stop chaos but wonderful. Idon’t think Poppy and I stopped for a breather at all, until I finally tuckedher up in bed soon after eight. She was still valiantly protesting that shewasn’t tired as her eyes closed, and she went out like a light.
I’d been psyching myself up to spend Christmas on my own –trying to think of it as just another public holiday – so to have Poppy’scompany and be plunged into so much fun and laughter was amazing.
My day had started with the thud of Poppy’s feet hitting thefloor and her squeal that Santa had been. She came running into my room andbounced on the bed until I sat up, yawning and laughing, and switched on thebedside light.
‘I looked down the stairs and the mince-pie’s gone,’ sheannounced breathlessly. ‘And the carrot as well! Can we go downstairs now,Auntie Enzie?’
‘I think we should. Merry Christmas, Poppy!’ I gave her ahug, but she was too excited to linger and was already bolting back to the topof the stairs, jumping up and down with excitement. Terrified she’d come acropper, I leaped out of bed without even grabbing my dressing gown, and sat onthe top stair with her, drawing out her excitement by inventing a little gameabout how many presents we thought might be under the tree. The numbersescalated very quickly.
‘Five hundred and fifty-three!’ she guessed, her eyesshining. ‘Can we go down now?’
‘Come on, then.’
Getting up, I glanced at the door to her room, which wasopen and I caught sight of a shape under the bed. ‘Is that Jemima under thebed? Don’t you want to bring her downstairs?’
She shook her head. ‘That’s not Jemima. Jemima’s having alie-in.’
‘Right. Well, I’d better wish her a Merry Christmas. Comeon.’
I took her hand and led her through to the bedroom and dulykissed her doll, who was lying on the pillow, all tucked up. Then I bent to seewhat was under the bed.
‘Poppy! What on earth...?’
She was red in the face with giggling, her hands over hermouth.
‘Poppy, why are the Brussels sprouts under here?’ I held themup, dangling them in their mesh bag, putting on my ‘pretend annoyed’ face.
‘I hid them, Auntie Enzie. They’re horrible. They make mefeel sick.’
‘You little rascal! Well,Ilike them, so I’ll behaving some.’
‘Yuk!’ She pulled a face. ‘I like carrots and broccoli,’ sheadded hopefully.
I laughed. ‘I know you do. And I get the hint. You won’thave to eat any sprouts for your Christmas lunch.’
‘Will I not?’ She looked suddenly anxious.
‘No, of course not.’
Her eyes slid away. ‘Uncle Darren made me eat them. I toldhim I was going to be sick and Mummy said I didn’t like them, but he was reallycross and he sent me upstairs. I had to eat one in the morning before I couldhave my cornflakes.’ She looked at me, her eyes wide with sorrow. ‘Mummy wascrying, Auntie Enzie, and it was all my fault.’
I stared at her, my heart heavy. ‘Oh, Poppy. Ofcourseit wasn’t your fault.’ Dropping the bag of sprouts on the bed, I drew her intoa hug.
What could I say?
That her mummy had hooked up with a sadistic bully, and bothshe and Poppy were suffering through no fault of their own?
How could I make things better? It seemed impossible. But Ispent the rest of the day making it up to her as best I could. When Rachel phonedto wish her happy Christmas, I heard Poppy giggling and telling her she washaving a lovely time and she didn’t have to eat even one sprout. And that night,after she’d fallen asleep, curled up with Jemima under one arm, I stroked herhair and wished I could make things better for her permanently. It was all verywell giving her a lovely Christmas. But wouldn’t that make it all the harderfor her, going home to such a troubled atmosphere?
Again, I thought about calling someone – the police? Socialservices? – but how could I convince them that Poppy and Rachel weren’t safe,if Rachel herself was saying things were fine? I hated Darren. But maybe theguy’s anger issuescouldbe sorted out with counselling sessions? I wasno expert. I was just terribly afraid that if I got the authorities involved,Rachel would see it as a huge betrayal – and she’d deny it, anyway. It wouldlikely end our friendship and she’d stop Poppy from seeing me.
At least this way, I could see Poppy regularly and try tokeep tabs on what was happening at home. But if I ever found out that he’d beenviolent towards either of them, I’d be straight on the phone to the police.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
