Hey love, Ive got to tell you about what happened with Poppy and her dad yesterday its a proper drama but also kind of sweet.
It started with Poppys little protest: Dad, please dont come over any more. Every time you leave, Mum starts bawling and she cries right up to the early morning. I end up nodding off, waking, nodding off again, and shes still sniffling. I asked her, Mum, why are you crying? Is it because of Dad? and she said she wasnt crying, just blowing her nose because she had a cold. But Im old enough to know a cold never sounds like someone sobbing.
Later on, David was sitting with Poppy at a tiny café on Oxford Street, stirring the last drops of a lukewarm latte with a little spoon in a dainty white cup. The icecream in front of her was untouched a little work of art in a glass jar, bright coloured beads capped with a mint leaf and a cherry, all drizzled in chocolate. Any sixyearold would have dived straight in, but Poppy held back. Shed decided the previous Friday that she needed a proper chat with her dad.
David kept quiet for a long stretch, then finally spoke: So, what are we going to do, love? Stop seeing each other? How am I supposed to go on then?
Poppy wrinkled her cute, potatoshaped nose just like Mums and thought a moment before answering: No, Dad. I cant manage without you either. Lets make a deal. Call Mum and tell her youll pick me up from nursery every Friday. Then we can go for a walk, and if you fancy a coffee or an icecream, we can sit here. Ill fill you in on everything Mum and I get up to.
She paused, then added: And if you want to check on Mum, Ill snap a picture of her on my phone each week and send you the photos. Sound good?
David gave her a small smile, nodded and said, Alright, thatll be how we do it from now on, sweetheart.
Poppy let out a relieved sigh and finally dug into her icecream, but she wasnt done talking. She lifted the colourful beads that now looked like a tiny moustache on her lip, licked them and grew serious, almost adultlike. She was suddenly the kind of girl whod look after her own man, even if that man was getting on a bit. David had just turned twentyeight last week, and Poppy had drawn him a big 28 card at nursery, colouring it carefully.
She set her face straight, furrowed her brows and said, I think you should think about getting married
Then, with a generous stretch of the truth, she added, Youre not that old yet, are you?
David took the goodwill gesture with a chuckle: Youd say not that old too, huh?
Poppy, all enthusiasm, went on: Not that old, not that old! Look, Uncle Terry, the one whos popped round to Mum a couple of times, hes even a bit balding now. See? She smoothed the soft curls on her forehead with a tiny hand, then, sensing Davids sudden sharp gaze, she pretended to have let slip Mums secret. Both hands went to her mouth, eyes widened as if shed just heard something terrifying.
David, raising his voice just enough for the whole café to hear, asked, Uncle Terry? Which Uncle Terry keeps turning up at your place? Is he Mums boss or what?
Poppy, flustered, stammered, I dont know maybe hes a boss. He brings us sweets and a cake for everyone. And, um Mom gets flowers sometimes too.
David crossed his hands on the table, stared at them for a long moment, and Poppy realised he was about to make a big decision right then and there. She knew, or at least guessed, that men can be a bit slow on the uptake, and its often a womans job especially a beloved one to nudge them in the right direction.
Silence stretched, then David finally broke it with a dramatic sigh, uncrossed his fingers, lifted his head and said If Poppy were a little older shed have recognised the tone as something straight out of Shakespeares *Othello*, but she didnt know any of that. She was just collecting life experience, watching people laugh and worry over the smallest things.
So David said, Come on, love. Its getting late, Ill walk you home and have a word with Mum.
Poppy didnt ask what hed say, but she knew it was important. She kept munching her icecream, then suddenly realised whatever decision David was about to make outweighed even the tastiest treat. She tossed her spoon aside, slid off the chair, wiped her sticky lips with the back of her hand, blew her nose, looked straight at David and said, Im ready. Lets go.
They didnt stroll home they nearly ran. David was the one sprinting, but he kept Poppys hand firmly in his, and she felt like a banner fluttering in the wind, just as a knight would hold a flag at the Battle of Trafalgar.
When they burst into the stairwell, the lift doors closed slowly, whisking a neighbour away. David looked a bit baffled, and Poppy, eyes bright, asked, So? What are we waiting for? Which floor are we on? Its only the seventh, you know.
David scooped her up and bolted up the stairs. When Mum finally swung the door open, he launched straight into his spiel: You cant be doing that! Whos this Terry? I love you, you know that. And we have Poppy
He wrapped both Mum and Poppy in a big hug, and Poppy clung to them, closing her eyes because, honestly, the grownups were getting all loveydovey.
And thats the whole tale, love. Its wild, a bit messy, but I think theyll sort it out. Cant wait to hear what you think!
