Veronica knows exactly how to wrap cabbage rolls so they keep their shape and dont fall apart. She knows the fastest route to Heathrow during rush hour, and she can draft a complaint to the housing association that isnt merely read but acted on straight away. Not a single tap drips in her flat, and the upstairs neighbours tiptoe out after a single friendly chat with her.
Everything that can be known, Veronica seems to know. She has a sixyearold daughter, Poppy.
When Poppy turns six, Veronica launches Operation Best School. She creates an Excel spreadsheet, filling it with rankings, parent reviews, teacher qualifications and whether the canteen has been refurbished. She personally inspects twelve schools, chatting with each deputy head and giving the playgrounds a scrutinising onceover. She checks the bus routes, confident that by Year5 Poppy will be able to get home unaided.
In the end, StMarys Secondary School, number3 in the borough, wins. It offers a broad curriculum that promises to teach everything under the sun. The teachers are seasoned pros, the headteacher is a charismatic leader who finds sponsors for the newest science kits, and after lessons the pupils put on Frenchlanguage plays and play chess.
Veronica dresses Poppy for the first school assembly. The dress is modest, checked, with a silk bow in a soft skyblue that matches her daughters eyes. The bouquet is a bunch of fluffy white daisiesno gaudy gladioli. Poppy complies, then, as they step out of the flat, she brushes her hand against the freshly painted gate. A long blue stripe runs across the otherwise immaculate dress.
Veronica never raises her voice.
Her own mother had screamed herself hoarse, and Veronica swore she would never do that. She merely squeezes Poppys hand until the girl winces, then leads her back to change into a plain, grey dress that looks like everyone elses. They arrive at the assembly breathless, the last ones in. In the photosession Poppys hair is a mess and the daisies droop.
From that day a quiet battle begins. Veronica builds an immaculate line of defence, while Poppy always finds a loophole.
Just before the trustees meetingchaired by Veronica herselfPoppy hands in a maths test marked a two. Veronica had arranged the whole classs field trip to Edinburgh and secured free swimming pool passes for the gifted youngsters. Now a two. Shame.
Or another version. Poppy grows into a shy little artist, spending all free time sketching in her notebook. When Veronica suggests she make a friend, perhaps Lucy, the chatty daughter of a colleague, Poppy just shakes her head and buries herself in the sketchbook.
Why not, my sunshine? Veronica coaxes, voice sugary as syrup. Itll be more fun together! Ill buy you a nice cake or bake your favourite apple crumble
No, thanks, Poppy says stubbornly.
Veronica still invites Lucy. She lays out a tray of mini sandwiches and hot chocolate. Lucy, in a bright dress, gabs about the newest teenage fashion trends. Poppy sits on the sofa, curled up in a corner, sketchbook pressed to her face, drawing. When Veronica tries to pull her into conversation, Poppy looks up with a stare so full of silent reproach that Veronica backs off.
Lucy, tired of talking to herself, politely says, I must be off, Aunt Veronica. Thanks, and leaves without a glance at Poppy. Veronica watches her daughter hide behind the sketchbook like a shield and, for the first time, feels a sudden, inexplicable hatred of art.
Soon a new pupil arrivesKatie, a boisterous thirdgrader from a rough neighbourhood. Her energy finds an outlet in carving the legs off the physics teachers chair or scrawling philosophical graffiti in the boys toilet: Plato is a mate, but truth is dearer.
One evening at dinner Poppy says calmly, Mum, theyve asked you to go to school tomorrow.
Veronica cant coax any details out of her. She spends the whole night sipping chamomile tea, and the next morning, with a stonecold expression, she reports to the headteacher. It turns out the teachers, hoping that gentle Poppy could calm the rambunctious Katie, have paired them together. It works at first, then chaos erupts. Someone swaps all the pens for disappearingink ones. Someone, pretending to be the deputy head, texts the PE teacher that the lesson is cancelled due to an unexpected healthandsafety inspection.
Theyre caught when Katie tries to paint a Kant quote on the sports hall wall, using a slip of paper on which, in neat handwriting, Poppy has written: Character is the ability to act on principles. Katie, of course, has never read Kant.
This is slander, Veronica declares icily. You have no proof. Ive done so much for this school, and you speak to me like that.
Of course, Miss Veronica, the headteacher murmurs conspiratorially. We did seat them together. But you understand, Katie is a firecrackerhow could she possibly joke with disappearing ink? Shed need imagination.
Veronica exits, pulling Poppy out of chemistry under the pretext of a dentist appointment.
They walk in silence. In the middle of a quiet lane Veronica stops abruptly, turns Poppy to face her, and sees not remorse but a calm, cold resolve.
What do you want? Veronica asks.
To never have you invite Lucy over again, Poppy says flatly. Dont ever invite anyone.
Veronica nods without a word.
The school incident is swept under the carpet, and Katie is soon transferred elsewhere.
In Year8, Veronica enrolls Poppy in an art college, preaching, Itll develop her sense of beautyand socialise her. Poppy protests. Veronica, heart in her throat, retorts, You cant refuse what you havent tried.
The trustees promptly slot the talented daughter of the board into the senior painting group. Then the odd thing begins. Poppys oncelively sketches turn into dreary, technically perfect but soulless stilllifes. Shes moved to the junior group, then reduced to repetitive shading drills. The pinnacle of her career becomes a monthlong project to redraw a plaster cube under different lighting.
Veronica attends every student exhibition, where Poppys work hangs meekly in the farthest corner.
Eleventh grade arrives. Remembering her Herculean effort in picking a school, Veronica prepares a fullscale analysis of job markets, prospects and entry scores. On a gilded platter she presents Poppy with a list of five economics and law programmes.
And she discovers her efforts are futile. Poppy secures a place in a Bachelor of Animation at the London Academy of Artson a scholarship.
Darling, are you sure about this? Veronicas voice trembles, a hurricane of panic roiling inside.
Absolutely, Mum, Poppy replies, her eyes a very steady, very blue glass.
They drive to London. Veronica sits in a hallway with a pamphlet of consolation economics courses, ready to catch her daughters tears and steer her toward a stable future.
Poppy emerges from the lecture hall, unflustered.
Everything looks fine. Lets go get some pizza, she says.
Veronica cant believe it. Yet the admission list shows Poppys name among the successful applicants.
Why? Veronica blurts. All those years at art school those endless cubes What was the point? You had talent!
I did, Poppy admits.
Then why? Veronica nearly shouts.
Because it wasnt what I needed, the seventeenyearold answers. It was what you needed.
Veronicas legs give way and she collapses onto the nearest bench.
Beside her sits her daughtertalented, obstinate, admitted to the countrys top university against all odds. For the first time Veronica realises she never truly raised Poppy; she tried to mould her into a predictable, neat route of her own design. Poppy has always been alive, unpredictable, and adept at slipping past her mothers pressure. Veronica understands she has lost her quiet war. For the first time she has no plan for tomorrow and no clue what to do with it.
