Eight-year-old Poppy was walking home from school when an unbearable longing to see her mum, who lived in the next village over, seized her. Instead of heading back to the house she shared with her dad and gran, she turned toward the bus stop, waited, and climbed aboard.
«Why did Mum have to be like this?» she wondered, kicking her feet under the seat. «She didnt stay with Dad, even though hes lovely. I did live with her once, but she kept leaving me alone, bringing that bloke Gary home, both of them drunk. Im happy with Dad and Gran, but I still miss her.»
Poppy stepped off the bus and made her way to her mums house. As she turned the corner, she spotted Lucy slumped on a bench outside, clearly worse for wear.
«Oh, love, whered you come from?» Lucy slurred, pulling her into a loose hug.
«Mum, I missed you,» Poppy admitted, pressing into the embrace.
They exchanged a few words before Lucys tone shifted.
«Poppy, you got any money on you?»
«Just enough for the bus back.»
«Thats it? Whatd you come for then? I need cash, dont you get it?»
«Mum, I dont have any,» Poppy said quietly.
«Well, hop off back to your dad then. Had your cuddle, thats enough. Ill find some myself.» Spotting a woman further down the lane, Lucy staggered after her.
Poppy stood frozen in the middle of the road, watching her mum disappear, bitterness swelling in her chest. It hit her thenshe wasnt wanted. Only Dad and Gran truly cared. Blinded by hurt, she wandered the wrong way, mistaking a copse of trees for the woods, straying deeper as tears fell. Then she stopped. Proper forest surrounded her. Lost and alone, she sobbed harder.
Oliver had met Lucy at the village hall dance, where shed come with friends from the next town over. Hed been smitten straight away, spinning her across the floor all night, and she hadnt objected.
All autumn, Oliver rode his motorbike to Lucys village, and when winter bit, he proposed.
«Lu, lets get married. Sick of trekking over here. Move in with meMums dead kind, youll get on with her,» hed urged.
She hadnt needed convincing. Shed gone to that dance for a reasonno decent prospects in her own village.
«Yeah, alright,» shed said simply, and Oliver had grinned. At least hed have a pretty wife.
They settled in his mums house. Margaret treated Lucy like a daughter, never a cross word. A year later, Poppy was born, Margarets darling granddaughter. For a while, things were good. Then Oliver noticed motherhood weighed on Lucy.
«Itll pass, son,» Margaret reassured him. «Baby blues, thats all. Shell come right.»
But when Poppy turned three, Lucy changed. Suddenly she was out with friends, coming home tipsy. The monotony of family life bored her. Oliver held on, hoping shed snap out of it, but it only worsened.
«Off to Sharons for her birthday,» she announced one evening.
«Course, love,» Oliver agreed, knowing she needed space.
She didnt return that night. Stumbled in at dawn, slurring, «Oh, you lot up already?» before face-planting on the bed, still in her clothes.
Oliver hadnt realised Lucy had a drinking problem. In her village, everyone knew shed followed her mums footstepsbut no one had told him. He never visited after the wedding.
Poppy grew up without her mums care. Oliver began doubting his love for Lucy. Drunk, dishevelled, vanishing for daysthen she fled to her village for a week.
«Dad, wheres Mum?» Poppy would ask. «I miss her. Bring her back?»
On his day off, Oliver drove over. Lucy wasnt home. Her own mother jerked a thumb. «At Garys. That house there.»
Inside, a raucous bunch were drinking. Lucy was perched on Garys lap, laughing too loud.
Spotting Oliver, she scrambled up. «Ollie! This isntits not what you think! Glad youre here, missed you»
For a week, Lucy stayed sober, almost herself. Oliver wrestled with forgivenessthen gave in, for Poppys sake. But he didnt grasp the drinks grip. Ten days later, Lucy was at it again, screaming in the yard:
«Im sick of the lot of you! You and your bloody mother, watching me! And PoppyIm done pretending to be some perfect mum!»
That was it. Oliver knewhe had to save Poppy. Lucy left for her village but returned weeks later, snatching Poppy while he was out. She shoved Margaret aside and vanished.
Next day, Oliver stormed over. Lucy screeched she wouldnt give Poppy back. So he went to social services. When they arrived, they found Lucy passed out drunk, tangled with Gary, while Poppy stared hollowly out the window.
They took Poppy from Lucy and gave her to Oliver. He filed for divorce and full custody. By then, Poppy was in Year One.
Margaret and Poppy were home when Oliver returned from court, calling, «Im back! Starving. Poppy, look what I got you»
Poppy flew into his arms. He spun her, laughing, while Margaret watched tenselyuntil he nodded. She exhaled, pulling treats from the fridge.
«Mum, well burst!» Oliver chuckled.
But she fussed, knowingthough he was only thirty-threethe weight he carried now. When Poppy dashed off, Margaret asked, «Howd it go? Whatd Lucys solicitor say?»
Oliver smirked. «What could he say? Lucy showed up plastered, could barely string two words together. Judge didnt hesitate. Terminated her rights.»
«About time. Drunk as a skunkwhat kind of mother is that?»
Poppy thrived with Dad and Gran. She rarely thought of Lucy now. Margaret knew a mother matteredbut not one like that.
Agatha, twenty-six, loved the woods. Often she foraged alone for mushrooms and berries, even got lost a few times, spending nights under the stars. Unafraid, she could build a shelter, always carried matcheslessons from Gramps, a retired forester.
One September afternoon, Agatha wandered deep, distracted by fungi. Thenshe was lost again.
«Right, rest first. Shelter, just in case. Theyll be looking.» Shed told her mum she was foraging.
The air grew chilly. Good thing shed worn a jumper. She lit a fire.
«Please, no rain,» she mutteredthen twigs snapped.
A small girl stood there, tear-streaked, shivering.
«Whore you?» Agatha asked.
«P-poppy,» she hiccuped. «Im lost!»
«Dont cry. Tears wont help. Where dyou live?» Agatha draped her jumper over Poppys shoulders.
By the fire, Poppy spilled her story.
«Dad and Granll be looking. They dont know I went to Mums»
«Right. Im lost too. Which village is your mum in?»
Poppy named it. Agatha pieced their locationmiles from her own village. How had she strayed so far?
«Dark now. Well head out at dawn.» Exhausted, they slept. At first light, they followed distant engine growls.
«Poppy, hear that? Roads near. Think I know the way»
They broke through the trees onto tarmac.
Meanwhile, Oliver had mobilised the village, even the constable. Lucy, bleary, barely recalled Poppy visitingno idea where shed gone. Oliver nearly swung at her; the constable caught his arm.
«Dont, mate. Not worth it.»
Agatha and Poppy trudged along the verge when a car screeched to a halt. Oliver tumbled out, face ashen, and crushed Poppy to his chest. «Dont everdont you ever scare me like that again,» he choked, tears streaking his cheeks. Agatha stepped back, silent, as Margaret burst from the passenger seat, sobbing and wrapping both of them in her arms. The constable arrived minutes later, praising Agatha, who shrugged, «Just did what anyoned do.» That night, curled between Dad and Gran, Poppy whispered, «I wont go to Mum again. I promise.» And for the first time, she meant it.
