A terrible surprise came to light quite by accident. My little four-year-old sister, Poppy, had developed an umbilical hernia. The doctors said not to delaythe sooner the operation, the better. But Poppy flatly refused to go to the hospital without Dad. We waited for him to come back from his lorry route, and he walked her all the way to the operating theatre.
«Daddy, will you wait for me here?» my sister sobbed.
«Where else would I go, love? Of course Ill wait. Why are you crying? Youre my brave little girl, arent you?»
«Im not crying! Im just breathing loudly!»
And off she went. A routine procedure, nothing complicated. But the hospital asked our parents to donate blood to the blood bankstandard practice, apparently.
«Shouldnt you test first?» Dad asked. «Just to make sure were not giving you blood you dont need?»
«Theres no such thing as *extra* blood!» the doctor said firmly.
So Mum and Dad both donated. Mum went pale, swaying like she might faint any second. Afterwards, she couldnt sit stillkept darting off to talk to the nurses. Eventually, Poppy was wheeled out, and Dad went to meet her, just as hed promised. He stayed with her all weekend. Mum seemed to calm down, checked on her, then dragged me home, though I protested.
«I could stay with her too,» I insisted stubbornly.
I was eleven by then, and Poppymy tiny, fair-haired sisterwas my favourite person in the whole world. Maybe even more than Mum and Dad. How could anyone not adore her? An absolute angel.
Now, picture a small market town with its perfectly adequate little hospital. Modern, fully equippedeven had a blood bank, fancy that. But a small town is still a small town. Three days later, Poppy was home, and Dad was packing for another route. He popped out for cigarettes. When he returned, he looked like a thundercloud.
«Daddy!» Poppy wailed from her room (she was still on bed rest). «Did you bring me my favourite marshmallows?»
Dad left the shopping bag in the hallway. Told me to go to her room straight away. Then he took Mum by the arm and steered her into the kitchen.
«John John, whats wrong?»
What followed was a conversation I wouldnt understand until years later. At the time, Poppy was too young, and I did as Dad asked. Stayed in her room. She sniffled, demanding Daddy and sweets, so I offered to read to her instead. Thank heavens, she agreed.
In the kitchen, Johneyes wildbacked Mum against the wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
«Is it true? That Poppy isnt mine?»
«WhathowJohn, have you lost your mind? What on earth are you saying?»
«Ill tell you what Im saying. My bloods A-positive. Yours is O-positive. Hers» He jerked his head toward Poppys room. «is AB-negative. If theres been a mix-up, we could always test again.»
Mum shoved past him, slumped at the table, and groaned into her hands.
«Those *bastards*. I *told* them! Whats it to them, eh? Jealous, John. Jealous of us. Weve got everything. Beautiful kids, lovely home.»
«You *told* them Right. Got it.»
He walked out, leaving Mum in tears. Just one slipone moment of boredom, with that engineer whod been in town for work. Husband always on the roadits romantic in films, lorry drivers and all that. In real life? Just lonely. And cold. Shed thought, *Hes probably not faithful either, out there all the time*.
She jumped up, ran after himbut he was already gone. A box of marshmallows sat abandoned on the table.
After his next route, Dad had a serious talk with me. Asked if Id go with him.
«Dad what about Poppy? Mum? Cant you just stay?»
It felt like a boulder had been dropped on me. Rocks are made of layersId watched documentaries. And this weight was just as complicated. Fear of losing Dad. Fear of choosing. Either way, Id lose someone. So I did the maths: Poppy + Mum outnumbered Dad. Though honestly, Poppy alone mightve tipped the scales.
Dad met with me often after that. Poppy, though? Like shed vanished from his mind. I didnt understand, but figured if he *could* explain, he would. At first, Poppy moped, criedit hurt to watch. Then she stopped asking about him altogether. Just played with her toys, quiet as a mouse. I didnt know why this punishment had landed on her, but I could guess.
As for Mum
Mum lost it. Started dragging rubbish home from the skip. First, harmless thingsuseful, even. Then just anything. Stopped caring about us entirely. Just sat muttering over her treasures. How a young, pretty woman could turn into *that* in a year and a half? No idea. But I never told Dad. Our neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins, checked on us sometimes. Food? Managed, barely, with Dads child support. The *smell*, though? That clung. Kids at school laughed, but I avoided fights.
«Mrs. Wilkins, can you teach me to iron?» I knocked on her door.
«Gracious, Oliver, you should *wash* them first» She wrinkled her nose.
«Wont help. I did. But Im seeing Dad tomorrow, and I cant look like *this*.»
«Waithe doesnt know? About your mum?»
«Im not telling him. He left. Its not his problem now.»
She let me in, then called after me: «Bring Poppy too. Ill sort you both out. And for heavens sake, bring your clothes here. Change at mine. Least I can do.»
So we did. No more smelling like a tramp at school. But kind Mrs. Wilkins didnt stop there. She marched to Dads and shamed him. He met me after school.
«Why didnt you say anything?»
«Would you have come back?»
«No. But you could live with me.»
«And Poppy?»
Silence. I shook my head and turned toward home.
«Wait! Poppy could stay with your gran.»
«Grans got a new bloke. Shes not bothered with us.»
«Right. Takes after her» Dad cut himself off.
He did try talking to Gran, though.
«John, are you mad? Why would I want little ones underfoot? Im living my best life now.»
«But Poppys your granddaughter!»
«Shame, that.»
«*What?*»
«Shame motherhoods a certainty, but fatherhood isnt. If Id had a son, who knows if his kids were really mine? But a granddaughterwell, shes mine, alright. Still, Ive my own life.»
«Christ. Shouldve looked harder at *you* before marrying your daughter.»
One morning, I woke up and Mum was gone. All her junk remainedshed at least kept mine and Poppys room clearbut shed vanished. I opened the window, let the frosty air dilute the stink. Fed Poppy, nibbled something myself. Took her to Mrs. Wilkins.
«Mums gone. Ive got school.»
«*Gone?* In this freeze? Where on earth?»
My hopeless, broken mother ended her days on the outskirts of the landfill. Why shed frozen instead of coming home, no one knew. Mrs. Wilkins said social services would come for us now, sort things out.
And they did. The woman took one look at our flat and turned to Mrs. Wilkins.
«Could we do the paperwork at yours?»
«Of course,» Mrs. Wilkins sighed.
«Hold up.» Dads voice came from the stairs. «Just back from a route. These are *my* kids.»
«The flat yours too?» the social worker smirked.
Dad didnt even glance inside. Just said, «Pack your things. Were going home. Well deal with this place later.»
«And Poppy?» I asked, terrified.
«Obviously. Poppy, love, you too.»
Poppy peeled herself from the wall and shuffled toward him.
«Daddy?»
«Yeah, sweetheart?»
«Is it really you?»
He scooped her up, hugged her tight, and exhaled like the world was on his shoulders.
«Its me. Im here. Its alright.»
«Dont leave again, Daddy!» Poppy wailed.
I froze. *Shell blow it*. But the social worker had already lost interest, gossiping with Mrs. Wilkins. And Dad? He held Poppy, tears streaming. However hard hed tried to resent her, to stay awaylove won. Love for us. His kids.
«I wont. Im not going anywhere. We piled into Dads lorry that afternoon, wrapped in blankets, our few clean clothes in bin bags. Poppy slept against my shoulder, one hand clutching Dads faded driving cap. He kept glancing at us in the mirrorlike he couldnt believe we were real. We didnt speak much. There was too much to say, and the road ahead was long. But for the first time in years, the house behind us felt like it belonged to someone else. We were leaving it allthe mess, the silence, the weight of what was never ours to carry. And when Poppy whispered, Are we home now? as the lorry rumbled south, Dad just reached back, squeezed her foot, and said, Not yet. But we will be. We were leaving it allthe mess, the silence, the weight of what was never ours to carry. And when Poppy whispered, Are we home now? as the lorry rumbled south, Dad just reached back, squeezed her foot, and said, Not yet. But we will be. The winter sun dipped low, painting the fields in gold as we rolled toward the coast. Poppys breathing slowed, steady with sleep, her fingers still curled around the cap like it was a promise. I watched the shadows stretch across the cabin, and for the first time, they didnt feel like they were closing in. Dad hummed softly under his breatha tune Mum used to loveand didnt stop. We drove on, into the gathering dusk, three of us now, but whole.
