**Diary Entry, 5th January**
Mum put them in the orphanage straight after New Years. The girls cried. Theyd been raised at home, cosseted and loved. Whenever she was sorting out her personal lifeand she was always sorting it outher daughters, Poppy and Daisy, lived with Gran. But Gran passed away on Boxing Day, and suddenly, there was no one left to care for them. No, she wasnt some wild womanshe didnt drink, didnt even smoke. Still, was it fair that her ex-husband could live as he pleased while she was stuck raising two children alone?
She undid the buttons on Daisys dress coat and muttered, Stop crying. It cant be helped. Dyou think I wanted this? Youll be fine hereyoull thank me later. Daisy was only three, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, too little to understand. But the cold look in Mums eyes and the sight of her older sister Poppys tear-streaked face told her everything was wrong. Mum hissed, Dont shame me. Im not abandoning youjust give me time. Ill be back for Easter, promise! The girls sniffled but fell quiet. Mum had said shed return.
They struggled to adjust, though the carers doted on them for their quiet manners and the way they clung to each other. Poppy was all serious dark eyes, while Daisy was a sweet, round-cheeked little thing. Daisy tugged Poppys sleeve. Wens Ester? Will Mummy come den? Poppy patiently explained, again, that Easter was a spring holidaydid she remember Gran painting eggs? Daisy nodded, but tears welled up at the mention of Gran. Poppy wished she knew when Easter was. She asked one of the carers, Miss Eleanor, who raised an eyebrowmost kids waited for Father Christmas or birthdays. Still, she gave Poppy a tiny calendar. See? Easters circled here. Every number is a day. When I was a girl, Id cross them off till summer break. So Poppy did the same, watching the days shrink.
Easter morning, Daisy barrelled into Poppys room, clutching a painted egg. Sissy! Mummys comin today! Im happy, happyyou happy too? Poppy could hardly wait. But by afternoon, her excitement turned to dread. Daisy whined nonstop. By evening, Poppy knew theyd been lied to. She soothed Daisy anyway. Mums bus mustve got stuck. Roads are awful now, honest! Shell come tomorrow. Daisy swallowed her tears.
Mum never came. The girls waited, inventing excuses. Then, one morning, Daisy was gone. The carers said Mum had taken her. Years later, Poppy learned Mum had signed away her rights. But luck found herAunt Martha, Dads sister, tracked her down. Kind and warm, she became Mum without Poppy even noticing. Love healed her, though she tried not to think of Daisy.
Years passed. Poppy trained as a nurse, married, had a son. Then, a letter arrived. From Daisy.
*»Dear Poppy, you might not remember me? I only recall your plaits and your checkered slippers. Id love to see you! Weve moved backIm in Willowbrook now. Can I visit?»*
Poppy agreed, bemused.
Daisy limped toward her at the station, waving madly, then hugged her tight. I knew it was you straight away! Poppy grumbled about her still being a crybabybut her own eyes stung.
Over supper, Daisy chattered. Dont blame Mum. Uncle Jackher new husbandsaid hed take us both, but she was scared. Then they had a boy, then a girl. Little Violetsuch a doll! Uncle Jacks a carpenter, does well. We even go to Brighton sometimes. Oh, and in Year Seven, a bull tossed methank God no one else was hurt. Now I limp. She grinned. This pies lovelyrecipe?
Poppy asked about work, friends. Daisy flushed. After the accident cost loads to fix me. I help at home, Uncle Jacks workshop. Mums an accountant. Friends? Not really. The limp, yknow.
Poppy made her stay the night.
At 3 AM, she woke her husband. Drive me to Willowbrook. He cursed but went.
The house was easy to find. Her heart hammered as she knocked.
Mum answered, unrecognising. Poppy smiled coldly. Morning, Mum. Fancy meeting here.
Mum frowned. Wheres Daisy? Tell her to come homekids need breakfast.
Poppy kept calm. Shes staying with me. Pack her things. And moneyshell need it. Ill get her work, sort her leg.
Mum sneered. Get out. Well fetch her ourselves.
Poppys voice turned steel. Her names Daisy. Call your cow Daisy if you like. Want the village to know how their respectable accountant dumped her kids? Ill make sure they never forget.
Mum slammed the door. Half an hour later, a stooped man handed over a bag. Jack. Daisys things. Tell her well send money.
Poppy walked back, thinking: Lifes never simple. But is simple supposed to be hard? For men not to drink, women not to abandon children, siblings not to forget?
Just to be decent people. Thats all.
