How long do you plan to put up with this? the voice of her late grandmother echoed again as Poppy pressed the button for the 16th floor lift.
Trouble had been a family heirloom from the start. Mark, who’d been courting her since they were barely out of school, never let her finish any proper schooling. He made her chase after a job, then a licence. She only managed to pass her driving test because her fathers old garage refused to let her out of the workshop, and his mate was the instructor.
Poppy left the flat only when she had to. And the only reason to leave was to restock the fridge. The alternative was to hang the freshly washed laundry on the balcony.
Mark checked on her at every turn. Even taking out the rubbish meant keeping a mobile in the pocket of his bathrobejust in case he wanted to call and check.
Weekends that started on Friday evenings filled Poppy with dread. Mark would arrive, demand dinner, and a chilled bottle of his favourite whisky had to be on the table. After the meal he would, in a slow, methodical display of contempt, remind her of her place: Whats the matter, you silly little thing? When will I have an heir?
When hed finished his last dram, hed shuffle back to the kitchen, ask, Wheres the ale? Poppy knew hed ask that later, so she never bought it during the day, buying herself a twentyminute breather for a latenight walk, just to get a breath of fresh air.
Why are you so quiet? the grandmothers voice asked, as the lift shuddered between floors. Do you like the way your husband treats you?
No, Poppy whispered, he wipes his feet on me.
And thats only the start, the voice warned, sooner or later itll get worse. Do you want him to spread his claws?
Oh, God! Poppys throat went dry, No, of course not.
Then run, love, run!
Where to? To mum? Shes in a onebed flat with a new man. To dad? Hes with his new wife. Im a choppedoff slice, gran. Ive got no one, she stammered, eyes bristling.
Thats wonderful, being on your own. Freedom to start anew. Imagine if you had a child?
But where? her eyes widened like saucers.
An opportunity will appear soon. Dont miss it. Keep your head out the window and youll see.
See what?
Ive told you enough. Figure it out if youre not daft. The lift will move now. Dont be scared. Go fetch the ale for your dear husband. And one more thing, the spectre in her head added, rummage through the little box I left you after I passed. Its not empty; it has a double bottom. Search it, but without witnesses. If you run, take only the contents. Leave the box so your man never suspects an escape.
Whats inside?
Answers to your questions.
The lift jolted back to life. Even though the voice hadnt warned her about the fact, Poppy still flinched.
She stepped out on the ground floor. A warm evening was melting the lingering snow, streams were starting to babble, nature was reborn. Why not her?
***
Mark had lain back on the kitchen table, a halfempty bottle of whisky beside him, snoring like a bulldog. While his rumble rolled through the flat, Poppy could safely examine the box.
She gave it a good shake over the bed. Threads, needles, hooks, buttons, bits of yarnstuff you rarely touch. The old wooden box was plain, no sign of a secret compartment. Still, the grandmothers voice rang true. She set the box on the bedside table and gave it a hard tap. Something rattled inside.
The lid opened with a click and a small drawer sprang out, striking her stomach. Inside lay an envelope, a set of keys, and several sachets labelled with cheeky instructions: Turn on the brain, Freeze the fear, Ignite attention, Dont be a twit, Kill the weak side of your character, Feed the meat, and more. Grandma had always been a bit of a witchdoctor, which explained why the neighbours on the landing called her the crone. At home she was a proper ladybaking pies and knitting socksthough nobody knew what she did when the building was empty.
She tore open the envelope. Documents fell onto her lap, proving ownership of a cottage that Grandma had spoken of when Poppy was a little girl. The house, she read, was built by her grandfather without a single nail, tucked away in the countryside. A second paper listed a vintage cara Ladatype hatchback with a foreign enginestill sitting in her fathers garage, a rare collectors item.
Another letter, written in a tiny, looping script, read:
Dear grandchild, the hour has come to open the box. All my possessions, except the flat, are yours. Since youre reading this, its time. Grab your documents, the boxs contents and the car. Leave for the old cottage. Money for the first days is tucked under the glove compartment. After that youll have to earn your keep. Perhaps youll even go to school. Love, Grandma.
Grandma had known what Mark would bring, which is why shed opposed the marriage. Even after Poppy ignored her, she never turned angry; instead she offered guidance from beyond the grave.
Poppy packed the papers into a folder, slipped the sachets and keys in, and shoved everything back into the box. No time for contemplationjust grab and run. The first instruction read: Take the Ignite attention packet, pour the powder into milk and drink. Keep the paper, dont toss it. No other steps followed, but Grandma had insisted she keep the instructions, so Poppy tucked the note back into the folder with the milk powder.
***
At dawn, clearheaded, she lifted the mattress and found the folder exactly where shed left it. The first note still read:
Drink a glass of milk on an empty stomach with the Dont be a twit powder. Brilliant.
She slipped into the kitchen, where Mark still snored. She quietly downed the concoction, cracked open the window for a breath of air, and slipped back to the bedroom. Opening the folder again revealed a second note:
Dont lose the folder, youll meet a foe. In an hour, drink a cup of tea with Kill the weak side of your character.
A third note added:
In another hour, have a coffee with Feed the meat. Stay alert.
She obeyed each odd prescription. By the time she finished the last brew, her body felt oddly energized. She stared at herself in the cracked mirrorthe reflection showed a surprisingly toned figure, shoulders back, a hint of muscle, cheekbones sharper, eyes bright. She felt stronger than ever.
A thump on the laminate announced Marks return. He stalked in, eyes narrowed.
Were you out? he demanded.
Nowhat are you talking about? Poppy replied, playing coy.
You look like someones been working on you. A lover, perhaps? he hissed, moving forward.
His fists clenched, his face twisted with rage. Where have you been while I was sleeping?
I was in our bed, she said, voice steady. Suddenly a surge of confidence rose within her. Mark lunged, but Poppy ducked, blocked his blows with practiced ease, and finally drove a solid punch into his nose. Blood spurted, he crumpled to the floor, pale.
She felt no pity. She grabbed the folder and read:
Well done, Im proud. Look out the balcony, dress similarly, leave the window latch open. Put your bag where you see it. Then drink the Freeze the fear juice. When you pick up the car, stop at the café, order a milkshake with Turn on the brain. Ignore the other packets for now. Get out quickly. Love, Grandma.
Poppy bolted to the kitchen, mixed the last powder with juice and gulped it down, then rushed to the balcony.
On the pavement below lay a young woman, face down, hair and clothes exactly like Poppysgrey jeans, a black tee. She was barefoot, shivering in Marchs chill, no coat, no gloves. No one else was around; the street was deserted except for a tram humming past.
Poppy slipped on the shoes shed found in a discarded bag near the rubbish chuteold, toobig boots, but theyd do. She grabbed her documents, slipped her wallet into the folder, and slipped out, barefoot and coatless, into the cold.
A nearby bin contained a halfworn winter jackettoo small but better than nothing. She stuffed it on and, with the bag of boots, made a quick dash to the nearest taxi rank. No cars were available, but a tram trundled by. She hopped on, knowing it would eventually take her to the garage where the old Lada waited.
***
At the garage, a retired security guard recognised her. Afternoon, love. What brings you here with all that paperwork?
She showed him the documents. I need that car. Its mine now.
Dont mind, dear. Call your dad if you like; hell sort a proper car for you. But youve got the keys, yes?
Sure do, she replied.
He handed her a keyring and pointed to a battered Lada hidden under a tarp. Thatll get you where you need to go.
She collected the cash shed found under the glove compartmentenough for petrol and a few meals. Thanks, Granddad, she whispered, feeling a grin spread across her face.
Driving out of the garage, she felt the seat a little more comfortable than it had ever been. The road ahead was busy, but she was ready.
Look up, love, Grandmas voice seemed to say. See the signs?
I see them, Poppy answered with a grin.
Turn left at the roundabout, head for Canterbury. Youll find your new start there. Safe travels, girl.
Thanks, Gran, she said, waving at the imagined figure of her redhaired, scarfwrapped grandmother perched in her minds rearview mirror.
