Give me another chance, the girl implores again, pulling a handkerchief from the tiny pocket of her coat and wiping her nose. The handkerchief is white with a pale blue border and little flowers in the corners.
Andrew thinks, How touching I cant stand a womans tears.
No hope today. Try again next year, love. In the meantime, would you like me to get you a job as a ward assistant in the hospital? Its dirty, hard work, but youll get to see the inside of the place the white coats, the gleaming instruments, the spotless corridors. Youll feel like a demigod, nodding at patients who look at you pleadingly. Right? Professor Andrew Yates leans over the girls cap, pauses, and says, You have so many freckles, Poppy! The sun clearly loves you.
He bursts into laughter, delighted by the lightgold freckles on her skin and the way the sun seems to kiss her. He thinks of his wifes birthday, the weekend at the cottage where pike and perch swim, a crafty pike that darts about, and buzzing bees in the hives that he chats with as if they were students.
Poppy raises her head, squinting. The professor is laughing strange. This is all wrong! she mutters, embarrassed before the exam board, her ticket trembling in sweaty fingers.
Andrew clears his throat. Im not laughing at you, Poppy. Youre a very pretty girl. He pulls his shirt collar up, clutching his battered briefcase under his armpit. How about an icecream? Its scorching today! He fluffs his woollen coat, digs out crumpled notes from his trouser pocket and hands her a few pounds. Buy yourself and me some icecream. Ill wait on the bench over there.
Poppy shrugs and asks, What flavour?
Anything, but quickly. If you dont hurry, Ill be left with a soggy spot instead of a ward assistant. He watches as she scurries toward the icecream stall on her tiny, wobbly legs.
Youre still a child at heart, he remarks, shaking his head. How did you end up on my radar?
Sitting on the bench, he pulls a massive, gaudy bluegreen checkered handkerchief from his coat pocket, wipes his forehead, and grimaces. Its disgusting to be sweaty, tired, and old, especially next to a freckled, delicate girl. Its not because I want to flirtGod forbid! I love my wife more than anything; I never stare at students. I just feel sorry that my life has passed and I can only admire younger, bolder people like you, Poppy.
Poppy, cheeks flushed, hands him the wrapped icecream. Heres your vanilla.
What about you? he snaps, eyeing her empty hands. I said two scoops. Youre not listening! He widens his eyes, looking like the pike he plans to catch tomorrow. Youre told what to do and you ignore it! You
No, I understand! Im going now! she cries, dashing back to the stall, buying a second scoop, and plopping down beside his briefcase.
Eat, he commands. Then goodbye. I have many things to do, including taking my wife to the cottage, loading bags, and hauling crates. He watches her wipe a corner of her mouth with a finger. The icecream tastes overly sweet and greasy; it makes you want a drink more than a bite.
Dont you know where you are? he snaps, stamping his foot. Youre staying at your aunts, right? She said you should move because the flat isnt forever.
Poppy nods. Im at my Aunt Lizas for now. Relatives are coming from the north, so Ill have to leave soon. The flat isnt permanent.
Where do you live? Andrew asks, finishing his icecream.
It doesnt matter. Just give me another chance, please. Ill even tell you three or four things if you let me sit the exam again. I got confused and mixed up my answers.
Stop that nonsense, he says, tapping his finger. How will you work if youre all mixed up? You might cut out the spleen instead of the appendix!
Can you cut one thing and not the other? she asks, eyes wide. Do you want another icecream? Two? She grabs his arm; he jerks away, huffing.
I dont want any. And I suggest you go, Poppy. I have to leave; my wife is waiting. He stands, bows, and walks away down the park path without looking back. The girl in the redandwhite cap sighs dejectedly and stays on the bench, hiding a tiny suitcase among the shrubs.
Its really its over, she whispers, her freckled nose trembling. Theyll laugh at me at home. No one believed Id study medicine.
In the modest village of Redfield, split by a winding road into an oldtown of brick houses with painted trims and a newer suburb of council flats, no one truly believed that Poppy, as small as a grasshopper, would ever graduate from medical school and walk the local hospital in a white coat, issuing orders to nurses nearly sixty.
Young staff at Redfield Hospital rush about without proper tools or conditions; windows are patched with old curtains, and the chief surgeon, Nicholas Fowler, clings to the belief that spirituous compresses cure everything. Supplies of alcohol evaporate quickly, and Fowler looks sallow: red, swollen nose, puffy eyes, dry lips. He rarely inspects the wards, refusing modern doctors, always in a sour mood. Poppy plans to confront him, but she fails her biology and genetics exams. It isnt meant to be.
Andrew Yates disappears from sight, while Poppy remains on the bench holding the icecream stick. Now I just want a drink, she mumbles, pulling her suitcase from the bushes and heading for the bus stop, hoping to catch the train before dark.
Shes frightened to walk alone at night; every rustle seems haunted, a legacy of her chatty grandmother who once warned her about goblins. The night soundsa creaking fence, a snapping branch, a falling apple, clucking chickens, a distant rooster, barking dogs, and her grandfathers snoring with a wheezeonly deepen her dread. She finally drifts to sleep under a blanket, the house groaning.
Her grandfather has since passed from pneumonia; Fowler still prescribes his beloved compresses. The family watches his wrinkled face smooth out as he dies.
A sanitary worker, Tamara Egerton, shouts from behind, Hes had a rough time The dark road to the village still lies ahead, flanked by overgrown hedges, abandoned brick houses, and the occasional spectre.
Didnt get enough points, love? Come back next year, the professors voice echoes in her mind. She wonders why Andrew never believed in her; she would have never let him down.
A boy named Owen darts up, grabs her suitcase, and hands it back. She startles, then recognizes him. You didnt think Id get in, did you? she snaps. Give it back, Ill carry it myself!
Calm down, Owen mutters. Ive always backed you. Aunt Liza called, said you were coming back, so Im here. He pulls her into a tight hug, then she clings to his neck, crying like a child.
He kisses her quickly, awkwardly, as if two fledglings pecking. She pulls away, frowning, then leans in again, their lips meeting.
Im glad youre back, Owen whispers after the kiss. If you had stayed, I would have visited you. She nods, satisfied.
A raggedlooking Andrew Yates, still in his wool coat, snatches the admission list from a clerk named Nadine, flipping through names: Carson Hart Hartley OBrien He mutters, Where is she? Wheres Poppy? Nadine, pregnant, pulls a white handkerchief with a blue edge from her bag, the same pattern as before. I bought it at the market, she says shyly.
Nothing! Andrew snaps, Poppy, I need you. Where are you? Nadine, blushing, bites her lip, pulls an apple from her purse and chews nervously. She didnt come. Ive wasted my nerves because of her. I begged the dean for a special place, but he said no seats. Ive upset everyone, and she never arrived this year. He sighs, Believe the students, dont trust Nadine.
Later, Professor Fiona Wade, a sharptongued senior lecturer, laughs, Youre not looking for protégés today? Andrew shakes his head, strides to the icecream trolley, buys a double scoop, and sits back on the bench, chewing thoughtfully.
Fine, he decides. Thats what she gets. I have a pike in the pond and my wifes birthday. Why do I remember Poppy above all the other failures? She offered nothing but a promise to study hard. Pure.
At the cottage, his wife, Tamsin, watches men grilling kebabs, playing guitars, and talking football. Women, including the birthday girl, sit on the veranda, laughing over fashion magazines. Everything is pleasant until Andrew suddenly collapses, pale and shaking, clutching at air. Friends rush to him, checking pulses, shouting diagnoses. Tamsin, oblivious, sits in the car, his head resting on her lap, as the vehicle rolls down a dark road without streetlights.
Is it his heart? Tamsin whispers, gripping his hand. Call a doctor! Their friend, Ian, shouts, The ambulance is blocked by a overturned fuel tanker! An old man mutters, Who gave them the right to block the road? Everyone scurries to find a way around.
They finally reach the villages threestorey hospital, its walls mottled with yellowgreen mould. Ian yells, Wheres the emergency ward? We need a doctor now! The caretaker, a gruff man, replies, Everything is a ward, sir. Ive buried my wife with a heart attack, you know.
Ian hammers the door, and the dishevelled chief surgeon, Nicholas Fowler, stumbles out, smelling of stale ale. Stop shouting, love, he bellows at Tamsin. He pushes his way inside, leaving the door ajar.
Andrew lies in an empty, cold ward, dawn barely breaking outside. He drifts through papercovered windows, crawls across bluepainted walls, then collapses onto the linoleum floor. Tamsin Tamsin he calls, his voice hoarse. He cant move, the chlorine smell stinging his nostrils.
A nurse in a blue coat, her head wrapped in a scarf, enters. She adjusts the scarf, leans over his bed, and offers water. Poppy? she asks, surprised. Andrews freckled nose twitches, a faint smile forming. Yes, its me, he replies, grateful for the sip.
She steadies his hand. Your wife will be fine. The chief surgeon says there was no heart attack, something else. Drink more. He nods, gulping the water.
Poppy, why are you here? Ive been looking for you for two years, he whispers, but she places a finger on his lips, urging silence. Ill return next year, I promise. I met Owen at the station, we married, had a son, Sam. I became a ward assistant as you suggested, learned a lot
Andrew sighs, What can I learn here? Its dreadful.
The nurse agrees, Thats why I want to be a doctorto change things.
He chuckles, Or end up like our chief, watching patients without helping.
Poppy adjusts his pillow, pulling the blanket tighter. I wanted to drive him out, then fix everything myself. But the system is broken, and theres no time.
Andrew slams his fist on the blanket. We must tear this place up! The mould, the draftsnothing works!
Tamsin, waking, gasps, Andrew, calm down!
Poppy smiles, You look like a wizard, Nicholas. A beard would suit you.
Nicholas fumes, What? Who are you?
Im Poppy, and youre not a sorcerer. She grabs his arm, leading him to the kitchen. Would you like some tea with biscuits?
Later, a lanky man named Colin appears, his oncewhite coat now a greyyellow, stained. Im still here, he says, laughing weakly. I fought the system, tried to help, but there were no supplies. Young doctors came, died, and I was left with old women and me.
Andrew, eyes bright, asks, Will you teach Poppy? Shell need guidance.
Colin nods, Ill do what I can.
Andrew watches the list again, his eyes landing on Poppy Harper, applicant. Shes finally in. He smiles, turns to the trolley of icecream, and thinks of pike, perch, and his wifes birthday. He laughs, If she can make it, maybe the whole place will change.
The village of Redfield breathes a little easier as the morning light filters through the hospital windows. The story of Poppy, the girl who almost gave up, now continues, hopeful that one day the old ward will be transformed.
