Poppy Bennett clenched the lab results so hard her knuckles went white. The paper was damp with sweat. The corridor outside the women’s health clinic in York was so packed you could barely nudge your way through.
Poppy Bennett! shouted the nurse.
Poppy rose, slipped into the consulting room. The doctor was a plump woman with weary eyes; she snatched the folder from Poppys hands and flicked through the pages.
Take a seat, she said, giving the results a perfunctory glance. Everything looks fine. You should have your husband checked.
Poppys stomach dropped. Victor? But he wasnt
***
At home, her motherinlaw, Maggie, was mincing cabbage for borscht with the ferocity of a battlefield commander.
Whats the news, dear? Maggie asked without looking up.
Everythings fine with me, Poppy muttered, pulling off her coat.
And why then Maggie finally lifted her eyes, a flash of alarm crossing her face. Victor needs a checkup.
The knife froze midair. Maggie straightened like a taut string.
Balderdash! My sons perfectly healthy. Its your doctors who cant see straight. Back in my day women gave birth without any of these tests.
Poppy drifted into the living room. On the sofa lay two socksa blue one and a black one. She absentmindedly scooped them up and tossed them into the laundry basket. After three years of marriage those socks had become a perfect metaphor for their life: mismatched and never quite pairing up.
Victor trudged home late.
Whats with the funeral face? he grumbled, flopping into his armchair.
Victor, we need to talk.
What about?
She thrust the papers at him. He skimmed them, then shoved them onto the coffee table.
So?
You need to get examined.
Why on earth? Victor leapt up, pacing the room. Im a healthy bloke! Look at me!
He did look the partbroad shoulders, thick dark hairbut health isnt always skindeep.
Victor, please
Enough! he roared. If you dont want kids, just say it! Why all this theatre with the doctors?
From the kitchen came the clatter of slippers. Maggie lingered in the doorway, breathing so loudly you could hear every sigh.
I want children more than anything, Poppy whispered.
Then why arent there any? Are you hiding something? Did you have an abortion and now youre scared? Maggie jabbed.
The blow landed hard. Poppy recoiled.
How could you?
How could I? Three years together and zero results! And now the doctors tell me Im? He cut himself off, fists clenched.
The door burst open. Maggie stormed in like a tank.
Victor, dont listen to her! Its all laziness. If she worked more, she wouldnt be running to doctors all the time.
Poppy glanced at Victor, who turned toward the window.
Victor, do you really think Im?
I dont know what to think, he muttered through clenched teeth. One thing I know: a fit man doesnt go to the doctor.
Maggie nodded triumphantly.
Right you are, son. This isnt a mans jobto be hopping from hospital to hospital.
Something snapped inside Poppy, a taut string finally giving way.
Fine, she said evenly.
The next day the battle began. Maggie found fault with everything: salt overpoured, a pot not scrubbed, dust on the dresser. Poppy kept her mouth shut, grinding her teeth.
Maybe you shouldnt be staying at home at all? Maggie sneered over dinner. Get a job instead of prancing about doctors.
Victor chewed his meatloaf, eyes fixed on his plate.
I do work, Poppy reminded him.
Three days a week isnt work, its a hobby.
What does my job have to do with this?
It has everything to do with it! My sons healthy, yet you want to paint him sick! When there are no kids, its always the womans fault! Its always been that way!
Poppy stood up, her legs wobbling.
Whats wrong with you? Maggie asked. You eat and then run off?
Im tired, Poppy whispered.
Tired? From what? Working three days a week cant be that exhausting!
Victor finally lifted his gaze, a flicker of pity in his eyes, but said nothing.
That night Poppy lay listening to Victors snore. It used to be comfortinga reminder of a close person nearby. Now it grated on her nerves. How had she never noticed his stubbornness before?
In the morning she packed a few belongings into an old sports backpack: two dresses, some underwear, a little makeup bag.
Where are you off to? Maggie asked from the kitchen doorway, a mug in hand.
To my mothers.
For how long?
I dont know.
Victor emerged from the bath, saw the backpack.
Whats that, Var? he asked.
Just what you see.
You serious?
Of course. You wont go for a checkup, mum thinks Im to blame for everything. Why should I stay?
He stepped closer, voice low. Dont be daft. Where are you going?
To Grandma Fayes.
To that little shack? Its only a mile away!
Its cramped, but Im not angry.
Maggie snorted. Fine, let her go. Shell learn what real hardship feels like staying with an old woman.
Victor shot a glare at his mother but said nothing.
Poppy hoisted the bag and headed for the door.
Var! Victor called.
She turned. He stood in the hallway, hair damp from the shower, looking bewildered.
When will you be back?
When you finally see a doctor.
The door slammed behind her.
Grandma Faye gasped as Poppy entered, backpack slung over her shoulder.
Poppy dear! What on earth?
Ive had it with Victor. Can I stay here?
Of course, love. Its a bit tight, though
Its fine, Gran.
The flat was indeed tinyone bed, a small table, two chairs, a relic of a TVbut it was tidy and smelled of vanilla; Faye loved baking.
Tell me whats happened, Faye said, setting the kettle on.
Poppy spilled the whole story. Faye listened, nodding along.
Oh, love men are like that. Proud, and admitting somethings wrong feels like a death sentence to them.
Do I have to wait forever for him to finally see a doctor?
No, youve done the right thing by leaving. Let him think.
The first few days were quiet. Poppy set up a foldout cot in the corner, helped Faye with the chores. Victor called now and then, but she let it ring.
Then Faye complained of chest pains. An ambulance whisked her away.
Dont worry, dear, Faye whispered as the paramedics lifted her. Im old, these things happen.
In the hospital she improved. Poppy visited daily, bringing homecooked meals and the latest gossip.
Hows Victor? Faye asked one afternoon.
Nothing much. Hes shouted into the phone a couple of times.
You answered?
Once. The second time I hung up. Why listen to the same old rant?
Maybe he finally went to the doctor?
Unlikely.
The wards were bustling. Poppy headed for the exit and nearly collided with a young doctor in a white coat, blond hair, kind eyes.
Sorry, she said.
No harm done. Who are you looking for?
My grandma, in Ward Seven.
Oh, Mrs. Evers! Shes a lovely patient. Im Dr. Denis Irving, cardiologist.
Poppy, she replied.
Pleasure, Poppy. Dont worry, your grandmas in good hands. Shes just getting on a bit.
He talked about Fayes condition, his steady hands and neat nails catching Poppys attention.
Thanks for the care, she said.
He lingered a bit longer each day, then the next, then the next. Poppy began to arrive early, hoping to catch a glimpse.
One day, Gran told me, Doctor, will you be seeing my granddaughter today? Faye said with a mischievous grin.
Will I? Poppy asked.
Of course! Hes a good chap, and single as a well, you know.
Poppy blushed.
Gran, what are you saying?
Youre practically single. That Victor of yours
Im married.
Pfft!
A week later Denis was transferred to another ward. On his last day he approached Poppy in the corridor.
Ill miss you, he said simply.
So will I, she admitted.
He handed her his card.
If you ever need anything or just a chat.
Poppy took it, their fingers brushing.
Thank you.
And also Denis hesitated. Youre beautiful, but also a bit sad. I hope that changes.
Faye was discharged and, though stronger, Poppy still fretted about leaving her alone.
Victor called now and then; sometimes Poppy answered, sometimes she let it go to voicemail. The last time he screamed into the phone, calling her a spoiled little girl. She hung up and never picked up again.
A month later a stranger called.
Poppy? This is Deniss mother. He gave me your number
Is everything alright?
No, no! He just mentioned his birthday tomorrow and would love to see you. Could you come?
Poppy hesitated. Faye, listening at the kitchen door, waved her on.
Go on, love! When was the last time you had fun?
The birthday went splendidly. Denis was attentive but never pushy. When she left, he said, Id like to see you again. May I?
May I, she whispered.
They started seeing each other slowly, gently. He never pressed for explanations, just being there. Occasionally Poppy would spend the night at his flat.
Then the unexpected happened: Poppy discovered she was pregnant.
Will you marry me? Denis asked when she told him.
Of course, she laughed, tears of joy spilling.
A year later Poppy pushed a pram along the park lane. Denis strolled beside her, cracking jokes. Their son, Milo, snored softly in his sleep.
Ahead, Victor and Maggie Bennett approached. Seeing Poppy, they froze like statues.
Poppy didnt speed up or slow down; she walked on, head held high. In Victors eyes she saw the whole mix of pain, regret, and understanding.
Maggie tugged Victors sleeve.
Come on, Victor.
He stood still, watching the pram, the smiling face of Poppy, the cheerful Denis. He finally grasped that hed missed his chance, but it was too late.
