Hey love, imagine Poppy, tiny as a matchbox, with those big green eyes and that laugh that just pulls everyone in. Shes always been the little sparrow of the neighbourhoodshort, waist like a thimble, and men of every age cant help but notice her. You know how we all have a soft spot for the petite ones, the ones you just want to cradle and pamper? Its like spotting a tiny pony and thinking, What a cute little foal!
Poppy had a gift, tooher voice was a real mezzosoprano, and she sang wherever she could. By day she was a lab technician at the steelworks down in Birmingham, but her heart was firmly in the music hall. She kept joining choir after choir, shy at first, then bolder, until she was actually getting gigs on stage. All she wanted was to live in song.
She never rushed into marriage, never even thought about kids. To Poppy, a husband and a brood meant a mountain of chores stealing time away from rehearsals and a good nights rest. Shed chat about it over tea with her married friends, whod nod sympathetically and then disappear into maternity leave after their first, second, even third child.
So Poppy vowed to devote herself entirely to singing. But fate had other plans. At the plant she kept handing her lab reports to the shift supervisor, Anthony Sinclair. The office door was always guarded by the secretary, Zoe, who watched over Anthonys desk like a hawk. Whenever Poppy walked in, Zoe would snatch the reports, smile, and say, Dont worry, dear, Ill give them to Mr Sinclair later.
One day Zoe fell ill. Poppy, thinking thered be no one in the way, knocked politely and peered inside. At the far end of a long table sat Anthony himself.
Come in, love. What do you need? he asked.
Just the sample reports, Poppy whispered, a bit flustered.
New here? he teased, leaning forward.
No, Ive been here over five years, she replied, cheeks flushing.
He chuckled, I must have missed you. Well, carry on then. They shared a brief laugh, and Poppy slipped back to her bench.
From then on she slipped the reports straight onto Anthonys desk herself. Zoe, once recovered, would turn her back, start watering the office plants, and ignore Poppy completely. Poppy was 27 then.
A shortlived office romance sparked. Anthony, a decent chap who didnt want any scandal, suggested they get married straight away. Poppy laughed it offshe wasnt keen on extra baggage. Most girls would have sprinted after him, but she held her ground. Anthony, taken aback, gave her space to think.
Meanwhile the other women at work teased her: Look at him, youre turning him down! When will you settle down? Youll end up a spinster! Eventually Poppy gave in.
The wedding was a big affair. In a tiny wedding dress, veil, and childsize shoes, she looked like a delicate doll. Anthony was beaming, and Poppywell, she smiled, but kept her emotions in check, saving her energy for singing.
After a sweet honeymoon, Poppy started touring regional venuescommunity halls, holiday camps, music festivals. Anthony, ever the supportive husband, asked only one thing: Could you sort out dinner and maybe iron my shirt sometime? She snapped back, Tony, Im off to a gig, Ive got to run! Hed kiss her forehead, say Go on, love, sing your heart out, and repeat that a dozen times.
Over time Anthony learned to make readymeals, wash a few shirts, and fry an eggjust enough to keep the peace. Poppy quit the plant, focusing entirely on her vocal career, while Anthony settled into his office routine. Hed often ask his new secretary, Zoe, to bring him coffee and occasionally a pastry, joking, How about a cherry turnover, Zoe? Shed grin, Only if you promise not to hog the last one. Hed sigh, My wifes singing all day, and Im stuck here howling like a dog.
Zoe started slipping him little snackstinned soup, a thermos of stew, a hot meatballalways with a cherry filling. Anthony didnt notice the growing affection until he realized he was looking forward to those tiny gestures. He was still faithful to Poppy, grateful to Zoe for the kindness, but didnt cross any lines.
Four years into the marriage, the house was still just the two of them. Poppy never hinted at wanting children. Then, out of the blue, she said shed feel like having a little something to bake forshe asked Anthony to stock up on pickled cucumbers and jampreserved apples, a cheeky way of saying an heir was on the way. Anthony was over the moon, dreaming of a tiny bundle.
Poppy, however, wasnt thrilled. She visited a doctor, hoping to avoid the surprise, but was told it was too late. The doctor encouraged her to have a healthy baby. Anthony, oblivious, started comparing prams and cribs, googling prices in pounds.
When the news finally reached Zoe, she sighed, Well, I guess Im out of a job then, and handed in her resignation. A new secretary, Margaret, a seasoned lady with a knack for gossip, took over and ribbed Anthony, Youve lost a good one, Tony! Zoe was your favorite.
Anthony brushed her off, Back to work, Margaret.
The baby arriveda little girl. The midwife asked, What shall we call her?
Nothing, Poppy snapped, eyes cold.
Anthony rushed in with a bouquet, but Poppy barely looked at him, tears streaming as she clung to the cot. The other mothers in the ward tried to comfort her, but she shouted, I dont want this child! The room fell silent, then the women started swapping stories about unwanted pregnancies, secret lovers, and lost fatherseach tale louder than the last.
A nurse handed Poppy a bunch of roses from Anthony; she didnt even take them. The next day Anthony was sent on a twoweek project outside the city, returning home to find only a quiet flat and a cat named Melody, who mewed for dinner. He muttered, Whats left of my life? and remembered his mothers saying, A bad wife is worse than a stormshe drives you out of the house.
Desperate, he called Margaret for Zoes phone number, pretending it was about business. She rolled her eyes and handed him a slip of paper, whispering, We all know how that went. He stormed back to his office, slammed the door, and stared at the empty hallway.
Poppy, shaken, decided the only thing that could heal her was to dive back into music. She booked a gig at a seaside resort, sang her heart out on stage, and the audience went wild, throwing flowers and shouting for encores. She toured the countryside, then settled into teaching voice lessons, passing on her experience to eager youngsters.
One afternoon a colleague brought a shy tenyearold girl named Daisy for an audition. Poppy welcomed her, and soon after, Anthony showed up with his two daughtersone ten, one twelvelooking for a music teacher. He stared at Poppy, stunned. Why on earth am I meeting my exwife here? he muttered.
She laughed, Relax, Tony. Lets see what your girl can do. The younger girl, Daisy, sang beautifully, her voice a mirror of Poppys own childhood. After the session, Poppy asked, How old are you, sweetheart?
Thirteen, Im Kira, the girl replied proudly.
Lovely, youre a natural. Tell your dad he can come watch if he likes, Poppy said.
Anthony, cheeks flushing, tried to make conversation. So youre still with Zoe, right? Shes my former secretary. We raise our daughter Kira together. Poppy, stunned, whispered, You mean the girl I gave up? Anthony stared, Yes, you gave birth to her, didnt you? Shes yours. The room buzzed with confusion, and the hallway erupted with the other teachers shouting, Kids, run, Moms coming!
Thirteen years later, Poppy sits at home, the same cat Melody padding around her feet. She sighs, What a tangled tune my life turned out to be. She thinks of the empty flat, the missed notes, the love that slipped through her fingers. She pulls a cozy blanket over herself, chuckles softly, and hums a line from that old lullaby about the grasshopper who sang all summer longDid you keep on singing? she murmurs, smiling at the memory.
Anyway, thats the whole saga. Miss you, cant wait to catch up over a cuppa. Take care!
