“Hello, Dad, Ive come for my present,” said the scruffy woman as she barged into the house, tossing an old rucksack into the corner.
Oliver and Margaret were mid-meal when the front door swung open. The stranger threw her arms wide. “Alright then, Pops!” she declared. Oliver choked on his soup, coughing violently, while Margaret glowered.
“Who on earth are you? And since when is he ‘Pops’ to you?” Margaret snapped.
The woman squinted. “Pipe down, love. Im not here for youjust my dear old dad.” She turned to Oliver, batting her lashes theatrically. “Dont tell me youve forgotten your own daughter? Its me, Poppy. All these years, and I still couldnt rest easyworrying about my poor dad, bless his heart.” She sniffed unconvincingly.
Oliver finally wheezed out, “Whatwhat do you want?”
“Just my present, Dad. The doll you promised me twenty years ago,” Poppy grinned.
Margaret had died when Poppy was seven. Oliver had lasted about six months before bringing home a new wifeMargaretand her two sons. First thing, Poppy was booted from her bedroom. “Lads need it more,” Oliver mumbled, avoiding her eyes. The boys, older and mischievous, delighted in tearing up her schoolwork. Shed rewrite assignments by moonlight, tears smudging the pagesbecause stepmum Margaret wouldnt waste electricity on her.
Then, on Poppys eighth birthday, Oliver took her to an orphanage. “Just for a bit, sweetheart. Ill visit weekends, bring you that doll you lovedthe big one in the shop window, remember?”
Poppy waited. He never came.
Now, she plonked herself at the table. “Go on then, love, sling us some soup. Starving, aint I?” She cackled at her own joke. Margaret silently ladled a meagre portion. Poppy tutted. “Blimey, still pinching pennies? Pour proper, wont ya?” She turned to Oliver. “Right, Dad, break out the savingslets toast our reunion!”
Oliver glanced at Margaret, who hissed, “We dont drink.”
Poppy slapped her knee. “Knew it! But unlike my old man, I dont turn up empty-handed.” She jerked her chin at Margaret. “Fetch my bag.”
Margaret flushed. “Get it yourself!”
Poppy raised a brow. “Youre missing the point, love. Im not just visitingIm moving in. Fancy that? You shipped me off once; now its your turn. Clear outor behave, and maybe Ill let you stay.”
Margaret spluttered, “Oliver, are you just going to sit there? Shes bullying me!”
Oliver fidgeted. “Now, Poppy, mind your manners. Margarets mistress here.”
Poppy sighed. “Blimey, youve really let her walk all over you, havent you? Dont fret, Dadwell sort this.”
Margaret shrieked, “Ill call my son! Hell toss you out!”
Poppy smirked. “Oh, you mean Jack? Hed pawn you before lifting a finger. Tough luck with kids, eh? Ones gone, others halfway thereboth fond of the bottle, I hear.”
Margaret wailed, “Dont you dare! Look at youhardly living posh!”
“Thanks to you,” Poppy shot back. “Snagged a widower, turfed out his kid, lived the high life. Bet you never gave me a thought. Well, Im backand Ill make your life hell. Got big plans. My blokes done three stretches; hell be here next week. Well fill this place with grandkidsproper family reunion, eh, Dad?”
Oliver nodded weakly. Poppy smirked at Margaret. “See? Now, make up a bedIm knackered. And light the boiler later; I need a scrub.”
She pretended to sleep, eavesdropping as Margaret hissed, “You spineless git! Shes moving in with some convict! Theyll rob us blindor worse! Boot her out!”
Oliver mumbled, “Shes my daughter. You made me abandon her onceI wont again.”
Poppy mentally cheered. *So hes got a shred of guilt left.*
A rustle made her peek. Margaret loomed, clutching a pillow.
“Going down for murder, love?” Poppy said loudly. Margaret jumped.
“II brought you this. For comfort.”
Poppy laughed. “Cheers. Thought you were suffocating me. Boiler done?”
Margaret scurried. “Your dads on it. Fancy some pancakes?”
“Suspiciously nice all of a sudden. Trying to poison me? Wont workIve got an iron gut.”
For a week, Poppy tormented Margaret until the woman begged, “Have mercy! Im not young anymore!”
“Where was yours when you tore a little girl from her home?” Poppy snapped. Margaret fell to her knees, sobbing.
“Alright, up you get,” Poppy sighed. “Youre pathetic. Im offno doll, eh, Dad?”
Oliver leapt up. “WaitIll give you money! Buy anything!”
Poppy shook her head. “Still clueless. I didnt come for cashjust to hear you say you loved me. But no matter. Ta-ra!”
She slung her rucksack over her shoulder and left. No one followed.
Outside the village, a car waited. She climbed in and sobbed like a child. Her husband hugged her tight. “Told you it was a bad idea. Why dig up the past when youve got now?”
Poppy wiped her eyes. “I thought he still caredjust slipped up once. They never even remembered me.”
“Shouldve listened to your old man,” he teased gently. “Come onkids are asking for Mum.”
She smiled weakly. “Miss them too. Lets go. But firsta shower. Wash this place off me.” She sighed. “Lets stop by Mums grave, though. Picked flowers on the way. As for Dad? Hes dead to me. Ive got you and the kidsthats enough.”
She squeezed his hand. “You were right. But I had to try. No regretsjust Gods will, eh?”
