Dont worry, love, says Aunt Margaret, patting the tiny, premature infant. Shes a sturdy little thing. Everything will be alrightfor you and for your granddaughter.
I hope so, the mother, Clara, replies, watching the doctor disappear down the corridor. When the doctors door shuts, Clara mutters, What a tragedy.
The tragedy hits Margarets family six months ago, when a nosy neighbour, Mrs. Hargreaves, drops by for tea with a spoonful of apple jam and blurts out, When are you due? Have you started buying nappies yet?
Clara snaps, What are you talking about? Im not even pregnant!
Mrs. Hargreaves huffs, I saw your calf at the farm last week, wiping its mouth with a rag. Maybe you ate something you shouldnt have.
Clara tries to defend herself, Maybe I just had a bad stomach.
Mrs. Hargreaves retorts, Youve never been in pain, so you dont know any of this. Im not a midwife, but I know a thing or two.
That evening, Aunt Margaret interrogates Clara, then weeps, cursing the misfortune that has befallen her unborn child a pale, sunkissed boy who never took a breath, and the whole male line that vanished with him.
When baby Poppy arrives, no joy follows, only endless chores, shame and a burning sense of inadequacy. Clara shows little affection; she holds Poppy only when feeding or soothing him, nothing more. Aunt Margaret watches her granddaughter with the same cold indifference, offering no love. It is Margarets fourth grandchild, and the familys only other daughter has given birth to a child of little promise as well. Thus Poppy grows up unloved, teetering on unsteady legs through life.
A year later Clara moves to the new workers village outside Sheffield, seeking a fresh start. Poppy stays with Aunt Margaret, a kindhearted old woman who isnt a stranger. The girl needs no special careshe eats whats given, sleeps on schedule, never falls ill. The doctors assessment is clear: Poppy is robust, though still unloved.
Poppy lives with Margaret until she is seven. In that time Clara learns a trade as a housepainter, marries a carpenter named Tom, and they have a son, Tommy. When Clara finally remembers Poppy, she drives back to the village, hoping her grownup daughter can help. Poppy, who only sees her mother twice a year, greets her with a flat stare. Clara scolds, Youre acting like you dont belong, Poppy. The others would hug you, but you stand there like a stranger.
Seeing her granddaughter leave, Aunt Margaret sheds a tear, then, a few days later, receives two beloved greatgranddaughters, Lenora and Oxana, from her eldest son. The house fills with new bustle, and Poppy fades further from their thoughts. She feels little pity for Aunt Margaret, though she mourns the loss of the newly hatched, goldenfeathered chicks that had briefly brightened the garden.
In the workers settlement Poppy doesnt love the cramped flats, but she has no other choice. She makes friends, enrolls at the local school, does her homework, runs errands for bread and milk, and peels potatoes for her mothers return. As she grows, she escorts Tommy to preschool and, mimicking her mother, snarls at a lanky boy named Colin, Watch where you step! Youll get a beating from me!
No one ever says a loving word to her. Poppy never expects it; shes lived without it. She does hear other girls mothers call them sweetheart or darling, and she watches Clara call Tommy sunshine or little cat. She believes shell never be anyones sunshine. At home she isnt starved or abused, but she isnt pampered eitherno fancy sweets, no lavish treats. She simply exists, unloved.
At fifteen Poppy finally quits the cold house she has known for eight years. She enrolls in a city college in Leeds, training to become a confectioner, dreaming of devouring endless trays of pastries. In her cramped dorm she shares a room with three other girls, all busy with their own lives.
Then she meets Vince, a lanky young man with an easy smile. Even a bleak November feels bright when he talks to her, his words whirling her head and stealing her breath. Youre mine, he whispers, and Poppy, used to perpetual neglect, melts with happiness.
Soon after, a queasy feeling haunts her mornings. She should rush to a doctor, but she misses the appointment. By eighteen she cannot find a proper medical certificate, yet she and Vince head to the registry office together. Their marriage begins Poppys new life, but also ends her brief romance with Vinces former lover. They move into Vinces modest house. Vinces mother and his sister show little affection toward Poppy, yet she finds a room of her own.
Poppys former village friend envies her, Youve got city life now, all nice and modern. Poppy shrugs; she does not brag. Her new home sits in a semirural estategarden water comes from a communal tap at the end of the lane, and every bucket of water splashes cold on her hands. She carries the buckets, laughing at the chill, and soon the water splash mirrors the tears she sheds for the unborn child she once lost.
Vinces mother scolds her at times, but Poppy knows the scolding isnt personal. Vince seems to care at first, helping with nighttime feeds and pushing a pram up the stairs, and the factory later gives them a bright, spacious flat.
Years pass. Poppy and Vince raise their son Ian, then later twins Lily and Oliver. Their grandchildren gather around the kitchen table at the country cottage where they all spend summer holidays. Grandma, I love you, cries Lily. We love you too, replies Oliver. The youngest, little Molly, babbles, I love you, Gran. Their grandfather, Vince, chuckles, We all love her, even if she hides a smile behind her silver hair.
Poppy wipes away a stray tear, amazed that a girl once marked as unloved ends her days surrounded by affection.
