Poppy Day (11 page)

‘Oh my God, Poppy, no! Oh Poppy, is he dead?’

Poppy’s words were muffled against her friend’s shoulder. She answered as truthfully as she could, ‘I don’t know.’ It made her tears fall harder and quicker. The two stood in the hallway, unmoving; each trying to decide what to do next.

‘Come and sit down, baby.’ Jenna somehow corralled her mate into the lounge, depositing her on the newly plumped
cushions
. She sat on the floor at her feet. In fact, Jenna was
on
her feet, firmly anchoring her; Poppy didn’t have the heart to tell her.

‘Tell me everything, Poppy. You know that I’m here for you, right?’ Jenna used her mummy voice, the one she had soothed Poppy with countless times over the years, even when they were both too young to recognise the role that she was adopting.

‘I had a visit yesterday from two soldiers. They told me that Mart was missing.’

‘Why didn’t you call me? I’d have come straight over; I hate to think of you on your own…’

Poppy looked at Jen. Why hadn’t she called? It was hard to phrase her need for isolation.

Jenna didn’t wait for a response before launching her next question, ‘What does that mean “missing”? They can’t have lost him.’

Poppy smiled at her. ‘Actually they have lost him, kind of. When they first told me I thought that they meant he was dead and that they hadn’t found his body or identified him, or something.’

She was again interrupted by Jenna’s tears, loud and messy, ‘Oh Poppy, poor you, poor Mart!’

Poppy patted the back of her hand. ‘Then when I was at work…’

‘Oh my God, I can’t believe she made you go into work, after what you had been through! I’m going to sort that Christine out, she is such a cow!’

‘It’s all right Jen, I didn’t tell her, she doesn’t know.’ Jenna’s loyalty was fierce, her indignation no matter how misplaced, touching. ‘Anyway, I was doing Mrs Newton’s hair and I
suddenly
got this really strong image in my head of Mart. I know how crazy it sounds, but it was like I was watching it on a film, only I could hear and “feel” what he was going through. I knew that he had been taken.’

‘What do you mean “taken”? Taken where?’ Jenna tried to make sense of it.

‘Taken as in captured. Taken hostage.’

‘Oh my God!’ Jenna placed both hands over her open mouth. She had no verbal braking system, no means of censoring what was floating around in her head. ‘Oh Poppy! That’s terrible, it’s just like that Terry Waite bloke from Blackheath. They chained him to a radiator for years and wouldn’t let him look at a Bible even though he was a vicar. His teeth went bad and when he got rescued he had to get full dentures. That bloke that was with him, John someone, his girlfriend chucked him when he came home, which was really shit. Not that you’d chuck Mart just because he got all beardy and scabby and he wouldn’t want to look at a Bible, but it’ll kill him not to know how Spurs are doing.’

Poppy smiled at Jenna, rambling through her tears. She tried to think of Martin tied to a radiator like Terry Waite, who she knew was not a vicar, but a special envoy from the Archbishop of Canterbury, but decided against trying to explain this to Jen. Poppy tried to apply reason. ‘Mart’s a different kettle of fish, Jen. He’s not a vicar and he won’t be gone for years.’

Jenna looked at her. ‘Oh God, did I say the wrong thing? Truth is, mate, I don’t know what to say…’

‘This is a weird situation, Jen; it’s OK to say whatever you want. We don’t know how we should act, do we? It’s all new, strange and bloody awful.’

‘It is bloody awful, really bloody awful,’ Jenna concurred. They were silent for some seconds. ‘What happens next?’

‘I don’t really know. They have assigned me a liaison officer, a bloke called Rob who is coming to see me later, hopefully with more information. They seem good at keeping me up to date, so I guess we will just have to wait and see.’ Poppy decided against telling her that they knew who had Martin and that one of his colleagues had been killed, it wouldn’t have served any purpose other than upset her more; give her more to think about.

Jenna looked at her mate. ‘Have you got dental insurance, Pop?’

‘What?’

‘For Mart’s dentures, they can be really expensive.’

Poppy laughed because the alternative was to cry some more. She knew there were going to be a lot more tears to come.

Jenna’s tone was one of concern, ‘What are you going to do?’

Poppy didn’t know how to answer her. What
could
she do? It was during these early chats that ideas started to germinate. Poppy tried to order her thoughts, attempting to take more mental control which, even if it achieved nothing, made her feel much better.

‘Are they going to rescue him?’

It was a simple enough question but one to which Poppy didn’t know the answer. ‘I assume so, Jen. I mean they wouldn’t just leave him there, would they?’

The two looked blankly at each other. Would they? She reminded herself to ask Rob exactly what the plan was for getting Martin out of there.

Jenna chewed her bottom lip as she did when she was
thinking
, before shrieking, ‘Oh my God! I think it’s on the news, Poppy.’

‘What is?’

‘About Mart.’

‘What about Mart?’ Poppy recalled Rob’s words;
twenty-four
-hour news blackout, but the media were already on it.

‘Well, not exactly about Mart, because I didn’t know that it was Mart, but I heard something on Sky this morning. I didn’t pay it much attention.’ Jenna, like most of the population, was emotionally saturated when it came to soldier deaths, which were too numerous to mentally invest in. It would only be the immediate family that felt their world torn apart. For many, it was simply the third headline after celebrity misdemeanour and the showbiz of politics.

Poppy jumped up and switched on the TV. She punched the digits into the remote control and waited for the screen to flicker to life. There was an item about falling house prices, a celebrity’s frock had fallen off during an award ceremony,
followed
by a piece about the Bank of England’s decision to cut interest rates. The girls watched in silence, waiting.

Then POW! It came on the screen. Poppy felt her heartbeat quicken. The girls edged closer to the TV, keen to note each small detail, hear every word. Ordinarily, sitting ten feet away from the telly with the volume turned up was enough to glean all you needed, but not today. There was a small photograph on the top right-hand of the screen; a young, smiling soldier in his uniform. It was Aaron Sotherby, the same Aaron Sotherby that had his breakfast, shaved and dressed with Poppy’s husband only a day or so before.

The news wasn’t that detailed. It gave his age and stated that he’d been with the Princess of Wales’s Royal Regiment for
eighteen
months; this was his first tour, he left behind a wife and a little boy of two. The way that they said ‘left behind’ made it sound as if he had gone by choice; Poppy didn’t like it. She
pictured
Aaron’s wife sat on a sofa, probably with her family around, her little boy close, wondering why she had been left behind.

Poppy couldn’t decide whether it was better or worse to have a little boy in the world with no daddy. She thought of having a little boy sat by her side right now, and decided that it was definitely better.

She was considering this when the voice on the TV seemed to boom, ‘During the incident in which Private Sotherby was killed, another soldier from the same unit is believed to have been taken hostage by an, as yet, unnamed group. There have been no demands made for his release. His family have been informed. We will give you any details as and when they come in…’ The newsreader turned his frown into a smile and it was off to a film set in Elstree and an item on the latest 007 movie.

It felt bizarre, knowing it was Martin they were speaking about, and even weirder that she was ‘the family’ to which they referred. She knew they said that to stop the thousands of other army families worrying. By the time it hit the TV, you would already have been informed. Poppy felt a combination of
distress
and excitement. She didn’t want to be in this awful situation, but at the same time it was a bit like, ‘Wahey! We are on the telly!’

‘Shit, Poppy!’ Jenna’s succinct appraisal accurately summed up the situation.

The two continued to gaze at the box, waiting for it to be played again, desperate to see if they’d missed anything. It was shown once more before the doorbell rang. Poppy was relieved by Rob’s arrival. She and Jenna had talked themselves around in circles, fuelled by caffeine. Poppy felt shaky and sick. Whilst it was lovely to have company, she also wanted her friend to leave so that she could figure out what needed to be done. The reality was, however, that there was nothing to be done; only more waiting.

Jenna scowled at Rob as their paths crossed in the hallway; she too wanted someone to blame. Poppy thought it funny that her environment was subject to such extremes, silent and morgue-like when she was alone or bustling with activity. She tried to remember what it felt like when it was her and Martin; normal.

‘How are you today, Poppy?’

‘OK, I think. Cup of tea?’

‘Ooh yes, lovely.’ Rob removed his cap and leant against the kitchen cabinet.

Poppy was grateful he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with small talk, happy that they both had thinking time. It made her relax. ‘I’ve seen the news, Rob.’ She decided to
preempt
his question.

‘I guessed you might have. What d’you think?’

‘It’s really weird to think that they are talking about Mart, very surreal. His capture is obviously smaller news than the fact that Aaron has been killed, so it’s masking it for the moment.’

‘Why do you say for the moment?’ Rob placed his index finger over his mouth and moustache, he looked thoughtful.

‘… because I think when people really start to listen and
register
another death, that’s when they’ll turn their attention to the fact that a soldier has been taken hostage. I think some people will find it a bit exciting. It will become more important.’

‘I think that you are exactly right, Poppy.’

‘I noticed that they didn’t say who’d taken him, even though we know.’

‘That’s quite standard. These groups want media coverage and we don’t want to give them any more publicity than we absolutely have to. We’re hoping that they get in touch with some demands, which will force an announcement about who they are and give us a way forward. By announcing it now, we’d be playing into their hands.’

‘I see. It’s strange for me, Rob, talking about publicity and acting as though it’s something invented; a game. Yet, my husband is in the middle of it, being held somewhere and going through God knows what.’

‘I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you, Poppy.’

‘It’s not so much that it’s difficult, it’s more frustrating. I feel useless. I’m not used to sitting back and letting someone else fix my problems. But I don’t know how to fix this and that’s what’s driving me nuts.’

‘You have to believe that the right people are doing the very best thing for Martin.’

There was something in his tone that made her abort the tea making. She placed the box of tea bags on the counter next to the empty mugs and folded her arms. It was something as innocuous as a small catch in his voice. Poppy didn’t know where the question came from, but she asked it anyway,

‘Rob, do
you
believe that the right people are doing the very best thing for Martin?’

He hesitated, his mouth went to form a response, but he remained silent until his lips formed a different shape as though his mind had changed direction, rejecting ‘yes’. ‘Maybe. I don’t fully understand the negotiation process, Poppy, so I’m not the best person to ask.’

Poppy stared at him. ‘That means no.’

He was quick to answer, ‘No, it doesn’t. It means that there are probably things going on behind the scenes that I don’t know about, things to secure his release that if I did know could endanger him or others. Our intelligence on the ground will be talking to intermediaries, and as soon as they have
anything
concrete to go on we will act.’

‘I get that, Rob, but I am still unsure of what the actual plan is. How are they going to get him back? What are they doing right now to get my husband back?’ Poppy was aware that she had raised her voice.

‘I don’t know, Poppy, but we have to believe that they are doing something.’

‘You mean that there is a chance they are doing nothing? Is that what you think, Rob?’

‘No!’ He was emphatic, but Poppy saw the look in his eyes. She had learnt enough about Rob over the last couple of days to see a very real fear in his face. This was precisely what he was thinking. That’s the thing about being smart, sometimes you can be a bit too clever for your own good. This was definitely one of those times.

The tinny transistor on the shelf belted out golden oldies as Poppy washed setting lotion from plastic rollers in the back sink. Her foot tapped involuntarily along to ‘Build Me Up Buttercup’. She considered the previous day, taking great solace from the fact that Jenna knew. It wasn’t that she could do anything to make the problem go away, but it helped, knowing her friend was thinking about her, sharing her burden and sending love and support. Poppy also thought that it was better for Martin; her theory being that the more people willed him to be OK, sent him love across the miles, that he might somehow feel it.

Poppy had never been overly concerned with the existence of God. Religion was a background idea that she hadn’t
properly
analysed, an undercurrent of which she was aware, but avoided its pull. Yet now, in this time of need and reflection, she not only explored the idea of an omnipotent being that could help her, but welcomed it. She prayed for her husband, open to the possibility that her words might reach a force able to respond. Her requests were both small and large, ranging from ‘let him be comfortable tonight’, to ‘send him home to me’.