Poppy Day (23 page)

It was Miles’s turn to laugh. ‘You are kidding me, right? You waltzed into the security checkpoint with no passport, you filled out the relevant documentation with your real name and details, that being the wife of the most highly publicised British soldier at this point in time, and they allowed you to breeze through; and you have now taken the identity of a Danish
journalist
who is probably stuck on the A40 right now, hoping that she doesn’t miss her flight?’

‘Yes, that’s about it.’

Miles shook his head as though it was unbelievable, but believe her he did. ‘Poppy, we haven’t much time. I need to understand the situation, because if you are trying to do what I think you are trying to do, I just might be able to help you and if you are not, then you just might be in a whole heap of trouble, so speak to me and do it very quickly.’ He looked at his watch, making Poppy feel as if she was being timed, which only made her gabble and rush. She wasn’t sure that she made any sense.

Poppy swallowed, knowing that she had to trust him, and that she had to talk. ‘I have decided to go and get Mart. I am going to find him. I know that sounds crazy, but no one is looking for him, Miles. I know this for a fact because I trust Rob and he’s already told me way more than he should have done. I said to him, what if it was Moira? I think that made him understand a bit of what I was going through. I feel that if I don’t go and look for him then he will be lost, possibly gone for good. The idea that you and Mr Veerswamy can jump on planes and be minutes away from him while I’m stuck at home is horrible. The foreign secretary told me that I should go and get Mart as a kind of joke and then my nan, Dorothea, said that I should bring him home. It wasn’t just one of her turns, like the whole Joan Collins thing or leaving Nathan a million pounds. She had that look in her eye like she does when she talks about things that she remembers, like Wally. It felt real and it felt like the only solution that I had been offered. I can’t stand looking at the walls of the flat for one more day, knowing that he is being held and possibly hurt and I wasn’t doing anything to help him. It’s like I have no choice. I have to find him and bring him home because he is my husband. And I know, for a fact, that if it was the other way around, that he would be on his way to get me, without even thinking about it, without blinking, because he loves me.’

Miles shook his head slightly. He took off his glasses, pinched his nose and closed his eyes. He opened them again. Poppy wondered if he too was hoping that when he opened them, she might be gone. This she understood, having herself only recently played a similar game. But she wasn’t gone; she was standing in front of him and wasn’t going anywhere, like one of those enormous tuna fish stuck in Dorothea’s net.

‘What?’ His confusion was evident.

‘What do you mean “what”? You’ve said that twice to me now, Miles, and it makes me really flustered.’ Poppy genuinely didn’t understand the question.

‘What do I mean what? I mean, what do
you
mean? I still don’t get the plan. What is it you are planning to do and why?’

‘I am going to go and find Mart! I know that sounds crazy, but no one is looking for him and I think that if I don’t there is a danger that he won’t ever come home—’

‘OK, stop there. I don’t need to hear about Joan Collins or whatever the hell that other stuff was.’ Miles was confused, words were his craft and it was very unusual for him to be hearing and using words that did not make perfect sense to him. ‘Does anyone else know that you are trying to get over there, Poppy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who?’

‘I’ve already told you, my nan.’

‘Your nan?’

‘Yes, as I said, my nan Dorothea. She’s in a home and she’s a bit bonkers some of the time. In fact, most of the time.’

‘Are you sure no one else? Poppy, this is very, very important.’

‘No. No one else.’

‘No one?’

Poppy looked him in the eye and repeated what she had already told him, ‘Absolutely no one.’

‘Right, OK, think, think.’ He pinched his nose again. Poppy wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself. ‘Are you sure that you want to do this?’

She nodded.

‘Do you have any concept of how dangerous this could be for you, Poppy? For others? Even for your husband?’

‘Yes,’ she lied. It was obviously convincing.

‘If you are absolutely determined, Poppy, then I am going to have to ask you to trust me and do exactly what I tell you. Do you understand?’

Poppy’s thoughts were whirring. What did he want from her? What was in it for him? Could she trust him? The answer to all three was that she didn’t know. Once again she had that feeling of being backed into a corner. By her reckoning she had two choices; she could sink down onto the floor and give up the game, or she could come out fighting and face the challenge that was ahead of her. ‘I understand.’ A deal had been struck, he was to lead and she was to follow.

Poppy felt relief at handing over the reins to someone that might have a better idea of what was going on than she did. It gave her a feeling that wasn’t dissimilar to when Dorothea had stroked her hair the previous night. Was that only the previous night? It could have been a lifetime ago.

‘Stay close to me, Poppy. Do not speak unless you absolutely have to, OK?’

‘OK.’ She smiled at him, feeling far from OK. She, in fact, felt terrified and sick with fear.

Poppy ambled behind Miles back into the terminal, where they joined the press group. The three girls once again caught Poppy’s eye. They had formed a triangular hugging monster, reminding Poppy of those Siamese stuck-together-for-life twins that feature on freak shows masquerading as documentaries. The ones where the reporter asks the question that the whole world is willing him to; namely, how one of them managed to get married and have S-E-X whilst joined to the other one. Random arms sticking out from the mess clutched at used tissues. They had collapsed; each dependant on the other to remain upright.

There was no one left for them to wave to. The soldiers were no longer in sight; having passed through the double doors, they were now out of reach. Poppy decided this must be the hardest part; their men were gone, yet still close. They were the furthest point in time they would be from seeing their loved ones again, but were, in reality, only a few feet away from them on the other side of a swing door.

Flight Lieutenant Ward was coughing again. The media teams looked in his general direction. ‘Righto, chaps, and chapesses,’ this was the cue for titters from those who found his particular brand of humour amusing, ‘your body armour and helmets are ready for collection before you pass through. No need to put it on until you’re boarding the final flight to your transit destination, the usual drill.’

Poppy didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Body armour? Second flight? Transit destination? What was the usual bloody drill? She bit her thumbnail, feeling so out of her depth that she was fearful this whole thing could only end in disaster.

Poppy had been so preoccupied with her identity and
worrying
about getting discovered that she hadn’t thought about getting on a plane. She had never flown before, hating the idea, the very thought of it, yet knowing she was going to have to do it and soon. Her stomach manufactured another layer of
butterflies
to add to the ones that were already fluttering around in there. It must have been like the insect house at London Zoo.

The press group formed a line and made their way through the double doors to the departure area. Each was holding a navy blue vest of body armour and a helmet with matching blue cover. Poppy collected hers from a pile as did Miles and they joined the queue.

‘Are you all right, Nina?’ He accentuated the word ‘Nina’; his way of reminding her of her new name. She was no longer Poppy Day, not for a while.

Poppy nodded, unable to speak.

There was a further security check. Miles handed the man his passport, and responded to the usual questions. Had he packed the bag himself? Did he have any of the following items in his luggage? Knives? Gels? Liquids? To each point raised, Miles answered with a definitive, ‘No.’

Poppy found the line of questioning interesting, having earlier witnessed soldiers checking in weapons and
ammunition
. God forbid Miles might inadvertently smuggle on a bottle of hand cream whilst sat next to the gun-toting
warriors
. Poppy remembered her perfume and lip gloss. ‘Shit!’ She rummaged around until she located the two offending items and held them over the plastic bin, placed for
oversights
just as this. Her grip tightened as her hand hovered; it was her only bottle of scent, a birthday present from Martin and she didn’t want to throw it away. There was no option. She closed her eyes as the glass bottle clattered against tins and jars similarly disposed of. ‘I’m sorry Mart.’ Poppy sighed at the thought of her fifty quid bottle of contraband, so easily discarded.

The man tried to wave Miles through but he stayed put. Turning to Poppy, Miles gestured with his hand for her to come forward. She took three faltering steps until she was by his side. Miles addressed the man, ‘This is my colleague Nina Folkstok.’ He turned to Poppy, ‘Pass?’ This he uttered with a vaguely Nordic slant to his phrase.

Poppy pulled out the laminated plastic square stating, if not confirming, that she was Nina Folkstok from Denmark, fellow journalist of Miles Varrasso, freelance.

‘Miss Folkstok had her passport and her documentation stolen this morning from her car. We have already cleared it with Flight Lieutenant Ward, but he said that I should just have a word with you. Nina’s English isn’t too great.’ He spoke the last bit of the sentence out of the side of his mouth as though Poppy wasn’t meant to hear, yet making sure she could.

Poppy stared blankly at the man; trying to look Danish and like her English wasn’t too great.

‘That’s a nightmare. Makes you proud to be British, doesn’t it?’ His sarcasm was well meant.

Miles smiled at him, ‘Absolutely. It was a really horrid
experience
for her.’

‘Well, I guess if it’s already been covered and she is with you, sir, then it should be fine. I will just check the manifest, if that’s OK.’

‘Yes, yes of course.’ Miles smiled at Poppy and then at the guard, who disappeared to check the flight manifest and was reassured to see the name Nina Folkstok on the list, nestled between Mike Fisher and Nick Foster.

He returned satisfied. ‘Tell her she is clear to go through as long as she can get me Peter Schmeichel’s autograph. I’m Man U through and through!’ He smiled then, happy to show that he was far from ignorant, he knew someone from Denmark, even if he couldn’t have told you where it was on a map.

Miles turned to Poppy. ‘Você gosta de microplaquetas ou de salada, Peter Schmeichel?’

Poppy smiled and laughed, nodding her head at the security guard. Miles laughed as well a little too loudly. It was some time before she learnt that he had asked her if she wanted chips or salad, in Portuguese.

The partners in crime went through and sat on more plastic chairs bolted to the ground. There had been little problem for Poppy, the impostor, gaining entry into this secure and sensitive environment amongst hundreds of servicemen and their weapons unchecked and uncleared, but God forbid they might try to move a chair.

Jason approached them before they had a chance to confer. ‘Aha! Aren’t you the award-winning journalist Miles Varrasso? Confidant of some of the world’s baddest baddies and expert at writing foolproof copy while a sniper is trained on your arse?’

‘You are a funny guy, Jase, leave us alone.’

‘Ah! It all becomes horribly clear – leave US alone! Miles, you dark horse, and there was me thinking that you batted for the other side.’

‘Jesus, you are incredible. Just because some of us prefer our sleep to going out wherever we are in the world and scoring, does not make me gay.’

‘You’re right, that was a bad thing for me to have said,
especially
in front of Freckles, but you really don’t have to call me Jesus, “sir” is fine.’

‘Piss off, Jason, please.’

‘OK. I am pissing off but bagsy sit next to you on the plane!’ Jason skipped away from them.

Poppy was unsure what to make of the whole encounter.

‘He is an acquired taste, like anchovies.’

‘I’ve never had anchovies.’

Miles looked at Poppy as though it was the most shocking thing that he had heard. Forget the fact that she was illegally schlepping out to Afghanistan under a false identity to try and bring her captive husband home. Never had anchovies? My God! They were from different worlds.

Poppy decided to give him another shock. ‘I’ve never flown on a plane before either.’

He continued to stare at her, but his expression didn’t look quite as critical as it had at her anchovy revelation. ‘There is nothing to it, you just sit back and someone else does all the work. Before you know it, you are right where you expected to be and how you got there is forgotten. Besides, I will be with you and there is nothing to worry about.’ He pushed his glasses up further onto his nose and smiled at her. He reminded Poppy of a calm and interested teacher, a bit like Nicholas Nickleby, a righter of wrongs, the voice of the underdog. Was that what she was; the underdog? A cause? She smiled, knowing that she was both.

When they finally boarded, Poppy felt a flutter of
excitement
, she had almost done it! She was going to get Martin; she would bring her husband home. The first plane was a regular civilian passenger jet, like any that she had seen on TV, and Miles was right, the actual flying wasn’t too bad. The noise of take-off unnerved her but everyone else’s calm demeanour was infectious.

Within minutes of the plane lifting from the tarmac, Poppy fell into a deep sleep. It was a combination of exhaustion, nerves and an instinctive sense that this was to be one of the last sound sleeps that she would have for a while. She slept through both the food and movie. Miles gently shook her as the plane approached Kuwait, where they were to get their connecting flight. There would be no food, movie or sleeping on this one.