Poppy Day (35 page)

The next voice that he heard wasn’t Poppy’s; it was his own, ‘What did you do?’

Poppy lifted her head and looked into her husband’s eyes. She tried to find the words to tell him that another man had touched her skin, kissed her neck and seen her naked. Her heart felt like it would break in two, at the damage that she was about to inflict. ‘Mart… Mart…’

Martin heard his name, it sounded as though she was begging him to understand, but he couldn’t understand because she hadn’t told him anything. He went back to the words he had used earlier. The dictionary in his head had dried up, he couldn’t think of how to phrase want he wanted to say, so he repeated, ‘Tell me, Poppy, and tell me now.’

Poppy knew that she had to; she knew she had to tell him the secret that was destroying them both. She exhaled slowly and stopped crying instantly as though someone had figured out how to turn the tap off. She sounded calm, in control. ‘I didn’t want to do it, Mart. I want you to know that I didn’t have any choice, no choice at all. I also want to tell you that I love you very much, I always have and I always will. It has always been you, Mart, always you and only you, you know that, don’t you?’

Martin tried to guess what was going to come next: ‘but I have changed my mind and I want my freedom’ or ‘having had the chance to travel and have an adventure by myself, I want to do some more, I am leaving you…’ His heart leapt in
anticipation
of all the terrible possibilities. He was absolutely transfixed by her mouth, watching it quiver with emotion, listening to the syllables that would tear him in half.

What came next did tear him in half, but it wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. He stared at her though his eyes were screwed almost shut, his mouth twisted into a pre-crying pose, waiting for her to deliver the words, permission for the distress to start. She didn’t keep him waiting too long. ‘Zelgai made me spend the night with him and in exchange he set you free and he set me free.’ Her voice was cracked and wavering. It was a strange voice that she hadn’t used before, the result of trying to speak when her vocal chords and every muscle in her body were pulled taut with fear and anticipation.

Questions flew around his mind, stupid, naive questions that found their way out of his mouth, none of them logical. ‘You spent the night with him where? What did you do? Where was I? Did he touch you?’

He fired questions one after another. Poppy knew that he wasn’t grasping the reality of what she was trying to say, the facts wouldn’t sink into his mind and become truth.

She made it clear for him. She wanted to spare herself the horror of having to slowly explore each aspect, figuring it was better to say it out loud and be specific, rather than answer one question after another until the details had been wrung from her. ‘Pretty soon after we arrived at the house, they sent Miles away and I thought they were going to kill him. Zelgai told me that you were in the house and that he would set you free. I was so happy, Mart, and so grateful, I even said thank you! But it was a trick, he let me show him how happy I was that you were to be set free, then he told me that if I didn’t sleep with him he would kill us both. He told me how he would do it and it was… horrible, terrible, even the idea of it was terrifying. I had no choice and that is why I am so bloody stupid, because I walked into that house completely innocent, thinking I could appeal to his better nature. He made me have sex with him, Mart! You know how I can’t stand anyone to touch me! He touched me and I can still feel his vile beard against my skin, no matter how much I scrub myself. I can still smell his breath just before I fall asleep. It was the worst thing that I could ever have imagined, Mart, but I didn’t imagine it, it really
happened
! It happened to me!’

She was screaming at him, talking too quickly for it to make a lot of sense. He sat looking at her with tears pouring down his face, his arms around his body. He looked like the Martin that she knew when he was a little boy. She wanted his arms around her, needed him to put his arms around her and tell her it was all over and it would be OK, he was taking her home and they would start over… But he didn’t.

Martin could hear what she was saying, but it didn’t make any sense to him. It was like watching TV when the words and pictures are out of sync and you have to concentrate on making it all match up. She was talking too quickly for him to take it in. There were two facts that swirled around, settling on every surface of his brain: ‘He told me that you were in the house’ and ‘He made me have sex with him.’

It was all he needed.

Martin cast his mind back to the day before his release. He had been dozing on the mattress when the door opened and in walked his old friend Man U. He was, of course, pleased to see him. He was always pleased to see him, someone familiar and friendly. Martin knew that he would never forget his small kindnesses that made the biggest of differences to him.

He was beaming as usual. Martin could always tell when he had brought him something, or had something really urgent to tell him; well, to try and tell him. This was one of those times. He bent over; a bit too close, personal space wasn’t his
speciality
. He said, ‘David Beckham.’

Martin nodded, ‘Yes, David Beckham!’ knowing that this could mean anything from soldier, to man, or footballer, or English, or any other number of bloke-associated words. It was what came next that now resonated.

‘Victoria Beckham!’ Man U pointed at the wall over his head.

Without really knowing what he was getting at, Martin repeated, ‘Ah yes, Victoria Beckham!’

Man U was practically jumping up and down, he was really agitated. ‘Victoria Beckham! Victoria Beckham!’ Again he was pointing at the wall and then the window.

Martin smiled and nodded. Man U seemed satisfied, but the reality of what he was trying to say only dawned on him now. He was trying to tell him that David Beckham’s wife was in the house; only David Beckham was him and it wasn’t Victoria, but his wife, his Poppy Day. She was bricks away, feet away and he didn’t know. He didn’t know that she…

Poppy and Martin had been brought up surrounded by sex: her mum, always catching up on it with any bloke that she could get to hang around for longer than five minutes; the kids on the estate laughed about it; the boys at school bragged about it, some of them even practised it. Their attitude, however, was prudish. A lack of liberalism meant that for Martin and Poppy, it was only ever each other. It was important that no other hand had touched his skin, no other eyes seen her naked. It was part of their commitment and a big part of what made them special.

On the day that Poppy became his wife he felt a shift in his world. He stood on the steps vacated by Courtney and her brood, looking at his mum and dad, who hovered on the edge of the crowd, not wanting to join in. The sour twist to his mum’s mouth told him that she wasn’t impressed with the day or her son’s choice of wife. He didn’t care; he knew the reality of his parents’ life. What he and Poppy shared was beyond comparison, thank God. Martin felt a surge of joy as he held the hand of this woman that wasn’t his mate, girlfriend or fiancée; she was his wife, the most amazing girl on the planet.

Yet, he had been in the house, lying on that bed, beaten and captive, while his wife had been under that same roof, a few metres away, having sex with the man that had kidnapped him; the man that had taken away his normal life; the man that had beheaded Joel’s dad.

The tears streamed down his face. He had never cried such desperate tears in his whole life. ‘No, no…’ he whimpered over and over as if, by saying it enough, he could erase it from his mind and make it all go away. Nothing that he had been through could have prepared him for the pain of her words. Poppy and he had only had each other; it was sacred, special.

She tried to reach out and touch him. He shrugged and flinched simultaneously at the very thought of their skin making contact. This made her stomach flip; she had to
concentrate
on not being sick. She tried to talk to him, tried to make him focus on her. ‘I did it for you, Mart. I did it for us. I pulled on my heartstrings as hard as I could, but nothing
happened
. I tried, Mart, I really did. I pulled and pulled, but you didn’t come! I wanted you home and that was the price that I had to pay, I paid it, Mart! I am still paying it! Mart, please talk to me, baby!’

Then he started laughing and Poppy didn’t know what to say or how to act. He thought again about Man U and how it hadn’t made any sense to him at the time, but it was now crystal clear, they had all known about it. His wife was in the next room with that bastard while he was lying there, his own fucking wife! He laughed because it was so horrendous, that if he hadn’t laughed, then he honestly didn’t know what he would have done. He thought about when she came to him that morning. He thought she was a dream, his angel, his beautiful Poppy Day and she had only minutes before left the bed… where she, where she had…

Martin tore around the room like a crazed thing, ignoring the pain in his ribs and the throb of his broken finger, shoving his possessions into a carrier bag and putting on his shoes. Poppy tried to get hold of him at one point, tried to physically stop him from leaving, but he made a noise not dissimilar to a growl, it was just like a growl. She shrank back on the bed. He left, crying and muttering to himself, as if consumed by madness. It was frightening and upsetting all at the same time.

Poppy didn’t know how long she sat in that same position on that massive six hundred quid a night bed after he had gone. It was about two hours. She kept repeating the same logical argument in her head over and over, ‘What had been the point? I did what I thought was best to get him home because I love him so much. I did what I had to do because I had no choice. It was the only way to secure his freedom and because of that I have lost him. It’s all been for nothing, it’s destroyed us.’ It was poetic, ironic and very sad.

Martin hailed a cab; breathing deeply he fought to control the rage inside him, the like of which he had never experienced.

The phone rang, stirring Poppy into action, rousing her from her stupor. She thought it might have been Martin, she hoped it was Martin. It wasn’t.

‘Car is ready and waiting for you, madam, come on down!’

‘Oh Rob…’ she cried into the receiver, there was no need to say anything else. He was in the room within what felt like seconds. He was suited, booted and obviously ready for the big day out. Poppy was sitting in her nightie with her hair still wet in places, no make-up, and her face streaked with tears. ‘He’s gone.’

Rob sat on the end of the bed. He didn’t get angry or remind her that she was supposed to be hosting a press conference. It didn’t matter to him that in an hour or so she would be keeping the foreign secretary waiting. He didn’t mention any of it. He exhaled slowly as though they had all the time in the world. He took his hat off and raked his hair with his fingers.

‘He’ll come back, Poppy, eventually.’

‘How long is eventually?’

He didn’t lie to her, or make some crappy comment that might have made her feel a little bit better for a little while. Instead he was honest, as she knew that he would be, as he always had been. ‘I don’t know, love, but I suspect that he doesn’t either. Neither you nor I can begin to understand what he has been through. The few people that I know that have been through similar or worse have come back changed, if they come back at all.’

Poppy knew that he was talking about Aaron.

‘The thing is, Poppy, Martin will be as confused as you are. There is no right way to cope with what has happened to him. He will have to figure it out in his own way and he will, eventually.’

‘There you go again with your “eventually’’.’

‘It’s the best I can offer, I’m afraid.’

His company and words were much appreciated, but she couldn’t see a glimmer of hope or a light at the end of any tunnel. She saw a black hole and everything she had counted on and thought that she knew was disappearing into it.

Martin sat with his hands clasped in the back of the taxi. His muscles bunched, his vision blurred. He had to get out of that room and away from her. He felt a mixture of fury and sadness. The only thing that he had ever been able to rely on had been taken from him. He had always felt like he and Poppy were in a little club, a team of two that no one else could touch. They lived in an impenetrable bubble; untouchable, unbreakable, he and Poppy Day.

Poppy was the one person in the whole world that he could trust. If you gave him a situation, any situation that you can think of, he would guarantee that he could predict how she would react, what she would do and say, how she would feel because he knew her. Or at least he thought he did.

He never would have thought or guessed that she… A small voice reminded him that she had no choice; that it was a matter of survival for them both and, of course, he believed her. It wasn’t a case of not believing her. He couldn’t imagine the
situation
that she was in, but he still felt really angry. Why did she put herself in that situation? Why didn’t she take greater care? Take more people with her? Anything! He couldn’t shake the thought that she could have done more, should have been more aware. If she hadn’t been so headstrong and impatient…

It was a dilemma that raged in his head. All the things that he loved most about her, her strong will, her toughness and the way that she would go for it, whatever ‘it’ was, were also the things that made him the most angry now. He wanted to shout at her ‘What the bloody hell were you thinking?’ He felt like a bastard because she had done it for him, for the love of him and yet, if he was being one hundred per cent honest, he looked at her after she had told him and he felt differently about her, not massively
different
, but a bit, enough. Martin couldn’t reconcile the fact that she had broken one of their rules, whether she wanted or not. Spiritually they had separated and he couldn’t see how they were going to repair the damage, or, even, if they could.