Poppy had always felt responsible for her mum’s death. Although she had difficulty remembering details of her mum’s face - the exact shade of her green eyes, the curve of her smile - she had regular flashbacks to the accident in which every agonizing moment played out in her head.
They were walking home from school one bitterly cold afternoon not long after the snowman photo had been taken. Poppy’s right hand was clasped safely in her mum’s and in her left she held her beloved stuffed rabbit, Ears. They had crossed the main road at the top of their road when Poppy realised she’d dropped the rabbit. She slipped like an eel out of her mum’s grasp and darted back into the road to rescue him. Her mum turned and screamed, “Poppy, no!” and ran towards her. Poppy could still remember the look of absolute terror on Isobel’s face when she saw a speeding car bearing down on them.
The next few minutes were a blur of disjointed sounds and images. The sickening squeal of brakes as the car shuddered to a halt. A flash of red as her mum was thrown over the bonnet. Howls from the young driver as he realised what he’d done. The screech of sirens as police cars and an ambulance arrived.
Poppy saw her four-year-old self standing at the edge of the road, clutching Ears to her chest, not understanding what had happened. Her mum was lying on the pavement a few feet away. She had run over and tried to shake her awake. But her mum hadn’t moved.
“She’s sleeping,” Poppy told the paramedics over and over again. They gently lifted Isobel onto a stretcher and covered her face with a blanket. Poppy pulled the blanket off. “Don’t do that. She won’t be able to breathe.”
A group of mums and children stood silently watching the paramedics lift the stretcher into the ambulance. A familiar figure burst through them and gathered Poppy into her arms. It was Sarah, Hannah’s mum. They usually walked home together, the four of them, but that day Sarah had stopped to speak to one of the teachers about a school trip.
“Where are they taking my mummy?” Poppy asked her.
Sarah’s face was wet with tears. “Oh, my darling. Mummy’s badly hurt. They’ve got to take her to hospital. You can come home with us and I’ll phone your daddy.”
For once Scarlett was silent as Poppy recounted the events of that day.
“I still thought she would be OK,” Poppy remembered. “No-one told me what had really happened. My dad was in Iraq at the time and it was two days before they could find the Army unit he was based with and tell him about the accident. He flew straight home but it felt like ages before he got back.”
Isobel had taken the full force of the impact protecting Poppy from the car. Countless well-meaning bereavement counsellors had told Poppy over the following months that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t believe any of them.
“After all, if I hadn’t run into the road my mum wouldn’t have died, would she?” Poppy said flatly.
Scarlett didn’t know how to answer so tried to change the subject. “How did your dad meet Caroline?”
Poppy gazed towards the moor. “He refused to go abroad for the first year after mum died so he could be at home for me. I had a childminder called Shirley who looked after me before and after school and in the holidays, but Dad was home every night. Then Caroline started working at the BBC. He said they became friends first and then he realised he was falling in love.” Poppy pulled a face. “He started inviting her around to our house. She tried to be friendly, but she wasn’t mum. I hated seeing them together. One day he picked me up from school, took me to our favourite cafe, bought me a milkshake and told me he had some ‘exciting’ news. Caroline was having a baby and he’d asked her to marry him.”
At Caroline’s insistence Poppy had been the bridesmaid at their wedding. Dressed from head to toe in cream silk to match Caroline’s elegant wedding dress, Poppy had spent the entire day missing her mum while all around her were smiling and celebrating her dad’s second chance at happiness.
“Then Charlie was born, Caroline gave up work to be at home with us and my dad started going away for work again. I always felt like the odd one out but when it was just the three of us it was even worse. Luckily there was always Hannah.”
“She was your best friend in Twickenham?” Scarlett asked, trying not to feel jealous. “Does she ride?”
Poppy laughed, “No, horses are far too muddy and she’d hate mucking out. She hasn’t even got a pair of wellies. Hannah’s ambition is to win X-Factor. But we’ve been best friends since forever.” The last remark was more to convince herself than Scarlett. Poppy had emailed Hannah once or twice a week since the move to Riverdale but whereas her emails were filled with the exploits of Flynn, Blaze and Chester, walks on the moor with Scarlett and Charlie and updates on the house and Caroline’s fledgling vegetable patch, Hannah talked about clothes she had bought, music she was listening to and her new group of friends. As the days flew by they grew further and further apart. Poppy supposed it was bound to happen.
She glanced at Scarlett, who was chewing on a piece of grass. Bubbly, generous Scarlett, who had welcomed her into her life with open arms. Poppy felt lucky to have found such a good friend.
“To be honest, I have much more in common with you than I do with Hannah these days. At least we’re as pony-mad as each other. And you don’t want to be a pop star, do you?”
Scarlett grinned and shook her head vehemently. “I can’t imagine anything worse. I’d love to win Badminton maybe, but not X-Factor.” Her face became solemn and she said quietly, “Thank you for telling me about your mum, Poppy. I’m so sorry about what happened. But you really mustn’t blame yourself. It was the driver’s fault, not yours.”
Poppy looked unconvinced. But Scarlett’s next words threw her completely.
“Caroline does love you, you know. It’s completely obvious to me. Surely you can see it too?”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree there. She puts up with me because she has to. No more than that.”