Poppy, come here, Ill put the socks in your backpack! Helens voice echoes through the flat, and Julia, sitting at the kitchen table, flinches, barely holding back a retort.
The sixteenyearold niece steps obediently into the doorway. Shes tall, lanky, with long arms that seem unsure where to go.
Mum, they promised itll be warm, Poppy says.
Promised! Helen snaps, as if the meteorologists have personally insulted her family. What if it turns cold? What if it rains? You cant look after yourselfyoull get sick.
Julia sips her bitter coffee, a habit that keeps her mouth busy so she doesnt blurt anything out. Shes watched this routine for three years and still cant get used to it. Poppy doesnt know how to start the washing machinenot because shes dim, but because her mother has never let her near any appliance. Youll break it, shed been warned. Youll flood the neighbours. It has complex programmes. The girl never takes out the rubbishHelen worries shell slip on the stairs or get bitten by a stray dog in the courtyard. She also isnt allowed to tidy her own roomyoull just spread the dust, not clean it.
Helen, shes sixteen. She can shove the socks in a backpack herself, Julia finally says.
Helen flicks a glance at her that could curdle the milk in the fridge.
Julia, you dont have children. You dont understand. The argument is as solid as a brick wall. Julia could protest that childlessness doesnt make her a fool, but she stays silent. Its pointless.
Poppy stands at the door, staring at the floor. Her face holds the same resigned, hopeless expression Julia once saw on shelter dogsa look that scares her more than anything.
That evening Julia calls her sister.
Helen, can Poppy stay over? I want to rewatch Harry Potter. Its lonely by myself. Helen freezes. In her mind, gears turn: What if she catches a cold on the way? What if the balcony is open? What if?
Fine, Helen finally concedes. But you take her home afterwards. You never know.
Its only forty metres from my flat to yours.
Julia!
Alright, alright. Ill see her out.
Half an hour later Poppy is perched on the tiny balcony of Helens flat, legs tucked under her. The balcony is cramped but cosyJulia has slipped a blanket, some cushions and a string of lights onto it. They never get around to turning the film on.
Poppy, could you put the kettle on? My stoves broken, the matches are in the cupboard! Julia asks, waiting for a response.
Poppy doesnt answer, and a uneasy suspicion curls in Julias mind.
Do you know how to use matches? she asks.
Poppy looks at her, and everything clicks.
Mum says Im not allowed to touch them. Besides, we have lighters.
Mum isnt here, so its time to learn!
The first three tries see Poppy snapping the matches in halftoo hard, too quick. On the fourth attempt a tiny flame flares, and Poppy watches it with the awe of someone whos just discovered fire.
Its normal, she stammers, searching for words. Julias heart clenches. Her sisters overprotectiveness keeps Poppy trapped in a cage.
A week later Helen panics on the phone.
Can you believe the schools sending the whole class to a threeday camp in the Lake District?
And what then? Julia switches to speakerphone, still typing a report. Shes working remotely, the deadline looming, while her sister drags in another crisis.
What about September? Itll be cold! Therell be drafts, cheap meals, and she could catch something!
Helen, shes sixteen. She has an immune system, a jacket, and a brainwhat else do you expect?
Very funny, Helen snaps, hurt. Im not letting her go.
Did you ask Poppy?
Silence.
Why? Im her mother. I know whats best.
Julia closes her laptop. Its useless to work when everything inside her is boiling.
Do you think she shouldnt talk to classmates? That she should stay home while everyone else gathers around a campfire, singing with guitars?
Campfires?! Helens voice trembles with genuine terror. There will be campfires?
Poppy never goes to the camp. Julia catches her that day in her room, scrolling through other students storiesphotos from the bus, silly faces, jokes. Poppy watches the phone screen, her face empty.
In March Poppy turns eighteen. Julia gifts her a small, bright orange backpack, cheeky and nothing like the drab satchels Helen approves.
Poppy forces a sad smile. In her eyes glint something Julia cant nameneither anger nor resentment, but a deep, boneweary fatigue of someone whos stopped fighting.
In May Julia rents a cottage in a village. Its tiny, wooden, with a sagging porch and an apple orchard. The internet works, and thats enough for her work.
I want Poppy to come with me, Julia tells her sister.
Helen nearly drops the frying pan.
All summer? In a village? There isnt even a proper doctor!
Its only a healthcentre and a halfhour drive to the town. Im not sending her into the wilderness.
What if a tick bites? What if she gets mushroom poisoning? What if
She wont eat mushrooms, Julia cuts in calmly. And Ill be there. Ill look after her. Promise.
It takes a week of pleading. Julia lists fresh air, peace, a break from city noise. Helen counters with lack of a decent pharmacy, questionable well water, village dogs. Poppy stays silent, having long stopped taking part in decisions about her own life.
Fine, Helen finally concedes. But call me every day. Photograph everything she eats. If her temperature rises, bring her straight home!
The list fills three pages of a notebook. Julia nods, writes it down, then tosses the notebook in the bin.
The cottage greets them with the scent of dry herbs and aged timber. Poppy stands in the yard, head tilted back, looking at the endless blue skyno skyscrapers in sight.
It feels empty here, she whispers.
Free, Julia corrects. Can you get the kettle going? The stoves gasthink you can manage?
Poppys face pales.
Yes!
The first week Julia teaches her the basics: loading the old washing machine that rattles like a plane taking off, folding laundry, cooking simple meals. Poppy makes mistakesburns the eggs, floods the floor, washes a white shirt with red socks. Yet each failure brings a new spark to her eyes, not desperation but excitement, a desire to try again.
I made rice myself! Poppy declares one morning, marching into the kitchen with a pot.
The rice is overcooked and clumped, but Poppy beams as if shed just won a Nobel prize.
Congratulations, Julia replies seriously. Now you could survive an apocalypse.
Poppy laughsa full, loud laugh, head thrown back. Julia cant remember the last time she heard it.
The village has about twenty residentsmostly retirees and a few families on holiday. Mrs. Zina, an elderly neighbour, takes Poppy under her wing and shows her how to milk a goat. Local lad Patch, Poppys age, drags her on fishing trips. Julia watches Poppy learn to speak to people directly, no longer hiding behind her mothers shadow, answering simple questions, meeting eyes, cracking jokes.
Midsummer, Julia lets Poppy walk to the shop aloneone and a half kilometres on a gravel road past a field of sunflowers.
What if I get lost? Poppy asks, curiosity, not fear, in her voice.
Theres only one road. You cant get lost, even if you tried.
An hour later Poppy returns with bread, milk, and a broad grin.
I made it, she says.
Wow, thats an achievement, Julia mutters, then hugs her tightly.
Three months rush by. Poppy now cooks five dishes, washes and irons, budgets her weekly spend. She joins the village kids at the river, helps Mrs. Zina weed the garden, reads on the porch until dark. Julia looks at her niece and sees a completely different personnot the hollow girl with vacant eyes.
Going home is hard. Helen opens the door, staring at Poppy as if shes returned from another planet.
Poppy? she asks, disbelief in her tone. You look tanned.
And I can make borscht, Poppy adds. Want me to cook it?
Helens eyes widen.
Borscht? You? Julia, what have you done to her?
The following weeks turn into a battle. Poppy decides to find a job. She sends CVs, attends interviews, answers recruiters calls. Helen paces the flat, clutching her chest, then her phone.
You dont need to work! I earn enough!
I need to, Mum, Poppy says calmly, not raising her voice. I want to be an adult.
Youre still a child!
Im eighteen.
Poppy lands a job as a barista in a small café near her new flat. Its nothing grand, but its a first step into independence.
From her first paycheck she starts saving. Three months later she sits at Julias kitchen, browsing rental ads.
This one looks decent, she points at the screen. A studio, close to work, cheap.
Your mother will hate it, Julia warns.
I know.
Shell curse me, Julia smiles despite herself.
I know that too, Poppy replies, eyes flashing with resolve she never had before. But Im tired, Aunt Julia. She still checks if Ive turned off the bathroom light. Im eighteen, and Im answering for myself now.
Julia nods.
Then lets go see it.
Helen screams for hours, accusing Julia of ruining her summer, of filling Poppys head with nonsense, of destroying the family.
Julia, she says after a pause, I only tried to protect her.
I taught her to live, Julia replies, calm. What you should have done, but were too scared to.
Scared? I was protecting her!
You were sheltering her, Julia says without anger, just stating facts. Your fear locked Poppy inside these walls.
Helen collapses into a chair, her face turning ashen.
Shes my daughter, she whispers.
Shes an adult now. She wants to see what life looks like beyond your fears.
Poppy moves in early December. The flat is tiny, low ceilings, creaky floors, but she darts around, rearranging furniture with the excitement of someone entering a palace.
Look, she opens the fridge, I bought the groceries myself! I even hung the curtainscrooked, but Ill fix them.
Julia stands in the doorway, smiling. Her girlawkward, inexperienced, wonderfulfinally breathes freely.
Thanks, Poppy says that evening over tea in her new kitchen. For the matches, for the village, for everything.
You did nothing special, Julia replies.
You set me free. Poppys smile widens.
Julia squeezes Poppys hand, feeling the future pulse between them.
