LATE RECONCILIATION.
Poppy, is that you? a young woman calls, turning her head to the right where a familiar voice comes from.
Violet? How long has it been? Seven, maybe eight years? Poppy replies, her face lighting up.
Nine years, dear, nine. Time fliesone blink and youre suddenly an old, nagging aunt with a heap of medical bills, Violet says, squinting cunningly with her left eye. Remember how we used to set the school desk on fire? We always sat together, the Siamese twins of the class. We begged our parents for matching dresses, bags, diaries. Do you recall?
Of course I do, how could I forget! And the time we painted the toilet wall on the ground floor of the primary school? We got caught scrubbing it off. Youll never turn into a grumpy, oldfashioned granny lecturing the youth about the good old days. Look at you nowglowing! Poppy says, admiring her old school friends outfit.
Anyway, Poppy, Im staying with my parents for a few days while my husbands away on business. Im coming over tonight. Dont even think about saying no. You still remember my parents address, right? Violet embraces Poppy, fixing her hair.
No, I havent forgotten. How could I forget the house that always welcomed me? The flat we almost burned while experimenting in the kitchen? Those cherry pies that always burned, the cherry juice spilling everywhere, leaving the pastry black as coal.
Their school friends fall silent, recalling the amusing mishaps of their childhood.
Of course Ill come, Poppy breaks the pause. And your favourite Napoleon cake? Still a favorite? What wine do you prefer? Lets not go back to that cheap stuff we drank in Year Elevenremember the three days of nausea and the classes we skipped?
Im drinking Bollinger now. I already have a bottle ready for you, Violet checks her watch.
Got it, Vee.
My mum and dad will be thrilled to see you. They were just talking about you yesterday. Well have a proper chat Violet sings a tonguetwister, and I must dash now. Dont forget, seven oclock sharp. I cant wait for the evening.
Im looking forward to it. See you soon!
Violet disappears into the crowd, and Poppy hurries to the supermarket for a cake. She still has to ask the childrens sitout. Mike will look after the kids, she thinks, and she wonders what to do with the missing pieces of memoryperhaps its better theyre gone.
Come in, love, dont be shy, Mrs. Thompson calls from the hallway, letting Poppy into the living room.
The dining room table still bears a crisp white linen, starched napkins, and polished pewter cutlery, evoking Poppys carefree childhood. A German porcelain tea set called Madonna sits in its usual spot, reminding her of happy youthful days. She longs to sit with Violet, laughing like schoolgirls, spilling gossip about boyfriends on the foldout sofa. The same table once hosted exam prep, formulas stacked in columns, hyperbolas and parallelepipeds sketched in notebooks, essays exchanged.
Smiling, Violet extends her hand to Peter Thompson, who, ever the gentleman, calls her beauty and kisses her hand, much to Poppys embarrassment.
After a glass of wine and a slice of cake, Peter and Mrs. Thompson ask about the children, then excuse themselves, leaving the girls alone.
Delicacy and tactthats what Violets parents are known for, Poppy thinks.
Finally, we can gossip like old times, Violet says, placing a halffilled wine glass on the table.
Poppy tells her that she and her husband moved to London three years ago, bought a flat, her husband works as a solicitor, she teaches maths at a state school. Their son, Jack, is in Year Two and now stays with his grandparents, the Russells. Hes a curious little devil, she jokes, then asks about Violets life.
Violet relaxes, eyes flicking to Poppy. Im a housewife, honestly, cleaning for wealthy families three times a week. Mike works as a train driver. Our daughter, Sophie, is six; little Lily is five. They go to nursery and take dance lessons at the community centre.
Remember when we dreamed of marrying pilots and studying at a university with an airforce college? Violet laughs.
And we thought thirtyyearold men were old men, didnt we? Poppy replies.
Yes, golden days! Big plans, pinktinted glasses even if you have a sevenfoot forehead, it doesnt mean youre always on top of the world, Violet muses.
Violet, have you seen Andrew lately? Talked to him? Poppys blue eyes search.
Lets not. I dont want to discuss it; my memory of those days is hazy. I meet Andrew only by accident, like two strangers passing each other.
Alright, lets change the subject.
The conversation fizzles, and Poppy prepares to leave.
In the taxi, memories long buried start to surface, fragments of a past she wishes to forget. Her heart races, cheeks flush, fingers grow icecold.
Are you alright? the driver asks.
Could you drive faster? I need to get home urgently, Poppy says.
In the twentyminute ride, she reassembles most of the missing puzzle, except a few pieces.
She envisions a childhood bedroom: actor photos glued to the walls, a piano, a collection of porcelain dolls in ballroom dresses, an open book on the desk. She sits on the bed, cutting her pristine wedding dress into tiny strips with nail scissors. Sparkling sequins scatter, the veil shredded, flowers torn, shoes smashed, perfume bottle smashed with a hammer. The room smells of cinnamon, rosemary, and faint jasmine. She destroys everything that ties her to Andrew.
Her gaze lands on a velvet jewelry box. Without hesitation she snatches it, finds two gold wedding bands inside, engraved with forever. She grabs a heavy axe from the pantry, crushes the rings into a flat lump of yellow metal.
She then slashes her long blonde hair with scissors, her mother walking in just then.
The wedding wont happen. Its best we part, Andrews voice echoes from a phone call three days before the ceremony. She remembers his words vividly.
She steps out of the car at her block and sees a dark male silhouette.
Who could that be? Andrew? she wonders two unexpected meetings in one day. Coincidence?
Good evening, Poppy! Please, hear me out! the ghost of the past pleads.
Im not thrilled to see you, Andrew, but you have five minutes. The clock is ticking, Poppy says, voice firm. Even those sentenced to death get a final word.
A streetlamp flickers, revealing Andrews nervous face.
Poppy, Im sorry. Ive regretted what I did a hundred times. I was scared like a child. I was twentyeight then, you were twenty. Id had a failed marriage, my wifes betrayal. I didnt want to be a joke again. You were so naive, didnt know life. Yet I loved you, still love you. I was a coward. He reaches for her hands.
Dont, Poppy pulls away, the allotted time slipping. What else do you want?
I talked to Violet. I told her everything and asked her to speak to you. She promised to let me know if you still love me, hoping Id get another chance.
Minus one, Poppy mutters.
What?
Minus her. I didnt expect that betrayal, Andrew scoffs. You have no chance. Move on. Poppy pushes him away.
Wait, I havent finished. I didnt know anything. After our talk I fled to the hills and turned off my phone.
Andrews hand brushes the scar on Poppys forearm. She jerks it away.
Dont you dare! she hisses.
Images swirl in her mind like a kaleidoscope. The missing pieces fall into place; her memory snaps back.
Your family threatened to kill me if I came near you. I promised Id stay out of your life, Andrew continues. I stood by your hospital window when you were on an IV, two weeks in intensive care. I never meant to hurt you. I have money now, I can give you and your children everything.
A quiet night hums with insects. Suddenly, a bathroom door bursts open. Poppy finds herself in a tub of hot red water, blood streaming from a slit on her left hand. She feels the urge to sleep and closes her eyes.
A terrified scream wakes her. Her fathers pale face, now with grey hair, looms above her.
Girl, what have you done?
She vaguely recalls a whitepainted hospital ceiling, a tightly bandaged arm, a soul in agony. She spends three and a half months in the ward, then returns home as the first snow falls, supported by her parents.
Her hand heals, but a part of her dies forever. The drugs that dulled her pain turned her into a walking husk; they erased the memories that made her who she was.
Years later, working as a supermarket cashier, she meets Michael. His love heals her wounded heart and reignites her will to live. They marry, and life seems to settle.
Wait a minute, Poppy says to Andrew, rushing into the stairwell. She grabs a dusty box from the deepest shelf of the storage room.
Here, she hands him the old jewellery box she found under the bathroom after her parents moved. Its all thats left of your endless love. Keep it forever.
Andrew opens it; two shattered rings lie inside. An old melody plays in his mind:
Wedding band, not just a trinket, two hearts, one decision
Clutching the broken symbols of his past happiness, Andrew stands beneath the dim street lamp, the night pressing around him.
