During dinner, my daughter slipped a tiny folded note onto the table, almost invisible. Pretend youre ill and get out of here, it read in her familiar looping script.
When I unfolded the crumpled scrap, the five words struck me like a cold wind: Pretend youre ill and leave. I stared at her, bewildered, and she shook her head frantically, eyes begging me to trust her. Only later did the meaning settle over me.
The morning had begun like any other in our semirural house on the edge of Surrey. It had been just over two years since I married Richard, a charismatic entrepreneur Id met after my divorce. To the outside world we seemed flawless: a cosy bungalow, a healthy balance in the bank, and my daughter Poppy finally anchored in steadiness. Poppy, fourteen, was the quiet type, a keen observer who soaked up everything around her like a sponge. At first shed clashed with Richard, as stepchildren often do, but time had smoothed the edgesso I thought.
That Saturday, Richard was hosting a brunch for his business partners. He wanted to showcase the upcoming expansion of his firm, and he was jittery about making a good impression. I spent the week polishing every detail, from the menu to the smallest decorative flourish.
I was finishing a salad in the kitchen when Poppy appeared, face pale, eyes flickering with something I couldnt nametension, fear.
Mum, she whispered, sidling up as if trying to disappear, I need to show you something in my room.
Richard swept into the kitchen at that moment, adjusting his tie with his usual meticulousness. Whats all this lowvoiced whispering? he asked, smiling without his eyes joining in.
Nothing, I replied automatically. Poppy just wants help with some schoolwork.
Make it quick, he said, glancing at his watch. The guests arrive in thirty minutes and I need you by my side.
I nodded and followed my daughter down the hallway. The moment we entered her bedroom, she slammed the door shut with a sudden, almost violent snap. Whats wrong, love? Youre scaring me, I said.
Poppy didnt answer. She slid a small piece of paper from her desk into my hands, eyes darting toward the doorway. I unfolded it and read the hurried scrawl: Pretend youre ill and go now.
Poppy, what sort of joke is this? I asked, irritation bubbling beneath my confusion. We dont have time for games with guests on the way.
Its not a joke, she whispered, voice barely audible. Please, Mum, trust me. You have to leave this house this instant. Make up any excuse. Say you feel sick and get out.
The desperation in her gaze froze me. In all my years of motherhood I had never seen my child this serious, this frightened. Poppy, youre alarming me. Whats happening?
She glanced toward the door as if fearing eavesdroppers. I cant explain now. I promise Ill tell you everything later. Just trust me, please.
Before I could protest, footsteps echoed down the hall. The door knob turned and Richard appeared, his face edged with irritation. Whats taking you two so long? The first guest just arrived.
I looked at my daughter, her eyes pleading in silent desperation. On a sudden impulse I chose to believe her. Im sorry, Richard, I said, pressing a hand to my forehead. Im feeling suddenly lightheaded. I think a migraine is coming on.
Richards brow furrowed, eyes narrowing. Now, Helen? You were perfectly fine a moment ago.
I know. It just hit me, I murmured, trying to look convincingly ill. Ill take a pill and lie down for a bit.
A tense pause stretched, then the doorbell rang, pulling Richard away. Fine, but try to join us as soon as you can, he said, heading toward the sitting room.
When the house was alone again, Poppy clutched my hands. Youre not going to lie down. We have to leave now. Say you need to get to the chemist for something stronger. Ill go with you.
This is absurd. I cant abandon the guests, I protested.
Mum, please, she pleaded, voice trembling. Its not a game. Its your life.
Her fear was raw, slicing through my composure. What could frighten my child so much? What did she know that I didnt? I snatched my purse and car keys. We found Richard chatting cheerfully with two suited men in the lounge.
Richard, excuse me, I interjected, my headache is getting worse. Im going to the chemist, Poppy is coming with me.
His smile faltered for a heartbeat before he turned back to the guests with a resigned sigh. My wife isnt feeling well. Well be back soon, he said, his tone casual but his eyes unreadable.
In the car, Poppys hands trembled on the steering wheel. Drive, Mum. Get far away. Ill explain everything on the way.
I slammed the engine, a swirl of questions flooding my mind. What could be so grave? As she spoke, my world tipped.
Richard is trying to kill you, Mum, she sobbed, voice cracking. I heard him on the phone last night, talking about putting poison in your tea.
I braked hard, nearly colliding with a lorry at a red light. My breath caught, my throat clamped shut. Her words sounded ripped from a cheap thriller.
Whats this, Poppy? Thats not funny, I managed, voice thin.
Would I joke about that? she cried, eyes wet, face twisted between terror and fury. I heard everything, Mum. Everything.
A car behind us honked, and the traffic light turned green. I accelerated, aimless, just to get away. Tell me exactly what you heard, I demanded, heart hammering against my ribs like a caged animal.
She inhaled deeply, then began. Last night I went down for a drink of water. It was about two in the morning. Richards office door was ajar, light spilling out. He was on the phone, whispering. At first I thought he was talking business, but then he said my name. He paused, gathering courage. He said, Everythings set for tomorrow. Helen will take the tea as always at the event. Itll look like a heart attack. Make sure its foolproof. Then he laughed, as if talking about the weather.
My grip on the steering wheel whitened. It could not be true. Richard, the man I shared a bed with, plotting my death? Maybe you misheard, I suggested, clinging to any rational explanation. Maybe it was another Helen, or a metaphor about the deal.
No, Poppy shook her head vehemently. He was talking about you, about todays brunch. He said if you were out of the way hed have full access to the lifeinsurance payout and the house. He even mentioned my name, saying hed take care of me one way or another.
A chill ran down my spine. How could the man whod seemed so caring be so cold? Why would he do that? I whispered, more to myself than to her.
The lifeinsurance, Mum. The £800,000 policy you two took out six months ago. Remember? Poppy reminded me.
The punch landed hard. The policyhed insisted it was for my protection. In this new, sinister light it felt like a trap.
Theres more, she continued, voice barely a whisper. After he hung up, he went through a stack of papers. I waited until he left, then slipped into the office. I found documents about his debtsmassive debts. The company is near bankruptcy.
I pulled the car to the curb, unable to drive further. Richard bankrupt? How had I not known?
I also found this, Poppy said, pulling a folded slip from her pocket. Its an extract from another bank account in his name. Hes been siphoning small amounts for months, keeping it under the radar.
I took the paper with shaking hands. It was truea secret account, money from the sale of my parents flat, my own cash. Richard had been stealing from me for months, and now he decided I was worth more dead than alive.
God, I whispered, nauseous. How could I have been so blind?
Poppy placed her hand over mine, a surprisingly mature gesture. Its not your fault, Mum. He fooled everyone.
A dreadful thought struck me. Poppy, did you take those documents from his office? What if he notices theyre missing? I asked, panic rising.
I photographed them and put everything back. He wont notice, she replied, though doubt lingered in her eyes. Richard was meticulous.
We need to call the police, I decided, reaching for my phone.
What for? Poppy asked. Hell say Im making it up. We have no proof, just his word against ours.
She was right. It was our word against a respectable businessman. As we weighed options, my phone buzzed. A message from Richard: Where are you? The guests are asking for you. It felt absurdly normal.
What now? Poppy asked, voice shaking.
We couldnt go back home. It was clear we had to disappear, but Richard had resources. He would find us.
First we need solid evidence, I said, steadying myself. Something he cant brush off.
The substance he planned to use today, Poppy suggested. My mind raced, daring and desperate, but a cold anger steadied me. We had to act, and fast.
We leave, I announced, turning the key in the ignition.
What? Mum, youre crazy! Hell kill us! Poppy screamed.
If I get to him first, maybe not, I replied, surprised by my own resolve. Think, Poppy. If we run now without proof, hell say I had a nervous breakdown and fled. Hell find us and well be even more vulnerable. I spun toward the house. We need undeniable proof. The poison he intends to use is our best card.
Poppy stared, a mix of dread and admiration in her eyes. How do we get it without him noticing?
Well keep up the act. Ill say Im off to the chemist, take a painkiller, feel a bit better. Youll stay in your room, pretending youre ill too. While I distract Richard and the guests, youll search the office.
She nodded slowly, determined. What if he catches me?
Ill send you a text with the word now. If I get it, Ill make up an excuse and well leave immediately. If you find something, photograph it, but dont take anything.
The car pulled up in front of the bungalow. More cars were parked; the guests had arrived. The hallway buzzed with chatter as we entered. Richard stood in the centre of the lounge, entertaining the group. When he saw us, his smile flickered.
Ah, youre back, he said, wrapping an arm around my waist. Feeling any better, love?
Better, I managed, forcing a smile. The medicine is kicking in.
Good, he turned to Poppy. You look pale, sweetheart.
I have a headache too, Poppy whispered, playing her part perfectly. I think Ill go to bed.
Of course, Richard said, feigning concern. He guided me to a glass of water, which I declined, citing the migraine. No tea today, Im avoiding caffeine.
A brief shadow crossed his eyes, then vanished, replaced by his usual charm. As he led me among the guests, I kept a tight smile, my nerves taut. Every touch on my arm felt like a hidden threat. I checked my phoneno message yet.
Twenty minutes later, while Richard chatted with a couple, my phone vibrated. A single word glowed on the screen: now.
Cold blood rushed through me. We had to leave at once. Excuse us, I said to the group, smiling strained. I need to check on Poppy. Before Richard could protest, I rushed up the stairs.
In Poppys room she lay as white as paper. Its coming, she whispered, grabbing my arm. I saw him go in the office. I found a tiny bottle, unlabelled, hidden in a drawer. I took photos.
We heard footsteps. Richards voice called, Helen? Poppy? Are you in there?
Poppy and I exchanged a frantic glance. The window overlooked the back garden, but we were on the second floor; a fall would be dangerous.
Stay where you are, I whispered. Well pretend were talking.
The door swung open and Richard stepped in, eyes locking on Poppys frightened face. Everything all right? he asked, tone casual but his gaze sharp.
Yes, I answered, trying to sound normal. Poppy still has a headache. Im just checking if she needs anything.
He stared a moment, then said, Right, and you, dear, are still feeling unwell.
Its fine, I muttered. I think Ill return to the party soon.
He smiled, though the smile didnt reach his eyes. Excellent. Ive prepared that special tea you love. Its waiting in the kitchen.
My stomach turned. The tea. The trap hed mentioned on the phone. Thanks, but I think Ill pass. My medicine
Its a new blend I ordered especially for you. Helps with migraines, he insisted, voice sweetening.
I realized the danger. Refusing too strongly would raise suspicion; drinking could be fatal. Alright, I said finally, buying time. Ill stay a few minutes longer with Poppy.
Richard hesitated, then nodded. Dont linger too long.
When he left, the room fell into a heavy silence. The tea, Poppy whispered, hell force you to drink it.
I know, I replied, panic rising. We have to get out now, even through the window if we must. As we plotted our escape, the lock clicked from the outsideRichard had shut us in.
Did he lock us in? Poppy cried, trying the door in vain.
Fear threatened to freeze me, but I forced myself to think. If hed locked us, he suspected something. The window, I said, moving toward it. The drop was about five metres to the grassdangerous, but survivable.
Its too high, Mum, Poppy said, face tight with terror.
Its our only way, I replied, scanning the room. My eyes landed on the duvet. We can cut it into a rope.
I tore the blanket, tying it to the heavy desk base. It wasnt long enough for a full descent, but it would lessen the fall.
Mom, Poppy whispered, pointing to the door. Hes coming back.
Footsteps grew louder. Quick, I urged, finishing the knot and tossing the makeshift rope out the window. You go first. Lower yourself as far as you can, then let go.
Poppy hesitated a heartbeat, then positioned herself at the window. The footsteps neared. The lock turned. Go! I shouted.
She slipped down, the fabric sliding over her shoulders, and landed on the lawn, rolling as Id instructed. She scrambled to her feet, thumb up.
I didnt waste a second. I grabbed the blanket, hurled myself out, feeling the sting as it scraped my hands. I hit the ground with a painful thud to my left ankle, but adrenaline dulled the pain. Run! I yelled, pulling Poppys hand.
Richards enraged shout echoed from the house. We sprinted across the back garden, limping toward the low stone wall separating our property from the lane. Doors slammed, voices rosehe had warned the guests, turning our escape into a public spectacle.
We burst into a small woodland reserve. The photos, I gasped, still with you? Poppy nodded, pulling her phone out. The images showed the tiny amber bottle and a handwritten schedule: 10:30 guests arrive, 11:45 tea served, effects 1520 minutes, call ambulance at 12:10. It was a chilling timeline of my demise.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Lets get out of here, I urged. We spotted a service door at the back of the reserve. Poppy swiped her access card; the lock clicked green. We slipped onto a quiet street, hailed a cab, and drove to the bustling Westfield shopping centre, hoping the crowds would hide us.
In a quiet corner of a café, I stared at missed calls and messages from Richard. The last one read: Helen, please come home. Im worried. We can talk. Dont do anything rash. I love you. The lie churned my stomach anew.
A new message arrived: I called the police. Theyre looking for you. Think of Sarah. Panic surged. Two uniformed officers entered the café.
Mrs. HelenMendoza? one asked. Your husband is very concerned. He reported you left the house under the influence of something, possibly endangThe officers escorted us out, and as the cold morning air swirled around us, I whispered to Poppy that at last we were finally free from the poisonlaced nightmare that had held our lives hostage.
