Poppy, come here, Ill toss your socks into the backpack! Helens voice rings through the flat, and Julia, sitting at the kitchen table, flinches, holding back a retort.
The sixteenyearold niece steps obediently into the doorway. Shes tall, a bit gangly, with long arms that seem to have nowhere to go.
Mum, the forecast says itll be warm.
Forecasts! Helen snorts as if the meteorologists have personally insulted her family. And what if it turns chilly? What if it rains? You cant look after yourself. Youll catch something
Julia sips her bitter coffee, the only thing keeping her mouth busy enough not to blurt out more. She has watched this drama play out for three years and still cant get used to it. Poppy cant start the washing machine, not because shes dim, but because Helen has never let her near any appliances. Youll ruin it, Youll flood the neighbours, The cycles are too complex. The girl never takes out the rubbishHelen fears Poppy will slip on the stairs or get bitten by a stray dog in the courtyard. She isnt allowed to tidy her own room eitherYou only spread dust, you dont clean it.
Helen, shes sixteen. She can put socks in a backpack herself, Julia finally says, unable to hold it in.
Helen shoots her a look that could curdle the milk in the fridge.
Julia, you have no kids. You dont understand.
A timeless argument, solid as a brick wall. Julia could point out that childlessness doesnt make her a fool, but she stays silent. It would be useless.
Poppy stands at the door, eyes fixed on the floor. Her face bears the same resigned, hopeless expression Julia once saw on shelter dogssubmissive and defeated. Its the most terrifying sight.
Later that evening Julia calls her sister.
Helen, can Poppy spend the night at my place? I want to rewatch the Harry Potter series. Its lonely on my own.
Helen hesitates. Julia can almost see the gears turning in her head: What if she catches a cold on the way? What if the balcony is open? What if?
Fine, Helen finally concedes. But youll have to bring her back home afterwards. You never know
Its only forty metres from my block to yours.
Julia!
Alright, alright. Ill see her back.
Half an hour later Poppy is perched on the tiny balcony of Julias flat, knees pulled up. The balcony is small but cosyJulia has dragged a throw, some cushions and a fairylight garland up there. They never get around to turning the film on.
Poppy, put the kettle on the hob. My stoves broken, the matches are in the cupboard! Julia says.
Poppy doesnt answer, and a sour suspicion creeps into Julias mind.
Do you know how to use matches? Julia asks.
Poppy looks at her as if everything suddenly clicks.
Mum says Im not allowed near them. And we have lighters.
Mum isnt here. Time you learn!
The first three tries see Poppy snapping the sticks in half, pressing too hard, pulling too fast. On the fourth attempt a tiny flame flickers, and Poppy watches it with the awe of someone who just discovered fire.
Its Poppy stammers, searching for words. normal.
Julias heart tightens. Her sisters overprotectiveness has locked Poppy into a cage.
A week later Helen calls, panic in her voice.
Can you believe the school is taking a whole class to a camp for three days!
And? Julia puts the phone on speaker while typing a report. Shes on a remoteworking deadline, and her sister drops another catastrophe.
What? Its September! Itll be cold! Therell be drafts, theyll feed us junk, she could get sick!
Helen, shes sixteen. She has an immune system, a coat, brains whatever you let her have.
Very funny. Helen huffs. Im not letting her go.
Did you ask Poppy?
Pause.
Why would I? Im her mother. I know best.
Julia shuts her laptop. Its pointless to work when everything around her is bubbling.
You think she shouldnt talk to classmates? That she should stay home while everyone else gathers around campfires, sings with guitars?
Campfires?! Helens voice trembles with genuine fear. There will be campfires?!
Poppy never goes to the camp. Julia sees her that day, glued to her phone, scrolling through classmates Instagram stories of bus rides, silly faces, and laughter. Poppys expression is utterly blank.
In March Poppy turns eighteen. Julia gifts her a small, bright orange backpackcheeky, nothing like the drab sacks Helen approves of.
Poppy smiles sadly. Something glints in her eyes Julia cant name. Not anger, not hurtjust a deep, exhausted weariness of someone who has long stopped fighting.
In May Julia rents a cottage in the Cotswolds. A modest, timberframed house with a crooked porch and an apple orchard. The broadband is shaky, but its enough for her work.
I want to take Poppy with me, she tells her sister.
Helen nearly drops the frying pan.
All summer? In the countryside? Theres not even a proper doctor out there!
Theres a small clinic and the town centre is a halfhour drive. Im not sending her to the wilds.
What if a tick bites? What if she eats poisonous mushrooms? What if
She wont eat mushrooms, Julia interrupts calmly. And Ill be there. Ill look after her. Promise.
It takes a week of pleading. Julia lists fresh air, silence, escape from city chaos. Helen counters with lack of a decent pharmacy, dubious well water, roaming farm dogs. Poppy remains silent, having given up on influencing decisions about her own life.
Fine, Helen finally says, sinking into a chair, her face paling. But call every day. Photograph everything she eats. If her temperature spikes, bring her straight back.
The list stretches three pages in a notebook, which Julia later tosses in the bin.
The cottage greets them with the scent of dry herbs and old wood. Poppy stands in the yard, head thrown back, eyes fixed on a sky that stretches endless and blue, free of any skyscraper.
It feels empty, she whispers.
Liberating, Julia replies. Can you get the kettle on yourself? The stoves gasthink you can manage?
Poppys face turns pale.
Yes!
The first week Julia teaches her basics: loading the ancient washing machine that rattles like a plane taking off, loading laundry, cooking an omelette without burning the kitchen, not flooding the floor, separating whites from colours. Each mistake brings a new spark to Poppys facenot despair, but a thrill, the desire to try again.
I cooked rice all by myself! Poppy exclaims one morning, marching into the kitchen with a pot. The rice is overcooked and clumped, but she beams as if shed won a Nobel Prize.
Congratulations, Julia says seriously. Now you could survive the apocalypse.
Poppy laughsa full, genuine laugh, head thrown back. Julia cant recall the last time she heard it.
The village has about twenty residentsmostly retirees and a few families on holiday. A neighbour, Mrs. Agnes, takes Poppy under her wing and shows her how to milk a goat. A local lad, Sam, his age, drags her out for fishing trips. Julia watches Poppy learn to speak to people without hiding behind her mothers shadow, to meet eyes, to joke.
By midsummer Julia lets Poppy walk to the village shop aloneone and a half kilometres of dirt track past a field of sunflowers.
What if I get lost? Poppy asks, curiosity in her voice, not fear.
Theres only one road. You cant get lost, even if you try.
An hour later Poppy returns with bread, milk, and a huge grin.
I made it, she says.
Well, look at that achievement, Julia snorts, then pulls Poppy into a tight hug.
Three months fly by. Poppy now cooks five dishes, washes, irons, budgets her weeks money. She swims in the river with the village boys, helps Mrs. Agnes weed the garden, reads on the porch until dark. Julia sees a completely different personnot the hollow-eyed girl she once knew.
Returning home is hard. Helen opens the front door, eyes widening as if her daughter has returned from another planet.
Poppy? she asks, disbelief in her tone. You look tanned.
Ive learned how to make borscht, Poppy adds. Want a bowl?
Helens eyes widen even more.
Borscht? You? Julia, what have you done to her?
The following weeks become a battlefield. Poppy decides to get a job. She sends out CVs, attends interviews, answers recruiters calls. Helen paces the flat, clutching her chest, then the phone.
You dont need a job! I earn enough! Helen shouts.
I need to, Mum, Poppy says quietly, not raising her voice but not backing down. 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 modest, but its a first step into adulthood.
From her first paycheck she starts putting away money. Three months later she sits at Julias kitchen table, scrolling through rental listings.
This one looks decent, Poppy points at the screen. Onebedroom, close to work, cheap.
Mum will be upset, Julia warns.
I know.
Shell curse me, Julia smiles despite herself.
I know that too. Poppy meets Julias gaze, determination flashing where there was none before. I cant keep living like this, Aunt Julia. She still checks if Ive switched off the bathroom light. Im eighteen, and Im tired of reporting every bedtime.
Julia nods.
Then lets go see it.
Helen screams for days. Julia lets herself be scolded, never interrupting.
Youre the one who set her up! All summer you filled her head with nonsense! You ruined my family!
Helen, Julia waits for a pause, I taught her how to live. What you were supposed to do, you were too scared to.
Scared? I was protecting her!
You were overprotecting! Julia says, not angry, just stating facts. You were so terrified something might happen that you basically locked Poppy inside this flat.
Helen collapses into a chair, her face turning ashen.
Shes my daughter, she whispers.
Shes an adult now. She wants to know what life looks like beyond your fears.
Poppy moves in early December. The flat is tiny, low ceilings, creaky floorboards, but she darts around, arranging furniture with the excitement of someone moving into a palace.
Look, Poppy opens the fridge, I bought my own groceries! I even hung curtains! Theyre crooked, but Ill fix them.
Julia stands in the doorway, smiling. Her girlawkward, inexperienced, wonderfulfinally breathes freely.
Thank you, Poppy says that evening over tea in her new kitchen. For the matches. For the cottage. For everything.
I didnt do anything special, Julia replies.
You set me free, Poppy smiles.
Julia reaches out and squeezes Poppys fingers.
