She knocked on the door and waited, her hand poised to knock again. After a few minutes, it opened a crack, and a Poppy’s face peered cautiously round it. She was yawning and rubbing her eyes. ‘Oh, it’s you. What do you want?’
She was like a flower in the middle of a scrapyard, her fair hair hanging in tangled curls round her shoulders, her face pink and white as if she had just woken up.
‘It’s our appointment,’ Kay said.
‘Oh. Yeah. Look, I’m a bit… I think I’ve got the flu, you know, so…’ Poppy made no attempt to open the door further; in fact, she looked ready to close it in Kay’s face.
Alcohol flu, pill flu or worse? It didn’t look good and Kay wasn’t leaving until she found out more. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Let’s have a cup of tea.’ She smiled and moved towards the door, as if she had no idea Poppy didn’t want to let her in. Poppy, after a moment’s hesitation, stood back from the door and pulled it open. She was wearing a pair of loose shorts, an oversized T-shirt with the slogan ‘The Sorting Hat Said Broadmoor’ on the front, and not much else. Her bare feet were grubby, but they had the pink plumpness of a child’s.
There was a sour smell as Kay stepped through the door. The corridor was bare boards with a random carpeting of mail – junk, official-looking envelopes, free newspapers. Kay suppressed the urge to pick it up and sort it. They usually had their meetings upstairs, where Poppy had made herself an attractive bedsit amid the general squalor. Today, however, Poppy led her into the small kitchen at the back of the house and snapped the light on, illuminating a sink full of scummy liquid and a draining board piled high with unwashed cups and plates. Trays and wrapping from past takeaways were strewn across the table, and falling out of the over-full bin. Kay noticed, but didn’t comment on, screwed up foil on the table and a spoon scorched black underneath. Her heart sank.
There was a horrible smell, partly like something gone off and partly like an uncared-for public toilet. Kay tried not to let her reactions show on her face, but Poppy must have seen something because she said, ‘Ew. It smells like Greg’s been peeing in the sink again.’ The look she gave Kay was a challenge.
‘I wondered what it was,’ Kay said mildly, mentally deleting Greg, whoever he was, from her list of future house guests. What else had gone wrong? Poppy never paid much attention to the rest of the house, but she was always fastidious in her own space, keeping her room and the adjacent bathroom clean and attractive. Kay sat down at the table and Poppy, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down too.
‘Tea?’ Kay asked. Poppy nodded and looked vaguely round. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve brought some with me,’ Kay added, getting out her flask.
As she poured tea and offered Poppy a handful of the sugar sachets she’d collected from various cafés, there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Poppy tensed as the footsteps came along the corridor.
‘There you are. I thought I said…’ The woman who came into the kitchen stopped speaking abruptly as she saw Kay. She was tall and model-slim with long, fair hair. Her face was half-concealed by dark glasses and a scarf draped with precise carelessness around her neck. It was hard to estimate her age. At first glance, Kay put her in her twenties but as she studied the woman’s face, she realised she was probably in her forties.
‘Who are you?’ Her voice had the huskiness of the habitual smoker.
‘I’m Poppy’s support worker,’ Kay said. ‘Kay McKinnon. And you’re…?’
Poppy looked at the two of them, clearing her throat, her hands tearing a tissue into small pieces, and when the other woman didn’t speak, she offered, ‘This is Leesha.’
The woman spoke to Poppy, not Kay. ‘This is what you’ve got instead of Xanthe?’ She lit a cigarette and took a long pull. ‘I think I preferred the original.’
It wasn’t remotely funny, but Poppy glanced at Kay, then at the woman, and giggled dutifully. Leesha turned slightly to exclude Kay. ‘Are they digging them up now or what?’ Poppy gave that same nervous giggle. It was the way the playground bully cuts the victim off by enlisting the support of others. Kay could tell that whatever hold this Leesha woman had on Poppy, Poppy wasn’t going to go against her. Whatever this woman wanted, Poppy would do it.
Retreat? Come back when the field was clear? It went against her nature, but sometimes it was the best—
Poppy slumped at the table, her face looking paler, shining with the faint sheen of sweat. ‘Are you all right?’ Kay said, anxious at this sudden change.
‘I’m thirsty,’ Poppy said. She pushed the cup of tea away. ‘This tastes like shit.’ The freshness had gone from her face. The debris on the table – the scorched spoon, the tinfoil wraps – coupled with Poppy’s sudden collapse told Kay all she needed to know. Poppy had been on opioids when Tania’s House had taken her on, her engagement with the charity being one of the conditions placed on her by the court when she was arrested and convicted of possession.
This, to Kay, looked like severe withdrawal. If Poppy was back on hard drugs, she would be back to full-scale addiction very quickly. She was also in breach of her probation, which could have serious consequences. Kay had to stand her ground and fight.
Before Leesha could speak, Kay reached into her backpack again. ‘Have some of this.’ She produced a bottle of water and a can of coke. Poppy held out her hand, waving the water away
