James had been headoverheels for Poppy ever since they were kids in primary school, and theyd always talked about tying the knot one day.
Jamess mum, Margaret, ran the maternity ward at St.Marys Hospital and wasnt thrilled with her sons choice. Shed long had her eye on a nurse called Claire, a popular figure among the staff and patients alike a proper doctors daughter sort of charm.
After school, James went off to medical school, while Poppy enrolled in a language college to become an EnglishtoSpanish translator, following in the footsteps of her mother and grandmother. Their friends thought it would be lovely to celebrate the end of term in the countryside, so they all headed to Jamess familys old cottage up in the Cotswolds.
They lingered there for almost a whole month, refusing to quit the fresh air, but before long the next term was looming and they had to get back to their studies.
One crisp autumn evening Poppy turned to James and said, Im pregnant. How do you feel about that?
He laughed, What do you think? Ill whisk you straight to the register office.
She replied, Im not exactly light as a feather, love.
Scare a former school wrestler? James joked. I used to wrestle in sixth form. Youre still lighter than a feather to me.
But what about our exams? she pressed.
Right, love. Looks like youll need a years break after the baby, he said, trying to sound supportive.
Ill do distance learning, like Mum did. She had me at nineteen and managed everything. But lets sort this now, James after we marry youll move in with my folks. Keep your mum at arms length; shell never accept me, shes a bit of a character.
Only for your peace of mind, love, James agreed.
They filed their notice at the register office and then went their separate ways. Poppys flat was buzzing with guests. One of her dads old mates turned up with his wife and their son Oliver, a lanky 16yearold who looked older than his years.
Back at his parents house, James broke the news to them and hinted that a wedding was on the horizon. Margaret didnt like the idea one bit. That night she marched over to Poppys parents house to cause a scene. She rang the doorbell several times, but no one answered they were in the living room, music playing, and didnt even notice the bell. Oliver was in the shower and, hearing nothing, wrapped a towel around himself and opened the door.
Margaret, a bit flustered, fumbled for her phone, hit record and started filming the hallway, focusing on the towelclad teenager.
Are you here to see MrsHawthorne? Oliver asked, not catching the movement of her phone.
No, Im not, Margaret muttered, hurrying downstairs.
She showed James the video later, emphasizing how long it took Oliver to answer.
Did you recognise that hallway? she asked. We still dont know who Poppys carrying.
James sighed, I get it, Mum. Shes not the one for me.
He sent an angry text to Poppy, then switched her phone off. Poppy, bewildered, tried calling back, but when she finally showed up at his door late at night, Margaret was waiting at the window. Seeing her, Margaret rushed to the hallway and flung the door open herself, barring Poppy from getting in.
What do you want from James? she snapped. Hes already asleep. And you, playing both sides? Go back to your other lads, you twofaced wretch. She slammed the door shut and went back to her flat.
Poppy stood on the stair landing, tears streaming, and eventually made her way home. In the kitchen, her mother, Martha, was washing dishes. Poppy collapsed into her arms.
Love, whats happened? The weddings coming up, you should be happy.
Mum, theres nothing left except the baby Im carrying. It seems his mother stirred up trouble after she found out wed applied for marriage, Poppy sniffed, showing Martha the angry message James had sent, accusing her of cheating.
If James behaves like that, hell always bow to his mum. Gods kept him away from you. Well raise the child ourselves, Martha tried to soothe her.
The fallout left Poppys pregnancy fraught. She was rushed to the maternity ward while her parents were at work. The baby was delivered under anaesthetic the only safe option and the doctors later told her the infant had been stillborn.
After the paperwork, the tiny body was handed over to the grieving parents, who buried him quietly. Poppy remained in the ward, missing the funeral.
Soon after, Jamess parents sold their house and moved away.
Its for the best, dear, Margaret said. Youve had enough drama with James, and he just walks off with that smug look.
I hope Ill forget him faster, Mum, Poppy replied.
Eight years slipped by. Poppy now worked as a translator for a modest agency, and one morning James walked into her office.
What are you doing back in my life? she asked, trying to keep her tone even. Ive long since moved on.
Im sorry, love, but tragedy brought me to you, he said.
Thats a strange excuse, James. You have a brilliant mum. Take your problems to her. I dont have time for you. Please leave, Poppy snapped, turning back to her screen.
Please, Poppy, just listen. Its important for both of us. Meet me at the café across the street after work, he pleaded.
Only out of curiosity, she muttered, not looking up.
That evening they finally met outside a little pub.
Im sorry, love, but my son is ill and needs a donor, James said, eyes pleading.
Youve got the wrong address, James. Your mother has far more resources here, Poppy replied, stunned.
Weve been waiting and no donor is available. I even put my flat up for sale. Youre a mother you stand a better chance of helping our son.
Is this a joke? Our son was stillborn. My parents buried him, Poppy shot back.
Hes alive now, eight years old, James whispered.
What? How?
Remember the day we filed our marriage notice? he asked.
Ill never forget your nasty text, Poppy said, remembering the moment Margaret had filmed Oliver in his towel.
James repeated the story his mother had told him about the hallway video. Poppy explained who Oliver was, and Jamess face went pale. He still loved her, but had never remarried. She, too, remained single, terrified of another loss.
James, tell me about your son. What did your mother do? Poppy urged.
When you were in the maternity ward, my mum was there. She saw you being wheeled down the corridor to the operating theatre. She guessed, halfin jest, that the baby might be mine. The test proved I was the father, but she refused to give you the child. Im to blame for going along with it. My grudge haunted me. God must be punishing us; our son, Samuel, is sick.
Lets go see him. Test me for compatibility. If Im not a match, he must have the same blood type as me, James said.
Yes, Im typeO, Poppy replied, her hands trembling.
In the hospital ward, Samuel looked up at her, his eyes wide.
Samuel, weve finally found your mother, James whispered, while Poppy stood speechless.
Mom, Ive been waiting for you all my life, even if Ive never seen a picture of you, Samuel said softly.
My darling, everything will be alright. Im here and Ill do anything to make you healthy, Poppy sobbed, pulling him close.
Son, let your mum go. She needs to speak to the doctor, James added.
Poppy turned out to be a perfect match, and Samuels treatment succeeded. James sold the flat hed been living in, settled the clinics bill, and they all moved into a cosy terraced house with Poppys parents.
Poppy, Im sorry for everything, but we need to marry, and you should have another child. Our sons doctor says a sibling would be the best donor, James said earnestly.
Ive read about that, James. For our childrens sake, Im ready for anything, she replied.
So they finally exchanged vows, and now, alongside Samuel, theyre raising two more kids a boy and a girl in their snug little home down the lane.
