Poppy E-Book

Ashley Cameron

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 278

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

This is our new home, says Mommy. Poppy, you know you never have to hide from me, right?, he says. He's got a face like a bowling ball, says Grandma. Express yourselves clearly, class, just say exactly what you mean, says the teacher. Help me, thinks Poppy. Poppy is a six-year-old girl who lives with her mother in a rundown suburban neighborhood. One day, they move into a luxurious mansion with her mother's new partner. Poppy's mother is happy. She can finally buy anything she wants. This new Daddy or Mr. Rich, as the young girl calls him, makes Poppy every wish come true. He showers her with gifts, washes her hair three times a week and takes her on long journeys in his big car, just the two of them. He calls her his little wife. In fact, everything would be just great, if it wasn't for one thing.

Leseprobe

For Poppy

The girl from the village who everyone thought was weird.

You can be proud of yourself and have my utmost respect.

About The Book

“This is our new home,” says Mommy.

“Poppy, you know you never have to hide from me, right?” he says.

“He's got a face like a bowling ball,” says Grandma.

“Express yourselves clearly, class; just say exactly what you mean,” says the teacher.

Help me, thinks Poppy.

Poppy is a six-year-old girl who lives with her mother in a run-down suburban neighborhood. One day, they move into a luxurious mansion with her mother’s new partner. Poppy’s mother is happy. She can finally buy anything she wants.

This new ‘Daddy’ or “Mr. Rich”, as the young girl calls him, makes Poppy’s every wish come true. He showers her with gifts, washes her hair three times a week and takes her on long journeys in his big car, just the two of them. He calls her his little wife.

In fact, everything would be just great, if it wasn’t for one thing …

Contents

1976

The Black Car

The Dark Brown Castle

Apple Juice

Everything Is Perfect

A Well-off Dreamboat

Plan B

Liberty De Luxe

Something In The Way He Moves

1977

Yellow Is A Color

It Comes From Within

The Cold Shoulder

Summertime

Vivian

Sunday, Family Day

A Terrible Tragedy

Dance With Me

1980

Hoping For Your Understanding

Random Chances

The Swimming Cap

1983

Maya Horn Disease

Not Just One

Columbo Did It

Maybe Not Today

1984

Mr. Thomas

Masterplan

I Am The Situation

To The Other Side…

… And Back Again

Our Last Chance

The Whole City

Caught

Always

Sometimes

Often

Keep Calm

An Eye For An Eye

Because You Never Know

Girls Need A Mother

The Proposal

Him

The Black Car

1998

1976

Not all daddies let their kids sit in the front seat. He says I’m lucky. I turn to look at his big old head. I think, Mommy and I are really lucky. We’re as lucky as can be.(Poppy, six years old)

The Black Car

The lights are on over at Mrs. Martin’s. Her curtains twitch. She’s already peeked out three times to see if we’re still there. And yes, we’re still here. I waved to her and yelled that it’s my birthday today, but Mommy said, “Shut up, Poppy. You’ll wake up the whole street shouting like that!”

We’re standing with our bags on the steps in front of the apartment building. White snowflakes are floating down and landing on our shoes. I try to catch them with my tongue. Mrs. Martin thinks I’m sticking my tongue out at her and disappears back behind her curtains.

I don’t know what time it is, but I think it must be very early in the morning because it’s pretty dark. Everyone on our street is still fast asleep – everyone but Mrs. Martin and us. She’s very rich. On the inside, her house is all white with lots of gold and pink. I was allowed to go in once when Mommy went to clean it. Well, she didn’t really clean it at all. We watched TV the whole time. I drank some Coke and Mommy smoked a cigarette. At the end, she did a bit of dusting and let me keep watching TV.

Mommy doesn’t like cleaning. She says it’s not what she was born to do. But she saw a coat that looks like it’s made of silver and she wants it. And Mrs. Martin would pay her twenty dollars.

At the end of the day, Mrs. Martin came back to her white house and said, “Well, you certainly won’t be doing that again!”

“Fine by me,” Mommy answered. “It’s not my idea of fun anyway. I’m a hairdresser, I’ll have you know!”

Today is my sixth birthday. I haven’t gotten any presents yet but I’m sure I’ll get some later. Mommy didn’t even have time to sing Happy Birthday to me this morning. She said she had to pack our bags and put on a really pretty outfit and shave every single hair on her legs and style her hair perfectly. I’ve already asked her twice what we do today, but all she did was put her finger to her lips and said “Shh” like it’s a big secret.

So we wait. And wait. I look at our bags. Maybe we’re going on vacation, but vacations cost money and we don’t have any. I suddenly think about my Daddy.

Hooray, we’re waiting for Daddy!

He’s coming to pick us up because it’s my birthday today. Ever since he started living with that other lady, Mommy keeps saying that he’s a horrible bastard and that I’m not allowed to talk about him. So, I don’t. But Mommy never said I’m not allowed to think about him. I don’t really know what Daddy looks like anymore. A long time ago, when I was still five, I saw a picture of him at my grandma’s house. I wanted to look at a big book and when I grabbed it off the shelf, the picture fell out and floated down to the floor.

“He’s spread his wings and flew off for good, sweetheart. He’s not coming back,” said Nanna. She’s got a very scratchy voice. Mommy says it’s because she smokes so much.

Nanna picked up the picture of Daddy and looked at it. He was crouching in front of a radiator. He looked young and handsome in the picture, and it didn’t look like he was growing any wings. He was smiling too, so I smiled back at him and asked Nanna if she knows where Daddy was now.

“I told you, he’s gone for good. He’s in the city. He decided to run off and join the circus,” she said, throwing the lovely picture in the trash.

Just as I want to ask Mommy if we should go back inside, a black car turns into our road. It’s big and shiny. Mommy suddenly stands up on her tiptoes and starts waving excitedly. The car drives towards us and stops like Cinderella’s carriage. A man gets out. Who could it be?

It can’t be Daddy. This man is really old. He’s wearing a gray suit and he has giant ears, a graybeard, a huge nose and huge glasses. He looks like he’s important.

“Wow, Pick-up, you’re here,” says Mommy.

“Like I promised,” says the man calmly.

Three words. The less said the better; that’s what Nanna always says.

“This is my Poppy,” says Mommy, pointing to me.

“She’s adorable,” says the man in the same calm voice and after a pause, “Hello Poppy.”

Four words.

Then everything happens too quickly. First, they put the bags in the trunk and once Mommy is sitting in the front and smiling, the old man with the gray beard picks me up and puts me in the back seat. Everything inside is made of leather and wood.

“Mommy…?” She doesn’t hear me.

Just before we drive off, I see Mrs. Martin open her curtains again. Her eyes shine like a cat’s in the dark because she can see the big black car and she always wants to know what Mommy and I are doing. I bet she’s really wondering now.

Mr. Martin is now also standing at the window, in his dark-blue pajamas. I shout, “See you soon!” even though I don’t want to see them again at all. They can’t hear me anyway because it’s so windy outside.

Mrs. Martin says something to Mr. Martin.

Mr. Martin just shrugs.

The Dark Brown Castle

Mommy shakes me awake. “We’re here, Poppy!”

“Where?” I’m still tired.

“The place where we’re going to stay forever.” She points out the window. Through it I can see a house as big as a castle.

The old man is carrying our bags to the front door.

“This is where we live now,” she says, getting out of the black car. She comes to my door and swings it wide open. “Come on!”

I almost start to cry because I’m a little scared, but she can’t tell because she’s already running up to the house. I quickly get out of the car, run up to her and grab her skirt.

She turns around and asks in an annoyed voice, “What’s wrong, Poppy?”

“Mommy…”

“What are you crying about now? Let go of my skirt!”

“But everything’s still at home,” I say.

The man has already gone into the house. Mommy tries to get away, but I hold on tightly to her skirt.

“Are you crazy,” she asks angrily. “There’s nothing left in that shitty apartment. Everything is here. Now, let go of my skirt!”

I do what she says, and Mommy walks up to the front door. In front of the house is a big garden with short grass and tall trees. A cop is standing on the other side of the road. He’s smoking a cigarette and waves at me. I wave back and quickly catch up with Mommy. I don’t want her to close the door and leave me standing outside all by myself.

“This is our residence now, Poppy,” explains Mommy. She doesn’t sound normal. All posh and weird.

“What does residence mean, Mommy?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “It’s our new home,” she answers.

The entryway is tall and wide. There’s a light with sparkling jewels and silver icicles hanging from the ceiling. I try to count them. When I get to seven, I suddenly realize that the old man is standing next to me.

“A little birdie told me it’s your birthday today,” he says.

I look at Mommy, who is standing by the coat rack and nodding her head really hard.

Yes, it’s my birthday today and I nearly forgot all about it.

“Come with me,” he says.

Four short words.

We follow him into another room. It’s three times as big as the entryway. Everything is made of leather and wood, just like in the car. There’s a big brown leather sofa and two dark brown leather armchairs. I look at the walls full of dark brown cabinets. One of them contains very thick books, which are made of leather too. I guess dark brown is his favorite color. In the middle of the room, I suddenly see a red bicycle with a silver bow.

I don’t know what to say, but Mommy does.

“Oh Pick-up,” she squeals, “that’s crazy! Oh Poppy, look behind you, there’s even more stuff on the table!”

I turn around and see a huge dark brown table with a big pile of gifts, more than I can count. Mommy counts them, all ten of them, and gives the man a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the bottom. The old man makes a face and takes a step away from her.

“And you know what’s really funny, Poppy?” she says, pointing at him. “It’s Pick-up’s birthday today too!”

He doesn’t look like it’s his birthday at all. He’s not smiling or wearing a party hat.

“How old are you now?” he asks me.

“Six.”

“I am two times six,” he says.

Five words. I bet he wants a present too.

Mommy blinks like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Two times six? Why two times six? You’re not twelve, are you?”

“We don’t have a present for him,” I whisper in Mommy’s ear.

“That’s okay,” says the man, who heard me even though I was being very quiet.

“Pick-up? I’m your present, aren’t I?” she says with a funny laugh. “But don’t unwrap me just yet.”

The man ignores her and lifts me onto my new bike.

“What do you say, Poppy?” asks Mommy.

“Thank you, Mr. Pick-up.”

“Mr. Pick-up? For goodness’ sake, Poppy, are you stupid or what? That’s my nickname for him. Think up your own.”

I look at the man and say, “Thank you, Mr. Rich.”

Mommy laughs so hard that she nearly falls over. “Mr. Rich?” she yells. “Mr. Rich! Oh Pick-up, do you know what that means? I think Poppy likes you. She’s nearly as much of a jokester as me, isn’t she?”

The man doesn’t laugh, but instead opens the doors to the garden, puts his hand on my back and wheels me outside on my new bike. Once I’m in the garden, he gives me a push to start me rolling. “Cycle around for a bit and take a look at the garden.”

Me and my bike fall over right away.

“She doesn’t even know how to ride a bike, Pick-up!” shouts Mommy.

I get back up and laugh so that she knows I’m not hurt.

“Why don’t you just go for a walk around the garden for now, Poppy?” says Mommy. “Mr. Rich will teach you how to ride your bike later.”

I walk around the garden in circles, making them bigger and bigger and getting faster and faster as I run through the short grass, spreading my arms out wide like the wings of a plane. I make airplane noises too – I can’t help it; I’m just so happy. Mommy laughs and claps her hands. I’m running so fast and shouting so loud that I suddenly have to cough.

“It’s too cold out there; she’ll freeze to death. Let’s get her back indoors,” says Mr. Rich to Mommy.

I go into the living room, but I can’t stop coughing. Mommy hits me on the back to make it stop, but it really hurts.

“Go and get Poppy a glass of lemonade, Patricia,” he says.

Mommy looks around. “Where do you keep it?”

“In the kitchen.”

She walks out of the living room.

Mr. Rich comes closer to me. “You’re all sweaty,” he says in a worried voice, lifting my T-shirt and placing his hand on my bare back. He slides his fingers up and down my spine. “You’re completely soaked, you poor thing.”

I nod and make myself cough a bit more.

“You can have a lovely warm bath this evening, Poppy.”

I think it’s nice that he’s so worried about me. Then we hear Mommy shouting. “Pick-up, I can’t find the kitchen anymore!” The man leaves the room. When they come back with my drink, Mr. Rich says that he still has a lot to do.

Mommy looks at the table full of presents. “As do we,” she says.

The moment Mr. Rich leaves the room, Mommy starts to unwrap everything quickly. I watch her -— it’s so exciting! My presents are a baby doll with her own baby bath, a doctor’s playset with a nurse’s uniform, a tea set, markers in all colors of the rainbow, and a big bag full of marbles.

“Well, well,” says Mommy. “If that’s what he’s buying us already, I can’t wait to see what he’ll get me for my birthday.”

Because this was our first night in the brown castle, we got to have Chinese takeout. Me and Mr. Rich went to pick up the food in his big black car. Mommy stayed at home and set the table. In the car, I was even allowed to sit on his lap and hold the steering wheel. When we got back, I ate all the yummy food until I was stuffed full, just like Mommy.

She’s now lying on the sofa and watching TV, and Mr. Rich is kneeling on the mat in the bathroom and taking off my T-shirt, pants and panties. The bath is nearly full.

Once I’m naked, I have to wait a bit while he checks that the water isn’t too hot.

“Now,” he says. “In you go.” He grabs me under my arms and lifts me up over the edge of the bath. When I’m almost in the water, he pulls me back up again.

“Hmm,” he says. “I think we can find a better way to do that, don’t you?”

He keeps lifting me up to find out the best way to put me in the bath. He says “oops” and “oopsy-daisy” every time it goes wrong.

Hmm is a very short word, just like oops.

It’s so funny. Every time he says “oopsy-daisy”, I laugh louder and louder. When he finally finds the right way – with his hand under my butt like a pillow – he swings me over the edge of the bath and into the water, where the ducks and boats are floating. All the toys are new and they’re all for me. I’m not allowed to play with them for too long though. Mr. Rich says I need to be washed too.

It takes him a long time to wash me and when we’re done, the water is starting to get cold. When I’m finally allowed to get out, I shiver because there are no towels.

He tells me I can leave out the Mr. and just call him Richie. He says that would be a much nicer name.

I nod. Richie is good too. He really is nice.

Richie uses his hands to dry me off. He makes sure he doesn’t miss a spot.

Far away, I can hear a funny song playing: “This old man, he played one; he played knick-knack on my thumb.”

Apple Juice

“When Grandpa dies, we’ll get all his money,” says Annabella.

“Oh.” I look at her with my eyes wide.

“Tough luck for you,” she continues. “You won’t get a penny. He’s my Mommy’s Daddy.”

She points to her Mommy, who’s called Phyllis and is drinking coffee with my Mommy, sitting in what looks like a pool of pillows in the middle of their living room. They also have a bar with tall stools and a white rug.

“Well isn’t this fancy?” said Mommy when we walked in. She did a funny little sniff too, like there was a bad smell in the room.

I’m sitting on the floor in the corner with Annabella. They gave us some cookies and apple juice.

Mommy and I have been living in the big brown castle for ages now, and tomorrow is my first day of school here. Annabella is in my class too. She’s always asking me questions and all at the same time.

“Is your Daddy dead?”

“No,” I answer. “He’s a plumber.”

“But he’s dead, right?”

“No, he’s not.”

“So, what’s your Mommy doing with my Grandpa?”

“She lives with him.”

“I bet it’s because he’s so rich,” says Annabella.

I don’t want to talk to Annabella anymore, but Mommy is still sitting in the pillows with Aunt Phyllis. We wouldn’t have to talk if we had something to play with. “Why don’t we go and play in your room?” I ask.

“We can’t, my Daddy’s upstairs.”

“Oh.”

“He’s sleeping. He’s very tired because he worked all day.”

“Oh,” I repeat because I don’t know what else to say.

“He works for Grandpa. My Daddy is the best salesman in the whole showroom, and it’s really big.” She dips her cookie in her apple juice, and a piece falls off into the glass.

Annabella is the only person I’m allowed to play with. She’s my new friend now, says Mr. Rich, because she’s harmless. You see, when you’re as rich as he is, you have to be careful. Anything could be stolen, even me. In fact, ever since we started living in the dark brown castle, I’m not even allowed to go outside on my own.

“Where did your Mommy get all those weird clothes from?” asks Annabella.

“She bought them.” I don’t know what she means; Mommy’s clothes aren’t that weird.

“Why are her eyelids so blue?”

“She likes them like that.”

“Well, I don’t.”

I don’t believe a word she says. Mommy is the most beautiful lady I know. She looks like Barbie. In fact, if I lined up all my Barbies – I have fourteen of them, all presents from Richie - and Mommy was the same size, she would fit in with them perfectly. She has exactly the same blonde hair and blue eyes. That’s why she’s my Barbie Mom. She also likes to wear soft sweaters that have glitter or shiny stars on the front or back – they’re so pretty. She's always dancing around in them singing "Dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen!". I'm not sure why, but I always laugh along with her anyway. She really is young and sweet, just like my Barbies - all fourteen of them.

Annabella’s mom is skinny. She’s dressed in all denim and has a huge mop of ginger curls on her head, like it’s on fire. A carrot top, as Nanna would say.

Me and Annabella watch our moms drink coffee without saying a word.

“Do you want to come and play at my house too?” I ask her. “We can play with my Barbies.”

“No, my Mommy says I’m not allowed to.”

“You’re not allowed to play with Barbies?”

“I’m not allowed to come to your house. You can visit me but not the other way around.”

“Why?”

Annabella doesn’t answer and stares at her slippers with an angry face. Mommy finally gets up and climbs out of the pool of pillows. She has to pull her new skirt up really high to get out. I can even see her panties. Auntie Phyllis and Annabella can see them too.

“Ewww!” says Annabella, screwing up her nose.

Mommy pulls her skirt back down. “Come on, Poppy, let’s go. Say goodbye to Aunt Phyllis.”

I get up and walk over to my new aunt to shake her hand, just like Richie taught me.

“Goodbye, Aunt Phyllis!”

“Goodbye, Poppy.” She doesn’t smile; she just looks at me. She’s got eyes like a dead fish.

When we’re eating dinner in the evening, Richie wants to know what I think of Annabella.

“She’s nice,” I say. “Really nice.”

Richie likes talking to me more than to Mommy. When she says something, he hardly listens. Actually, he doesn’t even look at her. But when I speak, he listens carefully to every word. He often puts his hand on my head. Or on my leg, like now. He squeezes it and winks at me. I can’t wink, so I just smile back. And then I smile at Mommy too, but she doesn’t see it.

“Do you know what, Pick-up?” says Mommy. “Your Phyllis doesn’t exactly have much to say, does she? Talking to her is like pulling teeth.”

“I think Aunt Phyllis has pretty hair,” I say, trying to make up for what Mommy said. “And they have a lovely house, right Mommy?”

“If you like that kind of thing. One thing’s for sure: all that stuff certainly wasn’t cheap. I wonder how they can aff…”

“Phyllis doesn’t have any expenses,” says Richie, interrupting her.

“What do you mean, no expenses? You’re not telling me they live there for free?”

“Yes, for free, just like you live here.”

“You mean you pay for all of it?” Mommy’s voice is getting louder and louder.

Richie suddenly starts angrily mashing his potatoes with his fork. That means he wants Mommy to shut up. Mommy looks surprised and stares at his lump of mashed-up potato for a while. She laughs loudly and says, “Well, Pick-up, if you want to give me a pit full of pillows too, you can forget about it! I don’t need one. They’re too much hard work. You have to clamber around for half an hour just to get back out! And I bet that bar wasn’t cheap either. But who wants to live like they’re in a bar anyway?”

Mommy leans over and pinches Richie’s cheek. I know that he can’t stand it when she does that, but she just won’t stop. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? That Phyllis has everything she could ever want, but it still feels like she’s jealous of me. She kept giving me this weird look. Oh well, I guess that skinny bitch would give anything to have a sexy figure like mine.”

Richie destroys his pile of mashed potatoes and finishes his plate.

Mommy’s almost finished too.

I haven’t even eaten half of my meal.

“And Annabella was such a show-off too, wasn’t she Poppy?”

“She had yummy apple juice,” I say.

“Annabella was bragging that her father runs the whole company all on his own.”

Richie gives Mommy an annoyed look.

“Oh yes,” laughs Mommy. “And you’re always saying what a useless bum he is in the tent factory.”

She’s right. Richie’s always saying that Aunt Phyllis’s husband is as dumb as a doorknob and wouldn’t be able to tie his own shoes without his help.

“What exactly do you mean when you say tent factory, Patricia?”

Mommy’s cheeks suddenly go all red. “Oh, you know what I mean. What’s it called again?”

“Do you know what it’s called?” he asks me.

“It’s a place where camper tents are made,” I say. “For vacations.”

“Exactly. And what are the tents called?”

“Liberty. That’s another word for freedom.”

“Excellent, Poppy.” He strokes my hair.

“That’s right, gang up on me again. You’re as thick as thieves, you two!” says Mommy.

“We need to wash your hair again today, Poppy, don’t we?” says Richie.

It’s Sunday today. We wash my hair every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday. I like it better when Mommy does it. But after dinner, Mommy always loads the dishwasher and afterwards lies down on the sofa with her magazines.

“Poppy’s barely touched her food,” she says. “That’s because she ate too many cookies at Annabella’s house.”

I actually only had one, but Mommy doesn’t know that.

“Just five more bites and you’re done,” says Richie.

They both give me a stern look: Richie because he thinks it’s important for me to eat and Mommy because she thinks it’s important for me to listen to Richie – he’s the boss after all.

I feel like I have a frog in my throat, and I can barely swallow. But I’m too scared to say that I’m not hungry. I drink a sip of water after every bite to help it go down. The moment my plate is empty, Richie gets up.

“Come with me,” he says.

Mommy looks at Richie. Maybe she doesn’t think my hair needs to be washed again today. It’s still clean from last time. But all Mommy says is, “Well, I’ll tell you one thing: if I was as skinny as Phyllis, I wouldn’t wear such ridiculous outfits.”

She gets up and starts to clear the table.

Richie takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom.

Everything Is Perfect

His name is actually Eugene, but Mommy still calls him Pick-up because he picked us up in his big black car. That’s what ‘Daddy’ told me when I asked him about his nickname, anyway. He wants me to call him Daddy, but I keep forgetting. I just think Richie suits him better.

We had a real conversation in the car this morning. That’s what he called it: a real, serious conversation. I felt really grown-up. After all, being able to have a good chat with somebody is something special. And he said that he can have good chats with me. And that I’m very clever.

He was sitting behind the wheel of the black car and smoking a cigar. I was allowed to sit next to him where Mommy usually sits. I could hardly breathe, not just because of the smoke but also because he was being so nice to me. “You’re a special child, Poppy,” he said, putting on my seatbelt. “Very good and very clever.”

He couldn’t fasten the seatbelt properly, so we sat really close for a while as he continued trying. While I was waiting, I played with the electric button on the window.

He told me, “You’re not allowed to touch the buttons. And if you see a cop, you have to duck.”

“Okay.” It sounded like a fun game.

There’s a police station close to our house, but I hardly ever see anyone there. Richie says that the station is almost always empty. Our neighborhood is so lovely and peaceful because there are no black people there - that’s what he told me.

When the seatbelt finally clicked shut, I felt Richie’s warm breath on the back of my neck. “I don’t think many daddies would let their child sit in the front, do you?

“No.”

“You’re a lucky girl.”

I turned to look at his big old head. I thought, Yes, Mommy and I are really lucky. We’re as lucky as can be. We started out living in a tiny place, where Mommy cut people’s hair all day long. She didn’t have any money to buy sparkly clothes or blue eye make-up. And I didn’t have a Daddy or a bike. Now we live in a brown castle with shiny floors, white rugs, and vases from China. I’m not allowed to climb on anything, but I can be loud – if Richie isn’t taking a nap, that is. We have loads of flowery plates and cups with gold around the edges and every week, Mommy buys new bowls and plates to match. Mommy now even has a fur coat and a cleaning lady and three pairs of diamond earrings. I have my own bedroom with a secret closet. And a bed with a pink blanket and posters of ponies on the wall.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Richie asked.

“To the toy store?”

He nodded.

“And why are we going to the toy store?”

“Because of the Playmobil knights.”

“Exactly,” he said. “You need them.”

I wasn’t sure that was true, but I did really want the knights.

Is wanting something and needing something the same thing? I already had the American Indians, so I didn’t need any more of them.

“Yes,” I said. “I need the knights.”

We drove down the road. “We need to go to a different store,” explained Richie. “Playmobil isn’t available in every shop in Long Island yet.”

I nodded.

And then Richie spoke for a long time and said lots and lots of things, which he normally never does. That’s why it was a real conversation, I think.

“Listen carefully, Poppy. I really like the fact that you and your mother moved into my house. It’s truly wonderful. I’m not all on my own anymore. You like that too, right?”

I nodded again.

“I really like having you around. Your mother and I are quite different. But you and I, we’re similar in a way. Of course, we are! We have the same birthday, after all. That’s something special, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I think so too.” And because I noticed that he said the word like a lot, I decided to say it too, just to be sure, “I like not living in the apartment anymore too.”

“I can understand that,” he said. “And I would imagine that you never want to go back there. Because you lived in a ghetto.”

I didn’t know what a ghetto was, but I said yes.

“You didn’t have much of anything there, did you?”

“No.”

“No money, no pretty dresses, you never went on vacation and you never got any presents…”

“Nothing,” I said.

“That must have been horrible.”

“Yes, it was horrible.”

“But now you have everything.”

“Yes,” I said. “Everything is perfect.”

We drove past the fields full of cows. The sky was gray and gloomy. Nanna would call it, “The ideal weather for a funeral.”

“And shall I tell you something else? You need to look at me to hear it, though.”

I looked at him.

“Being friends with you, Poppy, is the most important thing for me. We make a good team. And that’s why you and your Mommy are allowed to stay with me. Because we have such a great time together. After all, if you weren’t such a good girl, I would have sent you back to your apartment on day one. Will you remember that?”

I nodded again.

“Do you think you can always be a good girl, Poppy?”

All this nodding is making my head hurt.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, Richie,” I said.

“You really don't have to call me that anymore,” he sighed. “Why don’t you just call me Daddy? You know I’d like that better.”

I didn’t know whether I should tell him the truth. He’s simply not a daddy. He’s a man. A rich old man. He’s the boss, sitting there in his gray suit with an old man’s head, glasses and huge ears.

“The thing is, I already have a Daddy,” I told him.

Richie gave me a surprised look. Maybe he didn’t know that, I think. Maybe Mommy forgot to tell him. I didn’t want to make him sad, but I thought he needed to know.

“That’s why I can’t call you Daddy,” I explained. “Because when my real Daddy comes back, I’ll suddenly have two and things might get weird.”

Richie smoked his cigar and shook his head. “You don’t have a father anymore.”

“Yes, I do,” I said. "In the city.”

“Pardon?”

“He’s run off to the city to join the circus. That’s what Nanna said.”