"We are now beginning our descent into Phoenix, Arizona, ladies and gentlemen. Please turn off all electronic devices, and thank you for flying with us today."
Poppy blinked herself awake and took in her surroundings. Her gaze focused in on the window. Just beyond the glass, she saw it. The shape that made up the state of Arizona. The flicker of excitement that had been lying dormant for much of her trip began to surface. She was actually going to meet her. Molly Hooper. Her so, so many years.
The grin that had grown to cover almost all of her face remained as she walked down the aisle and down the steps and stepped onto the warm tarmac of the airport. A warm breeze whipped around her as she slowly moved forward with the crowd towards the arrivals gate.
She didn't even step one foot into the arrivals gate before a cry of "Isla!" went up, and Poppy felt herself turn. She watched with a smile and saw how her mother continued to push through the crowd of waiting people, throwing hurried apologies over her shoulder as she went. Compared to the photograph, she was markedly different. After living in Phoenix for eleven years, her skin was less pale, and she had grown a few inches, but aside from that, she still had the same long chestnut-coloured waves as well as the same wide and warm brown eyes. Most importantly of all, she still had the exact same smile.
After eleven years, nine months, eight weeks and four hours of waiting, Poppy couldn't do so any longer. She sprinted forward and fell into her mother's waiting arms, locking her arms tightly around the shoulders of her mother and burying her face into her neck.
"Hello to you too!" Molly said, laughing happily as she squeezed at Poppy's waist before getting to her feet.
"Come on," she said. "Mary and Charlie are dying to see you!"
On the car ride home, Poppy stayed quiet as she listened to her mother chatter, animatedly telling about what happened over the last eight weeks. She was up for a promotion at work, and it seemed likely that she would get it. Mary had sadly split from her latest boyfriend but was taking the split remarkably well. Charlie was apparently still the same idiot as he'd ever been.
Poppy nodded and interjected at appropriate points, but for the most part, she just stayed silent. It was just so lovely to be able to watch her mother; to be able to see her gestures, the inclinations in her voice, or the way she used her facial expressions to convey what she felt. She was so expressive, and so open. A major contrast to the way her father was when he was on a case.
"Sweetheart," her mother said, giving out a burst of a laugh. "You've barely said a word! Normally you would've told me to be quiet by now. Are you okay?"
Poppy broke into a wide grin. "Sorry. I guess I'm just tired."
Her mother's features softened and she drew Poppy into a quick hug and kissed her on the top of her head. "Don't worry. You'll be in your own bed soon."
The sound of a loud, insistent car horn behind her made her jump, and her mother laughed as she pulled the car into the next lane. She glanced to Poppy. "A whole summer you've been away, and still the traffic's awful."
At this, Poppy said nothing. She didn't need to, as they had begun to arrive at the apartment building that her mother and Isla called home. Molly pulled up and stopped the car, throwing a grin to Poppy as she stepped outside.
She could do this, Poppy decided. She could. After all, no-one suspected anything. Did they?
"Knock, knock!"
Her head snapped up, only for her to see a pair of slate blue eyes staring straight at her. Mary grinned and knocked on the window again, making a beckoning motion with her hand. Poppy wasted no time in opening the door and stepping out onto the warm street. She was immediately scooped into a hug; one that was only interrupted by the sound of a short, happy bark. Mary laughed.
"We'll get to you in a minute!" she said, glancing down towards Charlie who sat happily at Mary's feet, wagging his tail and panting. Mary threw an arm around Poppy's shoulder and steered her towards the flat, tugging a little at Charlie's lead as they went.
"Your mum's upstairs," Mary said, seeing Poppy glance around before she gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "So come on. Tell me everything! How was camp? Did you meet anyone nice?"
"Oh, loads of people! There was a guy—"
Mary's eyebrows shot upwards. "A guy? Should I be telling your mum, or is this something we'll be keeping to ourselves?"
Poppy allowed herself a laugh. "No, he's just a friend. I met a couple of other people too – including a girl from England."
Mary, hearing this, immediately adopted an astonishing variety of English accents, swinging easily from broad Cockney to the cut glass upper class accent. She could see why Isla liked her so much. She was lovely; like a cool, non-blood related aunt who could make you laugh just by making a certain facial expression at you. It was inevitable really that she was helpless with laughter by the time they got to the apartment.
That laughter quickly ceased when she walked inside to find an intruder in the living room, casually watching some sports channel or other. With their body sprawled out on the large, squashy sofa, they held the television remote in their right hand whilst their left arm was thrown over their head to act as a makeshift pillow. Male, the intruder was muscular in build and dressed in the standard 'cool' t-shirt and jeans. On seeing him, Poppy stopped, frozen. Mary on the other hand, smiled—though a little too tightly to be genuine—and approached the man to tap him on the shoulder. He grinned and swung himself off the sofa and onto his feet, enveloping Mary into what looked like a bone-crunching hug.
"Mary!" he said brightly. "How you doing?"
"I'm alright," was her somewhat curt reply. Then, a little quieter: "What are you doing here?"
His reply didn't come, as Molly had entered the living room, a glass of orange juice in her hand. Like Poppy, she stopped on seeing the man but unlike Poppy, she smiled.
"Mark! This is a – surprise. I thought you were at work!" The last word came out of her mouth in a yelp as the man (or Mark as she insisted on calling him) rushed forward to scoop her into his arms and lifted her off the ground with the force of his hug.
"What, and miss the homecoming?" he asked brightly as he put her back down on the ground. He leant closely towards Molly, but thankfully, her mother had more sense than him and she deftly backed away and sipped at her juice.
"That's really thoughtful of you Mark – thank you."
Annoyingly, she sounded like she meant it. Poppy's scowl darkened. When Mark lowered himself to look straight at her with a standard charming smile, she only crossed her arms over her chest. He wasn't charming her into a stupor.
"Hi," he said. So he was starting off slowly. Clearly, he'd read up on the art of introducing oneself to a partner's kids. Dad wouldn't have to do that, Poppy thought smugly. Mark's smile widened. Not genuine; mark of defence. Most likely subconscious.
"I'm Mark. I know your mommy."
"That's quite clear," Poppy said shortly, glancing quickly towards her mother. "And she's not my mommy; I'm not five. She's my mom."
"Okay, so she's your mom. That's cool. I hope we can get to know each other; your mom's told me a lot about you."
There was a painstaking moment of silence as Poppy's gaze swept over the man. Already she felt irritated by him. She knew who he was, and she knew why he was here (all of that was obvious) so why did he feel the need to treat her like an idiot? She glanced at her mother, back to Mark, back to her mother and back to Mark again.
Finally, she spoke. "No."
Without hesitating, she quickly stuck out her tongue, turned on her heels and ran towards Isla's bedroom.
Mary was the one to chase after her. Mary was also the one to sigh heavily and lean against the doorway as she watched Poppy petulantly unpack, her gaze following every movement the angry eleven year old made.
"How long?" was the first question from Poppy's mouth.
"Four months. They're in the – honeymoon period."
"Where did she meet him?"
"Work. He seems perfectly nice – from what I've seen of him."
Poppy stopped and tilted her head, frowning. "Yet you don't like him."
"Christ," Mary said with a chuckle as she stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. "Can't hide anything from you can I? No, I don't like him at all."
"Why? Is it his smile?"
Mary shook her head and gently sat on the bed. "No. My reasoning's a little more superficial than that. See, Mark never showed much interest in Molly until he learned of the existence of your grandparents."
Although she didn't show it, Poppy quickly racked her brain, rifling through the various lessons Isla had given her. Then it hit her: Nana and Granddad. They had moved out to America soon before their mother had done so, wanting to expand their wine making business. They'd succeeded too. Isla had complained regularly about the annual camping trip she had had to make every year there since she was small. She'd complained about Nana's constant need to pick at her and clean, despite the maids she employed to keep their house spick and span every moment of every day. She had even gone so far as to nickname their Nana 'Hoover' because of the frequency in which she used it. Their Granddad however, was clearly Isla's favourite. She only ever spoke favourably of him, spinning endless tales about the antics she and him would get up to during those summers.
Poppy cleared her throat. She continued to unpack. "You think he's after Mum's inheritance?"
"I'm not saying anything," Mary said, raising an eyebrow. "Your mum's clearly happy with him."
"Yeah, well." Poppy zipped up her bag and easily slipped it underneath the bed. She looked at Mary. "I don't trust him."
Fortunately, Mark seemed to notice that his presence wasn't entirely welcome, and after giving her mother some fairly disgusting affectionate kisses goodbye, he left. For the rest of the afternoon and the evening, Poppy spent almost every moment she could with her mother. Even if they did the most mundane of activities and just watched the television for an hour or two, Poppy didn't care. She was just happy to be with her mother.
Isla had talked about their mother a lot during their time at camp, but the one thing her words had been unable to capture was just how warm their mother was. It seemed to radiate from her; this inherent kindness she had. Her smile alone lit up a room. It was easy to see why Isla loved her so much, and how their father could've fallen in love with her.
It was strange to her really, being the other side of the world and without her father. She supposed she should've felt scared or homesick or both. Funnily enough, she didn't—the pleasure of being with the mother she had never known was more than enough of a distraction. Of course she missed her father; she'd missed him for the entire time she had been at camp. But now, as she sat curled up on the squashy sofa with her mother, she missed him for an entirely different reason. It felt like even though there were two people in that room, the room was still vastly empty. It felt like there should've been two more people there, taking up the unused spaces.
Two people who were currently on the other side of the world in a flat above a sandwich shop.
It was at that moment that Poppy realised that the rip went much further than an old photograph.