-Thank you all so much for the reviews! You made me really happy, and also reminded me to keep writing, as uni has gotten pretty hectic and I forgot. Keep 'em coming and I hope you're still enjoying! The story is heading for a particular direction, although it may not seem like it, and it will pick up the pace soon! Onetinynaylor x-

JAC'S POINT OF VIEW

Jac stepped gently down each step, missing the 2nd from the top, 6th from the bottom, and 3rd from the bottom because they creaked. She made her way quietly into the kitchen to eat and clean up, but didn't get that far. Her dinner was magically on the worktop, covered in cling film. All traces of Emma's korma had been removed from the floor, chair and table. Everything was spotless.

Jac spun around to see if Poppy was still in the room, and couldn't see her. She must have slunk off upstairs after cleaning up.

That was good of her, Jac thought as her bowl spun round in the microwave. She didn't have to do that, it wasn't her house to clean.

Jac took the bowl, wrapped in a tea towel, to the sofas, and sank down onto one. But there was someone already there. Jac leapt out of her skin, and stared down at sleeping Poppy, half covered in a blanket, dark hair fanned out across the cushion. She had deep grey circles under her eyes, and her forehead was creased even in sleep.

Jac didn't know what do to. She probably could have carried Poppy upstairs (she really was rather small for a teenager) but she didn't feel comfortable doing that. If she was her own child, she would have no hesitation, but the girl had only moved in yesterday.

As she ate the remains of her food, she decided to leave Poppy there. What harm would a night on the sofa do anyway?

The next morning, Jac came downstairs for a coffee. Emma wasn't awake yet; Jac cherished the quiet moments she had. They reminded her of how long she lived alone for, and how she had no one to please but herself, and how satisfied that made her.

Jac stood at the sliding doors, staring out into the garden. The early morning autumn sunshine was filtered through orange layers of leaves from the tree, and they danced across the patio in swirls. It was definitely Jac's favourite time of year.

She turned around to make her way up to wake Emma, and noticed that the sofa was empty. Poppy must have woken in the night and gone upstairs. Jac immediately felt a pang of guilt for leaving her in the big, cold kitchen – she would never have done that to Emma.

In the noise and the mess of giving Emma breakfast, and piling into the car, and dropping her off at crèche, Jac didn't notice how quiet Poppy was being. And after she sent Poppy off to the staffroom, she was booked up in theatre all day.

Her head was full of aortic aneurysms and cardiomyopathy, and she was in the zone. Days like these where none of her doctors were AWOL, none of the patients were collapsing randomly, and there was time and space to do things carefully, were Jac's favourites.

It was gone 4 by the time she went to check on Poppy. She strolled through the door to the staffroom.

"How's your day going? Mine is the most productive I've had in weeks!" Jac said cheerfully, and then stopped. The smile dropped from her face.

Two tea-drinking magazine-reading nurses stared at her in confusion. And Poppy was nowhere to be seen.

Jac turned and ran back to the office, shouting to anyone she passed if they'd seen Poppy. She scrambled about in her bag for her phone, before realising with horror that she didn't have her number. She sank down onto her chair and ran her hands through her hair.

Where the hell could a 14 year old be? She's probably just in Pulses or out on the benches or something. She didn't have a key, Jac thought, so she couldn't go home.

Home.

Unless she's gone to her own home.

Jac was up and out of her seat clutching her car keys quicker than she ever had been before. She couldn't believe Poppy would just walk off without saying anything. How stupid does someone have to be? Jac thought angrily. Surely she could have used a shred of common sense and told Jac what was going on?

As Jac's BMW sped out of the car park and through the streets of Holby, Jac tried in vain to remember where Poppy's house was. Holby, Jac thought irritably, was one of those stupid towns where it's just slightly too big to really know your way around properly. Plus Jac never had time to explore anyway.

After hitting a traffic jam through the main road across town, Jac lost patience. She swung the car round, almost colliding with a Skoda (ridiculous car, Jac seethed, the sort for old people who don't understand the meaning of a speed limit), and headed to her own house. She knew Poppy's file would be in her drawer, where she'd specifically put it just two days ago, and she knew her address would be in it somewhere.

As she twisted the key in the lock, her throat went tight. Jac stopped what she was doing and rubbed her neck gently. Stress always made her feel wheezy, it was a weakness that she didn't have the time or the patience for. But this time something caught in her throat, and tears sprung to the corners of her eyes. The panic she felt in her stomach was unreal. Those butterflies, not the good kind, not the nervous kind you get before a presentation, but the awful, terrified kind.

Jac shook her head, swiped the tears from her cheeks, twisted the key and shoved the door open with her shoulder.

As she headed into the kitchen, she paused in the doorway and yelled "Poppy!" up the stairs as loud as she could. When there was no reply after five seconds, Jac continued through the kitchen, and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

The drawer was right there. Above the drawer with the pointless cooking stuff that she always forgot to use, like the spiralizer. And the garlic crusher. It was a white drawer just like all the others, except this one was filled with important stuff. Gas bills, Emma's birth certificate, car insurance details. And Poppy's file.

Jac yanked open the drawer, and searched fleetingly with her eyes for the brown A4 envelope with the white sticker on the corner.

And then she looked closer, rifled through the rest of the paper in the drawer.

Nothing. Poppy's file had gone.