DURING THE JOURNEY to Poppy’s house, dread roiled in my stomach.
On arrival, and after listening to my complaints that I hadn’t any money to pay the taxi, Poppy hushed me and coaxed me indoors. From kitchen, to bathroom, to kitchen, she filled the kettle, ran me a bath, made drinks.
With a mug of steaming coffee for me, she took my hand and led me to the bathroom. A swish of her fingers frothed bubbles to the rim of the tub before she told me to get in, because it would ‘soothe the tenderness and help me feel better’.
I disagreed but didn’t like to say.
Left alone, I followed Poppy’s instruction. Bubbles fizzled across my chin as I closed my eyes. I didn’t bother to wash, simply concentrated on the gentle flow of the water against my soreness.
Once the liquid grew cold, I pulled out t
