Called

LIGHT | 8-3

POPPY STRODE INTO THE office where I waited. “Isn’t this where you bring the shop lifters?”

The shop assistant smiled. “It is.”

Poppy looked down at me in my seat. “You got something to tell me, Jem?”

“No.” I snorted.

“She hasn’t done anything wrong,” the assistant said. “She was just a bit upset.”

Poppy’s eyes appraised me before she gave an abrupt nod. “Let’s get you home.”

By home, she meant her house. After reassuring the assistant I’d be fine, I trailed behind Poppy through the store. In the cardigan section, all traces of the argument had vanished.

We’d scarcely pulled away in Jase’s Tourer when Poppy began her interrogation. “So, are you going to spill what happened?”

I took a deep breath. “We argued.”

“You and Peter never argue,” she said. “He says jump, and you say how high, but you never argue. Did he piss you off enough to answer him back at last?”

I nodded.

“I bet that went down like a lead balloon.” She knocked the indicator up before glancing at me. “I’m proud of you, girl.”

I couldn’t help but smile. I doubted it reached my eyes, though.

“What started it? For you to have something to say for yourself is odd, but ... What was it?”

“I had a ...” I paused, realising I didn’t want to share with Poppy what I’d shared with a heap of strangers. “... funny turn.”

“And ...” Her hand waved in prompt.

“Peter was mad because I embarrassed him.”

Poppy shook her head. “Arsehole.”

Agreeing with her for the first time, I nodded.

“So, you argued about your funny turn?”

I should’ve known she’d want more. “No, Peter ranted about my behaviour lately. He accused me of being pregnant and having an affair.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

I glared at her.

“I’m kidding, Jem. And Peter walked out because he thinks you’re having a fling?”

I should have told her the truth, but couldn’t bring myself to admit it to her. Besides, if Poppy knew about Peter’s behaviour, she’d never allow me home again—ever!

I sent her a nod.

***

* * * *

A KNOCK AT THE DOOR disturbed our relaxation after a dinner of chicken salad. With a knowing nod, Poppy left me and Jase in the living room while she went to answer it.

“Is Jem here, Poppy?”

At the sound of Peter’s voice, my body stiffened.

Poppy didn’t answer him. I imagined her giving him one of her looks.

“I’m worried about her, Poppy.”

Still no answer. After years of perfecting the art of the look, she could keep it up for a long time.

“Please, can you ask her to at least talk to me?”

Bare feet swished across floorboards, followed by the quiet rap of leather-soled shoes.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Jase gave me a supportive tap on the shoulder before leaving me on the corner-suite to join the kids outside. As he left, Peter entered and hovered in the doorway behind Poppy.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” The expression Poppy sent me was a fraction short of a stern wink-wink, nudge-nudge.

“Jem ...”

I turned to Peter.

“I’ve come to take you home.”

I looked away.

“Is it true, what you said?”

My glance from him to the kitchen, where I suspected Poppy eavesdropped, would have told him all he needed to know.

He released a deep sigh, lowered his voice. “Is it?”

My brow creased. I nodded.

His hands brushed across his hair. He frowned. “I’m sorry.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I gave another nod.

“Will you come home? We should talk about this.”

I stared away toward the world passing by outside the window before turning back to him. “Okay.”

He smiled.

As though materialising from thin air, Poppy appeared in the kitchen doorway. “You’re going home?” Her eyes searched mine.

I nodded. “Thanks, Poppy. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

When I neared Peter, he reached out and rubbed my arms.

I sidestepped him to make my exit, my body stiffening beneath his touch.