Poppy, we agreed. Granddads waiting.
Helen stood in the doorway of her daughters room, clutching a bag of treats for her fatherinlaw. The jars of jam clinked dullly as she stepped over the threshold.
Anastasia tore herself away from the laptop and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her eyes stung from hours of studying, and a wave of fatigue pressed on her temples.
Mum, I cant. Ive got exams looming. I need at least one day just to lie down.
Shes planning to lie down, Helen snapped, displeased. Granddads blood pressures all over the place, hes alone in that little Yorkshire village, and you want to lounge? Youre selfish, Poppy.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. James appeared behind his wife, already in a travel jacket.
Whats the fuss now? he surveyed the room, a sea of textbooks and printouts.
Your daughter refuses to go to granddad. Shes exhausted, you see.
James frowned. He rarely meddled in Helens spats with the girl, but something shifted in his usually unflappable face.
Poppy, thats over the line. Your granddad isnt getting any younger. We havent seen him for a month.
Anastasia slumped back in her chair. Irritation boiled in her chest, but she tried to keep it in check.
Dad, I get it. But Im practically on my feet. Let me pop over next weekend, just for a day. Sit with him, have a proper chat.
Same old you! Helen raised her voice. Next weekend, next month, next year! Meanwhile granddads sitting there by himself! Seventytwo years old, and his granddaughter cant tear herself away from a laptop!
Mum, enough.
No, its not enough! Do you ever think of anyone besides yourself? Your father and I work ourselves to the bone, and you cant even manage a single day with your own granddad!
Anastasia pursed her lips. Inside, a stubborn resistance rose an inexplicable reluctance to go that she couldnt quite name. Yes, she was tired, but there was also a vague, unformed feeling that today she ought to stay put.
Im not going, she said firmly. Sorry.
James shook his head.
Fine, stay here and rest. Just dont be surprised if granddad stops calling you his beloved granddaughter.
James, dont start, Helen grabbed his sleeve. Lets get out. Talking to her is pointless.
They left, slamming the front door. Anastasia sat motionless for a long while, listening to the fading echo of their steps on the stairs, the hum of the car in the driveway. Then she sighed, reached for her laptop.
Silence wrapped the flat like a soft cocoon. Poppy flung the windows open May air, warm and fresh, drifted in with the distant city din. She brewed a cup of tea, settled at the desk, and finally relaxed.
The clock ticked past two oclock when Anastasia woke. She stretched, cracking her spine, and headed for the kitchen for a biscuit when a strange smell hit her nostrils.
At first she ignored it. Neighbours often barbecued; the scent of grills drifted down the street. But the odor grew thicker, sharper. Not a barbecue. Not cooking. Something burning.
She rose and headed toward the balcony. With each step the smell intensified bitter, acrid, with a synthetic chemical tang. She threw open the balcony door and froze.
The sofa was ablaze, filling the room with black smoke.
No, no, no!
Anastasia lunged at the couch. An unfinished cigarette, its orange tip smoldering, lay on the upholstery. Someone had tossed it from above, and the wind had steered it straight into the flat.
She bolted to the kitchen.
Her hands trembled as she pulled a pot from the cupboard. The tap dribbled agonisingly slow. Not waiting for it to fill, she grabbed the heavy pot and raced back.
The first pot doused the smouldering patch, but the foam inside kept smoking. She scrambled for a second pot, then a third. Water splashed over the sofa, onto the floor, streaming to the skirtings.
Only after the fourth pot did the smoke begin to thin. Anastasia stood amid the wreckage, breathing hard, water up to her elbows. The sofa was a mush of burnt fabric and soggy foam. The flat reeked of melted synthetics.
She sank onto the wet floor, hugging her knees. The adrenaline faded, a shiver ran through her. A latecoming dread hit when she realised what might have happened if shed left with her parents, if the flat had been empty, if her nose hadnt caught the scent in time.
The house would have gone up in flames. All their stuff, documents, memories.
She fished for her phone and dialled her mum.
Mum? her voice cracked on the first word.
Poppy? Whats happened?
Mum, there was a fire. Well, it started. I put it out, but the sofas gone.
Silence hung on the line. Then Helens voice came, thin.
Are you alright? Poppy, are you okay?
Yeah, Im fine. A cigarette blew in from the balcony, I didnt see it at first, but I managed to douse everything with water. I didnt call the fire brigade; I handled it myself.
Were coming, Jamess voice cut in from somewhere offscreen; hed snatched the phone from Helen. Stay put, dont go anywhere. Were on our way.
The call dropped.
Anastasia remained seated on the floor, staring at what had been their sofa an hour ago. It was an old, wellworn piece, bought when she was twelve, the spot for blanketfort movies, first heartbreak tears, and dads postwork naps.
Now it was a smoking heap.
A minute later, keys rattled in the lock. The door burst open and Helen stormed in, hair a mess, eyes red.
Poppy!
She raced down the hallway, barreling into the living room and stopping, rooted to the spot. Her gaze fell on the charred couch, the puddles, the black soot stains on the wall, then snapped back to her daughter slumped in a chair.
Oh my God
Helen lunged forward, clinging to Anastasia with a grip so tight it hurt. Her scent was a mix of perfume, sweat, and something else plain, raw fear.
Im sorry, she whispered into Poppys hair. Im sorry for everything I shouted this morning. Calling you selfish, irresponsible God, Im such a fool.
Anastasia held her mother back, words stuck deep down.
James followed, pacing slowly, surveying the damage. He pressed a finger to the blackened wall, then perched on the ruined couch, poking at the melted foam.
Good job with the water, he finally said. Efficient. Lots of it.
I just reacted, she replied. It was on autopilot.
Exactly what you needed to do, he affirmed. The important thing is you didnt freeze.
He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.
Well done, Poppy. Seriously. You saved our home.
Helen wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smudging mascara across her cheeks without noticing.
Do you realise what would have happened if youd gone? she asked, voice trembling. The flat would have been empty, windows open, fire would have devoured everything The whole block could have gone up. The Petersons downstairs have two kids can you imagine?
James wrapped an arm around his wifes shoulders.
Len, enough. It didnt happen, so stop worrying.
But Helen couldnt stop. Tears streamed down unchecked.
I yelled at you this morning, called you selfish. And you you saved us. All of us.
Mum, what are you on about? Anastasia brushed her mothers hand awkwardly. I didnt know it would turn out like that. I was just exhausted and wanted to stay.
Thats the point! Helen seized her shoulders, looked straight into her eyes. You didnt know, but something inside you did. Call it intuition, a gut feeling, whatever. It kept you here and saved us all.
James snorted, but without his usual scepticism.
Mum does get a bit mystical, but shes right. You stood your ground, and thank heavens you did.
The rest of the day passed in a strange daze. James carted the sofa remains to the skip, Anastasia mopped the floor, Helen scrubbed soot off the walls. They worked in silence, punctuated by short exchanges.
By evening the flat looked almost normal, save for the empty rectangle on the floor where the sofa had stood.
They ate dinner at the kitchen table, pulling stools close. Helen tossed spaghetti with sausages together quick, mindless.
You know, Poppy, she said, stirring her tea, Ill tell you something important.
Anastasia lifted her eyes from the plate.
Listen to your intuition. Always. Even if it sounds daft, even if everyone else says youre wrong. When something inside nudges you, dont argue with it.
James nodded, chewing his sausage.
Ive lived on logic all my life, calculations. But sometimes something just clicks, and you know what to do.
Today that something saved our house, Helen added.
Anastasia stared at her plate, a shy smile tugging at her lips. She wasnt used to hearing that from her mum. Usually there was sparring, tension, a buzz of irritation. Now, something different lingered fragile but genuine.
Well go to granddad next weekend, she said. All of us. Well tell him well, not everything his heart might not take it.
Right, Helen said with a halfsmile. Well say the sofa wore out. Get a new one.
Ill take a bucket of water up to the balcony, James chimed in.
They laughed, nervous, letting out the days tension.
Outside, dusk settled over the town, lights flickering on, a distant siren wailing perhaps an ambulance, perhaps the fire brigade. Anastasia listened, a shiver running through her.
Shed learned something vital today not just about gut feelings, but about herself, about acting when it mattered, not panicking, just doing what was needed.
And about her parents, whose shouting and nagging hid a deep fear the fear of losing her, a clumsy, awkward fear expressed through complaints and notes, but ultimately love.
Helen gathered the dishes, began washing. James disappeared into the bedroom, Googling new sofas. Anastasia stayed at the table, warming her hands over the mug.
A perfectly ordinary Sunday evening. Except it wasnt.
Mum, she called.
What?
Thanks. For coming, for not shouting, for just being here.
Helen turned from the sink, gave her daughter a long, odd look, then smiled tired but warm.
Thank you, Poppy. For everything.
