Poppy Flyte and the Golden Egg
Chapter One
Hearing a baby cry, Oscar ran up the staircase two at a time, crashing through the bedroom door to meet the midwife's reassuring smile.
'It’s a wee girl sir, you’re a Father to a beautiful baby’, she gushed, warmly congratulating him with a huge smile.
The baby's eyes were already bright and alert, ‘blue and wide as the Indian Ocean,’ he whispered softly to Paula.
They wrapped her in a bright shawl covered in psychedelic flowers and named her Poppy. Bundled like a tiny Egyptian mummy within a rosewood crib the shape of Noah's Ark engraved with dolphins, a sea of wooden foam and surrounded by long necked giraffes and spindly cranes, they watched over the tiny infant sleeping soundly.
The Flyte family home had seen grander times but to Poppy, growing up there was sheer heaven. She imagined it was like living in an old ship and she was a pirate on-board a sea-faring vessel bound for exotic lands and wild adventures. The interior was shabby but bright and cavernous, with circular bay-shaped windows facing out to a small front garden and a pretty tree lined street beyond. The house oozed old fashioned charm from its grainy seen-better-days floor boards to the spacious attics pungent with an air of fragrant spices, dust and burning logs from fireplaces and coal emanating from the kitchen grange. For most of her early childhood Oscar was abroad and she was used to seeing little of him. Oscar was an archaeologist with a passion that fuelled him, he travelled throughout Europe, Southern Turkey and Greece, but most of all to Egypt which he called his ‘true love’. After many weeks away he arrived home shabby and unshaven through weeks of rough living assuming a notable resemblance to Indiana Jones. His hair was black as a raven's wing with unruly thick curls waving on his suntanned line etched cheeks as though he slept on a broken pot. Poppy imagined them as maps and journeys adding colour and mystery to her Father's character. The house came alive with eastern promise and quirkiness whether he was there or not. He filled the house to the rafters with a sea of battered suitcases and canvas bags oozing tell-tale signs of adventures, regaling her with stories of the places he visited, discoveries made, each steeped in mystery that over time Poppy too became mysteriously woven into like an unseen thread in an ancient tapestry.
When Poppy was 10 years old a strange series of events deepened her bond with Oscar and changed the course of her life.
One Summer's day returning home after school Poppy made a short-cut through the park to where chestnut tree branches hung heavy to the ground, casting a deeper shadow to what little light there had been that day. She was in a sulky mood as Paula, who normally met her from school was caught in the rush hour traffic, and had called the school to say ‘would Poppy go straight home from school.’ Home wasn’t far, it wasn’t a big deal, but Poppy wasn’t in the mood to walk home.
She sauntered along the path, scuffing her feet against the hard ground when something caught her eye. The dark iron railings at the park gates brightly glittered as though a golden ball of light was bouncing off them. There was no break in the clouds, a thick heavy granite sky overhead that might thunder soon. Poppy ran quickly towards the gates but never managed to reach the lights which kept pace with her speed and eventually arriving out of breath at her own road, Poppy's mood had lifted from dark to dreamy. She watched in awe as the dust-cloud floated up the garden path to her own front door and hovered there a moment before disappearing into thin air.
Once inside the house Poppy flung her school bag over the end of the bannister and made a bee-line for the kitchen. Before she reached the end of the hall, an atmosphere descended with a thud, something in the house was different. Her cat Columbus had combed the length of the hall half a dozen times since Poppy arrived home. As she stooped to pick him up her hand brushed a mark off his head that powdered silver metallic onto her fingers and with surprise, she heard someone crying upstairs.
((Columbus had jade-green eyes and fur as black as coal except for a fingerprint of snow-white fur dabbed between his eyes like an Indian bindi.))
She crept slowly upstairs her feet barely touching the floor as she went to investigate and knocked gently on her parents bedroom door, opening it just wide enough to peer inside. Poppy gasped and held her breath.
Paula was sobbing into the pillows. Turning to Poppy, Paula's make-up had run down her cheeks giving the appearance of a sad clown.
What’s wrong? Asked Poppy.
Paula said it was nothing as she wiped a grey tear from her face and braved a smile. It didn’t look like nothing, thought Poppy, hanging back in the doorway to the bedroom. Paula reached out for her to come over.
‘Mum, what’s up, has something bad happened? Don’t you feel well? Are you feeling upset because you lost at tennis yesterday?’
Paula laughed a little at her daughter’s questions and pulled Poppy closer, stroking her head and said,
' I thought Daddy was away but I saw him here, in London today, on my way home. He hasn’t been in touch, something must have happened. I’m a little scared.’
So this is why she couldn’t pick me up today, thought Poppy.
They sat in silence for sometime, Poppy staring at the masses of pillows and cushions heaped on the bed as Paula picked a strand of loose cotton poking out of the bed cover thinking, I mustn’t cry again, I must pull myself together for Poppy.
Paula took a different underground route home from the city. Her normal line was closed and as the train emerged from the darkness from the tunnel, Paula gazed out of the carriage window to look at billboards for West End Theatre shows, and watch the throng of people milling about the platforms, and there was Oscar.
It was so unexpected Paula almost ran off the train at once to meet him but as the train stopped her confusion mounted. Oscar was all dressed up, suited and booted in the most amazing black tuxedo, smart bow tie and crisp white shirt. He looked dazzling and she couldn’t help but smile at this beautiful man she called her husband. For the last couple of weeks Oscar had been in Southern Turkey on a new project he was leading, so why was he here now? Why hadn’t he told her?
She wanted to get his attention, and raised her hand in a polite wave. He didn’t see her and then her attention rested on the person sitting next to him on the bench. A woman sat close to Oscar’s side and in a second Paula realised they were together. She felt unaccountably disturbed by the whole scene and longed for the train to move on. The woman was striking, other worldly, exotic and like Oscar, immaculately dressed. They looked like a couple of film stars off to an award ceremony. Paula felt sick to the stomach. Just before the train moved on, noticed the station sign above them; The Angel, and felt it was an omen.
Eventually the train pulled out of the station, and by the time it reached Paula’s destination, she had convinced herself this fantastic stranger without a doubt had won her husband's heart. Things would never be the same again she told Poppy.
Chapter One
Hearing a baby cry, Oscar ran up the staircase two at a time, crashing through the bedroom door to meet the midwife's reassuring smile.
'It’s a wee girl sir, you’re a Father to a beautiful baby’, she gushed, warmly congratulating him with a huge smile.
The baby's eyes were already bright and alert, ‘blue and wide as the Indian Ocean,’ he whispered softly to Paula.
They wrapped her in a bright shawl covered in psychedelic flowers and named her Poppy. Bundled like a tiny Egyptian mummy within a rosewood crib the shape of Noah's Ark engraved with dolphins, a sea of wooden foam and surrounded by long necked giraffes and spindly cranes, they watched over the tiny infant sleeping soundly.
The Flyte family home had seen grander times but to Poppy, growing up there was sheer heaven. She imagined it was like living in an old ship and she was a pirate on-board a sea-faring vessel bound for exotic lands and wild adventures. The interior was shabby but bright and cavernous, with circular bay-shaped windows facing out to a small front garden and a pretty tree lined street beyond. The house oozed old fashioned charm from its grainy seen-better-days floor boards to the spacious attics pungent with an air of fragrant spices, dust and burning logs from fireplaces and coal emanating from the kitchen grange. For most of her early childhood Oscar was abroad and she was used to seeing little of him. Oscar was an archaeologist with a passion that fuelled him, he travelled throughout Europe, Southern Turkey and Greece, but most of all to Egypt which he called his ‘true love’. After many weeks away he arrived home shabby and unshaven through weeks of rough living assuming a notable resemblance to Indiana Jones. His hair was black as a raven's wing with unruly thick curls waving on his suntanned line etched cheeks as though he slept on a broken pot. Poppy imagined them as maps and journeys adding colour and mystery to her Father's character. The house came alive with eastern promise and quirkiness whether he was there or not. He filled the house to the rafters with a sea of battered suitcases and canvas bags oozing tell-tale signs of adventures, regaling her with stories of the places he visited, discoveries made, each steeped in mystery that over time Poppy too became mysteriously woven into like an unseen thread in an ancient tapestry.
When Poppy was 10 years old a strange series of events deepened her bond with Oscar and changed the course of her life.
One Summer's day returning home after school Poppy made a short-cut through the park to where chestnut tree branches hung heavy to the ground, casting a deeper shadow to what little light there had been that day. She was in a sulky mood as Paula, who normally met her from school was caught in the rush hour traffic, and had called the school to say ‘would Poppy go straight home from school.’ Home wasn’t far, it wasn’t a big deal, but Poppy wasn’t in the mood to walk home.
She sauntered along the path, scuffing her feet against the hard ground when something caught her eye. The dark iron railings at the park gates brightly glittered as though a golden ball of light was bouncing off them. There was no break in the clouds, a thick heavy granite sky overhead that might thunder soon. Poppy ran quickly towards the gates but never managed to reach the lights which kept pace with her speed and eventually arriving out of breath at her own road, Poppy's mood had lifted from dark to dreamy. She watched in awe as the dust-cloud floated up the garden path to her own front door and hovered there a moment before disappearing into thin air.
Once inside the house Poppy flung her school bag over the end of the bannister and made a bee-line for the kitchen. Before she reached the end of the hall, an atmosphere descended with a thud, something in the house was different. Her cat Columbus had combed the length of the hall half a dozen times since Poppy arrived home. As she stooped to pick him up her hand brushed a mark off his head that powdered silver metallic onto her fingers and with surprise, she heard someone crying upstairs.
((Columbus had jade-green eyes and fur as black as coal except for a fingerprint of snow-white fur dabbed between his eyes like an Indian bindi.))
She crept slowly upstairs her feet barely touching the floor as she went to investigate and knocked gently on her parents bedroom door, opening it just wide enough to peer inside. Poppy gasped and held her breath.
Paula was sobbing into the pillows. Turning to Poppy, Paula's make-up had run down her cheeks giving the appearance of a sad clown.
What’s wrong? Asked Poppy.
Paula said it was nothing as she wiped a grey tear from her face and braved a smile. It didn’t look like nothing, thought Poppy, hanging back in the doorway to the bedroom. Paula reached out for her to come over.
‘Mum, what’s up, has something bad happened? Don’t you feel well? Are you feeling upset because you lost at tennis yesterday?’
Paula laughed a little at her daughter’s questions and pulled Poppy closer, stroking her head and said,
' I thought Daddy was away but I saw him here, in London today, on my way home. He hasn’t been in touch, something must have happened. I’m a little scared.’
So this is why she couldn’t pick me up today, thought Poppy.
They sat in silence for sometime, Poppy staring at the masses of pillows and cushions heaped on the bed as Paula picked a strand of loose cotton poking out of the bed cover thinking, I mustn’t cry again, I must pull myself together for Poppy.
Paula took a different underground route home from the city. Her normal line was closed and as the train emerged from the darkness from the tunnel, Paula gazed out of the carriage window to look at billboards for West End Theatre shows, and watch the throng of people milling about the platforms, and there was Oscar.
It was so unexpected Paula almost ran off the train at once to meet him but as the train stopped her confusion mounted. Oscar was all dressed up, suited and booted in the most amazing black tuxedo, smart bow tie and crisp white shirt. He looked dazzling and she couldn’t help but smile at this beautiful man she called her husband. For the last couple of weeks Oscar had been in Southern Turkey on a new project he was leading, so why was he here now? Why hadn’t he told her?
She wanted to get his attention, and raised her hand in a polite wave. He didn’t see her and then her attention rested on the person sitting next to him on the bench. A woman sat close to Oscar’s side and in a second Paula realised they were together. She felt unaccountably disturbed by the whole scene and longed for the train to move on. The woman was striking, other worldly, exotic and like Oscar, immaculately dressed. They looked like a couple of film stars off to an award ceremony. Paula felt sick to the stomach. Just before the train moved on, noticed the station sign above them; The Angel, and felt it was an omen.
Eventually the train pulled out of the station, and by the time it reached Paula’s destination, she had convinced herself this fantastic stranger without a doubt had won her husband's heart. Things would never be the same again she told Poppy.