Chapter 4
Poppy spent the latter part of the weekend at her parents’ house in Sevenoaks.
Her family tended to gather for a Sunday roast at least once a month, working around Grace’s nursing shifts.
It was always the five of them – Poppy’s mum and dad, Trish and Brian, plus Grace and her girlfriend, Erin – and there was something comforting about returning to the home where she had grown up.
As dishes of vegetables and potatoes were passed back and forth across the table, her dad complained about roadworks – a favourite topic of his – then Grace talked about a patient she had been dealing with, and Poppy appreciated the buzz of conversation, grateful that the spotlight wasn’t on her.
She smiled and nodded in the right places, but it felt like she was watching everything through fog.
Nothing had been mentioned about her work, thankfully. She didn’t want her family worrying about her, and she was glad that Simon Daley had only posted his video on Facebook. Neither of her parents had social media accounts, and Grace and Erin preferred Instagram and TikTok.
After dessert, she helped her mum clear the table, while the others drifted through into the living room. It was in the kitchen that her mum cornered her.
‘You’re quiet today, love. Everything okay?’
Poppy hesitated. She could lie. It would be easier.
‘Just tired,’ she said instead. ‘Work’s been a bit full-on.’
Her mum studied her, then nodded. ‘Well, don’t work yourself into the ground. You’re no good to anyone if you do.’
It wasn’t an interrogation, just concern, and Poppy’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
‘I won’t,’ she promised, before adding, ‘Actually, I was thinking about maybe taking a break and getting away somewhere for a few days.’
‘Have you got anywhere nice in mind?’
‘I’m not sure yet. I looked at flights yesterday. Maybe a late package deal somewhere warm.’
‘That might be a good idea,’ her mum agreed. ‘The sun will do you good. You’re looking a little pale.’ She was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Doesn’t your friend – what’s his name? Tom – live in Crete? Could you maybe visit him?’
Poppy shrugged. She didn’t admit that the idea had already crossed her mind.
Back home in her flat, Poppy kicked off her trainers and collapsed onto the sofa. She picked up her phone and scrolled without really taking anything in.
There were a few new messages from authors she knew and had worked with, and she was relieved to see they were generally kind, even if they were cautious and non-committal.
The consensus seemed to be that they wanted to support her from afar without involving themselves in the situation. At least there was nothing abusive.
A message from Tom popped up.
How was the family circus?
Poppy smiled, despite herself. It had been a while since anyone had made her feel how Tom did.
She was quick to respond.
Loud, as always, but comforting. Both the company and the food.
He replied with:
Sunday roasts always remind me of home.
She paused, debating her answer. He never spoke much about his life here before moving abroad.
Do you ever miss England?
There was a short delay before his next message came through.
Sometimes. More the people than the place. Crete suits me. It’s more relaxed here.
She could picture it all in her head – the sunshine and open space, away from the demands and stress of everyday life.
Tom had shown her the villa he called home over video call before and it was out of this world. Far nicer than anywhere she had ever stayed abroad. It was on the outskirts of a village and perfectly secluded, though still in walking distance of the tavernas and close to the beach.
She knew from the occasional comment he made that he had enough money that he didn’t have to work, but he had never bragged or rubbed the fact in her face.
And while she was sometimes envious of his lifestyle, she was aware his wealth had been inherited.
Given the choice, she was sure he would rather have his family back.
Keira thinks I should get away for a bit. Wait for things to blow over.
She’s right. A break would probably do you good. And you’ll be able to get a late deal somewhere warm.
Absolutely, especially with it being the end of the season. At first, I’d thought just a week, but a fortnight would be good. I’ve not had a holiday in a while. It would help recharge my batteries.
When are you thinking about going?
I’d like to try to get away somewhere by next weekend.
She hesitated, before quickly adding:
Is it quiet where you are?
He replied without picking up on her not-so-subtle hints:
Very. But I like it with less tourists around. You can hear yourself think. Plus you get the beach to yourself. It’s peaceful.
His words stayed with her. Peaceful sounded appealing.
That evening, she went back to the flight search she had abandoned the day before.
This time she typed in Crete as a destination.
She had never been there, but Tom always made it sound so nice and it felt familiar, perhaps because of him, yet still far enough away to feel like a clean break.
Somewhere quiet, where she could breathe again.
She clicked through a few options, comparing flight times, scanning hotel photos she barely registered.
One listing caught her eye. It was for a charming-looking apartment with a shared pool in a place called Souda Bay on the northern coast. Perhaps because the dates were reasonable and end of season, the price was surprisingly affordable.
Should she book it?
It was spontaneous and she was anything but.
Besides, would it be weird if Tom found out she was coming to Crete but hadn’t said anything?
Maybe she should just ask about staying with him.
She closed the tab quickly, her heart giving an unexpected thud as she realised she was getting ahead of herself.
It would be cheeky to invite herself. Maybe she should stick to Spain.
But even as she tried to talk herself into it, as she brushed her teeth before undressing and climbing into bed that night, the thought of a Greek holiday lingered.
By the time she turned out the light, Poppy knew Spain wouldn’t do.