Poppy

She sat amongst the poppies and daisies waiting for the boat to arrive. It was a fine day with gentle puffy clouds in the sky so she expected daddy to get home on time so they could spend some of Father’s Day together. Poppy contented herself making a long daisy chain belt, then a hairband and, when there was still no sign of the boat, a super-long one to make a tie for daddy when she saw him. Mummy had said he might not be able to make it, not to get her hopes up, reminding her, kindly, that daddy’s new wife had a baby too in the big city but Poppy knew daddy wouldn’t forget.

She had drawn a picture for him in crayon of the two of them on the island holding hands. There was a huge yellow sun in the sky and she had drawn herself wearing her poppy dress, so he’d think of her every time he opened the fridge. Daddy always put her drawings on the fridge. She could see them when they Facetimed. Sometimes she couldn’t hear him very well because the baby cried in the background or the picture would freeze but daddy always remembered to call on Sundays. Last week she’d asked him to come to see her on Father’s Day and he’d said he would try very hard.

The ferry slowly came into the harbour and passengers started to come off. Poppy looked across the bay. She was sure that was daddy! He looked like daddy from the distance. Daddy had a mustard jumper and blue jacket, it had to be daddy!

Poppy picked up her daisy chain and ran round the curving path to greet him, her hair flying, the daisy chain headband falling off, her heart thumping! “Daddy, daddy…daddy?”

The man turned. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure but when he squatted his arms wide she jumped into his arms smelling that familiar daddyness. Daddy was home!