How long are you going to endure this? she heard her late grandmothers voice echo once more as the lift shuddered down the sixteenstorey council block in Manchester.
From the start the marriage was a disaster. Thomas had whisked her away from schoolmates almost as soon as they could walk. He never let her finish her GCSEs. He forced her to stay home, to tend the house, to learn to driveonly because his father, a former mechanic, never left the workshop, and his friend, a driving instructor, had obliged him.
Poppy only left the flat when she absolutely had to. The sole necessity was a trip to the shop to restock the fridge. The only alternative to a walk was to hang the laundry on the balcony.
Thomas monitored her every move. No freedom, not even taking out the rubbish without his mobile glued to his coat pocketready for an instant call. The weekend, which began Friday night, terrified her. Thomas would burst in demanding dinner, a chilled bottle of his favourite gin perched on the table. After the meal hed linger, his contempt for her obvious, and whisper cruelly, Whats the use of you, you useless, emptyshell? When will I have an heir?
When he finally left the bedroom, still weeping, he returned to the kitchen, downed the last nip of gin, and then, with a sneer, asked, Wheres the lager? Poppy knew the question was a trap; she never bought beer during the day, buying herself a few precious minutes for a breath of fresh air.
Why are you silent? the ghostly granny urged, as the lift halted between floors. Do you like the way your husband treats you?
No, Poppy whispered, tears catching in her throat. He wipes his feet on me.
And thats only now, the voice cooed, itll get worse. Do you want him to tear you apart?
Heavens! she choked, no, of course not.
Then run, love, run!
Where? To my mother? She lives in a onebed flat with a new husband. To my father? Hes remarried. Im a cutoff piece, Gran. I have no one her eyes watered, her nose trembled.
Thats the point the spirit soothed. Alone means total freedom, a chance to start again. Imagine if you had a child
But where? How? Poppys gaze widened, pupils like saucers.
Opportunity will knock soon. Dont miss it. Keep watching from the window. Youll see.
What will I see? she asked.
Youll figure it out if youre not foolish. The lift is moving again. Dont be scared. Go get the lager for your dear. And one more thing the spectre whispered search the little jewellery box I left you after my death. It isnt empty; it has a double bottom. Find it, but leave no witnesses. Take only the contents; keep the box hidden so Thomas never suspects your escape.
Whats inside?
Answers to your questions.
The lift jolted upward. Though the voice gave no warning, Poppys body shivered. She stepped out onto the street as the evening snow melted, streams beginning to rush, nature reborn. Why not she?
***
Thomas, drunk, collapsed on the kitchen table, snoring like a beast. While his roar filled the flat, Poppy slipped into the bedroom, lifted the box, and shook it. Threads, needles, crochet hooks, buttonseveryday junk. Her husband, eyes narrowed, muttered, Ill toss it. Your Gran was a character, leaving us this old thing. No use for it.
She turned the wooden case over, feeling for a secret compartment. The wood was solid, yet something clicked inside. She pressed the raised edges; a small latch gave way, and a hidden drawer sprang out, striking her stomach.
Inside lay an envelope, a set of keys, and several tiny packets with absurd slogans: Turn on the brain, Freeze the fear, Ignite attention, Dont be a fool, Kill the weakness, Feed the meat. Gran had always been a bit of a witch, the neighbours on the landing used to whisper about her, though she kept up the façade of a proper housewifebaking pies, knitting sockswhile no one knew what she did when the building was empty.
She opened the envelope. Documents fell onto her lap: a deed for a cottage, the very house Gran had once boasted about, built without a single nail, hidden in the countryside. Another paper listed a vintage Lada, the Jigglecar with a foreign engine, kept in her fathers garage as a relic.
A handwritten note, tiny and cramped, read in Grans unmistakable scrawl:
My dear, the hour has come to open the box. All my belongings, except the flat, are yours. If youre reading this, its time. Take the papers, the boxs contents, and the car. Leave now. Peace and happiness await at Granddads house. The cash for your first weeks is tucked under the seat. Afterwards youll have to earn your own. Perhaps youll finally study. Gran
Gran had known Thomass plans, had opposed the marriage, yet even when Poppy disobeyed, Gran never turned away, offering guidance from beyond the grave.
Poppy gathered the papers, slipped them into a folder with the boxs contents. There was no time for hesitationjust grab and run. The first instruction read:
Open the gift? Take the packet Ignite attention. Sprinkle the powder into milk and drink. Keep the paper; dont toss it.
There were no more points, but Gran had insisted the instructions stay. She swallowed the powder with a glass of milk.
***
At dawn, with a clear head, Poppy rummaged under the mattress. A folder lay there, exactly as described. The second note instructed: Drink a glass of milk with the Dont be a fool powder on an empty stomach. She obeyed, then slipped into the kitchen, where Thomas still snored. She opened a window for air, then returned to the bedroom, glanced at the folder again. A third note warned: Dont lose the folder, youll meet an enemy. In an hour, drink tea with Kill the weakness. The fourth added: In another hour, drink coffee with Feed the meat. Stay alert.
She completed each ritual, feeling a strange vigor building in her limbs. Her reflection in the cracked mirror showed a hardened, athletic figuremuscles defined, posture straight, eyes bright with newfound strength.
A sudden thud on the laminate floor made Thomas turn. His brow furrowed.
You were in the lounge? he growled.
No Poppy stammered, heart pounding.
Did someone a lover? he hissed, stepping toward her.
Poppy, no longer a frightened girl, drew a breath of steel. Thomas lunged, fists flying, but she blocked each blow with practiced precision, her arms moving like a seasoned boxer. She twisted his arm, drove her elbow into his nose, and blood spurted from his nostril. He collapsed, pale, onto the floor.
She felt no pity, no fear for his health. She seized the folder again.
The fifth instruction crackled in her mind: Well done, Im proud. Look out the balcony, dress alike, leave the sash open. Place your bag where you see it. Then drink the Freeze the fear juice. When you collect the car, stop at a café, order a milkshake with Turn on the brain. Leave the other packets untouched. Run, as fast as you can. Gran
Poppy hurried to the kitchen, mixed the powder, and downed the drink. She sprinted to the balcony, pulled open the iron rail, and peered down. On the pavement lay a young girl, face down, hair matted, a thin figure that mirrored Poppys own. She was shivering in a thin grey coat, barefoot, no jacketMarchs chill cutting through. The girls body was bruised, but the strange concoction seemed to numb the terror in Poppys veins.
She donned the grey jeans and black tee she owned, snatched the folder, slipped the hidden wallet inside, and fled the flat barefoot, the cold biting her feet. By the back alley she found a sack with a pair of oversized winter boots, a battered coat, and a battered duvetenough to keep her alive.
She left the dead girls empty bag on the doorstep, as if someone had robbed her. She ran through the courtyard, the nearest tram line humming, and boarded the trolley, hoping it would take her to the old country road where Grans cottage lay.
***
At the garage, an old security guard, who remembered the bosss daughter, let her in after she showed the papers.
Not a problem, love. Why do you need that clunker? he asked.
Just the car, Poppy replied. The Lada is all I need.
He handed her the keys. Got a soda machine over there if youre thirsty.
She bought a cheap soda, a pair of sturdy winter sneakers, and a cheap but warm jacket. She tucked the cash from the glove compartment into the folder.
The Lada sputtered to life, the seat belts creaking as if theyd been untouched for years. Poppy waved goodbye to the guard, turned onto the motorway, traffic a sea of varied vehicles.
Look up, you see those signs? Grans voice echoed in her mind.
I see them, she replied with a halfsmile.
Turn left at the roundabout, head for Sheffield. Youll find what you need. Good luck, my girl.
Thank you, Gran, she whispered, glancing at the rearview mirror where, impossibly, a faint silhouette of her redhaired grandmother sat, wrapped in a puffy scarf, smiling.
The journey ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in years, Poppy felt the wind at her back, not the weight of a tyrants hand.
