Free Poppy Day by Amanda Prowse Page A

Zelgai Mahmood – the ZMO, or Zelgai Mahmood Organisation. We know that they are extremists who are feared, well-funded and organised, but currently we don’t know exactly why they have taken Martin or what it is that they want.’
    ‘It’s probably money though, right? Or if he is a bargaining chip, as you say, then maybe they want to exchange him for some of their prisoners.’ Poppy was trying to think of all the possibilities, knowing that this would be where the answer lay; she was already thinking of a solution, there had to be something that could be done.
    Rob smiled at her again and was glad that she was thinking along the right lines. ‘That’s probably about the sum of it, yes, Poppy.’
    She felt exhausted, but needed to keep alert, needed to know more. ‘And do you know where they are holding him, Rob?’
    He shook his head. ‘We don’t. It is very likely that he is still in the region where he was taken, as moving him around would be deemed too risky.’
    ‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Can’t we just send in those Special Forces blokes or Ross Kemp or whatever and get him back?’ Poppy’s fatigue allowed her to fuse the fiction with the reality. She regretted sounding naive, young.
    ‘It’s not that simple. The region where Martin was taken is mountainous and dangerous, even without the possible threat from ZMO supporters.’
    ‘I can’t believe people actually support them when they do such bloody horrible things.’
    ‘It’s hard for us to understand, but the people that live there are so poor, they have nothing. The ZMO looks after them in exchange for loyalty and help; it’s a system that works. Even if we could get close enough to take him, he might be moved or sold on quicker than we could get to him. It’s better that neither of those things happen.’
    ‘Better why?’
    He didn’t answer.
    Poppy accepted his silence, trusting him enough to assume if he thought it better that she didn’t know, then maybe it was. ‘I don’t know what I should be doing, Rob. It’s like I’m in a horrible dream and I wish I’d wake up.’
    ‘I know it’s easy to say, Poppy, but try not to worry.’
    She smiled; yes, it was easy to say…
    ‘Poppy, I don’t think that you should be here alone. Is there someone that you can call? I’m happy to wait with you until they arrive.’ He was insistent.
    It was her turn to shake her head. ‘There’s no one, but I am going to visit my nan now, so I won’t be alone.’
    Rob visibly brightened. She didn’t spoil the illusion, but rather let him picture her sitting in front of her nan’s fire, being fed fruitcake from a doily-laden plate, while the two drank tea from dainty, floral china cups. The reality was Poppy changing her nan’s pants for the umpteenth time that day and helping to brush her dentures, while her nan rummaged in her knitting bag for stray mints and plucked at invisible lint on her cardigan.
     
     
    The residential home for the elderly was called The Poplars, which Dorothea pronounced ‘The Populars’ and which quickly became known as ‘The Unpopulars’ as she hated it there, or so she said. Poppy’s not so sure. It was owned and run by Mr Veerswamy and his family, at least twenty members of which Poppy has met over the last few years. Mr Veerswamy called her nan ‘Dorothy’, which drove her crazy, no pun intended. In her current state it was curious, the stuff that bothered her, the moments of lucidity and the things that slipped from her loosening grasp on reality.
    The old lady, in whatever state the day might find her, always, always knew Poppy; she knew that she loved this gift of a granddaughter and that her love was reciprocated. For this, Poppy was entirely grateful. Dorothea also had a strange, misguided belief. This was one of those bits of information that to anyone outside their immediate circle sounded bizarre, humorous even, but wasn’t at all strange to Poppy. This was either because she was used to