Smoking Poppy by Graham Joyce (the read aloud family .txt) 📕

be two minutes,’ I said to the others. ‘We’ll see you on the path.’

Charlie and I found Nabao sitting on the threshold of her hut, smoking her huge tobacco drainpipe. She hadn’t joined in the festivities. On seeing us she put aside her pipe, stood up, and held out her arms to Charlie. She knew exactly what was happening. The thought didn’t comfort me, serving only to make me more paranoid, but I guessed the old woman had intuited what we would do. Charlie embraced her and I saw Nabao’s sugary eyes film over. When they’d finished hugging, Nabao dashed inside her hut to retrieve something, emerging with the Fred Flintstone clock sleeved in its plastic wrapping. She spoke rapidly and tried to push the clock into Charlie’s hands: a parting gift, and probably the most valuable thing she owned.

Charlie refused the clock. She said a few words, and Nabao seemed satisfied. ‘Give me your watch, Dad. I told her that at midday every day I would look at the time and think of her.’ I handed over my wristwatch and Charlie strapped it on. My daughter’s eyes were wet. Nabao smiled. For myself I grabbed Nabao’s hand and I kissed it. Her own face was utterly expressionless.

‘Come on, Charlie,’ I said, and we slipped away into the darkness.

Mick and Phoo were waiting for us on the path. The villagers had removed our belongings from the hut before torching it, and Phoo had already assembled our backpacks for us. ‘Where’s Phil?’ I wanted to know.

‘We’re waiting for him,’ Mick said.

‘Christ!’

Almost frantic, I jogged back towards the village and there I saw Phil sitting down, calmly watching the festivities. ‘Today would be good,’ I said.

‘Not coming with you,’ Phil said.

‘What?’

‘Not coming. Can’t come.’

This was exactly what I needed. I squatted before him and took his face in my hands. ‘Phil, I apologise for anything I said to hurt you.’

‘It’s not about anything you said. I have things to put right here.’

‘Phil, I’m sorry for anything I’ve said or done in the past twenty-five years. I’m sorry for being a crap dad. I’m sorry for the time I punched you in the mouth.’

Phil shook his head. ‘You’re crazy. It’s not about those things. It’s about me and the Lord. Don’t look at me like that! I’m perfectly calm and composed. I’ve been thinking about whether I could make reparation here. Maybe I could help with the refugee organisation we heard about. Yes. You see, I’ve got to make reparation.’

‘Phil, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you come now I’ll go to church with you every Sunday for a year. I can’t leave this place without you. I didn’t come here to find my daughter just to lose my son.’

I heard Mick thundering up behind us. ‘What the fuck is going on?’

‘He says he’s not coming.’

‘What a fucking family!’ Mick cried. ‘I don’t believe you! Any of you! What am I doing here with you? Phil, if you don’t come now, how are we going to get Charlie out? Your old man has only got one good hand.’

Phil looked up directly at Mick, brilliant moonlight starbursting in his eyes.

‘Phil, I love you dearly,’ I said, ‘and I can’t leave this place if you won’t come. I’d have to stay here with you.’

Phil shaped his mouth to say something.

‘Right, that does it.’ Mick attacked Phil, grabbing him under his arms and hoisting him over his powerful shoulders. I heard Phil splutter as Mick jogged away with him into the bush. I cast about to see if anyone had seen us, but the villagers were intent on getting drunk and whooping it up.

When I joined the rest of them, it seemed the matter had been resolved. Phil was coming.

‘Get packs!’ Phoo hissed at us, highly agitated.

Charlie wanted to open her pack to stow her Rupert Bear. When she began picking with the strings Phoo went out of his mind. ‘No time!’ he whined. ‘I no fuck go wiv you! No time!’

‘Leave it,’ I said. ‘Pick up your bags. Let’s go.’

We hoisted our backpacks and followed Phoo along the moonlit trail, half walking, half jogging. Charlie was too weak to keep up under her own steam, so we made progress with Phil and Mick shouldering her along the path. I brought up the rear.

After a few hundred yards I began to get a bad feeling. There was something distressingly familiar about the trail we were on. At first I kept my thoughts to myself. Mick, struggling with Charlie up ahead, turned and shot me a look. He recognised it, too. I couldn’t tell if Phil had guessed because he had his head down. We were on the same trail we’d taken the morning we’d buried the body. I had a bad weight in my stomach.

After a while I halted, and everyone else stopped.

‘Why stop?’ Phoo hissed. ‘Come quick now.’

I couldn’t speak. If I disclosed my misgivings I’d be revealing everything to Phoo. On the other hand I suspected this was an elaborate ploy to lure us to the spot where we’d buried Jack’s nephew. I imagined four new moonlit graves, freshly dug.

‘Come on, Danny,’ Mick said gently but firmly.

I tried to make my eyes tell him what I suspected, but he turned away from me, manhandling Charlie from the waist. I followed. It was agonising. I’d taken Charlie and Phil from the safety of the village to the open jungle. I had a sudden insight into what had happened to Ben, Charlie’s original travelling companion. We had been duped.

I couldn’t think of a way out as Phoo led us to the cadaver. The scene of the scrambled burial loomed closer and closer, and at each step I was ready for Jack and his men to jump out from behind every bush. I saw the flitting shadows of opium bandits behind every tree; I heard them skitter beyond every shrub.

Phil dropped back, leaving Mick to struggle with Charlie. ‘Do you see where he’s leading