it. If I don’t fuel my body, I’ll be too weak to fend off an attack should I need to. Taking a deep breath, I pull my shoulders back and let my fuck you mask slip into place.
Waving goodbye to Mary, I head out onto the street. It’s busy at this time of day as commuters head home from work. I pull my jacket tighter around me as the wind picks up and make my way downtown to the market district. It’s around now that they pack away, the crowds having finished buying their wares, heading off to collect children, or start dinner.
I move quickly, weaving in and out of people, careful not to draw too much attention to myself. The darkness falls quickly, bringing with it the cold, and when I finally make it, most of the stalls have packed up and left.
I move to the one at the very end and smile when I catch Poppy’s eyes.
Poppy is the stallholder of a small booth full of homemade baked goods and jams. At seventy-four, she loves interacting with the busy crowds of people after losing her husband Jack the winter before. Having hands riddled with arthritis meant packing away, folding tables, and loading everything into the back of her van was sometimes too much for her.
“I was wondering if I would see you tonight.” She smiles, looking relieved.
“I lost track of time,” I reply honestly. It happens when I’m reading although I try to be more conscious of it on Fridays and Saturdays when the market is on.
“That’s okay. I was young once too. I remember what it was like,” she teases. She has her assumptions about me. Unlike Mary, I think Poppy just thinks I have a tough time at home, not that I don’t have a home at all. I don’t correct her. People can think what they like.
“How are your hands?” I question, looking over at her as she places leftover sandwiches and cakes in a carrier bag.
“They’re fine.” She brushes me off with a wave, her long gray hair falling forward as she moves.
“Poppy,” I warn, crossing my arms over my chest.
She sighs, her slim shoulders dropping. “They hurt today. It’s the cold. It makes everything ten times harder than usual but Viddy, this is my cross to bear. We adjust, it’s what we do.”
Well, I can’t argue with that.
“Sit.” I point at the wood stool beside the table. She doesn’t argue, which in itself shows me how much today has taxed her.
I set about stacking any leftovers into the large Tupperware tubs, placing them onto the front seat of the van, hoping my mouth will stop watering and my stomach will stop cramping now they’re out of sight.
Next, I fold down the tables and slide them in the back with the large wooden sign and the chalkboard showing the prices of each item. I don’t make idle chit chat, and after doing this for the last three months, Poppy doesn’t expect it.
“There we go, all done except for the stool,” I tell her as she stands so I can grab it.
“You are a godsend, child. Here, these are for you.” She hands me the bag of food she made up earlier, and I take it without a second thought. There is no place on the streets for pride. Pride will get you killed.
“Thanks, Poppy. I’ll come by early in the morning and help you set up for the day.”
“You don’t need—”
I cut her off with a scowl. “I’ll be here early to help you set up,” I repeat.
She stares at me, her eyes dipping to my worn clothes and my thin—too thin—frame, and for the first time, I think she sees me.
“Okay, Viddy, see you then.” I nod and head away before she can ask me any questions that would require me to lie to her.
Chapter Four
I eat the cheese and ham sandwiches as I make my way back across town. Once upon a time, I hated cheese. Now, in a constant state of hunger, nothing ever tasted so good.
My head has been all over the place today, thanks to dreaming about Drake. I don’t think about him much anymore, the pain is still very much like a dull ache in my chest, but when he sneaks in and takes over my dreams, I’m helpless to stop the memories from pouring in. And that just pisses me off.
To keep my heart guarded against the onslaught of emotions that particular snapshot in time can invoke,