Darkness gathers outside the window, but Mum isn’t back yet. Poppy, spinning the wheels of her wheelchair, approaches the table, picks up her mobile, and dials Mum’s number. «The number you have called is switched off…» a strange voice answers. The girl stares uncertainly at the phone, remembers it has little credit, and turns it off. Mum left for the shop ages ago and hasn’t returned. She never did this; she never stayed away long because Poppy’s condition means she can’t walk, relying on her wheelchair. With no other family, just Mum. Poppy is seven now and not scared to be home alone, but Mum always says where she’s going. The girl can’t understand: «She went to that discount supermarket further away today. We often go there together. It’s not really far, under an hour round trip,» she glances at the clock. «It’s been four hours. I’m hungry.» Guiding her wheelchair to the kitchen, she heats the kettle, grabs a sausage roll from the fridge, eats, drinks her tea. Still no Mum. Unable to wait, she grabs the phone again. «The number you have called is switched off…» repeats the robotic voice. She moves to her bed, placing the phone under her pillow. Leaves the light on; it’s scary without Mum. Lies awake a long time but finally sleeps.
***
She wakes as sunlight fills her window. Mum’s bed is neatly made. «Mum?» she calls towards the hall. Silence. Taking the phone, she calls. The same metallic voice answers. Fear grips her, tears welling up.
***
Oliver walks back from Grounded, where they sell fresh pastries each morning. It’s their routine: his mother makes breakfast; he fetches the treats. At thirty, Oliver remains unmarried. Women never notice him – plain, thin, prone to illness since birth. Expensive treatments were needed, but Mum raised him alone. A diagnosis as an adult confirmed he couldn’t father children; he accepted he’d never marry. Something glints in the grass: a shattered phone. Phones and computers are his passion and job; he’s a programmer and blogger. He owns top models, yet professional curiosity makes him pick this one up. It looks crushed, like a car drove over it. «Hope nothing’s wrong?» he thinks, pocketing the wreck. «Investigate at home.»
***
After breakfast, he removes the SIM card and slots it into one of his phones. Most numbers stored belong to hospitals or social services, but the first entry is «Poppet». He hesitates, then dials it. «Mum!» a child’s excited voice answers. «I’m not your Mum,» Oliver says, surprised. «Where’s Mum?» «Not sure. I found this broken phone, used its SIM to call.» «My Mum vanished,» a sob comes. «She went shopping yesterday, never came back.» «Where’s your Dad? Grandma?» «Haven’t got any. Just Mum.» «What’s your name?» Oliver realises he must help. «Poppy.» «I’m Uncle Oliver. Poppy, go tell the neighbours you’re alone.» «Can’t go out, my legs don’t work. And next door’s empty.» «Hang on, don’t work?» Oliver is confused. «Born this way. Mum says we’ll save up for an operation.» «How do you get about?» «In my chair.» «Poppy, know your address?» Oliver shifts into action. «Yes. Seven Baker Street, Flat Eighteen.» «I’ll come now. We’ll find your Mum.» He ends the call. Margaret steps into his room: «Oliver, what happened?» «Found a smashed phone.” He explains about the SIM call and the girl. “Learnt her address. Going to help.» Mum replies, “We’ll go together,» and grabs her coat. Having raised a sickly child alone, Margaret understands a single mother’s struggle. Retired now, her son earns well. They call a cab.
***
They buzz the intercom. “Yes?” a small, sad voice asks. «Poppy, it’s Oliver.» «Come in!» The flat door stands slightly open. Inside, a thin girl in a wheelchair watches them with sorrowful eyes. «Will you find my Mum?» «What’s her name?» Oliver asks quickly. «Lydia.» «Surname?» «Price.» «Wait, Oliver!» Margaret stops him, turning to Poppy. «Hungry, love?» «Yes. Ate a sausage roll yesterday.» «Right. Oliver, dash to Waitrose. Get the usual.» «Got it!» He rushes out.
***
Returning, he finds Mum cooking breakfast. Quickly unpacking the bags, she sets the table. After eating, Oliver searches for Lydia Price. He scans the local news site for yesterday’s incidents. «Here. On Park Lane, driver of a Ford Focus collided with a female pedestrian. Victim hospitalised in critical condition.» Pulling out his mobile, he calls. On the third attempt: «Yes, victim admitted yesterday from Park Lane. Critical. Unconscious.» «Her surname?» «No ID or mobile found. Relative?» «Well… unsure…» «Come to…» «I know it. Be right there.» Ending the call, he approaches Poppy. «Have a picture of Mum?» «Yes,» she wheels to a drawer, pulling out an album. «Taken recently.» «She’s lovely!» Oliver snaps a picture with his phone, smiling. «Off to find your Mum.»
***
Her eyes open. White ceiling. Memory trickles back – headlights rushing… Tries to move; pain flares. A nurse approaches. «Awake?» Lydia’s eyes widen in horror. «How long here?» «Two days.» «My daughter… alone…» «Lydia, stay calm!» The nurse gently rests a hand on her shoulder. «A man came yesterday. Left his number. Said a car hit by you.” “Need to call…” “Right away!” The nurse touches the contact ‘Poppet’, holding the phone to Lydia’s ear. «Mum!» «Poppet! Darling, are you ok?» «Fine! Grandma Margaret and Uncle Oliver visit.» «Who?» «Patient, no agitation!» The entering doctor is firm. «Must examine you!» «Darling, call back!» Lydia cries, ending the call. After the exam, the nurse pockets the phone. «Can I speak to her?” Lydia whispers. «Doctor forbids distress,» the nurse relents, dialling. «Darling?» «Lydia, I’m Margaret,» a woman’s voice answers kindly. «Listen. My son found your damaged phone, traced your Poppy, then you. I’m retired. I’ll care for Poppy until you’re well. Worry not! Passing you to her.» «Mum, get better soon!» Poppy chirps. «Darling, mind Grandma!» Lydia clings to the lifeline. «Patient, end the call!» demands the nurse returning.
***
Next day, Lydia moves to a shared ward. That evening, a nurse appears: «Price, visitor.» Lydia barely reacts before a man enters – plain-faced, slender: «Hello Lydia. I’m Oliver,» he smiles warmly. «Thought I’d visit. Don’t mind ‘Lydia’?» «No.» He places a large carrier bag on the locker: «Mum packed this.» «Oliver, I hardly know you,» the patient says, bewildered. «Found your crushed phone by chance. SIM worked. Called Poppy. Found you.» «How is she
As the school doors opened ahead, Poppy squeezed Oliver’s hand tight, her nervous smile vanishing as she spotted her classmates waving hello.