Miss Polly (Short story Competition)

Josie looked out at the rain with an air of frustration. Squally showers and a buffeting wind had arrived since lunch time: not ideal weather to encourage Polly to come out of her shell and let go of her ragdoll. She seemed to be permanently attached to the thing lately, not wanting to join in with anything or anyone, wearing a subdued mood like a cloak.
Polly came into the kitchen, holding Isabella in the crook of her arm, just as if she was a baby. The doll badly needed a turn in the washing machine, Josie noticed.
“Hello, Darling,” said Josie. “Maybe we won’t make it to the park today to feed the ducks after all.”
Polly shook her head.
“Isabella is poorly,” she said. “Very poorly. We really shouldn’t go anywhere.”
“Oh, dear,” said Josie, crouching down to the child’s height. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I not know,” said Polly reverting to her baby talk as she had been doing recently, “but she’s sort of really sad, I fink.”
“Shall we put her to bed for a nap?” suggested Josie, “Then we could play a game, or maybe bake a cake while she has a rest.”
“No,” said Polly. “She needs to be cuddled.”
The rain showed no sign of stopping and Polly refused to be interested in jigsaws, play-dough or cooking and in the end Josie suggested DVD. Polly chose her favourite; an animated ‘Peter Rabbit’ and she huddled into the corner of the sofa with the doll and a cushion fortress all around her.
“What would you like for tea?” asked Josie. No response. “Shall I make a cake? Then you can decorate it later?”
Polly nodded, but had already switched off from the real world and had a glazed look as she watched the TV and stroked the doll’s hair ribbon between her thumb and middle finger, the thumb of her other hand plugged firmly in her mouth. She stayed there for the rest of the afternoon.

“What are we going to do about Polly?” Josie glanced at her husband. “Andrew?”  Andrew put the post down. He saw the tears standing in his wife’s eyes, threatening to spill.
“What, has something happened?”
“Nothing’s changed. She’s still so withdrawn. I’m really worried.”
“No better at all?”
“No. Not at all. At pre-school this morning she just sat in the home corner most of the morning, hugging the doll. She wouldn’t go out at playtime. Mrs Jefferson took me aside when I collected her to say how concerned they are. She’s pale and tired. She told them her tummy hurt. She’s not eating properly.”
“What so you want to do?”
“I think we need to speak with a doctor. Get some advice?”
Andrew glanced at his watch.
“It’s late surgery tonight,” he said. “There will be someone there until 7pm. Maybe we could speak to someone now?”

Josie went to their bedroom to call the surgery. The lady doctor on call was a locum, a Dr Foster, the receptionist told Josie, and was, by complete co-incidence a paediatrician.
“I’ll put you through.”
Dr Foster had a Scottish accent and an attentive, capable manner on the telephone. Josie unloaded the sorry story of Josie’s symptoms.
“Sounds as though Polly should be seen at home, in her own environment,” she said.  “I could assess her better that way. Would tonight be suitable?” she said, “I’ll be leaving for home in about 15 minutes, all being well.”
Josie felt a huge surge of relief which released the pent up tears – she sat on the side of the bed and took a hanky from her bedside table and blew her nose.  At last someone who may be able to find out what was troubling Polly

It wasn’t long before the door knocker rapped out a rat-a-tat-tat.  Josie heard Andrew answer it.
“You’re soaked!” he exclaimed to the drenched lady standing in the doorway wearing a hat and carrying a black briefcase.
“Treacherous puddle in the car park,” she replied. “Much deeper than I thought.”
“Come in, come in,” said Andrew, “Dr Foster, I presume?”  Josie noticed with amusement his own Scottish accent suddenly surfacing.
The very wet doctor stepped out of her shoes in the hall way thereby reducing her height by several inches. Josie arrived downstairs in time to take her coat and her hat from her. She hung them on the newel post. Introductions and formalities over Josie said,
“Polly is in the sitting room watching a DVD.”
“We’ll go in there and watch it with her for a few minutes,” said Dr Foster, “then you can stop the film and introduce me.”

Josie barely acknowledged the three adults as they entered the room. Luckily the DVD was near the end and as it finished Andrew said,
“Polly, we have a visitor.” Polly looked around. “This is Dr Foster.”
“Dr Foster went to Gloucester?” said Polly.
“Miss Polly had a dolly who was sick, sick, sick,” said Dr Foster. “I see you and I are going to get along just fine.”  She smiled. “May I meet the patient?”
Polly carefully carried the rag doll over to Dr Foster. For some reason the trust seemed immediate.
“What a beautiful doll,” said Dr Foster.
“Isabella,” said Polly.
“Hello, Isabella. How are you?”
“She is very sad. But I mustn’t tell a growd- up.”
“Why not?”
“If I tell a growd-up the big boy said his dad is a policeman and he will get me.”
“Have you done something wrong?”
Polly took the doll back.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me?”
Polly glanced at her parents.
“Mummy and Daddy will be cross.”
“It’s OK Poll, you can say,” said Josie, we won’t be cross.”
She hesitated and chewed her bottom lip for a moment then whispered,
“I hit him really hard when he said he will pull Isabella’s arms off and her legs off.”
“Why would he want to do that?”

(Of course this is just the beginning of a much longer consultation, but we’ve run out of words and I’ll have to stop here.)

Author: Sarah

No time to lose. No, time to lose. Make time to stand and stare.... Did you see that? View all posts by Sarah