Eight
Now
Poppy was looking at her bank balance. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.
She was running out of money, fast. The house was paid off, thank god. Her mother had paid the mortgage off a few years before she died. But there were still bills, and Luna wasn’t cheap to raise, even at this age. Just keeping her fast-growing feet shod seemed to take the GPA of a developing nation.
Poppy looked at little Luna, sitting at her plastic craft table, working on a picture. The kid had no idea of her money worries, barely understanding the concept of money at all. Poppy liked it that way. That’s what childhood was for. Blissful ignorance.
Many times in Poppy’s young life, one or both of her parents would say the phrase, ‘We can’t afford it.’ And Poppy knew to shut her trap. But Luna had never heard that expression. Not that she got everything she ever asked for. Poppy didn’t want to raise her like that, even when she had more to give.
It was no good for kids to get everything. Not just because it spoiled them but because it wasn’t that fun to get everything you wanted. It was good to want things. It was part of what made life worth living. It would have done Luna a disservice to give her nothing to desire.
Unfortunately, Luna didn’t understand that yet. She would throw some pretty intense strops or, if she was feeling in more of a bartering mood, could beg with the best of them. There was going to be a lot more of that in her future because Poppy was almost broke now. The royalties from her songs were drying up. In fairness, it had taken longer than Poppy would have expected. She’d let it happen, though she knew there was more she could do.
Even as funds dwindled, she could not bring herself to go on the nostalgia tours she was occasionally offered. She wanted that time in her life to die. She hated her music now. It embarrassed her to hear the recordings. It was such a horrible dilution of what she’d set out to do, which was simply to make something worth hearing.
If she’d been good at it once, the joy of doing it was beaten out of her now. Despite what she’d achieved with it once upon a time. Getting the attention of someone she was in love with, albeit accidentally.
Twenty Years Ago
Poppy’s voice died in her throat as she heard the front door slam. It was probably just her mum, right? Nipping out for milk?
That was when Poppy saw the pencils lying on her desk. Norah was never without them. If she realised she’d left them behind, wouldn’t she...
Poppy ran downstairs to find her mother folding laundry. ‘Did Norah just come in?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.
‘I sent her up to you. Didn’t you see her? She was coming to your bedroom for her art stuff.’
The colour drained from Poppy’s face.
Norah had heard the song and legged it. She was probably completely freaked out, maybe even revolted. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. It wasn’t supposed to be now, and it might not have been ever. Poppy had no real plans to tell her. And certainly not via song.
‘What’s up?’ her mother asked.
‘Nothing.’
Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, yes, because your face always looks green. What’s wrong?’ she demanded, putting down a jumper on the pile.
It had never crossed Poppy’s mind to discuss this with her mother, but apparently, her face was an open book. And her brain wasn’t functioning enough to make something up. So she told half the truth.
‘I think she heard something.’
‘Who, Norah? Heard what? What are you talking about?’ her mum asked, baffled.
‘She heard a song I wrote.’
Her mother frowned, trying to puzzle out the problem. ‘And you didn’t want anyone to hear it yet, is that it?’
‘Ummm...’
‘Was it personal?’ her mother asked, getting closer to the truth. This was her mother all over. Part bloodhound.
‘Very,’ Poppy said.
‘What was it about? You haven’t played me this one yet.’
Poppy cleared her throat. ‘I wasn’t ready.’
‘You’ve never minded before,’ her mother said, her brow deepening. She was getting there.
‘I wrote a love song,’ Poppy admitted.
‘For someone specific?’ her mother pressed.
Poppy nodded.
‘Oh. Oh.’
There it was. But what would she think about it?
Her mother’s face cracked into a big grin. ‘Oh, sweetheart!’ she said, laughing. ‘Oh god. You must be dying!’
‘Mum!’ Poppy exclaimed, incensed.
‘I’d have never sent her up if I’d known, kiddo. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Poppy said miserably.
But it was sort of nice to commiserate with her mum. She didn’t seem very surprised by the object of her love song either, and that was a comfort, too.
‘Did you always know?’ she asked.
‘Know what, exactly?’ her mother asked, and it was clear that she was trying not to insert her size fives into her mouth, which she was apt to do on occasion.
‘I’m still figuring it out,’ Poppy said honestly.
‘It had crossed my mind,’ her mother admitted. ‘You and Norah... I thought you were just being kind at first. But lately, I did start to wonder.’
‘And you don’t, you don’t mind or anything?’ Poppy checked.
‘God, no!’ her mother exclaimed, almost angry at the idea she could be. ‘Actually, if you did turn out to be a lesbian, it would be a load off my mind,’ she admitted. ‘Boys are... I mean, some are fine. I even married one. But as a group? Rather worrisome.’
‘Mum, I really don’t know if that’s the word I want to use,’ Poppy told her.
‘No, OK, sorry, got a bit excited there. I’ll shut up now.’ She paused. ‘But you never wrote a love song about any boys. That much I do know.’
Poppy groaned. ‘Oh god. She heard it. She bloody heard it!’ Poppy sat down on the sofa and fell sideways, her face pushing into a cushion.
‘So, I take it you hadn’t talked about it, you and Norah?’ her mother said.
Poppy turned her face out to look at her mother. ‘No.’
‘So you don’t know if she...’
‘No.’
‘Were you going to tell her?’
‘I’m not sure. I was waiting, I think. Probably,’ Poppy said, uncertain. She hadn’t worked all this out yet.
‘Waiting for what?’ her mother asked.
‘I don’t know. Maybe the right time?’
Her mother laughed.
‘What’s the joke?’ Poppy asked, irritated.
‘There is no right time. That will never happen.’
‘Yes, but her dad just died,’ Poppy said emotionally. ‘So there might not be a right time, but there’s a wrong time and a wrong way. And that’s how it’s happened. In the worst possible way.’
‘But it has happened,’ her mother shrugged, picking up a pair of jeans. ‘Toothpaste won’t go back in the tube, sweetheart.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you should talk to her.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
Her mother was stunned. ‘What? You think you’re just going to carry on and pretend it didn’t happen?’
Poppy thought it over. ‘She knows, but she doesn’t know I know. If she doesn’t bring it up, I can just... not.’
Her mother folded up the jeans, sighing. ‘Good luck with that.’
‘Mum! I need your support!’
‘And you’re getting it.’
‘No, I’m not! You’re supposed to tell me whatever I do is fine.’
Her mother tutted and smiled. ‘Oh, Pop. That’s a total misunderstanding of my job,’ her mother told her.
‘Then what is your job?’ Poppy demanded.
‘To lovingly prepare you for reality. And the reality is that she’s your friend, and you’ve been as thick as thieves for months. And now there’s this big thing in the middle of it. It’s not just going to go away, as much as you might want it to.’
Poppy was furious at her mother. She’d only wanted a comforting lie, just one beautiful little fib. But it wasn’t her way.
‘Mum... What if she hates me now?’ Poppy asked her mother.
‘She won’t.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I don’t. But I believe it. Norah’s a good kid. She’s not going to turn her back on you over this.’
Poppy sat up on the sofa, her spine functioning again. ‘But she won’t like me like that, will she?’
Her mother stopped folding and sat down next to her. She slid an arm around her shoulder. Her mother wasn’t a big hugger, but when Poppy needed it, she always seemed to know. ‘I don’t know. But for her own sake, I hope she does. She’d be lucky to have you.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Poppy said, her bottom lip wobbling.
Now
Poppy was in the same living room where she’d come out to her mum, watching TV with Luna, some movie with Barbie and unicorns. It was nice to remember her mother in that crucial moment of her own young life. The woman could not be thrown by anything. Poppy could have announced she’d murdered someone, and her mother would have simply grabbed a shovel.
But now Poppy was the mum, and it was her job to be that for little Luna. Be the woman of iron. Poppy didn’t feel so tough, though. She missed her mother. It had been two years now. She could have used her perspective on things. She’d have known the shove to give Poppy.
Looking back, though, Poppy had to wonder. Her mum wasn’t infallible. She wasn’t superwoman. Maybe all she’d done was show strength because she knew that it was needed. Maybe she hadn’t always felt that sure of herself. Maybe she was playing the role she had to.
‘Mummy, can I have a magazine today?’ Luna asked.
Poppy immediately tensed up. ‘Err...’
‘There’s a new Frozen one,’ Luna told her. ‘Agnes at school said it’s got a bracelet on it.’
Those bloody magazines. They were branded rags from popular kids' shows and movies that came with plastic toys attached to the front. The magazine was just a front to sell fifty pence worth of plastic crap for six quid. Luna loved them, of course.
‘I don’t know, Lu.’
‘Pleeeease, Mummy? I didn’t even get the last one. And it had lipstick,’ Luna complained.
The wheedling Poppy cracked like an egg. ‘OK.’
‘Can we get it right now?’ Luna asked.
Poppy nodded. She needed the break from Barbie and her money worries anyway.
They walked into the square and Luna dragged her straight to a newsagent, where her head was immediately turned by the amount of choice.
Poppy watched as Luna's attention was drawn to a bright pink magazine with a sparkly charm bracelet on the cover. "Can I get this one instead?" Luna asked eagerly, holding up the glitzy publication.
‘I thought you wanted Frozen?!’
‘This one’s got unicorns.’
Poppy hesitated. The bracelet was made of bad metal and would probably turn Luna's wrist green. But her daughter's eyes were lit up with anticipation.
‘Alright, let's get that one,’ Poppy relented with a weak smile.
Luna beamed and clutched the magazine to her chest as they brought it to the counter. They passed an old lady who smiled at Luna.
The cashier rang them up. "That'll be ￡9.99," she said.
Poppy's heart sank. ‘I'm sorry, sweetie, Mummy doesn't have enough money for this magazine,’ she said regretfully. That was it, she’d said it. She’d never felt so broke.
Luna's face fell. ‘But you said I could get it,’ her lip quivered.
‘Can’t you just get the Frozen one? It’s cheaper.’
‘Oh, mum.... Pleeeeeeessseeeeee?!’
Poppy thought it over. It was four quid difference. It shouldn’t feel so crucial. Poppy would face up to her poorness tomorrow. ‘OK.’
Luna fist-pumped while Poppy paid, and they turned to see the old lady behind them now. ‘Tough, isn’t it? I remember that.’
Poppy nodded, embarrassed. They walked around the old lady and went outside, where Luna commenced ripping the plastic off the magazine.
‘I can’t do it,’ she complained.
Poppy took it and had a go. It was really on there.
While she was struggling, the old lady came out of the newsagent. ‘Oh, you’re still here.’
‘Yep,’ Poppy said, wrestling with the magazine.
‘You look familiar. Have I seen you before?’ the lady asked.
‘I just moved back here, so probably not,’ Poppy said. The plastic finally began to give.
‘No, I definitely... Wait a second. You’re not Carole’s daughter, are you?’
Poppy was stunned. ‘Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I don’t—’
‘I run the café, The Sugar Cube? Your mother used to work for me.’
The memories came flying back. ‘Oh my god, Lilian? Of course I remember you.’
‘I know she passed. I’m so sorry,’ Lilian said sadly.
‘Thanks,’ Poppy said.
Luna let out a very big sigh. She was stuck listening to boring grown-up chat, but she’d just have to bear it. It was nice for Poppy to meet someone who knew her mother.
‘I remember you left to be a musician, didn’t you? Your mother was so proud.’
‘Thanks. But that’s over now,’ Poppy told her, still trying to fiddle the magazine completely from its prison.
‘You quit?’ the woman checked.
‘Sort of.’
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not looking for a job, are you?’ the woman questioned.
‘What?’ Poppy asked, the plastic wrapping giving at last.
The magazine flew out of Poppy’s hands, but Luna caught it. ‘Yes!’ she cried.
‘I’m fully staffed for the breakfast rush, but after my part-timers leave—they’re all students—it’s just me and the cook till three. And I’m getting ready to retire. I thought my daughter might take over, but she’s moving to Australia. She said she needs to live in the heat and her husband is from there originally. She met him in a bar. He was behind the counter. She said it was love at first sight. I think she just liked the accent, but of course, I didn’t say anything. She’s a romantic, and I wouldn’t want to take that away from her...’
Poppy was barely following this story, but she kept listening because yes, she did indeed need a job. This was the answer. If she had to literally follow her in her mother’s footsteps, that wasn’t the worst thing. There were worse paths to take.