Twenty-One
Now
Spring was springing, and winter was finally packing its bags and fucking off. Norah was glad for more than just a weather change. Christmas had not been fun. They’d hosted Max’s parents, who were divorced for good reason. Watching them pretend to be polite to each other (while being passive-aggressive on an unholy level) set Norah’s teeth on edge.
And she was no stranger to a pass-agg parent. Luckily, her own mother was on a winter cruise, so she hadn’t added her dark little soul to the proceedings. The dinner table probably would have collapsed under the weight of bile.
But it wasn’t all bad. Freddie had loved the visit to Santa, getting his new bike, and a trip to the ice-skating rink. Watching him experience joy was like feeling it herself.
As the days grew longer and warmer, Norah felt a sense of relief. She could finally take Freddie out to play in the park without having to bundle him up in multiple layers. She’d taken to meeting Poppy there with Luna on a Sunday afternoon, and it was a regular thing now.
Little did Norah know that the end of winter hadn’t seen off the dark days. There was so much worse to come.
But sitting next to Poppy, watching the kids trying to double mount the rope swing, she thought things were getting better. Good, even. She and Max were rowing much less. If that was because he was out all the time, then so be it. Peace was peace. They’d decided to stop the counselling. They agreed that they’d gotten all they could out of it.
And things were growing ever more comfortable with Poppy. She was becoming a good friend. It was very nearly like the old days, before... Well, before. Norah was shocked at how grateful she was for that. She hadn’t noticed it, but a lot of her friendships had fallen off when Freddie came along. She was just so busy and tired that there wasn’t time for things like hanging out with someone who understood her. Having it in her life again was pretty wonderful.
Poppy was now her best friend. The girl who broke Norah’s heart was gone. One night of passion and a few dozen days of tears couldn’t count for much in the thousands of days spent on this silly blue marble. It was a blink. Something to be forgotten.
But Norah hadn’t forgotten, exactly. But she didn’t focus on it. And that meant it was past, didn’t it? Like the time she broke her wrist coming off the swing when she was seven. She hadn’t forgotten how it felt, but it didn’t hurt anymore. It was just a memory of pain, not pain itself. Though, just occasionally, when it was damp, her wrist did ache a touch. But the metaphor tracked, for the most part.
‘Hey, are you going to that PTA thing on Friday?’ Norah asked as they watched the kids flying across the zipline together, screaming with delight.
Poppy looked at her in surprise. ‘No, are you?’
‘Not if you’re not.’
‘Then we’re not.’
‘I wish Susan would stop putting the meeting times in the chat. It makes me feel guilty,’ Norah said wistfully.
‘Don’t talk about guilt,’ Poppy complained. ‘This is supposed to be a slacker mums’ club.’
‘Since when?’ Norah asked.
‘Since we’re both slacker mums.’
‘I’m not a slacker, and neither are you,’ Norah said with an eye-roll.
‘Fine, but I’m too busy to take on shit I don’t have to. Which—by some people’s definition—makes me a slacker,’ Poppy said.
‘OK, OK, my bad,’ Norah said. She paused. ‘Quick question. Would you rather go to a PTA meeting or shit yourself?’
Poppy paused, and Norah wondered if she was being a bit gross. But then Poppy said, ‘PTA. But it’s a close-run thing. You?’
‘I’m fifty-fifty because they have free wine at the PTA. No one gives you free booze if you crap yourself,’ Norah explained.
Poppy's eyes lit up. ‘Free wine? They should lead with that.’
'You considering it? We could be like those cool, effortless mums who are always organising events and fundraising,' Norah said.
‘I’m cool already. I listen to cool, youthful music like... What do kids listen to?’ Poppy asked.
‘Freddie likes Taylor Swift,’ Norah said evenly.
Poppy sighed. ‘She’s banned in my house.’
‘Why’s that?’ Norah asked, interested.
‘Because I hate her,’ Poppy said flatly.
‘Oh, I thought you were gonna say something more parent-y.’
‘When have you known me to do that?’ Poppy asked, aghast.
‘MUUUUUUM!’ Freddie suddenly said from right next to her, shocking her eardrum.
Norah needed to put a bell on that kid.
‘What’s up, Freds?’ Norah asked.
‘I’m thirsty.’
Norah pulled out his water bottle, and he sucked on it like a baby. He was a very thirsty child. He was like a little steam engine that needed water thrown on the coal at regular intervals, or he was apt to crash.
‘Mum, I need water, too!’ Luna said, running over.
‘Funny coincidence,’ Poppy remarked with a smile at her child, who was soon necking her water.
‘Mummy, did you see my message?’ Freddie asked, still gasping from his mega drink.
‘What message?’
‘I sent it from Dad’s phone before we left.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t see it,’ she said, checking her phone to find one of his cryptic emoji streams. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
He ran off, and Luna ran after him.
Norah glanced back at the phone, intending to lock it. But she paused on the message, something about Freddie’s emoji message catching her attention. Freddie would generally just text from the most used emoji section of whichever parent’s phone he was using. After re-examining the child’s message, a chill went down Norah’s back.
‘What’s wrong?’ Poppy asked.
Norah hadn’t realised how much her face was giving the game away. ‘Oh, nothing.’
But it wasn’t nothing. The message her lovely, innocent child had sent was full of eggplants, hot dogs, and bananas. Norah knew what that meant.
‘What’s wrong?’ Poppy asked again.
‘Poppy, could you stay with the kids for a minute? I just need to run home.’
Poppy didn’t ask what was wrong a third time. She just nodded. ‘Go, we’re fine.’
Norah did the five-minute walk in two. She burst into the door and ran upstairs. Max was in the shower. He’d been showering a lot lately, at strange times. Norah had not thought anything of it until today. Norah had also not wondered why he was suddenly disappearing for shifts at the drop of a hat. But she’d been handed the last piece of the puzzle.
Max turned at her entry into the bathroom. ‘Hey, what do you doing back so—’
Norah put her phone screen against the shower door. ‘You fucker,’ she said.
Max looked at the message, and he was confused for a second. Then clarity washed over his features. He knew what the message revealed. He was cooked.
Twenty Years Ago
Norah took a deep breath as she walked down the hall toward Mrs Simmons's classroom. The weight of her finished graphic novel in her backpack was heavy in every way. It was all that had kept her sane this year. It was more than just a school assignment; it was a piece of her soul. Her tattered, fucked up soul.
She knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open. Mrs Simmons looked up from her desk, a warm smile spreading across her face.
‘Ahh, the big project,’ she said. ‘Must feel good to turn it over.’
‘It’s kind of scary, actually,’ Norah admitted. ‘Feels like I don’t want to let go of it.’
‘Yeah, that makes sense. You’ve worked hard on this. Harder than most.’
‘Have I?’ Norah asked, surprised. Mrs Simmons had never paid her much attention.
‘I’ve kept out of your way because that seemed like the best way to handle your way of working, but I’ve been keeping an eye on you,’ Mrs Simmons explained. ‘I know your year has been rough.’
You don’t know the half of it, Norah thought sadly. But at least my main character didn’t murder anyone. The protagonist had walked right up to the line before she’d realised it wasn’t what she wanted, throwing away the source of her power and becoming a normal girl again, albeit a disappointed one.
‘Did it help?’ Mrs Simmons asked. ‘Working on this?’
Norah nodded. ‘I think so.’
Mrs Simmons nodded. ‘Well, from what I’ve seen of it, you can expect a good grade.’
Norah was surprised. ‘Oh, well... Thanks.’
‘You earned it.’ She placed the graphic novel into a pile with everyone else’s work. ‘You’ve got a conditional offer for Edinburgh, right?’
Norah nodded. ‘Yeah, but I gotta nail everything.’
Mrs Simmons waived her concern off as trivial. ‘It’s a good school. You’ll learn a lot.’
‘If I get in,’ Norah said, feeling shy suddenly.
‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Mrs Simmons said.
‘Well, I have some safeties just in case.’
‘Other art schools?’ the woman checked.
‘No, actually. Business school. My mum insisted I leave myself some options.’
Mrs Simmons laughed. ‘Yeah, they do that. But when it comes to crunch time, I think you should listen to the voice that made the graphic novel. That’s a strong voice. I don’t think it will steer you wrong.’
Norah felt a blush creep up her cheeks. ‘Thanks. Better go.’
Mrs Simmons smiled. ‘See you around, Norah.’
As she left the classroom, the fear began to shake off her. She had made something, and she was proud of it. It was something to cling to. God knew good feelings were not abundant of late.
Part of the problem was living on the same street as Poppy. Norah kept seeing her on the street and having to duck into the house. She didn’t feel good about that, but she couldn’t go back to the hi-and-bye routine they used to have. She just couldn’t. It had to be nothing because it had been everything.
Still, it wasn’t long now. Norah would be leaving soon, as would Poppy—off to music school. She’d probably be very successful. Norah hated her, but she still believed that.
Norah went home, walking carefully down her street, keeping an eye out for heartbreaking arseholes. She was relieved to make it into the house unscathed by fresh humiliation or heartbreak.
Her mother was in the kitchen. ‘Hi,’ Norah said brightly before seeing the look on her mother’s face.
‘Norah, we need to talk,’ she said, her voice cold and stern.
‘Oh Christ, what?’ Norah asked.
Her mother gestured to the kitchen table, where bills and paperwork were piled in one corner, a few red letters peeking out of the stack.
‘You took your coursework in today, didn’t you?’ her mother asked pensively.
Norah nodded quickly. Was that what this was? Was she in trouble because her mother thought she’d missed deadlines? ‘Everything’s in. Art, business studies, English.’
‘OK. Well, I can’t put this off much longer,’ her mother said with a long-suffering sigh.
‘Put what off?’
‘We need to talk about your future.’
Norah got it now. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m going to art school.’
‘Art school?’ Her mother scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Art school is pointless, Norah. You need to face up to reality. You need a real job, something stable. Do you think drawing pictures is going to pay the bills?’
Tears of frustration welled up in Norah’s eyes. ‘But I’m good at it. Don’t you care about that? I’m good, Mum,’ she said.
Funny how someone had been telling her that not an hour ago, and she’d felt uncertain and modest. But now she needed to fight for it. She knew the truth. She could do this.
‘And I love it too, though I don’t imagine you care about that part.’
Her mother’s expression softened slightly, but her tone remained firm. ‘You’re talented, Norah. But talent doesn’t always translate into a paycheque. You need to be practical. You need to think about your future.’
Norah’s anger flared again, but it was mixed with a growing sense of resignation. She wasn’t going to talk her mum around. But she couldn’t give in either. ‘I get it. I do. But I’d be miserable.’
‘You’ll be miserable if you struggle all your life,’ her mother replied. ‘You don’t know about that yet. I’ve protected you from that reality.’
‘Mum, do you think I’ve just been swanning about in fur coats and diamonds with my head up my arse? I live here. I know we’re broke.’
‘You think you know what that means, but you don’t know what it is to have the responsibility for it. You’ve never known that,’ her mother told her. ‘But once you leave, it’s gonna hit you hard. That’s what life is. Hard and brutal. Don’t put more on your plate than you need to.’
Norah sat back, deflated. She could feel the fight draining out of her. Because she couldn’t deny that her mother had said something undeniably true. The world was brutal. It had taken two giant dumps on her head just this year.
‘OK,’ Norah said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Her mother reached across the table, placing a hand on Norah’s. ‘I know you hate me right now. You think I’m shitting on your dreams. But I’m hurting you now to save hurt later. It kills me to have to do it, but I’ll bear it. That’s what love is. Sacrifice.’
Norah looked at her mother. ‘I hope that’s not true.’
‘You’ll see,’ her mother said.
Norah stood and went up to her room. A heaviness settled over her heart. She sat down at her desk, looking at the sketches and drawings that covered it. And she thought about her mother’s words.