Second Verse

Twenty-Two

Now

Poppy watched Norah stare blankly at the PowerPoint presentation on the screen in the school hall. She looked defeated, as well she might. Norah’s life had just imploded.

She hadn’t said much about it, just that the marriage was over. From the suddenness and the vagueness, Poppy guessed there had been infidelity involved. And she would have bet her entire paycheque that it wasn’t Norah playing away. But if Norah didn’t want to talk, Poppy wouldn’t push.

That was why they were at the PTA watching Susan do a full presentation on the bake sale planned for later in the year. Poppy had to do something to take Norah’s mind off it. Dragging her here had been her best idea. Her second-best idea was sitting with Norah in the back row so she could mock the ever-loving shit out of the presentation.

‘Norah, did you hear that? Fruit cake is banned due to low demand,’ Poppy whispered, her tone laced with mock horror.

Norah blinked, snapping out of her daze just long enough to respond. ‘Oh, that's... tragic,’ she mumbled, barely masking her sarcasm.

Poppy sighed, tapping her pen against the notepad in front of her. ‘You know, for someone who loves sarcasm, you're not giving me much to work with here.’

Norah forced a smile. ‘I'm sorry, Poppy. I just can’t find much to laugh about at the moment.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Poppy replied softly. ‘But there’s entertainment to be had here. It’s just the ironic kind.’ She nodded at Susan. ‘I mean, would you look at that lunatic? She’s got a laser pointer.’

‘True,’ Norah agreed, her smile becoming a bit more genuine.

Poppy snickered, glad to see a bit of her friend's old self shine through. ‘Now, let's pretend we're taking notes before Susan kicks us out for whispering in class.’

‘Do you remember our teacher's name when we were Freddie and Luna’s age?’ Norah suddenly asked.

‘Umm... Was it Mr Bendy? Something like that?’ Poppy posited.

‘Bandy,’ Norah recalled. ‘He seemed like he knew everything, but he was probably only in his twenties,’ she sighed. ‘Funny to realise that.’

They both went quiet, listening to the absurd PowerPoint. Poppy felt somewhat jolted. They’d been operating an unspoken agreement that they didn’t talk about the old days, and Norah had just violated it.

‘Right, now everybody knows what is allowed. But we don’t have enough bakers. I need volunteers.’ Susan stated.

The room went quiet. Susan looked around the room, and her eyes landed on Norah and Poppy. ‘The newbies. Care to lend a hand, or are you just here to make jokes you think I can’t hear?’

Poppy cracked like an egg. ‘We’ll help.’

Norah rolled her eyes. ‘Oh Christ,’ she muttered.

***

‘Right, now I’ve accidentally locked us into producing a hundred cupcakes. I better come to collect my little monster,’ Poppy said as they walked out of the school gates. Norah had been kind enough to share her very responsible babysitter cousin, and both kids were with her now at Norah’s place.

‘What were you thinking?!’ Norah asked.

‘There was no thought at all. I was acting in pure fear,’ Poppy told her.

‘Can you bake?’ Norah asked.

Oddly, Poppy had not asked herself that until this very moment. ‘Ummm... I don’t know. I never tried.’

‘I think that counts as a no,’ Norah told her. ‘And I can’t either.’

‘You don’t have to do anything. Except maybe help me on the day with the stall. I’ll handle the rest. I got us into this mess,’ Poppy said guiltily. This was supposed to be funny. They weren’t supposed to have to do shit.

‘It’s a deal,’ Norah agreed.

‘Good. Let’s go and relieve your third cousin.’

Norah raised an eyebrow. ‘Or...’

Poppy raised both eyebrows. ‘Or?’

‘I paid the sitter for two hours. It’s barely been one. We could get a drink on the way.’

‘God, you’re such a bad influence,’ Poppy said, delighted.

They stopped at the Crow, a horrible pub. As they walked in, Poppy couldn't help but cringe at the smell of stale beer and sweat that seemed to permeate every corner. She shot a glance at Norah, who seemed completely unfazed by the less-than-ideal atmosphere.

‘Seriously? This is the only pub on the way?’ Poppy asked, trying not to breathe in too deeply.

Norah shrugged. ‘Well, it's either this or home.’

Poppy frowned. ‘Is he there?’

‘No, he’s working late, allegedly. Hence the babysitter.’

‘Just checking if...’

‘If I’m avoiding going home?’ Norah asked plainly.

Poppy was caught. She didn’t know how to broach this. Subtlety had never been a strength.

‘Sorry,’ Norah said. ‘I’m being rude.’

‘You’re not at all,’ Poppy assured her. ‘Come on, let’s get a drink.’

It was still early, so it wasn’t too leery in the pub yet. Just a handful of football watchers standing near the TV, glued to a match between a blue team and a red team that Poppy couldn’t have named with a gun to her temple.

‘What are you having?’ Norah asked.

Poppy scanned the menu, trying to find something remotely appetising. ‘Um, how about a gin and tonic?’ she suggested.

‘A classic choice,’ Norah replied. ‘I'll have the same.’

The barman poured the drinks, and they paid and took them to a sticky, wobbly table.

‘So...’ Norah began, taking a sip of her drink. ‘How's life as a single mum? Does it suck, or is it actually not that bad?’

Poppy nearly choked on her drink at the blunt question. ‘It's... busy,’ she managed to say after coughing.

‘I can only imagine,’ Norah said. ‘But I won’t have to now, will I?’

OK, it was becoming clear that Norah needed to talk, and Poppy could do that. ‘What’s the status?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean, is there a timeline? Have you talked to Freddie?’ Poppy asked.

‘Not yet. We’ve agreed that I’m moving out.’

‘Really? Why not him?’ Poppy asked.

‘I can’t afford the place solo, and he reckons he can swing it. My mum is taking me in.’

‘We’ll be on the same street again,’ Poppy observed.

‘So we will,’ Norah said.

There was an awkward pause.

‘We could walk together in the mornings,’ Norah eventually said.

‘Yes, please. Freddie can keep Luna focused,’ Poppy said, happy to move past the weirdness.

But then Norah went quiet again before sighing heavily. ‘He met her on an app. She lives in the next town, so I don’t know her. Which is something.’

Poppy’s jaw tightened, a spike of rage surprising her. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘How long?’

‘About six months. Not long after we started couples’ counselling,’ Norah explained dispassionately.

‘What a fucking dick,’ Poppy growled.

‘I guess that once we started the counselling, he realised just how fucked we were, and he decided to check out fully,’ Norah mused.

‘He didn’t have to go about it like that, did he? If he thought it wasn’t working, he could have just officially ended it.’

‘Maybe he thought I would understand. That I’d be happy to have a stay-together-for-the-kid situation,’ Norah shrugged.

‘Again, he could have been upfront. Asked you if you wanted to do that,’ Poppy insisted.

Norah chuckled, tiredly. ‘The funny thing is, I might have said yes.’

‘Stop it,’ Poppy tutted.

‘No, I’m serious. I didn’t want to be in the marriage anymore. Not for years. I might have told him to have at it. I think he probably sensed that and thought, Why ask?’

‘You’re blaming yourself,’ Poppy said.

‘I’m not, I’m actually... relieved. What he did let me off the hook. I don’t have to make it work anymore.’ Norah said. Suddenly, a tear ran down her cheek. ‘It’s only ever been Freddie stopping me from ending it. He’s gonna be so sad when I tell him.’

Poppy felt deeply for Norah. She wondered if she should hug her. But they didn’t do that. She decided to comfort her with words. ‘He’d have been sadder with an unhappy mum. He might not have known now, but with time, he’d have picked up on it,’ Poppy assured her.

Norah nodded and wiped away the tears. ‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘It’s true. I’ve noticed it,’ Poppy admitted.

Norah looked surprised. ‘Have you?’

‘I haven’t seen you in a long time, so I don’t want to compare you to your teenage self,’ Poppy said nervously. ‘But you didn’t seem... at your best.’

Norah sighed. ‘I wasn’t. You’re right.’

‘But you can be, now,’ Poppy told her.

‘Are you sure? I don’t even know what that looks like anymore,’ Norah said sadly.

‘When things end—things you’ve invested a lot in—it takes time. Give it that. It’ll be better eventually. You’ll come back to yourself,’ Poppy vowed to her.

Norah raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you have a marriage end?’

‘No, but I did have a pop career that ended. Sorry, that’s a bloody stupid comparison, isn’t it?’ Poppy said, rolling her eyes at herself.

‘I don’t know, is it?’ Norah asked.

Poppy steeled herself to get very real. She had to. Norah needed it.

‘I wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted, but I went all in anyway because what else was I going to do? And when it ended, I was relieved but also scared to death because it was all I’d known for years, and I didn’t know what the fuck was going to come next. Who was I without it?’ She stopped, scared that she’d said too much. ‘Am I warm?’

‘Boiling,’ Norah said with a smile.

Poppy was glad to know that Norah felt understood. She badly wanted to be there for her once again. But this time, she wasn’t going to screw it up.

‘You ever get recognised these days?’ Norah asked.

Poppy smiled. ‘Never.’

‘How?’ Norah asked, stunned.

‘That was the great thing about the way they dressed me in the band. As soon as it was over, I went back to dressing like me, and I was incognito,’ Poppy explained.

‘Smart.’

‘I think Dolly Parton patented the system. If you look like a painted clown on stage, real life doesn’t have to change that much off it.’

Norah laughed. Poppy was glad to see her friend look happy again. She would help her find that laugh every chance she got.

Twenty Years Ago

Poppy couldn’t understand how she’d gotten here. Stuck in a drafty rehearsal space, practising with two other girls she didn’t know well, dressed like this: belly top, high heels, and a skirt that was more in line with the definition of a belt. She felt almost naked. All she had to protect her was her guitar. It was all that stood between her bare midriff and the rest of the world.

The other two girls, Rebecca and Annalise, didn’t seem unhappy. They both seemed fucking jazzed, actually. Annalise was on lead guitar, Rebecca on drums. Everyone sang. Though Poppy didn’t think Rebecca had been playing for very long. Poppy was pretty sure she’d been hired based on her looks and not bad singing, and the drums had been thrown at her quite recently. Rebecca was decent on guitar, though her singing voice was a little weak. Again, her looks probably went a long way to making up for that lack.

And then there was Poppy. She didn’t think she matched the prettiness of the other girls, but she could play better, sing better, and she wrote the songs that weren’t covers. It was important that they had their own songwriter. It was part of the ethos of the band that Jeff had designed. The band built the music in every way—music, vocals, lyrics.

Jeff said a certain kind of demographic would be into this corn-fed organic pop. They needed to seem raw and real. People were getting a bit tired of bands slapped together by cynical labels, he said. So the members of Velvet Smack were supposed to have found each other without any kind of label interference. The band had been formed as a result of friendship and a shared feeling that they wanted to sing slightly angry yet catchy music about how they were going to live on their terms, and boys could get on board with that or get out of the way.

Poppy had been working on some stuff for them with Jeff’s direction. He wanted ‘love songs with attitude.’ He suggested that the influence for these songs should be in the vein of Sugar Babes, All Saints, The Pussycat Dolls, and Girls Aloud.

Those bands were not Poppy’s cup of tea at all, but she’d tried to write stuff in their vein. She’d composed three songs for Velvet Smack (she hated that fucking name so much), and Jeff said they were good, but they were only album songs. They didn’t have their debut single yet. Poppy didn’t know if she was going to be able to produce what he was asking for. Was she gonna get kicked out before they’d even released the first album?

In a way, that might have been better. Poppy wasn’t happy. She wanted to throw it in. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. The same thoughts kept bouncing around her brain. This is your start. And if you leave now, nothing else will come your way. Take the gift.

But it didn’t feel like a gift. Poppy wanted to be home with her mum, playing in her bedroom, rehearsing with the band who no longer talked to her. And more than anything, she wanted to see Norah. That fever had yet to break.

As the rehearsal ended and everyone began packing up, Poppy grabbed her guitar case and headed towards the door, ready to escape for the day.

‘Hey, Poppy! Wait up!’ Jeff called out from behind her.

She turned back, trying to hide her annoyance with a fake smile.

‘Just wanted to say, great job today,’ he said with a pat on her shoulder. ‘I know it's not exactly your style, but you're killing it. Could we have a quick chat about something?’

‘Umm, what about?’ Poppy asked.

‘I wanted to ask about something,’ Jeff said with a grin.

‘Yes?’ Poppy asked anxiously.

‘The songs you’ve done for Velvet are solid. But I want to talk about that debut we need,’ he said.

Poppy nodded, thinking, If you’re gonna kill me off, at least make it quick.

‘The thing is, I think we could have it. I want your demo track. “Norah’s Song.”’

Poppy’s stomach turned like a pre-pubescent gymnast. ‘What?’

‘I know you said it wasn’t something that you wanted people to hear, but I think it has hit potential,’ he went on. ‘I mean, we’d have to change the lyrics for a male name, pump up the rhythm a bit, but I think it could be a hit.’

‘It’s... I wasn’t... It’s not for people to hear,’ Poppy stuttered.

Jeff looked at her, puzzled. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s just... personal,’ she mumbled.

‘Poppy, you have to understand, we need a hit, or no one buys the album and all this collapses,’ Jeff insisted.

Poppy felt like she was backed into a corner. After all the pressure and insecurity she had been feeling, this was the last thing she needed. She couldn’t give him that song.

‘Jeff...’

‘Look, there’s going to be other opportunities around the corner for you if you can prove yourself now. You can produce anything you want after this is done. If we make this work.’ His voice dropped to a more confidential tone. ‘You know how every band has one member that makes it solo. In this band, that’s going to be you.’

Poppy couldn’t help but roll her eyes. ‘Jeff...’

‘Poppy, I want you to hear this. You might not see your potential, but I do.’

God, this was awkward. She was looking down on this whole situation, and here Jeff was saying he believed in it. She felt ungrateful.

She wondered what her mum would say. She wondered what her dad would have said. But she couldn’t ask him, and she was embarrassed to go crawling back to her mum for advice. She was an adult now. She was in the world. It was her choice.

‘You think the song’s a hit?’ she asked.

‘With the right producer, I feel it could be. It’s hooky, with a good riff and catchy chorus.’

‘But you want to put in a male name?’ Poppy checked.

‘Just to make it saleable to a large cross-section of the audience,’ he said like it was no big deal.

Poppy paused. ‘You know I’m gay, right?’

Jeff laughed. ‘You’re eighteen. You might be a lot of things before the dust settles.’

Poppy didn’t love that comment, but it was hard to argue with. She was not quite nineteen, and Jeff was a fifty-year-old music producer. He probably did know more about everything. He almost certainly knew more about what made a pop hit.

‘I just want you to know I’m not gonna have a footballer boyfriend or any of that shit,’ Poppy told him bolshily.

‘No one’s asking you to. I think Annalise and Rebecca have that side of things covered,’ he said with a chuckle. He seemed fine with her being herself, up to a point. So that was something.

‘What name did you have in mind?’ Poppy asked. She could feel the strength to fight him going out of her.

‘We’re thinking “Noah”. It’s sensitive but masculine at the same time,’ he explained. And went on, in his smooth persuasive tone, about demographics and the future of the band. By the time he was done, Poppy couldn’t do anything but sign over her most personal song.

And that’s how “Noah” was born, an utterly bastardised version of “Norah’s Song.” Loud, fast, and lacking in anything that Poppy felt had ever made it special.

It was number one for three weeks and played all over the place. It was indeed Velvet Smack’s breakthrough hit. Though, it turned out to be the biggest hit they ever had, and things kinda went downhill from there. Not that they didn’t push out two more albums that made a bit of money before Jeff called time on the whole thing.

After that, Jeff gave Poppy some work with his newer bands, writing for them, but she was writing songs that made her want to smash her head against her guitar. The solo career never materialised. When the songwriting dried up, it became session work as a simple guitarist. Then the session work slowed down. And one day, Poppy realised she was just a has-been living off royalties of work she was ashamed of.

It hadn’t been her shot. It had simply been a waste of her time, talent, and name. She’d spent it on something she’d never even wanted. She hadn’t seen Jeff in years, but she knew now he’d been a bullshit artist from the very start. He’d pushed her in a direction she’d never have gone by appealing to her vanity and ambition.

Poppy had to wonder who she could have been if she’d never met him. She could have stayed the course, clung to her talent, held on to her own voice, cultivated it, grown it. She could have been a real musician.

Now she’d never know what she could have done. She was just a mum now, sliding towards middle age. The time of adventure and possibility was over. Where once she’d been full of piss and vinegar, it all had turned to sour milk poured into the lattes she served others.