Twenty-Eight
A few weeks later, Norah was setting up her easel in Poppy’s living room, arranging her pencils and charcoals on a small table nearby.
It was around nine at night. Once Freddie conked out, Norah had asked her mum if it would be OK to go out and leave her with the sleeping kid for an hour. Her mother didn’t look happy but agreed. So she was free to make a tit out of herself in front of Poppy by drawing a crappy portrait of her.
Poppy was lounging on the couch, trying to find a comfortable pose. ‘How do you want me?’ she asked, trying to keep a straight face.
Norah shot her a look. ‘Preferably not smirking.’
‘Well, there goes my first idea,’ Poppy said, settling into a more relaxed position. ‘How’s this?’
Norah tilted her head, studying Poppy. ‘That’ll do. Try not to move too much.’
‘So, what’s the plan? Are you going to draw me like one of your French girls?’ Poppy asked.
Norah rolled her eyes, trying to cover her nervousness.
Poppy chuckled. ‘I still can’t believe you let me push you into this,’ she muttered.
‘I must honour the voucher I printed off from the internet,’ Norah told her.
Norah looked at her friend, taking in the details of her face. Her large, expressive, electric-blue eyes were the first thing you noticed, though her rose-coloured lips, with their fundamental cheekiness, were a close runner-up. It was not a bad face to have to stare at for an hour, all told.
‘Are you gonna draw me at some point?’ Poppy asked.
Norah realised she’d been staring at Poppy for a few minutes. ‘Let the dog see the rabbit, would you?’ Norah shot back, trying not to show her self-consciousness at getting called out.
They settled into a comfortable silence, Norah’s pencil moving swiftly across the paper.
‘So,’ Poppy said, breaking the silence. ‘When did you start drawing again?’
‘A couple of years ago,’ Norah replied without looking up. ‘I needed something to help me unwind. Turns out it’s pretty therapeutic. But I don’t do anything grand, just a little sketching now and again.’
‘I’m glad you picked it up again,’ Poppy said. There was a lot of sincerity in her tone. ‘You were good.’
‘I was just one of a million art kids,’ she said dismissively.
‘You weren’t,’ Poppy instantly replied. Her relaxed expression settling into something more concerned. ‘You had something.’
‘You’re remembering it through the fog of time,’ Norah told her.
‘Remember that mural you did for the school play? Everyone was blown away.’
Norah was amazed she’d remembered that. ‘Ah, yes, “The Magical Forest of Wondrous Wonders,”’ Norah laughed. ‘What a title. And what a fucking nightmare to paint.’
‘It was worth it. You made that production look like a Broadway show.’
‘You were in that show, right?’ Norah countered. ‘In the band?’
‘Yup.’
‘I remember you being like the only person who wasn’t fucking up half the notes.’
‘Oh, please,’ Poppy said, rolling her eyes. ‘I was off-beat half the time.’
‘You were not,’ Norah said firmly.
Poppy shifted awkwardly. ‘Well, thank you.’
Norah smiled, her eyes flicking up from the paper to meet Poppy’s. They fell into another silence.
‘Anyway,’ Norah said, breaking the silence this time. ‘How does it feel now that people know you were a pop star?’
Poppy scoffed. ‘Mostly like being a coffee shop manager.’
‘Do you ever miss it?’ Norah asked, curious.
‘I miss knowing what happened next,’ Poppy said plainly. ‘And that’s about it.’
That surprised Norah. ‘Really? Nothing about that time was fun?’
‘I was miserable,’ Poppy told her.
‘Then why did you do it?’ Norah asked.
Poppy sighed thoughtfully. ‘Because everyone kept telling me I was lucky to be offered the opportunity.’
‘It wasn’t luck. Anyone could see you were going to be a success one way or another.’
‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Poppy said with a frown.
Norah looked at her like she was bonkers. ‘You had star quality, Poppy.’
Poppy looked abruptly self-conscious. ‘It never felt that way.’
‘Well, you did. Do, actually,’ Norah found herself saying.
‘Oh, stop,’ Poppy said, waving her hand dismissively, the confident clown making a reappearance. ‘You’re just saying that because you have to look at my face for an hour.’
‘No, I mean it,’ Norah insisted. ‘It’s what made you a great performer.’
‘You saw me perform?’ Poppy asked, her eyes widening.
Norah felt like they’d strayed into tough territory. What was she going to tell Poppy that she’d taped Velvet Smack on Top of the Pops and watched it over and over in her darkest moments, her feelings bouncing between anger, grief, and occasionally, horniness?
‘You were on TV a lot at one time,’ Norah said in the most bored tone she could summon. ‘You couldn’t miss it.’
Poppy was staring at Norah in utter astonishment.
Norah felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine. ‘Can you go back to your original expression?’ Norah asked abruptly. ‘I need to add detail on your... philtrum.’
‘My what?’
‘The place between your nose and your mouth.’
Poppy made her face neutral again, and they continued the session. But there was a new tension in the room. Norah could do nothing but ignore it and focus on her work. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be able to do that. She was in it, and she could stay in it if she chose.
Finally, Norah stepped back, surveying her work. ‘Alright, I think I’m done.’
Poppy stood and stretched, eager to see the result. ‘Let’s have a look, then.’
Norah turned the easel around, revealing the portrait.
Poppy’s easy smile was replaced by shock. ‘Oh my god. I mean... Oh my god.’
‘I can’t tell if that’s a positive response,’ Norah said truthfully.
‘You made me look... beautiful,’ Poppy said.
Norah looked back at the picture, and she saw it as Poppy did. It was like a funhouse mirror of Norah’s feelings, and it bounced back something she hadn’t wanted to see, something staring her in the face for a while now.
She couldn’t deal with it. So she decided not to.
‘You’re welcome,’ Norah replied evenly, doing her best to affect a no-big-deal attitude. But she was as far from that feeling as she could get. But she was not going down this path again. Not a bloody chance. She’d had twenty years to grow and get over it. What kind of a dumbass would find their way out of hellish heartbreak and go back just to check it was as bad as they’d thought?
Not this dumbass, Norah decided.
‘You can just shove that in a drawer. I won’t expect you to hang it or anything,’ Norah said flippantly.
Poppy shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I’m going to frame the ever-loving fuck out of this.’ She suddenly looked at Norah very seriously. ‘Norah...’
Norah felt suddenly nervous. ‘What?’
‘Why did you stop doing this?’
Norah was relieved. She thought Poppy was going to say something else. ‘Oh. Well. You know, life,’ she shrugged.
‘You were supposed to go to art school,’ Poppy recalled. ‘Did you do that?’
Norah shook her head. ‘No, I changed my mind. I got a bog-standard business studies degree in the end.’
‘Norah!’ Poppy almost yelled in horror. ‘What the fuck? Why?’
Norah shrugged. ‘My mother kept banging on about how hard it was to make a living as an artist.’ She laughed. ‘And here I am, working in a shitty customer service job with people who didn’t bother getting a degree at all. Still paying off the bloody student loan. Great advice, Mum.’
Poppy frowned and looked back down at the picture. ‘I’m sorry.’
Norah looked at her in confusion. ‘What for?’
‘If I’d been around, I wouldn’t have let you do that,’ Poppy said frankly. ‘I’d have banged on and on about your talent until you couldn’t ignore it. I’d have annoyed you into following your dream.’
Norah smiled sadly. ‘I think you’re giving yourself a bit too much credit to think you could have competed with my mum’s nagging.’
Poppy arched an eyebrow. ‘You underestimate my ability to irritate, Cauldwell,’ she said dryly.
Norah chuckled. ‘Well, you should have gone to music college, like you planned. You were good.’
‘I might have been good, but I never really got to find out.’ Poppy shrugged. ‘But whatever happened to your graphic novel?’ Poppy asked.
‘It got an A plus,’ Norah shrugged.
‘I never got to read it, did I?’ Poppy mused.
‘No. And I’m afraid you never will. It got water damaged in a box in the garage.’
Poppy let out a sigh of despair. They both stood for a moment in the sadness for all that was lost.
‘You know, you’re not dead. It’s still in you, all that talent. It doesn’t have to be too late,’ Norah said, trying to shake off the melancholy.
Poppy gave her a meaningful look. ‘You think there’s still time to get back what we lost?’
Norah paused, stuck for an answer. It felt like it was a very loaded question, and she didn’t know what the hell to do with it.
Suddenly, there was a slight wail from upstairs. Poppy looked at the ceiling, stricken. ‘Sounds like she’s having a nightmare.’
‘I’ll let myself out. You go to her,’ Norah said.
Poppy nodded and went to her daughter.
Norah crept out the front door and walked down the street back to her mother’s place—her place. She wasn’t sure what to think right now, but she knew what she felt. Frightened.