Thirty
Poppy opened the door to Norah, acoustic guitar in hand. ‘Are you ready to rock?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Norah told her plainly. It had been a long day. She’d had a meeting with her boss, and he informed her that she was ‘Not meeting targets.’ Norah actually knew that because the targets were ridiculous. She assumed they were suggestions rather than true expectations. Apparently not.
‘Good, because rocking might be a bit much after the day I’ve had. We’ll just learn a few easy notes,’ Poppy replied, relieved. ‘Come in.’
They went into the living room. ‘Drink?’ Poppy asked.
‘Do you have anything with a proof?’ Norah asked.
‘Lemme check,’ Poppy said and went into the kitchen.
Norah sat down on the battered old couch, and a moment later, Poppy came out with a bottle of wine. ‘I don’t know how long it’s been here. I think it was my mum’s.’
‘But wine gets better with age, doesn’t it?’ Norah said.
‘I don’t know if that applies to Blue Nun,’ Poppy fretted.
Norah laughed. ‘I’m willing to risk it.’
Poppy sat down and cracked open the bottle, pouring them both a conservative glass apiece. ‘Let’s start small, just in case.’
Norah took a sip. ‘I’ve had better, I’ve had worse,’ she pronounced.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Poppy said, sipping tentatively.
‘Your daughter asleep?’ Norah asked.
‘Yes, is your son?’
‘Just about,’ Norah said. She flopped back on the sofa with her glass. ‘Man, I’m knackered.’
‘I thought you were jazzed for guitar lessons?’ Poppy said.
‘Yes, I’m very excited to embarrass myself,’ Norah assured her. Something caught the corner of her eye on the wall. The portrait, framed and given pride of place above the mantel. Norah felt a blush building in her that she didn’t have time for. ‘Gimme that thing,’ she said, nodding to the guitar.
Poppy grabbed her guitar and sat across from her. ‘Let’s start with the basics.’
Norah struggled at first, her fingers fumbling over the frets, but she was determined not to quit. Poppy was patient with her and very nonjudgmental about errors, which helped.
After about half an hour, they knocked off. Poppy poured them both some more crap wine.
‘You’re not nearly as bad as I might have thought,’ Poppy said.
Norah raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ve had better compliments.’
Poppy decided to try again. ‘I didn’t think this wouldn’t be your thing. But you have a natural dexterity with your fingers.’ Then she added quickly. ‘Probably from the... art.’
‘Well, it helps that I got a guitar lesson from a globally multi-platinum-selling artist. Great day for the diary,’ Norah snarked.
‘It was one platinum. One time,’ Poppy groaned.
‘Was it for “Noah”?’ Norah asked hesitantly.
Poppy nodded, but she didn’t say anything.
‘Hey, crazy question, totally random... Was “Noah” originally “Norah’s song”?’ Norah found herself asking.
Poppy looked stunned. ‘You recognised it?’
‘You played it a lot back in the day. I only heard it once with lyrics, but... when I saw you on TV, I recognised the tune,’ Norah explained. She hoped she sounded casual about it.
‘It wasn’t really “Norah’s Song”, of course,’ Poppy said quickly. ‘The arrangement changed it. It was sped up significantly, and the lyrics were unrecognisable by the end.’
‘I still knew it,’ Norah confessed.
‘Even though they broke it? Must have played it around you more than I thought,’ Poppy said, rubbing the back of her neck.
‘They broke it?’ Norah asked.
Poppy sighed. ‘Totally.’
‘It was a hit, though, right?’ Norah said, trying to keep her voice light.
‘Our biggest one,’ Poppy admitted.
‘People liked it. So that seems like a good thing.’
‘But it was personal, and I let them pressure me into handing it over so they could chew it up and spit out money,’ Poppy said bitterly. ‘I’ll always regret that.’
Norah felt oddly breathless, and she took a second to collect herself. ‘It was personal?’
Poppy gave her an intense look. ‘Obviously.’
‘But...’ Norah started. But then stopped. What the hell did she think she was doing? This was the no-no zone.
‘What?’ Poppy pressed.
Norah didn’t want to say more. She didn’t know why she’d started in this direction. She wanted to put the guitar down and run out.
But unfortunately, she wasn’t Freddie’s age. She was a grown-up, and she was supposed to act like one, annoyingly. ‘I guess I thought maybe it was just... not that meaningful,’ Norah admitted.
Poppy frowned. ‘I told you it was. Don’t you remember that?’
‘I remember. But then...’ Norah let the sentence hang.
‘I ended things,’ Poppy completed.
Norah shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Poppy looked at Norah, making her feel see-through. Norah's eyes darted away, her fingers nervously tapping on the glass in her hand. The air between them felt charged.
‘I'm sorry,’ Norah finally blurted out, her voice slightly shaky. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it up.’
Poppy swallowed, her fingers absently playing with the rim of her glass. ‘The song or...’
‘The song, yeah. The song,’ Norah said quickly.
‘I don’t think that’s what you meant,’ Poppy said.
Norah found the will to look Poppy in the eye. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘OK, but you should know... That song was for you. And it was real,’ Poppy said.
Norah said something then that she later attributed to a mini-stroke. There was no other explanation. ‘Would you play it for me? The original?’
She was sure that Poppy was gonna say no. But Poppy picked up the guitar. ‘I think I can probably remember how to play it. But I can’t look at you while I do it,’ she said, closing her eyes.
Poppy's fingers began to dance across the strings of her old acoustic guitar, picking out a familiar tune. Across from her on the couch, Norah reclined, a half-empty glass of wine cradled in her hand.
‘She finds solace in the stroke of a pen,’ Poppy sang quietly.
Her voice was different than it had been in her pop years. It was worn smoother from use, its sound richer from a life lived. Norah was entranced as she continued.
‘In the colours that bleed, she finds a friend.
Through the sadness that clouds her gaze,
Her drawings weave through the darkest maze.’
The song was like a time machine, transporting Norah across the years, back to the nights they used to spend together as teens.
‘In the silence of her room, where shadows play,
Norah's drawings come alive in their own way.
With tears like ink, she paints the night,
Sketching her sorrows in the fading light.’
Poppy strummed a little bridge, her eyes still squeezed shut. She looked a little scared, Norah thought.
‘In shadows cast by flickering light,
I watch you draw, lost in the night.
Each line you trace, my heart does ache,
For love I hide, for your sweet sake.’
Norah drank Poppy in as she sang. The way her hair fell loose around her face, the concentration furrowing her brow, the gentle sway of her body as she lost herself in the music—it was all so intoxicating.
‘In the gallery of her mind, where dreams reside,
Norah's sketches bloom, where emotions collide.
In shades of hope and shades of despair,
Her canvas whispers secrets only she can bear.
Norah, I can only implore,
That you let me be the one you adore.
With each stroke of your pen, let your story unfurl,
Norah, let me be the colour in your world.
In shadows cast by flickering light,
I watch you draw, lost in the night.
Each line you trace, my heart does ache,
For love I hide, for your sweet sake.’
Poppy's fingers slowed and stopped. She opened her blue eyes and met Norah’s gaze, licking her lips nervously. Poppy's last chord hung in the air, the sound slowly fading into the quiet of the room. ‘That’s all I can remember. I think there were probably a few more verses, but...’
Norah felt her heart speed up. At that moment, the tension that had been building between them since Poppy had arrived back in Northwood seemed to reach a tipping point.
Norah put her glass down.
‘What are you doing?’ Poppy asked, fear in her voice.
‘Putting my glass down,’ Norah said.
Poppy gave her a long, meaningful look. ‘Should I put my guitar down?’ she asked.
They both knew what they were talking about now.
Norah nodded, trying to hold her nerve. ‘Yes,’ she said simply.
Poppy put the guitar down. Before either of them could say another word, Norah leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Their lips met in a soft kiss. It was tentative and bumbling at first but soon moved to something more confident and deliberate, filling with the unspoken desire that had simmered beneath the surface all evening.
Sometime later, when they finally pulled away, they both wore matching expressions of surprise and disbelief, as if wondering if what just happened was real.
Just then, Norah’s phone went off.
‘I should check that. In case something’s wrong,’ Norah said, flustered.
Poppy nodded, smiling shyly.
But it wasn’t her mum, it was Max. Now that things have cooled down a bit, I think we should talk about everything.
Norah frowned at the message.
‘Is something wrong?’ Poppy asked.
‘Yes. Well, no. Well, yes,’ she stuttered.
She felt suddenly panicked. Her marriage had only just ended. She shouldn’t be doing this. Not with Poppy, of all people. As much as Norah wanted it, Poppy’s track record was unignorable. She’d let herself forget for a moment. She’d been hypnotised by the song.
But reality had come back into focus. Norah couldn’t jump into anything with Poppy. It would end badly, like last time. And then Norah would be that person, running from doomed relationship to doomed relationship.
‘What are we doing?’ Norah asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Poppy replied, confused. ‘What are we doing?’
The panic in Norah’s system ramped further up. ‘I’m stupid.’
‘Stupid?’ Poppy said, hurt in her eyes.
‘Totally stupid. I’ve got to go.’
‘Because you’re stupid?’ Poppy checked.
‘Yes.’
‘Because this was a mistake?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’ve had too much to drink, and you didn’t mean it,’ Poppy went on.
Norah thought that had the ring of a passable lie. ‘That’s it, yeah. Wine and impending divorce.’
Poppy’s eyes filled with sudden horror. ‘I did it again,’ she muttered to herself.
That caught Norah’s attention, dragging her from her own crisis straight into Poppy’s. ‘Did what?’
Poppy shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine. You’re right. You should leave.’
Poppy was now matching Norah’s freak out, which made it all that much worse. She wanted to press her, but she was in the midst of her own panic. It was all such a mess. What the hell had they done?
‘We shouldn't have kissed,’ Poppy blurted. ‘You’re right. It was a mistake.’
Norah blinked, taken aback by Poppy's sudden change in demeanour. ‘OK, good. We’re in agreement,’ she said, trying not to be hurt. Which she knew was a bit bloody rich when Poppy was only repeating what she had said a moment ago. She was only getting rejected in the middle of her rejection.
Norah shook her head, trying to be an adult in the situation, if a little late. ‘We... we kissed. It happened. Let’s move past it.’
‘Yeah. OK,’ Poppy said. ‘Fucking Blue Nun.’
‘Right. Blue Nun,’ Norah agreed before looking at the bottle.
They’d hardly touched it, but it was a way out. It would make it OK if they could blame booze.
But it didn’t feel OK. It felt fucking awful. Norah had handled this whole thing so badly. All the more reason to get out before she made any more mess.
‘I should go,’ Norah said softly, her voice breaking the silence.
‘Yeah,’ Poppy replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Poppy saw Norah at the door, and they said goodbye briefly before Norah legged it down the street back home. She knew that whatever had sparked between them tonight wasn't something she could dismiss lightly. But she was gonna give it a hell of a try.