CHAPTER 10
The Bustle had quickly become one of Poppy’s favourite places in town. A converted Masonic hall, its cathedral-like walls housed a café, a homewares shop and a fashion boutique, all nestled together in an energetic jumble. Floral installations hung from the ceiling and the white-painted brick walls were decorated with a rainbow of artworks. Shelves were heavy with jewel-toned crockery, cushions and other trinkets, while reams of vibrant outfits weighed down the clothing racks. Light streamed in from skylights and the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the place in a phosphorescent glow. It was so different from anything else in the wind-bleached town and so unapologetically colourful compared to anything in Sydney that it felt like an escapist dreamland.
Parking the pram next to a duck-egg blue table, Poppy settled herself into a chair and pulled her laptop out of the nappy bag. After a quick shower at home, she’d changed out of her saggy-bummed leggings and was now wearing her denim shorts in steadfast denial of it already being jeans season in Orange.
‘The usual, Poppy?’ asked a twenty-something waitress in a Breton-striped t-shirt.
Poppy loved that the friendly waitress (whose name she had awkwardly forgotten) already knew her order by heart. It made her feel like a cast member of Home & Away .
‘Yep, soy cap for me,’ she replied, smiling brightly to compensate for the forgotten name.
‘Coming right up.’
The waitress left and Poppy opened her laptop, sliding her fingers across the touchpad to bring up Seek. In her weekly budget, she could justify the daily coffee by using her time at The Bustle to search for jobs.
Engrossed in her browsers, she didn’t register the footsteps shuffling closer until a shadow fell over her shoulder. ‘Poppy?’
She turned, and her heart fell through her stomach with a painful jolt.
‘Henry?’
It had been almost a decade and Henry Marshall looked exactly the same. His hair still curled over his ears, his cheeks were still dimpled, his nose was still smattered with freckles. He still had all the requisite features of a typically cute country boy.
‘Here you go, Poppy,’ said her waitress, reappearing from nowhere. She placed the coffee on the table with a flourish and looked at Poppy expectantly.
‘Oh, er, yes,’ Poppy stammered, trying to get her brain into gear. ‘Um … thanks … so much.’
Henry’s hands were shoved deep into his pockets, so that he appeared to be one long line of checked shirt and moleskins. No limbs, just a monolith of man.
The waitress looked between them, realisation dawning on her clear young face. ‘Oh, you two are friends?’
Poppy was mute. She couldn’t answer. Were they friends? They had been the very best of friends, but that was a lifetime ago. Poppy waited for Henry to respond, but he looked as tortured as she felt.
‘Old friends,’ said Henry eventually, nodding at the waitress as if that were her cue to leave.
‘That’s awesome,’ said the waitress, cheerfully immune to his hint. ‘I love how everyone here knows each other. It means you can’t get away with anything though. That was never an issue in Perth.’ She flashed them a smile and bounced back to the counter.
Tracey from Perth! That was her name!
‘Thanks, Tracey,’ called Poppy meekly. The waitress’s perkiness—and obliviousness—was overwhelming right now. Warily, she turned back to Henry.
‘Poppy McKellar,’ he said slowly, the syllables heavy in his mouth. ‘It must have been, what, nine years?’
‘Almost ten,’ Poppy confirmed too quickly. Not a word of contact since that night.
‘And wow, I see …’ He nodded towards the pram. His voice was friendly but his face was tight.
‘Yes.’ Poppy nodded. ‘This is Maeve.’ Her daughter had fallen asleep and was sucking the fabric cuff of her onesie. She hoped Henry wouldn’t think that was disgusting but he wasn’t looking at Maeve. His eyes were fixed on her.
‘I guess … Patrick?’
Poppy winced. She had never wanted to have this conversation. Those worlds had collided once and it had not been pretty. ‘Yes … Patrick. He’s the father. But we’ve … separated.’ The word felt sandy on her tongue. ‘Separated’ sounded closer to ‘divorce’, which sounded simultaneously more grown up and more hideous. But she didn’t want Henry to think she and Patrick had merely broken up, as if their relationship had been just a summery, drunken whim. Of all people, she didn’t want Henry to think that.
‘And you’re …’ She pointed towards his hand, which was still bare. ‘Oh—I mean you’re about to, um, marry?’
About to marry?! She sounded like an Edwardian princess.
‘Yes,’ said Henry, his expression unchanged. ‘Engaged a few months ago actually. Very … exciting.’ If it had been ten years ago, Poppy would have burst out laughing at how unexcited he sounded. Now, his emotionless voice was excruciating.
‘I hear you’re taking over the family business?’ Poppy continued, attempting some semblance of a normal conversation.
‘Yes.’ Henry brightened slightly. ‘Dad’s over it. Reckons financial planning’s a dying craft in the age of crypto, so he’s busting to hand it over. Basically mailed me the keys when I was still in Brissie.’
Poppy smiled gently into her coffee. Henry’s dad had a thick handlebar moustache which, in high school, they had decided was the source of all his powers, like a middle-aged dad version of Thor’s hammer. His dad had a similar Thor energy: he was gruffly passionate about everything from rugby to business to a good pub lunch.
‘I can’t imagine him ever getting sick of it,’ she said to her cup.
‘I know,’ said Henry, reading her mind. ‘Who’s he going to rant to now? Mum? She’ll go insane.’
Poppy looked up to meet Henry’s eyes and understanding buzzed between them. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, they were still like this. They thought the same, they knew each other. A chain between them, which had laid loose and dusty in the dirt for ten years, was suddenly pulled taut.
Henry must have felt it too. He changed the subject. ‘What are you up to these days? Apart from the obvious.’ He gestured towards the pram.
‘Well, the obvious is actually taking up a fair bit of my time.’
Henry chuckled, and Poppy’s heart lifted slightly, glad he could still recognise her jokes. ‘You’re living in Orange?’ he asked. ‘Long term?’
Truthfully, she had no idea. Sydney rent was out of the question at the moment, but once Maeve was older she’d be stupid not to consider it.
‘I’m finding my feet,’ she said vaguely. ‘I’m looking for jobs but not looking too hard at the moment. I’ve got a few things I need to sort out before I can start working again: child care, sleep, stopping breastfeeding, that kind of thing.’
Henry’s cheeks reddened slightly. Poppy registered that she probably shouldn’t have mentioned her breasts, but she talked about them so much these days she’d forgotten it wasn’t part of normal conversation. It was all she talked about now: boobs, and poo.
‘Gosh, kids,’ said Henry. ‘We haven’t properly started thinking about …’
He trailed off and Poppy felt a body blow to her solar plexus, suddenly aware of a bridge they were very close to crossing. Of course Henry and his fiancée were thinking about kids. It made sense. It would be weird if they weren’t, and Poppy had no right to feel this slight queasiness in her stomach.
She’d already stalked his fiancée as much as she could. Her name was Willa and her social media accounts were expertly set to private. Her Instagram profile pic showed long limbs silhouetted against a European sunrise. You couldn’t see her face, but Poppy could tell she was beautiful. Girls that tall and slim always looked effortless.
Poppy felt properly sick now. ‘Babies certainly keep you busy!’ she persevered. She hoped the comment was generic enough to make it seem as though she hadn’t spiralled down that Henry-Willa-offspring rabbit hole. The certainly might have been too much, though. She wasn’t actually Edwardian.
‘I can imagine,’ Henry replied, his eyes vacant again. He shifted towards the coffee counter and glanced at it. ‘I won’t keep you,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ said Poppy, blindly searching his face for that connection they’d shared only moments ago. It was like trying to find a safety rope in a dark cave. ‘I’ll see you around.’ She tried to smile but couldn’t. That was happening too often these days.