CHAPTER 44
Poppy tucked her shirt into the waistband of her cropped jeans and reviewed herself in the mirror. Her hair was clean and hung loose on her shoulders, and her skin was lightly bronzed from the sun. Maeve crawled in circles at her feet wearing a striped jumpsuit. She hoped as a duo they’d give off a cool-but-not-trying-too-hard vibe. She wanted to look like a lovely but forgettable kindergarten teacher. Agreeable and, crucially, harmless.
Henry and Willa were back together. It had been indirectly confirmed by her mother who had called yesterday with the details of the long-awaited group dinner. ‘Peggy said to arrive at six, darling. She said you can bring the portacot and put it in the spare room for Maeve. I asked what we could bring and she said nothing, but I’m going to make a date slice, so if you were thinking of making one don’t. You should take something, though, darling, because it’s good manners. Maybe you could make a soup and we could pour it into paper cups and pass them around as little appetisers? I saw that once on Better Homes and Gardens and it looked so fancy! I have a divine recipe for a potato and leek soup, if you want it? Or if you wanted to do something sweet, you could make a lemon slice and we could make a little dessert platter, which could be fun. I could buy those little toothpicks that have the flags on them so it’s easy for people to pick them up. I saw some in the party section at Big W. Do you want me to pick some up on my way home from golf? I’ll be finished at three so can whiz past there very easily.’
‘I’ve already bought some wine, Mum.’
‘Oh, right. That’s a good idea, but you’re sure you don’t want the little flags? I might just pop in and grab some anyway, just in case. We can always keep them for a rainy day if you don’t end up making the lemon slice.’
‘Mum, I’m not making a lemon slice.’
‘Okay, but I might get some anyway, just in case you end up baking. Just don’t make a date slice, though, because that’s what I’m doing, remember? But I suppose if you really wanted to, you could make a date slice and I could make a lemon slice because I’ve got so many lemons on the tree at the moment …’
‘Whatever you reckon, Mum.’
‘Okay, so I should buy the little flags?’
‘Mum, I’m bringing wine.’
‘Great, and that will be lovely. And I’ll grab the little flags in case we do the dessert platter.’
Poppy wondered if it was possible to be more explicit about not making dessert.
‘Darling, I must go, but I’ll see you at six tomorrow.’
After her mother had hung up, Poppy had spent the rest of the day avoiding thinking about the impending dinner.
Now, at twenty minutes to six, it was proving impossible to not overthink everything. Should she have baked the lemon slice? Should she have trimmed Maeve’s almost-mullet? Poppy picked up her daughter and did a final outfit check. No spew on her shoulder or sneaky mashed banana on her butt cheek, so she already looked at least thirty per cent better than usual.
She buckled Maeve into her car seat and put the nappy bag on the passenger seat, the neck of a shiraz bottle peeking out of it. As she turned the key, she spoke into the windscreen. ‘Siri, call Dani.’
Her phone in the centre console spoke back to her. ‘Calling Dar Nee.’
Her best friend answered on the first ring. ‘PARPEE!’
‘DARNEE! Mate, how are you?’
‘Same old, girlfriend. Watching Nella eat sand while I try to paint my toenails. What are you up to?’
‘Heading to dinner with Henry and Willa.’
‘Stop it! No! Why would you do that?!’
‘Our mums organised it.’
Dani made a hooting sound. ‘And are you okay with that?’
Poppy sighed. ‘I think I need it, for closure. I built up Willa so much in my mind. I was scared of her because she’d made it final that Henry and I would never be together again. I mean, I knew logically that was probably going to be the case, but she made it real. And god, now I realise how much I built up Henry in my mind too. Over those nine years with Patrick I had way too much distance to make the heart grow fonder. Now I’ve got my head sorted a bit, I think I can handle it. In fact, I need to handle it.’
Dani cackled.
‘What?’
‘Pops, we will piss ourselves laughing about this one day! It’s even a bit hilarious now. Your mums are setting you up on a play date.’
‘Oh god,’ yelped Poppy. ‘Am I the kid who needs a momager to make friends? This is so embarrassing!’
Dani chuckled. ‘Relax, Pops. I’m teasing. It’s great that you and Henry are back to being friends. You need to call me immediately after dinner for a full recap. Extra points if it’s Willa-related information. I want to know all. Even if she tells you about her bowel movements, you tell me that shit! Pun intended, obviously.’
‘I am making no promises to ask about her bowel movements, but if she volunteers that information, I solemnly swear to pass it on.’
‘Legend. That’s why I love you, Pops.’
‘Love you too, Dan.’
Poppy hung up as she pulled into a tree-lined street. The Marshalls’ house was bordered by an expertly pruned garden, with spheres of ornamental roses sitting behind laser-level hedges. An eggshell-white gravel path led visitors to the front door, which refracted blues, reds and yellows through its lead-light windows.
Poppy hoisted Maeve onto her hip and walked towards it. The lion’s head brass knocker clanged with an ear-splitting resonance and the door swung open. A tall girl in a white slip dress with a tiny diamond nose ring stood before her. ‘You must be Poppy!’ she said, and then a slow wave of recognition dawned across her blemish-free face. ‘Oh, heyyyy!’
‘What?!’ spluttered Poppy. The Woolworths Angel?! The woman who’d paid for her groceries? ‘You’re Willa?’
‘Guilty.’
‘How old are you?!’ cried Poppy.
‘Er, twenty-nine. And a half, I guess, if we’re being specific.’
‘Oh my gosh, sorry. I didn’t mean to ask that. It’s just that, wow, you look nineteen or something. I thought you were a student.’
‘I technically am still studying,’ Willa said with a laugh. ‘Eleven years and counting. Who’d do medicine, hey? At least I’m past the phase when people mistook me for that K-Pop man-child.’
Poppy laughed too, stunned. Willa spoke in the same gentle voice Poppy remembered from their previous encounter but delivered lines like a stand-up comedian. It was so disconcerting.
‘Come in,’ Willa said, and Poppy followed her into the hallway. It was adorned with the same pictures Poppy remembered from years ago: framed nineties photo shoots, beach holiday snaps and Madonna-esque wedding photos. The ceramic dish on the hallway table was still cluttered with keyrings.
‘Hey, Poppy,’ said Henry, not looking up as they walked into the kitchen. He had a tea towel over his shoulder and was carving the roast lamb. Poppy could guess the reason for the pink tinge on his ears. ‘I see you’ve met Willa.’
‘We’ve actually met before,’ announced Willa.
Henry jerked his head up. ‘What?’
Willa waved airily. ‘Tech issues, a passive-aggressive checkout chick … don’t worry, we sorted it.’
Henry’s laugh was stilted. ‘Do I want to know more?’
‘Nope,’ said Willa. ‘We’re going to get along great, so you can stop directing your nervous energy into your knife skills. You look like Uma Thurman from Kill Bill and your ears are so red they’re about to combust.’ She tugged on his earlobe playfully as she walked past to open the fridge. ‘Wine, Poppy?’
Poppy smiled. ‘Love one.’ If these first minutes were anything to go by, the giant elephant thundering in her chest could take a nap. No stampeding anxiousness required here.
In the living room, Poppy greeted Henry’s parents and her own. Both mothers stood up immediately to fawn over Maeve and the fathers raised their beer bottles in a silent welcome. It was jarring to see Henry’s parents looking so much older than she remembered, but that was life, she guessed. They were probably thinking the same about her.
Poppy, Henry and Willa sat down to dinner at the kids’ end (as they all automatically called it) with Maeve in a highchair. As they passed the salads across the table, Poppy learned that Willa was a natural conversationalist. She was captivating, self-deprecating, she asked about motherhood and Taylor Swift’s back catalogue, she had opinions on RAM drivers and regional healthcare, and segued seamlessly from Kanye West to European politics with an easy charm. Poppy was enthralled.
Henry was too. Poppy could tell by the way he caught Willa’s eye to emphasise a point and knocked his head gently against hers when she teased him. He kept one arm slung over the back of her chair the whole night, and Poppy had the impression of witnessing something intensely intimate as they recounted the story of his proposal, and she noticed his fingers slide reflexively across her shoulder and settle there casually, like they’d apparently done countless times before.
The night after the races was an aeon ago. Who had they even been pretending to be that night? This table in front of them—with roast potatoes, tossed salads, homemade mint jelly and lamb from the butcher down the road—this was real life. Eating a meal with old friends and new ones, her parents and daughter, this was a tableau she wanted to recreate again and again.
Her mind drifted to James, how easily he’d fit in here with his knee against hers, laughing at their jokes, telling his own, picking up the rattle Maeve insisted on throwing to the floor, catching her eye and winking when no-one else was looking. The tiny keyhole inside her was still empty. It wasn’t depression or sadness; it was just a hollow. But there was nothing more she could do. He’d made his decision, she’d made hers and they didn’t align. Maybe one day their two paths would converge, but—and this was the thing she had to remind herself every day when she woke up and longed for his body next to hers—that was un-bloody-likely. He was a wonderful guy moving to a city of five million people, half of them female. People didn’t find the love of their life in dusty hospital car parks. They found them in cool speakeasy bars with dim lighting and sexy playlists. They found them in lecture halls and libraries and after-work-drinks haunts, where common interests drew them together like magnets. Big cities were where big love stories were made. James would meet a model in a dive bar or a megababe in surgical scrubs. The odds were unspeakably strong.
Dinner passed quickly, and before she knew it Poppy was waking Maeve from the portacot in the spare room and carrying her daughter, heavy with sleep, to the car. Henry walked her out while inside the others put the wineglasses in the dishwasher and cling-wrapped the leftovers.
‘Thanks for coming, Pops. I appreciate you being so—’
‘Least I could do,’ interrupted Poppy, knowing exactly what Henry wanted to say. ‘Willa is awesome,’ she added. ‘I’m so happy for you, Hen.’
‘Thanks, Pops. That means a lot.’
They looked at each other and smiled. There was so much in their smiles—joy, pain, sadness, understanding. Poppy knew it, and she knew Henry knew it. They were growing up. They weren’t teenagers anymore and they were doing their best to grab adulthood with both hands. It would never be simple but they were both getting better at it. It helped that they had each other’s back.
Poppy pulled her key out of her pocket and clicked the button to unlock the car. Henry pulled the back door open and Poppy slid her daughter into her car seat. Maeve grunted contentedly, her eyelids weighed down with sleep.
‘You okay getting her home by yourself?’ asked Henry.
Poppy smiled. ‘I’m used to it.’
She climbed into the car, put the key in the ignition and waved goodbye. It wasn’t the last time she’d do this by herself and she was learning to be okay with that.