‘She heard a song I wrote.’
Her mother frowned, trying to puzzle out the problem. ‘And you didn’t want anyone to hear it yet, is that it?’
‘Ummm...’
‘Was it personal?’ her mother asked, getting closer to the truth. This was her mother all over. Part bloodhound.
‘Very,’ Poppy said.
‘What was it about? You haven’t played me this one yet.’
Poppy cleared her throat. ‘I wasn’t ready.’
‘You’ve never minded before,’ her mother said, her brow deepening. She was getting there.
‘I wrote a love song,’ Poppy admitted.
‘For someone specific?’ her mother pressed.
Poppy nodded.
‘Oh. Oh.’
There it was. But what would she think about it?
Her mother’s face cracked into a big grin. ‘Oh, sweetheart!’ she said, laughing. ‘Oh god. You must be dying!’
‘Mum!’ Poppy exclaimed, incensed.
‘I’d have never sent her up if I’d known, kiddo. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Poppy said miserably.
But it was sort of nice to commiserate with her mum. She didn’t seem very surprised by the object of her love song either, and that was a comfort, too.
‘Did you always know?’ she asked.
‘Know what, exactly?’ her mother asked, and it was clear that she was trying not to insert her size fives into her mouth, which she was apt to do on occasion.
‘I’m still figuring it out,’ Poppy said honestly.
‘It had crossed my mind,’ her mother admitted. ‘You and Norah... I thought you were just being kind at first. But lately, I did start to wonder.’
‘And you don’t, you don’t mind or anything?’ Poppy checked.
‘God, no!’ her mother exclaimed, almost angry at the idea she could be. ‘Actually, if you did turn out to be a lesbian, it would be a load off my mind,’ she admitted. ‘Boys are... I mean, some are fine. I even married one. But as a group? Rather worrisome.’
‘Mum, I really don’t know if that’s the word I want to use,’ Poppy told her.
‘No, OK, sorry, got a bit excited there. I’ll shut up now.’ She paused. ‘But you never wrote a love song about any boys. That much I do know.’
Poppy groaned. ‘Oh god. She heard it. She bloody heard it!’ Poppy sat down on the sofa and fell sideways, her face pushing into a cushion.
‘So, I take it you hadn’t talked about it, you and Norah?’ her mother said.
Poppy turned her face out to look at her mother. ‘No.’
‘So you don’t know if she...’
‘No.’
‘Were you going to tell her?’
‘I’m not sure. I was waiting, I think. Probably,’ Poppy said, uncertain. She hadn’t worked all this out yet.
‘Waiting for what?’ her mother asked.
‘I don’t know. Maybe the right time?’
Her mother laughed.
‘What’s the joke?’ Poppy asked, irritated.
‘There is no right time. That will never happen.’
‘Yes, but her dad just died,’ Poppy said emotionally. ‘So there might not be a right time, but there’s a wrong time and a wrong way. And that’s how it’s happened. In the worst possible way.’
‘But it has happened,’ her mother shrugged, picking up a pair of jeans. ‘Toothpaste won’t go back in the tube, sweetheart.’
