Nine

Norah clocked off for lunch, slapped her laptop shut and went to look in the kitchen cupboards. Nothing appealing. She decided to treat herself to lunch out. Let someone else make her a sandwich for a change.

She headed around the corner, into the square, straight for The Sugar Cube. It was a small café, cosy and inviting, with warm lighting and mismatched chairs and tables. Norah liked the place and the food, but she was hoping not to see anyone she knew. She just wanted to eat quietly while she doom-scrolled.

She joined the long queue, hoping it would move fast. She only had twenty-five minutes before she had to be logged back in. A minute passed, and she’d get an email from her bloody boss talking about time theft. No one loved the rules more than he, the self-important tosser.

The queue shifted, and she was swept up to the counter. She had a tuna bagel in mind, maybe even a brownie. She was feeling kind of wild. She felt a bit less excited when she found herself eyeball to eyeball with Poppy stood behind the counter—in a pinny, no less.

‘What?!’ Norah exclaimed.

‘Oh, Norah. Hello,’ Poppy said with an embarrassed head dip.

Norah realised her reaction was a bit much. ‘You got a job? Here?’

‘That’s the situation, yes.’

‘Why? I mean, aren’t you...’ Norah began, before realising what she was about to say was inappropriate. You didn’t ask strangers, ‘Hey, aren’t you rich now?’ So she stopped mid-sentence.

Poppy frowned. ‘What?’

‘Sorry, none of my business.’

There was an awkward pause, and Norah decided to fill it with the reason she’d come in in the first place. ‘Umm, can I have a tuna bagel?’

‘Sure,’ Poppy said, nervously writing it down on a pad in front of her. ‘To go?’

‘No,’ Norah said and regretted it instantly. But once the word was out, she was stuck.

What the hell was going on? What was Poppy doing slumming it behind a counter?

‘Anything else?’

‘Umm, a hazelnut latte?’ Norah said, unsure why she’d phrased it like a question. She knew her coffee order, for the love of Christ. She was just so bloody flustered.

‘OK, that’s £8.75.’

Poppy held out a card machine, and Norah tapped her phone to it, feeling like she was in the twilight zone. She’d totally forgotten about the brownie.

‘Thanks,’ she said and turned to grab a seat.

The place was packed. The only free space was right next to the counter. Well, that was a relaxing lunch pissed away. She was now going to have to sit within a foot of Poppy while she ate the food she’d ordered from her. Absolutely fucking surreal.

Norah sat down, reeling. She watched as Poppy took orders and worked the espresso machine. Had she been working here long? And why, as a joke? She used to be a pop star, for crying out loud. Surely she’d made good money doing that? She’d had a song at number one for four weeks. Despite not knowing much about her life, she knew that. She knew it very well indeed.

A few minutes later, Poppy called out Norah’s order, and Norah hopped up to fetch it. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘Enjoy,’ Poppy replied.

Norah sat down, took a bite of her bagel, and tried to focus on her phone, but her eyes kept drifting back to Poppy. Her curiosity was killing her. She was dying to ask her directly, but they didn’t really talk, even now. Time and again, they bumped into each other at the school gates and yet no ease had developed between them. They were nowhere near chummy.

Norah decided to do something she never did. She googled Poppy.

It was as expected. Old stuff about her girl band. They’d had three albums and then called it a day. Beyond that, there wasn’t much else. It seemed Poppy had kept her personal life private, unlike her bandmates. There was plenty about them. Their dating track records alone were epic. Lots of footballers.

But not Poppy. Very little was known. There was nothing about her daughter, marriages, zilch.

As the queue quietened, Poppy walked by to collect empty mugs from a nearby table. Norah couldn’t take any more. She initiated a conversation for the first time in their adult ‘reunion.’

‘So, how long have you been working here?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.

Poppy paused, looking slightly caught off guard by the question. ‘Oh, um, just a week,’ she said.

Norah nodded. An awkward silence hung between them for a moment before Poppy continued. ‘The coffee machine was a bit of a bastard at first, but I’m getting the hang of it.’

‘Yeah, it’s a good place,’ Norah said.

‘Are you here much?’ Poppy asked.

‘Now and again,’ Norah answered.

Poppy smiled in a way that locked off the conversation before hurrying back behind the counter to serve a new customer. Norah finished her lunch, gave a little wave goodbye to Poppy, and headed home, still deeply weirded out. It brought back a few memories of the last time Poppy had freaked her out.

Twenty Years Ago

The next night, as planned, Poppy texted Norah around ten. The second her phone pinged, Norah came out in a cold sweat.

Hey, practise is over. Still wanna hang out?

Technically, Norah didn’t need to reply, and the issue would go away for the time being.

But for some reason, she found her thumbs tapping out a reply.

Yeah, I’m up. Come over.

The reply was brief.

Cool.

Norah was truly panicked now. What was she going to say to Poppy? She probably had no idea that Norah had heard her song. Maybe it was fine? Maybe they didn’t need to talk about it? And maybe there wasn’t anything to talk about? Maybe the song wasn’t really about Norah. Maybe Poppy had just been looking for some words to put to music, and Norah’s name had merely the correct number of syllables to fit a rhyming scheme.

The only trouble with that theory was that the lyrics felt specific to her as a person. It wasn’t just her name. From what she could remember, it was about a sad girl who drew—which was Norah. And if all that was true, well...

Norah didn’t know what the hell to think. If only she could have talked to someone. The trouble was that the person she’d talk to was Poppy.

Poppy texted again to let her know she was at the front door, their usual system, to avoid disturbing Norah’s slumbering mother. As she headed out of her room and down the stairs, Norah knew there was a choice to make. She could pretend everything was fine, or she could admit she’d heard the song and deal with it head-on.

She slapped on a casual expression and opened the door. ‘Hi.’