‘But I did just want a word about some behaviour that has started to crop up,’ the teacher added carefully.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. He’s... We’ve observed some imagination play we thought we should raise with you. He’s been playing with the dolls and making them have some rather... specific conversations. There’s a repetition to it. I’ve seen it three times now.’
‘OK...’ Norah replied, tensing.
‘He’s been making Woody from Toy Story tell Pocahontas that she’s... a cold fish.’
Norah wanted to die. ‘And how does Pocahontas respond?’
‘Pocahontas tells him that he should have divorced him before they had Olaf the Snowman. That’s their son.’
So Freddie had caught every word of that argument a week ago after a particularly bad session with the couple’s therapist. It was awful enough that he knew that his parents were unhappy together. But Freddie thought Norah regretted him, and that wasn’t what she’d meant. She’d meant that she felt tied to Max because they were a family unit.
If she’d divorced Max the moment she realised she was pregnant, Norah could have raised Freddie as a single parent and shared custody with Max as an ex. Freddie would never have known this version of his family, and it wouldn’t be on Norah to tear apart the only life he knew. Freddie was the only bit Norah knew she did want, but that nuance had been lost in the argument.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him,’ Norah told Miss Potter.
Miss Potter nodded, glad to have that out of the way. ‘But his phonics is coming along beautifully.’
Norah nodded. ‘Great.’
She walked out of the meeting in a daze, wondering when her life became this. When did it all become something to get through? What had happened to her? Was she just broken? Was she not able to be with another person in any way that worked? When was the last time it had worked with Max? With anyone?
Twenty Years Ago
Norah heard the credits roll on the soap. But she didn’t know how it had ended because about twenty minutes ago, she’d thrown caution to the wind and initiated a kiss with Poppy. Things were getting steamy, fast. And now they were rolling around on her single bed, hands everywhere.
‘I’m so glad I get to do this,’ Poppy whispered into her neck.
‘I wish we’d done it before,’ Norah said.
‘Do you?’ Poppy asked, surprised, pulling back to examine her.
Norah paused to try and explain. ‘Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about it before, but now I don’t know why. It was like there was a filing cabinet in my brain that had this information in it. About you. But I didn’t know what the hell I did with the key. And somehow, you had it.’
‘That’s nice. But at best, I had a bolt cutter.’
Norah chuckled and snuggled closer to Poppy, putting her head on her shoulder. It felt so good to be close with her like this. It was like they’d always been this way; they’d just forgotten to do this part of it.
They stayed like that for a minute, and then Norah leaned up and kissed Poppy’s neck. She was done keeping it PG. She wanted to be bold. She slid up onto Poppy’s lap. She was about to ask if it was OK, but Poppy’s hands reached around her and pulled her in tight, and that was her answer.
They started kissing deeper, harder. Norah felt that things could go somewhere very serious very quickly. And she wouldn’t have yelled about it, but there was a reason she’d pushed for tonight, the night her mother was out. She wanted space to allow what would happen to happen.
She’d felt bad for a long time. This thing with Poppy was a surprise, but the timing couldn’t have been better. She was ready to feel good again. Even happy. And Poppy was happiness.
Clothes began to be pulled off, new parts touched, and new sensations felt. As they moved together in a dance as old as time, Norah realised that this was how love happened—how you opened up to it. With every kiss, every caress, Norah felt herself unravelling and becoming more whole at the same time.
And in that small room, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, Norah found herself naked with Poppy.
Poppy’s body was lean and long, and Norah felt a bit self-conscious because she wasn’t—and never had been—skinny. But Poppy seemed more than happy to bury her face in Norah’s large chest like she never wanted to come up for air. Norah relaxed and enjoyed the attention.
No one had ever touched her like this. Those who had come close had been denied entry. Though Norah had never really thought she was waiting for the right person, it was clear to her now that she had been. She was glad. This was special. She wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else.
Fourteen
Now
Poppy watched the coffee machine do its thing in a slight daze. She was knackered. It was Saturday, and she’d been working six days a week for months now. It was starting to wear her down. She hadn’t ever had a real job before if you didn’t count pop star or songwriter or session guitarist—which she didn’t.
The bell on the door clanged, and suddenly, Cherry came charging in, dragging Luna by the hand. ‘Poppy!’ she cried in her thick Jamaican accent, which hadn’t budged an inch in all the fifty years she’d lived here. ‘I’m so sorry!’
‘What’s wrong?’ Poppy asked, alarmed.
‘I’ve had a call! My mother is sick! I’ve got to get on a plane to Cape Town this afternoon!’
‘Your mother!?’ Poppy said in slight disbelief. Cherry looked good, but she had to be in her seventies. How was her mother even alive to be sick?
‘I told her she needed to cut down on the running, but she wouldn’t be told! That half-marathon was her last, I think,’ Cherry said with a shake of her head.
Poppy couldn’t even respond to that wild statement. ‘Do you need any help getting a flight?’
‘No, my nephew booked me on one, but it leaves in two hours. I’ve got to go now. I’m so sorry.’
‘Cherry, don’t apologise!’ Poppy told her. ‘You’ve got to go. Luna can sit at a table here,’ she said.
Truth be told, Poppy wasn’t sure that was going to work out. Luna wasn’t great at quiet play.
