Poppy walked into the hall, Mrs Cauldwell right behind her in the small space. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Poppy asked automatically, her mother’s training kicking in.
‘No,’ Mrs Cauldwell said, standing in the hall. ‘We don’t need to go any further. This will be quick. I want you to stop.’
‘Stop what?’
‘This thing. With Norah. It’s done.’
Poppy blinked. ‘What do you m—’
‘I know what you’re up to. It’s over, OK?’
Poppy had a lot of responses jump into her head, but in the end, she settled on a simple, ‘Why?’
Mrs Caldwell’s face shifted from cold to angry. ‘Don’t treat me like a fool. I’m much older than you, and I can see what you’re up to.’
Poppy was getting a bit angry now. ‘Mrs Cauldwell, what the hell are you talking about?’
‘I went to a grief group last night. My GP pushed me into it.’
‘That’s good,’ Poppy said, confused.
‘I won’t be going back,’ Mrs Cauldwell sneered. ‘Bunch of self-pitiers. But they did say one interesting thing.’
‘Yeah?’
‘That you don’t make decisions in the first six months after a bereavement. Because you’re not in your right mind.’
Poppy nodded. ‘That makes sense.’
‘I bet it does,’ Mrs Cauldwell said. ‘Because Norah’s not in her right mind, is she? And you understood that about her. You knew better than anyone. And you used that knowledge, didn’t you?’
Poppy didn’t know how to respond. Her mouth felt locked from the vile accusation. To be spoken to like this by an adult was new. People liked her. Parents liked her… but not Mrs Cauldwell. There was real hatred in her tone.
‘It’s because I’m a girl, isn’t it?’ Poppy was eventually able to say.
Mrs Caldwell’s face went red. ‘That’s not...’ She took a deep breath, gathering herself. ‘Someone who would take advantage of her now is not a good person. You’re not a good person. You’ve taken her innocence.’
Poppy almost laughed. ‘Innocence? Norah’s an adult. We both are.’
‘Don’t give me that. She’s grieving. And I remember what happened when your dad died. Your mum told me. You were feral, biting her and everything.’
‘I was ten.’
‘You were a mess. You know you were.’
Poppy felt suddenly aware that Mrs Cauldwell was Norah’s mother and all that came with that title. Norah complained about her all the time, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t take her side if it came to a choice. If Mrs Cauldwell decided to poison her against Poppy, it could ruin everything. She had to make an effort to turn this conversation around.
‘Look, I care about her. I... I love her,’ she said.
It was a bit weird that she was telling Norah’s mother that before Norah herself, but it was the only bullet in her gun.
A hard laugh escaped from Mrs Caudwell’s lips. ‘You don’t even know what that word means. Love is what I’m doing now. Protecting her from herself because she doesn’t know what she’s doing.’
That was an unfortunate turn of phrase, because didn’t it echo Poppy’s own words to Norah when they first kissed? Norah had assured her it was fine, and Poppy, wanting it to continue, had decided to believe her. She didn’t feel very good about that choice all of a sudden.
‘I care about her,’ Poppy said miserably.
‘If you did, you wouldn’t have done what you did,’ Mrs Cauldwell said without sympathy. ‘I know what you were up to last night. It was written all over her face.’
Something that had felt lovely and right last felt suddenly twisted by Mrs Caldwell’s words. Poppy hated her for that.
‘We care about each other!’ she nearly yelled.
‘If you cared about her, you would have just been her friend. You’d have known she couldn’t make a choice like that.’
Poppy felt sick. Was that true? It hadn’t seemed so before. It had seemed like it was love happening, as pure as it came. But Mrs Caldwell’s righteousness—her utter certainty that Poppy was some kind of manipulative monster—was affecting. Had Poppy done something wrong when she’d let things happen with Norah? Should she have stopped it when she’d first thought to?
Poppy truly believed that she loved Norah, but was it loving to let things get physical with her while she was grieving? Had she made a mistake out of selfishness?
Was it wrong?
‘I know you know what you’ve done,’ Mrs Cauldwell said, satisfied to watch Poppy spin out in front of her. ‘It’s in your eyes. You don’t have to admit it. Just leave her alone.’ She turned on that sentiment and walked out of the hall, leaving the door wide open.
Poppy shut it quickly behind her. She didn’t go to school that day. Instead, she went up to her bedroom, put on her headphones, and blasted the loudest, angriest rock she could find into her ears. She was doing everything she could to push out Mrs Caldwell’s dreadful words. But it didn’t work. Not even close.
Seventeen
Now
