‘Norah, we need to talk,’ she said, her voice cold and stern.
‘Oh Christ, what?’ Norah asked.
Her mother gestured to the kitchen table, where bills and paperwork were piled in one corner, a few red letters peeking out of the stack.
‘You took your coursework in today, didn’t you?’ her mother asked pensively.
Norah nodded quickly. Was that what this was? Was she in trouble because her mother thought she’d missed deadlines? ‘Everything’s in. Art, business studies, English.’
‘OK. Well, I can’t put this off much longer,’ her mother said with a long-suffering sigh.
‘Put what off?’
‘We need to talk about your future.’
Norah got it now. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m going to art school.’
‘Art school?’ Her mother scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Art school is pointless, Norah. You need to face up to reality. You need a real job, something stable. Do you think drawing pictures is going to pay the bills?’
Tears of frustration welled up in Norah’s eyes. ‘But I’m good at it. Don’t you care about that? I’m good, Mum,’ she said.
Funny how someone had been telling her that not an hour ago, and she’d felt uncertain and modest. But now she needed to fight for it. She knew the truth. She could do this.
‘And I love it too, though I don’t imagine you care about that part.’
Her mother’s expression softened slightly, but her tone remained firm. ‘You’re talented, Norah. But talent doesn’t always translate into a paycheque. You need to be practical. You need to think about your future.’
Norah’s anger flared again, but it was mixed with a growing sense of resignation. She wasn’t going to talk her mum around. But she couldn’t give in either. ‘I get it. I do. But I’d be miserable.’
‘You’ll be miserable if you struggle all your life,’ her mother replied. ‘You don’t know about that yet. I’ve protected you from that reality.’
‘Mum, do you think I’ve just been swanning about in fur coats and diamonds with my head up my arse? I live here. I know we’re broke.’
‘You think you know what that means, but you don’t know what it is to have the responsibility for it. You’ve never known that,’ her mother told her. ‘But once you leave, it’s gonna hit you hard. That’s what life is. Hard and brutal. Don’t put more on your plate than you need to.’
Norah sat back, deflated. She could feel the fight draining out of her. Because she couldn’t deny that her mother had said something undeniably true. The world was brutal. It had taken two giant dumps on her head just this year.
‘OK,’ Norah said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Her mother reached across the table, placing a hand on Norah’s. ‘I know you hate me right now. You think I’m shitting on your dreams. But I’m hurting you now to save hurt later. It kills me to have to do it, but I’ll bear it. That’s what love is. Sacrifice.’
Norah looked at her mother. ‘I hope that’s not true.’
‘You’ll see,’ her mother said.
Norah stood and went up to her room. A heaviness settled over her heart. She sat down at her desk, looking at the sketches and drawings that covered it. And she thought about her mother’s words.
Twenty-Two
Now
Poppy watched Norah stare blankly at the PowerPoint presentation on the screen in the school hall. She looked defeated, as well she might. Norah’s life had just imploded.
She hadn’t said much about it, just that the marriage was over. From the suddenness and the vagueness, Poppy guessed there had been infidelity involved. And she would have bet her entire paycheque that it wasn’t Norah playing away. But if Norah didn’t want to talk, Poppy wouldn’t push.
That was why they were at the PTA watching Susan do a full presentation on the bake sale planned for later in the year. Poppy had to do something to take Norah’s mind off it. Dragging her here had been her best idea. Her second-best idea was sitting with Norah in the back row so she could mock the ever-loving shit out of the presentation.
‘Norah, did you hear that? Fruit cake is banned due to low demand,’ Poppy whispered, her tone laced with mock horror.
Norah blinked, snapping out of her daze just long enough to respond. ‘Oh, that's... tragic,’ she mumbled, barely masking her sarcasm.
Poppy sighed, tapping her pen against the notepad in front of her. ‘You know, for someone who loves sarcasm, you're not giving me much to work with here.’
Norah forced a smile. ‘I'm sorry, Poppy. I just can’t find much to laugh about at the moment.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Poppy replied softly. ‘But there’s entertainment to be had here. It’s just the ironic kind.’ She nodded at Susan. ‘I mean, would you look at that lunatic? She’s got a laser pointer.’
‘True,’ Norah agreed, her smile becoming a bit more genuine.
Poppy snickered, glad to see a bit of her friend's old self shine through. ‘Now, let's pretend we're taking notes before Susan kicks us out for whispering in class.’
‘Do you remember our teacher's name when we were Freddie and Luna’s age?’ Norah suddenly asked.
‘Umm... Was it Mr Bendy? Something like that?’ Poppy posited.
‘Bandy,’ Norah recalled. ‘He seemed like he knew everything, but he was probably only in his twenties,’ she sighed. ‘Funny to realise that.’
They both went quiet, listening to the absurd PowerPoint. Poppy felt somewhat jolted. They’d been operating an unspoken agreement that they didn’t talk about the old days, and Norah had just violated it.
