‘I can do a personal training session,’ said one guy eagerly.

‘Good. Next.’

‘I got an ice cream maker for a gift two Christmases ago from my aunt, and I’ve never opened the box. You can have that,’ a woman said.

‘Good. Next.’

And on it went. Everyone offering surprisingly impressive shit. Well, everyone except Poppy and Norah.

As the pressure mounted, Poppy tried to think of something good she could contribute. Maybe a voucher for The Sugar Cube? She’d have to ask the boss, but it was possible.

‘What are you going to offer?’ Norah whispered, looking a bit pressed.

Some guy with purple hair was telling Susan he could maybe do a free tattoo session.

‘Sugar Cube voucher,’ Poppy shrugged. ‘But I need to ask the boss first.’

Norah stared at her. ‘What? You can do a bit better than that.’

Poppy was confused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You used to be a famous pop star,’ Norah pointed out.

‘For about ten minutes, years ago,’ Poppy said uncomfortably. ‘No one gives a shit about that now—’

‘You used to be a what?’ someone behind her said. They turned to see a middle-aged man with wire-rim glasses staring at Poppy.

Poppy turned. ‘Umm, no, nothing.’

The guy stared at her, the cogs in his brain visibly whirring. ‘Bloody hell! You were... Shit, I knew you looked familiar. From, from...’

Everyone in the room was turning to stare.

‘What’s all this, James?’ asked Susan.

‘Nothing!’ Poppy answered for him.

‘She used to be in, oh shit! What the hell was it called?!’ James said, still wracking his brain.

‘Dude, please, don’t,’ Poppy begged quietly.

The man clicked his fingers. ‘VELVET SMACK!’ he yelled, triumphant.

‘Wait, what?’ said a woman from the back of the room. ‘God, I used to love that song, err... “Noah!”’

Poppy could have sworn she heard Norah groan. What she had to groan about, Poppy couldn’t imagine. Poppy was the one who was about to get flayed alive.

‘Excuse me, but what the hell have you done!’ Poppy demanded of Norah.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ Norah grovelled.

The room erupted into excited chatter as people all, little by little, recalled Poppy’s embarrassing past. She’d skated under the radar for so long that she thought she was safe from recognition. But it was blown now.

Susan was grinning ear to ear, a frightening thing to behold. ‘Well, that seems like something we could use. What have you got?’ she demanded.

‘How do you mean?’ Poppy asked, shrivelling by the second.

‘Well, you must have something from your pop days?’

‘Nobody wants old Velvet Smack merch, I can assure you of that,’ Poppy told her firmly. She barely had anything, anyway. She’d chucked a few boxes of T-shirts and mouse pads in the skip before she moved.

‘Seriously, Poppy? That’s very disappointing,’ Susan said.

‘But you’ve got to have something cool from those days,’ said James, piling on, the bastard.

Poppy sighed. ‘I don’t have anything. And nobody would want it if I even did.’

‘Oh, come on,’ the guy persisted. ‘You’re underestimating yourself. Velvet Smack was a big deal. For a bit.’

Susan’s eyes lit up again. ‘Wait, how about this? You could offer a private performance. Sing a song or two from your Velvet Smack days.’

Jesus, what a haunting image. Poppy, in someone’s living room, performing old pop to some random family. ‘No, absolutely not. I haven’t performed in years.’

‘Please, Poppy,’ Susan said, her tone edging on pleading. ‘It would be such a draw. Think of the money we could raise for the school!’

The room collectively held its breath, waiting for her response. Poppy’s mind raced, trying to find an escape. But as she looked around at the eager faces of her fellow parents, she realised she was cornered.

‘I could offer a guitar lesson,’ she sighed.

‘Guitar lesson?’ Susan muttered to herself. ‘Yeah, I think that could work.’ She smiled and began to write it on the board: GUITAR LESSON FROM A MUSIC STAR. She paused and turned. ‘Did any of your songs go platinum?’

‘I guess,’ Poppy sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Noah” had met the number of sales to merit that award, but Poppy didn’t have the disc hung up. It was sitting in a box in the attic, an accolade for a song she hated.

Susan amended the board. “GUITAR LESSONS FROM A PLATINUM MUSIC STAR.”

Wait, I said, “Lesson.” Single,’ Poppy said quickly. ‘Don’t pluralise my offer.’

But that went unheard as the room erupted in cheers. ‘Great! It’s settled then,’ Susan said, clearly pleased. ‘Thank you, Poppy. This is going to be our best fundraiser yet!’

As the meeting continued with more ideas squeezed out of parents, Poppy and Norah exchanged glances. Norah mouthed, ‘I’m so sorry,’ and Poppy just shook her head with a small smile. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she mouthed back.

When the meeting finally adjourned, everyone began to file out as Poppy and Norah gathered their things slowly.

‘Are you really OK with this?’ Norah asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

Poppy shrugged. ‘I guess I don’t have much of a choice.’