‘If it’s any consolation, it’s for the kids, though. Worthy cause, right?’

Poppy smiled evilly. ‘Good point. We all need to make sacrifices for the kids.’

‘Right...’ Norah said nervously.

Poppy turned to Susan, who was packing up her dry markers. ‘Hey, Susan, did you know that Norah’s an amazing artist? You can do something with that, right?’

Susan was delighted. ‘Absolutely. Can you do portraits?’

Norah was horror-struck. ‘Huh?!’

‘Portraits, Norah. You could auction your talents off. Right?’ Poppy chimed in.

Norah looked like she wanted to murder Poppy on the spot. ‘I suppose so,’ she said from between gritted teeth.

‘Great. Wow, guys. This is shaping up to be a hell of a raffle!’ Susan said, happy as Larry.

‘Ain’t it just,’ Norah said.

Poppy smiled at Norah. ‘Anything for the kids,’ she said with a wink.

****

Outside, on the journey back to what was now their street, Norah, clearly stewing, exclaimed, ‘You don’t even know if I draw anymore!’

That was a good point. ‘Oh. Do you?’ Poppy asked.

‘A bit, yes,’ Norah said somewhat shyly. ‘I’ve been dipping in again lately.’

Poppy smiled, heartily pleased Norah. It would have saddened her deeply to hear otherwise. Then her smile dropped. ‘Now, how the fuck am I going to get out of this guitar lesson?’

‘You’re not,’ Norah told her. ‘We’re both locked in. And it’s lessons, multiple of.’

‘It’s a lesson,’ Poppy insisted.

‘You still play?’ Norah asked.

‘I haven’t played in a couple of years, actually,’ Poppy admitted. ‘But I can probably handle teaching a newbie. They won’t know I don’t know shit anymore.’

‘I doubt that’s true.’

‘That I can’t fake it?’ Poppy replied dryly.

‘That you don’t know shit,’ Norah corrected her just as dryly.

‘I guess we’re both gonna learn,’ Poppy said.

‘You never do stop,’ Norah commented.

Poppy had to admit that was true. There was no end of things to learn. For example, Norah was bi. That was interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Twenty-Seven

What felt like every parent of every child at Northwood was jammed into the small school hall for the raffle. It was hot and loud.

The headmistress, Mrs Lock, a tall woman with blonde hair that perpetually had black roots, was standing on the small stage looking stressed. ‘I’m going to do the raffle now!’ she announced. ‘Get ready because I’m not repeating myself,’ she told the crowd firmly.

‘OK, so we’re starting small and working our way up. First off, the voucher for a family meal at Murrey’s Pizzeria!’ Mrs Lock called out, holding up a small, shiny envelope.

The crowd fell into a hushed anticipation, though not for the right reasons. Murrey’s pizza sucked. Norah would just as soon win a box of dogshit. The difference in taste would be negligible.

Norah shifted uncomfortably in her seat near the front, Freddie next to her, while she tried to catch a glimpse of Poppy through the sea of people. She spotted her standing at the back near the refreshments table, laughing with a random dad about something. Norah’s heart gave a little jump at the sight of her. She didn’t read anything into it. She was just excited to see her friend.

Mrs Lock was fumbling with the raffle tickets. ‘And the winner is... number 34!’

A man made his way to the stage, forcing a smile badly. That voucher was going in the bin.

‘Next, we have a voucher for a haircut from Ray’s Barber!’ Mrs Lock continued, waving a beautifully wrapped basket. ‘The winning number is... 142!’

A bald man went up to claim the prize.

‘They also do beard trimmings,’ Mrs Lock offered.

The man rubbed his clean-shaven face. ‘Great.’

Norah wished Poppy was sitting next to her so they could laugh about this. But Poppy was late, and Norah felt weird trying to save her a seat. She hadn’t seen her much lately.

Last Sunday, their regular park time hadn’t happened because Luna was unwell. Then, this week, they couldn’t seem to coordinate the morning walk, just missing each other time and again. Norah had missed them both.

Mrs Lock bumbled through a few more prizes as Norah glanced back at Poppy again, and this time, they caught each other’s eyes. Poppy gave a waggle wave, and Norah waved back.

Mrs Lock’s voice droned on, ‘Next, we have an ice cream maker! The winning number is... 93!’

An elderly woman with a walking stick hobbled her way to the stage, receiving a polite round of applause. Norah stifled a yawn, wondering how much longer this would drag on.

‘Next, a session with a personal trainer... 21!’ A fuller-figured guy went up to collect. ‘I bet you’re excited for this,’ Mrs Lock noted as she gave him the voucher.

‘Why’s that?’ he replied, irritated.

Mrs Lock froze. ‘Err... no reason.’

The man walked off, seething.

Mrs Lock shuffled her notes. ‘Our next prize is a hand-drawn portrait session with local artist Norah Cauldwell.’

Local artist? That was pushing it.

‘Four hundred and twenty-nine.’