Poppy made her face neutral again, and they continued the session. But there was a new tension in the room. Norah could do nothing but ignore it and focus on her work. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be able to do that. She was in it, and she could stay in it if she chose.

Finally, Norah stepped back, surveying her work. ‘Alright, I think I’m done.’

Poppy stood and stretched, eager to see the result. ‘Let’s have a look, then.’

Norah turned the easel around, revealing the portrait.

Poppy’s easy smile was replaced by shock. ‘Oh my god. I mean... Oh my god.’

‘I can’t tell if that’s a positive response,’ Norah said truthfully.

‘You made me look... beautiful,’ Poppy said.

Norah looked back at the picture, and she saw it as Poppy did. It was like a funhouse mirror of Norah’s feelings, and it bounced back something she hadn’t wanted to see, something staring her in the face for a while now.

She couldn’t deal with it. So she decided not to.

‘You’re welcome,’ Norah replied evenly, doing her best to affect a no-big-deal attitude. But she was as far from that feeling as she could get. But she was not going down this path again. Not a bloody chance. She’d had twenty years to grow and get over it. What kind of a dumbass would find their way out of hellish heartbreak and go back just to check it was as bad as they’d thought?

Not this dumbass, Norah decided.

‘You can just shove that in a drawer. I won’t expect you to hang it or anything,’ Norah said flippantly.

Poppy shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I’m going to frame the ever-loving fuck out of this.’ She suddenly looked at Norah very seriously. ‘Norah...’

Norah felt suddenly nervous. ‘What?’

‘Why did you stop doing this?’

Norah was relieved. She thought Poppy was going to say something else. ‘Oh. Well. You know, life,’ she shrugged.

‘You were supposed to go to art school,’ Poppy recalled. ‘Did you do that?’

Norah shook her head. ‘No, I changed my mind. I got a bog-standard business studies degree in the end.’

‘Norah!’ Poppy almost yelled in horror. ‘What the fuck? Why?’

Norah shrugged. ‘My mother kept banging on about how hard it was to make a living as an artist.’ She laughed. ‘And here I am, working in a shitty customer service job with people who didn’t bother getting a degree at all. Still paying off the bloody student loan. Great advice, Mum.’

Poppy frowned and looked back down at the picture. ‘I’m sorry.’

Norah looked at her in confusion. ‘What for?’

‘If I’d been around, I wouldn’t have let you do that,’ Poppy said frankly. ‘I’d have banged on and on about your talent until you couldn’t ignore it. I’d have annoyed you into following your dream.’

Norah smiled sadly. ‘I think you’re giving yourself a bit too much credit to think you could have competed with my mum’s nagging.’

Poppy arched an eyebrow. ‘You underestimate my ability to irritate, Cauldwell,’ she said dryly.

Norah chuckled. ‘Well, you should have gone to music college, like you planned. You were good.’

‘I might have been good, but I never really got to find out.’ Poppy shrugged. ‘But whatever happened to your graphic novel?’ Poppy asked.

‘It got an A plus,’ Norah shrugged.

‘I never got to read it, did I?’ Poppy mused.

‘No. And I’m afraid you never will. It got water damaged in a box in the garage.’

Poppy let out a sigh of despair. They both stood for a moment in the sadness for all that was lost.

‘You know, you’re not dead. It’s still in you, all that talent. It doesn’t have to be too late,’ Norah said, trying to shake off the melancholy.

Poppy gave her a meaningful look. ‘You think there’s still time to get back what we lost?’

Norah paused, stuck for an answer. It felt like it was a very loaded question, and she didn’t know what the hell to do with it.

Suddenly, there was a slight wail from upstairs. Poppy looked at the ceiling, stricken. ‘Sounds like she’s having a nightmare.’

‘I’ll let myself out. You go to her,’ Norah said.

Poppy nodded and went to her daughter.

Norah crept out the front door and walked down the street back to her mother’s place—her place. She wasn’t sure what to think right now, but she knew what she felt. Frightened.

Twenty-Nine

Poppy was sitting at the kitchen table, Norah’s drawing in her hands. She’d been there a while now, transfixed.

The drawing was beautiful, capturing her likeness with incredible detail. But it was more than that—it was how Norah saw her. The eyes were filled with warmth and strength, the smile genuine and full of life. Poppy didn’t know what to take from it.

Was it just Norah’s talent? Could she make anybody look like this? Or did it mean something?

Luna came in. ‘Can I have juice?’

Poppy got up. ‘Sure, kiddo.’

While she was pouring Luna a glass of apple juice, Luna noticed the picture on the table. ‘Is that you?’

Poppy put the carton back in the fridge. ‘Yeah.’

‘Who drew it?’

‘Freddie’s mum,’ Poppy told her.

‘You look pretty,’ Luna observed.

‘Thank you, sweetheart.’