Page 87 of Special Delivery
‘Henry kissed me!’ blurted Poppy.
‘WHAT?!’
‘He, um … oh, I don’t know, it was weird; let’s not talk about it.’
‘Unlikely, Poppy,’ scoffed her mother. ‘Tell me right now: what happened?’
‘It was …’ What was it? Weird? Upsetting? The universe playing a giant, soul-destroying prank? ‘He, um … well, I think Willa left him, and I think he—’
‘—wanted to make himself feel better by trying it on with you. Yes, I understand.’
For someone who seemed to exist in a permanent orbit of crazy, her mother could be remarkably astute sometimes.
‘What did you do?’ Chrissie asked.
‘I pushed him off. Screamed at him.’
‘Good girl.’ Her mother chewed a piece of her slice thoughtfully. ‘How did he react to that?’
Poppy winced at the memory. ‘He got angry, accused me of—’
‘—leading him on?’
There was that uncanny shrewdness again.
Poppy nodded and felt her eyes well up in shame. It had been a low blow from Henry—and the fact there was a tiny, mortifying kernel of truth there made her feel all the more wretched. Her hand shook, sending a glob of puree off the teaspoon and onto the vinyl floor. Maeve looked at it, dejected, then she slapped the table again to demand a replacement.
‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ sniffed Chrissie.
‘What?!’ cried Poppy.
‘It was bound to happen.’ Her mum dabbed the corners of her mouth with a serviette. ‘You two were trying to pretend you were eighteen again, spending all that time together, living in each other’s pockets.’
‘We were not!’
‘Coffee every day, darling? Two people with very limited spare time and you just happen to spend it together? You can’t pretend you did that innocently. Why do you thinkhis parents and I were so keen to organise this dinner? We needed to get you both in a room with Willa, so you would stop pretending.’
Poppy felt a firestorm of shame and rage engulf her.
‘What the hell? I’m an adult, for god’s sake. Henry and I are—were—friends. That’s it, Mum! You have no idea! You have no idea what’s going on in my life, and if you did, you’d know that never, not once, did I lead Henry on. What do you think I am, some scarlet vixen preying on the men of Orange? What a misogynistic view of the world, making Henry the victim and me the big, bad slut.’
Another spoonful of puree fell off the teaspoon and Maeve’s lips began to tremble.
‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ Poppy snapped as Maeve began to wail. She stood up and tried to pull her daughter out of the highchair, but her daughter’s thighs were stuck in the plastic leg holes.
Her mum stood up too. ‘I’ll do it,’ said Chrissie, trying to move Maeve’s feet so her legs could slide out.
‘I can do it myself!’ cried Poppy, feeling the tears about to explode. ‘Stop interfering! You’re always telling me what to wear, who to hang out with, how to parent Maeve. Stop trying to run my life!’
Her mum reared back like she’d heard a gunshot. Poppy dimly registered the hurt in her eyes but she was so angry and humiliated and frustrated with this stupid fucking highchair that she didn’t care. She finally managed to pull Maeve out and hugged her daughter to her chest, trying to absorb the goodness from her tiny innocent body.
Her mum flitted at the edge of the table like a bird with a broken wing, her expression wounded and her breathing unsteady. Poppy couldn’t summon the courage or grace to apologise. How dare her mother accuse her of leading Henry on?!
You accused yourself too, said a voice in her head, and Poppy scrunched her eyes shut. She wanted to hold her daughter against her beating heart, and every other sound and feeling and accusation could fuck right off.
Her mother spoke quietly as she picked up her magenta handbag. ‘I think it’s best if I go.’
To their left, the ladies with the blue rinses averted their eyes.
