Page 91 of Special Delivery
‘It’s not?’ Henry asked hopefully.
‘No. You still have a conscience, which confirms my theory that you are not a terrible person. You stuffed up, got carried away—we both did—but you can fix it. You just need to apologise and then you need to be better. For a long time. Actually, for forever.’
‘I can do that,’ said Henry, eyes lighting up.
Poppy smiled. ‘Then do that.’
CHAPTER 38
The escalators ascended into the fluoro-lit shopping centre, where the scents of doughnuts and deep fryers lingered on the air. Poppy had spoken to her mum on the phone four times since that unnervingly silent week and although she’d tried to apologise in every call, each time her mum had sounded shrill and distracted—which, admittedly, wasn’t unusual. She hoped an in-person apology may prove more successful but that would depend on the amount of40% OFFsale signs within sight range.
As Poppy and Maeve reached solid ground, a turquoise haze descended on them from Suzanne Grae. ‘Darlings!’ it cried.
Maeve giggled and raised her chubby arms in delight.
Her mother dropped her bags and scooped up her granddaughter in a flurry of kisses. Around them, shoppers rerouted to bypass the blockage.
‘It’s been ages since I’ve seen you both,’ cried Chrissie, pressing her granddaughter to her face. ‘There is so much to catch up on. The magnolia got removed yesterday! There arebranches everywhere! And you wouldn’t believe who I saw at golf! That rugby league player … what’s-his-face. The big one. You must know who I mean, darling. Giant of a man! Teeing off right next to us. What are the chances!’
Her mother was already strolling away with Maeve on her hip, nattering over her shoulder about the tuna baguette she had after golf yesterday. Delicious, apparently.
‘Mum,’ Poppy called.
‘And the mayonnaise!’ her mother replied. ‘Light as air!’
‘Mum!’
Her mother turned. ‘Yes, darling?’
Poppy felt her eyes well up. She wished she wasn’t standing in front of The Reject Shop. ‘I just wanted to say … I’m sorry.’
‘Darling,’ said her mother. ‘It’s water under the bridge.’
‘No, Mum, I was terrible. Especially when you’ve been so …’ Here came the tears. ‘You’ve been so … amazing … especially with Maeve … and me.’ She choked on a sob.
‘Oh, Poppy,’ clucked her mother, closing the space between them. She wrapped her free arm around her daughter, her blow-dried hair sticking to Poppy’s cheek. ‘Don’t worry about silly old me.’
‘No, Mum,’ said Poppy. ‘That’s the thing. I haven’t been worrying about you. I’ve been horrible. I’ve only been worrying about myself and you’ve been so supportive. I’ve been a selfish idiot.’ Her voice cracked.
‘We can all be a ning-nong sometimes,’ said her mother, patting her arm.
Poppy felt a laugh burst through her tears. ‘You’re so right, Mum. I was the biggest ning-nong ever. But honestly,I couldn’t have done the last nine months without you. You’ve been a lifesaver.’
‘That’s what mothers are for, darling. You’d do the same for Maeve.’
Poppy blinked, suddenly aware of a truth she’d never considered. Her mum was right. If her daughter came to her, single, pregnant, unmoored and scared, she knew she’d do anything to help her. The realisation made a lion roar inside her with a ferocity that surprised her. Maybe this was how she’d get through life: by summoning her inner lioness.
Poppy hugged her mother tightly. ‘Thank you, Mum. I love you.’
On her hip, Maeve extended her chubby arms to lovingly pat her mother and grandmother. Poppy smiled. ‘And thank you, Maevey-Maeve. I love you both so much more than you’ll ever know.’
Chrissie exhaled theatrically and readjusted her glasses. ‘I think what we all need is a nice cup of tea and a sweet treat.’ She looked from left to right as if calculating the fastest route to a vanilla slice. ‘I know you like the muffins at The Bustle. Should we go there?’
As far as olive branches went, this was a giant turquoise olive branch and Poppy realised with a pang of guilt how often her mum recalibrated her own needs to smooth the bumps for her. Maybe because her mother operated on a higher volume setting than most humans, Poppy had mistaken her extroversion for self-absorption. Poppy felt like a dim-witted brat. Chrissie had only ever loved her—bandaged her scraped knees when she fell, cuddled her when she cried, lifted her out ofdepressive funks with her relentless optimism—and Poppy had taken it all for granted. Her mum had shown Poppy how to find joy in the small things, how to laugh when everyone else was inclined to scream and how to pivot from disasters with her head held high. Poppy realised she wanted to grow up to be just like her.
‘No, Mum,’ she said. ‘Let’s go to Coffee Bucks.’
CHAPTER 39
