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A few weeks later, Norah was setting up her easel in Poppy’s living room, arranging her pencils and charcoals on a small table nearby.

It was around nine at night. Once Freddie conked out, Norah had asked her mum if it would be OK to go out and leave her with the sleeping kid for an hour. Her mother didn’t look happy but agreed. So she was free to make a tit out of herself in front of Poppy by drawing a crappy portrait of her.

Poppy was lounging on the couch, trying to find a comfortable pose. ‘How do you want me?’ she asked, trying to keep a straight face.

Norah shot her a look. ‘Preferably not smirking.’

‘Well, there goes my first idea,’ Poppy said, settling into a more relaxed position. ‘How’s this?’

Norah tilted her head, studying Poppy. ‘That’ll do. Try not to move too much.’

‘So, what’s the plan? Are you going to draw me like one of your French girls?’ Poppy asked.

Norah rolled her eyes, trying to cover her nervousness.

Poppy chuckled. ‘I still can’t believe you let me push you into this,’ she muttered.

‘I must honour the voucher I printed off from the internet,’ Norah told her.

Norah looked at her friend, taking in the details of her face. Her large, expressive, electric-blue eyes were the first thing you noticed, though her rose-coloured lips, with their fundamental cheekiness, were a close runner-up. It was not a bad face to have to stare at for an hour, all told.

‘Are you gonna draw me at some point?’ Poppy asked.

Norah realised she’d been staring at Poppy for a few minutes. ‘Let the dog see the rabbit, would you?’ Norah shot back, trying not to show her self-consciousness at getting called out.

They settled into a comfortable silence, Norah’s pencil moving swiftly across the paper.

‘So,’ Poppy said, breaking the silence. ‘When did you start drawing again?’

‘A couple of years ago,’ Norah replied without looking up. ‘I needed something to help me unwind. Turns out it’s pretty therapeutic. But I don’t do anything grand, just a little sketching now and again.’

‘I’m glad you picked it up again,’ Poppy said. There was a lot of sincerity in her tone. ‘You were good.’

‘I was just one of a million art kids,’ she said dismissively.

‘You weren’t,’ Poppy instantly replied. Her relaxed expression settling into something more concerned. ‘You had something.’

‘You’re remembering it through the fog of time,’ Norah told her.

‘Remember that mural you did for the school play? Everyone was blown away.’

Norah was amazed she’d remembered that. ‘Ah, yes, “The Magical Forest of Wondrous Wonders,”’ Norah laughed. ‘What a title. And what a fucking nightmare to paint.’

‘It was worth it. You made that production look like a Broadway show.’

‘You wereinthat show, right?’ Norah countered. ‘In the band?’

‘Yup.’

‘I remember you being like the only person who wasn’t fucking up half the notes.’

‘Oh, please,’ Poppy said, rolling her eyes. ‘I was off-beat half the time.’

‘You werenot,’ Norah said firmly.

Poppy shifted awkwardly. ‘Well, thank you.’

Norah smiled, her eyes flicking up from the paper to meet Poppy’s. They fell into another silence.