I've Got Your Number

Yes I am. Coming.

And suddenly there’s a lump in my throat. Enough. Stop. I slap the papers back on the pile and look up with a lighthearted smile.

“Wow!”

Ted shrugs. “Yeah, well, like I say, we didn’t know what to do with them.”

“We’ll sort it,” says Sam. “Thanks, Ted.”

His face is impassive. I have no idea if he felt anything, reading those texts.

“So we can do what we like with the phone, yeah?” says Ted.

“No problem.” Sam nods. “Cheers, Ted.”

As Ted disappears, Sam heads over to the Nespresso again and starts making a new cup.

“Come on, let me make you a coffee. I’ve worked it out now.”

“Really, I’m fine,” I begin, but the frother starts emitting hot milk with such a loud hissing, there’s no point even trying to speak.

“Here you go.” He hands me a cup.

“Thanks.”

“So … you want these?” He gestures at the pile of papers.

I feel a kind of heat rising from my feet, and I take a sip of coffee, playing for time. The phone’s gone. These printouts are the only record of that weird and wonderful time. Of course I want them.

But for some reason I can’t admit that to Sam.

“I’m easy.” I try to sound nonchalant. “You want them?”

Sam says nothing, just shrugs.

“I mean, I don’t need them for anything … ”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s all pretty inconsequential stuff… .” His phone bleeps with a text, and he pulls it out of his pocket. He scans the screen, then scowls. “Oh Jesus. Oh bloody hell. This is all I need.”

“What’s wrong?” I say in alarm. “Is it about the voice mails?”

“It’s not that.” He regards me from under lowered brows. “What the hell did you send to Willow?”

“What?” I stare at him, bewildered.

“She’s on the warpath about some email from you. Why the hell were you emailing Willow, anyway?”

“I wasn’t!” I stare at him, perplexed. “I would never email her! I don’t even know her!”

“Well, that’s not what she says—” He breaks off as his phone bleeps again. “OK. Here we are … Recognize that?” He passes it to me and I start reading.

FFS, Willow the Witch, can’t you LEAVE SAM ALONE AND STOP WRITING IN OBNOXIOUS CAPITALS? And just FYI: You are not Sam’s girlfriend. So who cares what he was doing with some “cutesy” girl last night? Why don’t you get a life?????

A cold feeling is creeping over me.

OK. Maybe I did type something like that this morning, while I was on the tube to Sam’s office. Just out of irritation at yet another rant from Willow. Just to vent a little. But I didn’t send it. I mean, of course I didn’t send it. I would never, ever have sent it.

Oh God …

“I … um … ” My mouth is dry as I finally raise my head. “I might possibly have written that as a joke. And accidentally pressed send. Totally by mistake. I mean, I didn’t intend to,” I add, to make it crystal clear. “I never would have done it on purpose.”

I scan the words again and imagine Willow reading them. She must have hit the roof. I almost wish I’d been there to see it. I can’t help a tiny snuffle as I imagine her eyes widening, her nostrils flaring, fire coming from her mouth … 95

“You think this is funny?” snaps Sam.

“Well, no,” I say, shocked by his tone. “I mean, I’m really sorry. Obviously. But it was a mistake—”

“What does it matter whether it was a mistake or not?” He grabs the phone from me. “It’s a headache, and it’s the last thing I need on my plate—”

“Wait a minute!” I lift a hand. “I don’t understand. Why is it on your plate? Why is it your problem? It was me who sent the email, not you.”

“Believe me.” He gives me a savage look. “It’ll somehow end up being my problem.”

OK, this makes no sense. Why will it be his problem? And why is he so irate? I know I shouldn’t have sent that email, but neither should Willow have sent him ninety-five-million nutty rants. Why is he taking her side?

“Look.” I try to sound calm. “I’ll send her an email and apologize. But I think you’re overreacting. She’s not your girlfriend anymore. This isn’t anything to do with you.”