I've Got Your Number

He isn’t even looking at me. He’s typing on his phone. Is he typing to Willow?

“You’re not over her, are you?” I feel a raw hurt as the truth hits me. Why didn’t I realize this before? “You’re not over Willow.”

“Of course I am.” He frowns impatiently.

“You’re not! If you were over her you wouldn’t care about this email. You’d think it served her right. You’d think it was funny. You’d take my side.” My voice is trembling, and I have a dreadful feeling that my cheeks are turning pink.

Sam looks baffled. “Poppy, why are you so upset?”

“Because … because—” I break off, breathing hard.

Because of reasons I could never tell him. Reasons I can’t even admit to myself. My stomach is churning with humiliation. Who was I kidding?

“Because … you weren’t honest!” The words burst from me at last. “You gave me all this rubbish about ‘It’s over and Willow should understand that.’ How can she understand anything if you react like this? You’re acting as if she’s still a major part of your life and you’re still responsible for her. And that tells me you’re not over her.”

“This is all absolute bullshit.” He looks livid.

“So why not tell her to stop pestering you? Why not finish it once and for all and get closure? Is it because you don’t want closure, Sam?” My voice rises in agitation. “Do you enjoy your weirdo, standoff relationship?”

Now Sam is breathing hard too. “You have no right to comment on something you understand nothing about—”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I give a sarcastic little laugh. “You’re right. I don’t even begin to understand you two. Maybe you’ll get back together, and I hope you’ll be very happy.”

“Poppy, for Christ’s sake—”

“What?” I put my cup down with a small bang, spilling coffee over the pile of our back-and-forth texts. “Oh, I’ve ruined them now. Sorry. But I guess they don’t have anything important in them, so it doesn’t matter.”

“What?’ Sam looks as though he’s having trouble keeping up. “Poppy, can we sit down calmly and just … regroup?“

I don’t think I’m capable of calm. I feel erratic and out of control. All sorts of deep dark feelings are coming to the surface. I hadn’t fully admitted my hopes to myself. I hadn’t realized quite how much I’d assumed …

Anyway. I’ve been a deluded fool and I need to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“Sorry.” I take a deep breath and somehow muster a smile. “Sorry. I’m just a bit stressed. With the wedding and everything. It’s fine. Look, thanks for lending me the phone. It was nice knowing you, and I hope you’ll be very happy. With Willow or without.” I grab my bag, my hands still shaky. “So, er … hope everything goes well with Sir Nicholas, and I’ll look out for the news stories… . Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out… .” I can barely meet his eyes as I head to the door.

Sam looks utterly baffled. “Poppy, don“t go like that. Please.”

“I’m not going like anything!” I say brightly. “Really. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got a wedding to cancel, people to give minor heart attacks to—”

“Wait. Poppy.” Sam’s voice stops me, and I turn around. “I just want to say … thanks.”

His dark eyes meet mine, and for a moment my prickly, defensive shell is pierced.

“Same.” I nod, a lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

I lift a hand in final farewell and walk away down the corridor. Head high. Keep going. Don’t look back.

By the time I reach the street, my face is lightly spattered with tears and I’m fizzing with furious, agitated thoughts—although who I’m most furious at I’m not sure. Maybe myself.

But there’s one way I can make myself feel better. Within half an hour I’ve visited an Orange shop, signed up for the most expensive, full-on contract going, and am in possession of a slick, state-of-the-art iPhone. Ted said “any budget”—well, I’ve taken him at his word.

And now I’ve got to christen it. I head out of the shop to an open, paved area away from the traffic. I dial Magnus’s number and give a satisfied nod when it goes straight to voice mail. That’s what I wanted.

“OK, you little shit.” I imbue the word with as much venom as I can manage. “I’ve spoken to Lucinda. I know it all. I know you slept with her, I know you proposed to her, I know this ring has been round the houses, I know you’re a lying scumbag, and, just so you know—the wedding’s off. Did you hear that? Off. So I hope you can find another good use for your waistcoat. And your life. See you, Magnus. Not.”

There are moments in life that the white-chocolate Magnum ice cream was invented for, and this is one of them.96

I can’t face the phone calls yet. I can’t face telling the vicar, or my brothers, or any of my friends. I’m too battered. I need to restore my energies first. And so, by the time I’ve reached home, I have a plan.

Tonight: watch comfort DVDs, eat Magnums, cry a lot. Hair mask.97

Tomorrow: break news to world that wedding is canceled, deal with fallout, watch Annalise try not to whoop with joy, etcetera, etcetera.

I’ve been texting my new mobile number to everyone I know, and a few friendly texts have already come back—but I haven’t mentioned the wedding to anyone. It can all wait till tomorrow.

I don’t want to watch anything with weddings in it, obviously,98 so in the end I plump for cartoons, which turn out to be the biggest tearjerkers of the lot. I watch Toy Story 3,99 Up,100 and by midnight I’m on Finding Nemo. I’m curled up on the sofa in my ancient pajamas and furry throw, with the white wine within easy reach, my hair all oily with