I've Got Your Number

Sam bursts into laughter.

“Glad it’s so funny,” I say morosely.

“OK, come on.” He stops laughing. “I owe you one. Tell me your letters. I’ll give you a good word.”

“I can’t remember them!” I roll my eyes. “I’m in the kitchen.”

“You must remember some. Try.”

“All right. I have a W. And a Z.” This conversation is so bizarre that I can’t help giving a little giggle.

“Go and look at the rest. Text them over. I’ll give you a word.”

“I thought you were at a seminar.”

“I can be at a seminar and play Scrabble at the same time.”

Is he serious? This is the most ridiculous, far-fetched idea I’ve ever heard.

Plus, it would be cheating.

Plus, who says he’s any good at Scrabble?

“OK,” I say after a few moments. “You’re on.”

I ring off and head back into the drawing room, where the board has spawned another load of impossible words. Someone has put down UG. Is that English? It sounds like Eskimo.

“All right, Poppy?” says Wanda, in such bright, artificial tones that I instantly know they’ve been talking about me. They’ve probably told Magnus that if he marries me they’ll cut him off without a penny or something.

“Fine!” I try to sound cheerful. “That was a patient on the phone,” I add, crossing my fingers behind my back. “Sometimes I do online consultation, so I might have to send a text, if you don’t mind?”

No one even replies. They’re all hunched over their tiles again.

I line my phone up so the screen takes in the board and my rack of tiles. Then I press the photo button.

“Just taking a family snap!” I say quickly as the faces rise in response to the flash. I’m already sending the photo over to Sam.

“It’s your turn, Poppy,” says Magnus. “Would you like some help, darling?” he adds in an undertone.

I know he’s trying to be kind. But there’s something about the way he says it that stings me.

“It’s OK, thanks. I’ll be fine.” I start moving the tiles back and forth on my rack, trying to look confident.

After a minute or two I glance down at my phone, in case a text has somehow arrived silently—but there’s nothing.

Everyone else is concentrating on their tiles or on the board. The atmosphere is hushed and intense, like an exam room. I shift my tiles around more and more briskly, willing some stupendous word to pop out at me. But no matter what I do, it’s a fairly crap situation. I could make RAW. Or WAR.

And still my phone is silent. Sam must have been joking about helping me. Of course he was joking. I feel a wave of humiliation. What’s he going to think, when a picture of a Scrabble board arrives on his phone?

“Any ideas yet, Poppy?” Wanda says in encouraging tones, as though I’m a subnormal child. I suddenly wonder if, while I was in the kitchen, Magnus told his parents to be nice to me.

“Just deciding between options.” I attempt a cheerful smile.

OK. I have to do this. I can’t put it off any longer. I’ll make RAW.

No, WAR.

Oh, what’s the difference?

My heart low, I put the A and W down on the board—as my phone bleeps with a text.

WHAIZLED. Use the D from OUTSTEPPED. Triple word score, plus 50-point bonus.

Oh my God.

I can’t help giving a laugh, and Antony shoots me an odd look.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Just … my patient making a joke.” My phone bleeps again.

It’s Scottish dialect, btw. Used by Robert Burns.

“So, is that your word, Poppy?” Antony is peering at my pathetic offering. “Raw? Jolly good. Well done!”

His heartiness is painful.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “My mistake. On second thoughts I think I’ll do this word instead.”

Carefully, I lay down WHAIZLED on the board and sit back, looking nonchalant.

There’s an astounded silence.

“Poppy, sweets,” says Magnus at last. “It has to be a genuine word, you know. You