I've Got Your Number

making him drop Sam’s hand. She’s looking highly flushed and her mascara is smudged, and she grabs Sam’s hand herself. “Thank you so much for your e-card about Scamper. You made my day, you know that?”

“It’s quite all right, Chloe,” Sam says tightly. He darts an incandescent glance of fury at me, and I flinch.

“Those beautiful things you wrote,” she gulps. “I knew when I read them you must have lost a dog yourself. Because you understand, don’t you? You understand.” A tear rolls down her cheek.

“Chloe, do you want to sit down?” says Sam, extricating his hand, but Justin cuts in, a malicious grin at his lips.

“I’ve heard about this famous e-card. Could I see it?”

“I’ve got a printout.” Wiping her nose, Chloe drags a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, and Justin immediately grabs it.

“Oh, now, this is beautiful, Sam,” he says, scanning it with mock admiration. “Very moving.”

“I’ve shown everybody in the department.” Chloe nods tearfully. “They all think you’re amazing, Sam.”

Sam’s hand is clenching his glass so hard, it’s turning white. He looks like he wants to press an ejector button and escape. I’m feeling really, really bad now. I didn’t realize I’d sent quite so many emails. I’d forgotten about Guatemala. And I shouldn’t have sent the e-card. If I could go back in time, that’s the moment I’d go up to myself and say, “Poppy! Stop! No e-card!”

“Young Scamper’s joined his friends in heaven, but we are left to weep,” Justin reads aloud in a stagy voice. “His furry fur, his eyes so bright, his bone upon the seat.” Justin pauses. “Not sure seat exactly rhymes with weep, Sam. And why is his bone on the seat, anyway? Hardly hygienic.”

“Give that here.” Sam makes a swipe for it, but Justin dodges, looking delighted.

“His blanket empty in his bed, the silence in the air. If Scamper now is looking down, he’ll know how much we cared.” Justin winces. “Air? Cared? Do you know what a rhyme is, Sam?”

“I think it’s very touching,” says Sir Nicholas cheerfully.

“Me too,” I say hurriedly. “I think it’s brilliant.70”

“It’s so true.” Tears are streaming down Chloe’s face. “It’s beautiful because it’s true.”

She’s absolutely plastered. She’s completely fallen out of one of her stilettos and doesn’t even seem to have noticed.

“Justin,” says Sir Nicholas kindly. “Maybe you could get Chloe a glass of water.”

“Of course!” Justin deftly pockets the sheet. “You don’t mind if I keep this poem of yours, do you, Sam? It’s just so special. Have you ever thought of working for Hallmark?” He escorts Chloe away and practically dumps her on a chair. A moment later I see him gleefully beckoning to the group he was with earlier and pulling the paper out of his pocket.

I almost don’t dare look at Sam, I feel so guilty.

“Well!” says Sir Nicholas, looking amused. “Sam, I had no idea you were such an animal lover.”

“I’m not.” Sam seems barely able to operate his voice. “I … ”

I’m trying frantically to think of something I can say to redeem the situation. But what can I do?

“Now, Poppy, please do excuse me.” Sir Nicholas cuts into my thoughts. “Much as I would prefer to stay here, I must go over and talk to that interminably boring man from Greene Retail.” He makes such a comical face at me, I can’t help giggling. “Sam, we’ll talk later.” He presses my hand in his and heads off into the crowd, and I quell an urge to run away with him.

“So!” I turn back to Sam and swallow several times. “Um … sorry about all that.”

Sam says nothing, just holds out his hand, palm up. After five seconds I realize what he means.

“What?” I feel a swoop of alarm. “No! I mean … can’t I keep it till tomorrow? I’ve got all my contacts on it now, all my messages—”

“Give it.”

“But I haven’t even been to the phone shop yet! I haven’t got a replacement, this is my only number, I need it—”

“Give it.”

He’s implacable. In fact, he looks quite scary.

On the other hand … he can’t force it off me, can he? Not without causing a scene, which I’m sensing is the last thing he wants to do.

“Look, I know you’re angry.” I try to sound as grovelly as possible. “I can understand that. But wouldn’t you like me to forward all your emails on first? And give it back tomorrow when I’ve tied up all the loose ends? Please?”

At least that’ll give me a chance to make a note of some of my messages.

Sam is breathing hard through his nose. I can tell he’s realizing he doesn’t have a choice.

“You don’t send a single further email,” he snaps at last, dropping his hand.

“OK,” I say humbly.