I've Got Your Number

“Willow is my ex-girlfriend,” he says after a pause. “We split up two months ago.”

Ex-girlfriend?

For a moment, I can’t speak. My brain feels like a fruit machine, whirling round, trying to find the right combination. I can’t cope with this. He’s engaged. He’s supposed to be engaged.

“But you—you should have said!” My agitation bursts out at last. “All this time, you let me think you were engaged!”

“No, I didn’t. I never mentioned it.” He looks perplexed. “Why are you angry?”

“I … I don’t know! It’s all wrong.”

I’m breathing hard, trying to order my thoughts. How can he not be with Willow? Everything’s different now. And it’s all his fault.80

“We talked so much about everything.” I try to speak more calmly. “I mentioned Willow several times and you never specified who she was. How could you be so secretive?”

“I’m not secretive!” He gives a short laugh. “I would have explained who she was if the subject had come up. It’s over. It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!”

“Why?”

I want to scream with frustration. How can he ask why? Isn’t it obvious?

“Because … because … she behaves as though you’re together.” And suddenly I realize this is what’s upsetting me the most. “She behaves as though she has every right to rant at you. That’s why I never doubted you were engaged. What’s that all about?”

Sam flinches as though with irritation but says nothing.

“She cc’s your PA! She blurts everything out in public emails! It’s bizarre!”

“Willow’s always been … an exhibitionist. She likes an audience.” He sounds reluctant to get into this. “She doesn’t have the same boundaries as other people—”

“Too right she doesn’t! Do you know how possessive she is? I overheard her talking at the office.” A loudspeaker starts broadcasting announcements about upcoming stations, but I raise my voice over the noise. “You know she bitches about you to all the girls at the office? She told them you’re just going through a bad patch and you need to wake up or you’re going to realize what you’re about to lose—i.e., her.”

“We’re not going through a bad patch.” I hear a flash of real anger in his voice. “We’re over.”

“Does she know that?”

“She knows.”

“Are you sure? Are you totally positive that she realizes?”

“Of course.” He sounds impatient.

“It’s not ‘Of course’! How exactly did you break up? Did you sit down and have a proper talk with her?”

There’s silence. Sam’s not meeting my eye. He so did not sit down and have a proper talk with her. I know it. He probably sent her a brief text, saying, Over. Sam.

“Well, you need to tell her to stop all this ridiculous emailing. Don’t you?” I try to get his attention. “Sam?”

He’s checking his phone again. Typical. He doesn’t want to know, he doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t want to engage—

A thought strikes me. Oh my God, of course.

“Sam, do you ever actually reply to Willow’s emails?”

He doesn’t, does he? Suddenly it’s all clear. That’s why she starts a fresh one each time. It’s like she’s pinning messages to a blank wall.

“So if you never reply, how does she know what you really think?” I raise my voice still further over the speaker. “Oh, wait, she doesn’t! That’s why she’s so deluded about everything! That’s why she thinks you still somehow belong to her!”

Sam isn’t even meeting my eye.

“God, you are a stubborn fuck!” I yell in exasperation, just as the announcement stops.

OK. Obviously I wouldn’t have spoken so loudly if I’d realized that was about to happen. Obviously I wouldn’t have used the f-word. So that mother with her children sitting three rows away can stop shooting me evil looks as though I’m personally corrupting them.

“You really are!” I continue in a furious undertone. “You can’t just blank Willow out and think she’ll go away. You can’t press ignore forever. She won’t go away, Sam. Take it from me. You need to talk to her and explain exactly what the situation is, and what is wrong with all this, and—”

“Look, leave it.” Sam sounds irate. “If she wants to send pointless emails, she can send pointless emails. It doesn’t bother me.”

“But it’s toxic! It’s bad! It shouldn’t happen!”

“You don’t know anything about it,” he snaps. I think I’ve pressed a nerve.

And by the way, that’s a joke. I don’t know anything about it?