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called her for a chat and mentioned the issues we discussed. It all came out. You were right.
We’re going to talk again tomorrow, but I think she’s staying.”
“Oh,” I say, pleased. “Cool.”
“No,” he says firmly. “Not only cool. Awesome. Incredible. Do you know how much
time and money and trouble you have saved me? I owe you, big-time.” He pauses. “Oh, and
you’re right, she hates being called Viv. So I owe you twice.”
“No problem! Anytime.”
“So … that’s all I had to say. I won’t keep you.”
“Good night. Glad it all worked out.” As I ring off, I remember something and quickly
type a text.
Have u booked dentist yet? U will get manky teeth!!!
A few seconds later the phone bleeps with a reply:
I’ll take my chances.
Take his chances? Is he nuts? My aunt is a dental nurse, so I know what I’m talking
about.
I search the Web for the most gross, revolting photo of decaying teeth I can find. They’re
all blackened and some have fallen out. I click on send/share and text it to him.
The phone almost immediately bleeps with a reply:
You made me spill my drink.
I giggle and text back:
Be afraid!!!!
I nearly add: Willow won’t be impressed when your teeth fall out!!! But then I stop,
feeling awkward. You have to draw a line. Despite all the texting back and forth, I don’t know
this guy. And I certainly don’t know his fiancée.
Although the truth is, I feel as though I do know her. And not in a good way.
I’ve never come across anyone or anything like Willow before. She’s unbelievable. I
would say she’s sent twenty emails to Sam since I’ve had this phone. Each screwier than the last.
At least she’s given up sending messages addressed directly to Violet. But, still, she keeps cc’ing
her emails to the PA address, as though she wants to have as much chance of reaching Sam as
possible and doesn’t care who sees what.
Why does she have to email her most private thoughts, anyway? Why can’t they just have
these conversations in bed, like normal people?
This evening she was going on about this dream she’d had about him last night, and how
she felt suffocated but ignored all at the same time, and did he realize how toxic he was? Did he
realize how he was CORRODING HER SPIRIT????
I always type a reply to her now; I can’t help it. This time I put: Do you realize how toxic
YOU are, Willow the Witch?
And then deleted it. Naturally.
The most frustrating thing is that I never get to see Sam’s replies. There’s no
back-and-forth correspondence; she always starts a fresh email. Sometimes they’re
friendly—like yesterday she sent one that just said, You’re a really, really special man, you know
that, Sam? Which was quite sweet. But nine out of ten are whinging. I can’t help feeling sorry
for him.
Anyway. His life. His fiancée. Whatever.
“Sweetheart!” Magnus comes into the room, interrupting my thoughts.
“Oh, hi!” I quickly turn off. “Finished your work?”
“Don’t let me disturb you.” He nods at the phone. “Chatting to the girls?”
I give a noncommittal smile and slip the phone into my pocket.
I know, I know, I know. This is bad. Keeping a secret from Magnus. Not telling him
about the ring or the phone or any of it. But how can I start now? Where would I begin? And
maybe I’d regret it. What if I confess all and cause a huge rift and half an hour later the ring turns
up and I needn’t have said anything?
“You know me!” I say at last, and give a little laugh. “What did you talk to your parents
about tonight?” I quickly move on to the subject I really want to find out about—i.e., what do his
parents think of me and have they changed their mind?
“Oh, my parents.” He makes an impatient gesture and sinks down on the sofa. He’s
tapping his fingers on the arm, and his eyes are distant.
“You OK?” I say cautiously.
“I’m great.” He turns to me and the clouds fall away from his eyes. Suddenly he’s
focused. “Remember when we first met?”
“Yes.” I smile back. “Of course I do.”
He starts stroking my leg. “I arrived at that place expecting the battle-ax. But there you
were.”
I wish he wouldn’t always call Ruby a battle-ax. She’s not. She’s gorgeous and lovely
and sexy; her arms are just a teeny bit meaty. But I hide my squirm of irritation and keep
smiling.
“You were like an angel in that white uniform. I’ve never seen anything more sexy in my
life.” His hand is moving farther up my leg with intent. “I wanted you, right there, right then.”
Magnus loves telling this story, and I love hearing it.
“And I wanted you.” I lean over and gently bite his earlobe. “The minute I saw you.”
“I know you did. I could tell.” He pulls my top aside and starts to nuzzle my bare
shoulder. “Hey, Poppy, let’s get back in to that room one day,” he whispers. “That’s the best sex
I’ve ever had. You, in that white uniform, up on that couch, with that massage oil … Jesus …
”46 He starts tugging at my skirt and we both tumble off the sofa onto the carpet. And as my
phone bleeps with another text, I barely notice.
It’s not until much later on, when we’re getting ready for bed and I’m rubbing in body
lotion,47 that Magnus lands his bombshell.
“Oh, Mum called earlier.” His speech is muffled with toothpaste. “About the skin guy.”
“What?”
He spits out and wipes his mouth. “Paul. Our neighbor. He’s coming to the wedding
rehearsal to look at your hand.”
“What?” My hand clenches automatically and I squirt body lotion across the bathroom.
“Mum says you can’t be too careful with burns, and I think she’s right.”
“She didn’t have to do that!” I’m trying not to sound panicky.
“Sweets.” He kisses my head. “It’s all fixed up.”
He heads out of the bathroom and I stare at my reflection. My happy postsex glow has
gone. I’m back to the black hole of dread. What do I do? I can’t keep dodging forever.
I don’t have a burned hand. I don’t have an engagement ring. I don’t have an
encyclopedic knowledge of Scrabble words. I’m a total phony.
“Poppy?” Magnus appears meaningfully at the bathroom door. I know he wants to get to
sleep because he’s got to go to Brighton early tomorrow. He’s writing a book with a professor
there and they keep having disagreements which require emergency meetings.
“Coming.”
I follow him to bed and curl up in his arms and give a pretty good impersonation of
someone falling peacefully off to sleep. But inside I’m churning. Every time I try to switch off, a
million thoughts come crowding back in. If I call off Paul the dermatologist, will Wanda be
suspicious? Could I mock up a burn on my hand? What if I just told Magnus everything right
now?
I try to picture this last scenario. I know it’s the most sensible. It’s the one the agony
aunts would recommend. Wake him up and tell him.
But I can’t. I can’t. And not only because Magnus is always totally ratty if he gets woken
up in the night. He’d be so shocked. His parents would always think of me as the girl who lost
the heirloom ring. It’d define me forevermore. It’d cast a pall over everything.