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finished with the phone—”
“I know.” I cut him off. “I’ll bike it round. The same nanosecond.”
“Fine.” He allows me a half smile. “Well, I hope everything goes well for you.” He
extends a hand and I shake it politely.
“Hope everything goes well for you too.”
I haven’t even asked him when his wedding is. Perhaps it’s a week from tomorrow, like
ours. In the same church, even. I’ll arrive and see him on the steps with Willow the Witch on his
arm, telling him he’s toxic.
He strides away and I hurry off toward the bus stop. There’s a 45 bus disgorging
passengers, and I climb on board. It’ll take me to Streatham Hill, and I can walk from there.
As I take my seat, I look out and see Sam walking swiftly along the pavement, his face
impassive, almost stony. I don’t know if it’s the wind or he’s been knocked by a passerby, but
somehow his tie has gone skew-whiff, and he doesn’t even seem to have noticed. Now that’s
bugging me. I can’t resist sending him a text.
Your tie’s crooked.
I wait about thirty seconds, then watch his face jolt in surprise. As he’s looking around,
searching the pedestrians on the pavement, I text again:
On the bus.
The bus has moved off by now, but the traffic’s heavy and I’m pretty much keeping pace
with Sam. He looks up, straightening his tie, and flashes me a smile.
I’ll have to admit, he does have quite a smile. Kind of heart-stopping, especially as it
comes out of nowhere.
I mean … you know. If your heart was in the kind of place to be stopped.
Anyway. An email has just come in from Lindsay Cooper, and I briskly open it.
Dear Sam,Thank you so much! Your words mean a lot to me—it’s so nice to know you are
appreciated!! I’ve told the whole team who helped me with the strategy document, and it’s really
boosted morale!Best,
LindsayIt’s cc’ed to his other address too, so he’ll have got it on his phone. A moment
later my phone bleeps with a text from Sam.
What did you write to Lindsay??
I can’t help giggling as I type back:
Happy birthday. Just like you said.
What else??
I don’t see why I need to answer. Two can play at selective deafness.
Have you contacted the dentist yet? I counter.
I wait a while—but we’re back to radio silence. Another email has arrived in the phone,
this time from one of Lindsay’s colleagues, and as I read it I can’t help feeling vindicated.
Dear Sam,Lindsay passed on your kind words about the website strategy. We were so honored
and delighted you took the time to comment. Thanks, and look forward to chatting about more
initiatives, maybe at the next monthly meeting.Adrian (Foster)Ha. You see? You see?
It’s all very well sending off two-word emails. It might be efficient. It might get the job
done. But no one likes you. Now that whole website team will feel happy and wanted and work
brilliantly. And it’s all because of me! Sam should have me doing his emails all the time.
On a sudden impulse, I scroll down to Rachel’s zillionth email about the Fun Run and
press Reply.
Hi, Rachel.Count me in for the Fun Run. It’s a great endeavor and I look forward to supporting
it. Well done!SamHe looks fit. He can do a Fun Run, for God’s sake.
On a roll now, I scroll down to that guy in IT who’s been politely asking about sending
Sam his CV and ideas for the company. I mean, surely Sam should be encouraging people who
want to get ahead?
Dear James,I would be very glad to see your CV and hear about your ideas. Please make an
appointment with Jane Ellis, and well done for being so proactive!SamAnd now that I’ve
started, I can’t stop. As the bus chugs along, I email the guy wanting to assess Sam’s workstation
for health and safety, set up a time, then email Jane to tell her to put it in the schedule.59 I email
Sarah, who has been off with shingles, and ask her if she’s better.
All those unanswered emails that have been nagging away at me. All those poor ignored
people trying to get in touch with Sam. Why shouldn’t I answer them? I’m doing him such a
service! I feel like I’m repaying him for his favor with the ring. At least, when I hand this phone
back, his in-box will have been dealt with.
In fact, what about a round-robin email telling everyone they’re fab? Why not? Who can
it hurt?
Dear Staff,I just wanted to say that you’ve all done a great job so far this year.As I’m typing,
an even better thought comes to me.
As you know, I value all your views and ideas. We are lucky to have such talent at White Globe
Consulting and want to make the most of it. If you have any ideas for the company you would
like to share, please send them to me. Be honest!All best wishes and here’s to a great year
ahead.SamI press send with satisfaction. There. Talk about motivational. Talk about team
spirit! As I sit back, my fingers are aching from so much typing. I take a sip of latte, reach for my
muffin, stuff a massive chunk into my mouth—and my phone starts ringing.
Shit. Of all the times.
I press talk, lift the receiver to my ear, and try to say “Just a moment,” but it comes out as
“Gobblllllg.” My whole mouth is full of claggy muffin. What do they put in these things?
“Is that you?” A youthful, reedy male voice is speaking. “It’s Scottie.”
Scottie? Scottie?
Something sparks in my mind. Scottie. Wasn’t that the name mentioned by Violet’s
friend who rang before? The one who was talking about liposuction?
“It’s done. Like I said. It was a surgical strike. No trace. Genius stuff, if I say so myself.
Adiós, Santa Claus.”
I’m chewing my muffin as frantically as I can, but I still can’t utter a sound.
“Are you there? Is this the right—Oh, fucking—” The voice disappears as I manage to
swallow.
“Hello? Can I take a message?”
He’s gone. I check the caller ID, but it’s Unknown Number.
You’d think all Violet’s friends would know her new number by now. Clicking my
tongue, I reach inside my bag for the Lion King program, which is still there.
Scottie rang, I scribble next to the first message. It’s done. Surgical strike. No trace.
Genius stuff. Adiós, Santa Claus.
If I ever meet this Violet, I hope she’s grateful for all my efforts. In fact, I hope I do meet
her. I haven’t been taking all these messages for nothing.
I’m about to put the phone away when a crowd of new emails arrives in a flashing bunch.
Replies to my round robin already? I scroll down—and to my disappointment, most of them are
standard company messages or ads. But the second-to-last makes me stop in my tracks. It’s from
Sam’s dad.
I’ve been wondering about him.
I hesitate—then click the email open.
Dear Sam,Just wondering if you got my last email. You know I’m not much of a technological
expert, probably sending it off to the wrong place. But here goes again.Hope all is well and you
are flourishing in London as ever. You know how proud we are of your success. I see you in the
business pages. Amazing. I always knew you were destined for big things, you know that.As I
said, there is something I’d love to talk to you about. Are you ever down Hampshire way? It’s
been so long and I do miss the old days.Yours ever,