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Your old
Dad As I get to the end, I feel rather hot around the eyes. I can’t quite believe it. Did Sam not
even reply to that last email? Doesn’t he care about his dad? Have they had a big row or
something?
I have no idea what the story is. I have no idea what could have happened between them.
All I know is, there’s a father sitting at a computer, putting out feelers to his son, and they’re
being ignored, and I can’t bear it. I just can’t. Whatever’s gone before, life’s too short not to
make amends. Life’s too short to bear a grudge.
On impulse, I press reply. I don’t dare reply in Sam’s voice to his own father; that would
be going too far. But I can make contact. I can let a lonely old man know that his voice is being
heard.
Hello.This is Sam’s PA. Just to let you know, Sam will be at his company conference at the
Chiddingford Hotel in Hampshire next week, April 24 . I’m sure he’d love to see you.Best,
Poppy Wyatt I press send before I can chicken out, then sit for a few moments, a bit breathless
at what I’ve done. I’ve masqueraded as Sam’s PA. I’ve contacted his father. I’ve waded right
into his personal life. He’d be livid if he knew—in fact, the very thought of it makes me quail.
But sometimes you have to be brave. Sometimes you have to show people what’s
important in life. And I have this very strong gut instinct that what I’ve done is the right thing.
Maybe not the easy thing—but the right thing.
I have a vision of Sam’s dad sitting at his desk, his gray head bowed. The computer
beeping with a new email, the light of hope in his face as he opens it … a sudden smile of joy …
turning to his dog, patting his head, saying, “We’re going to see Sam, boy!”60
Yes. It was the right thing to do.
Exhaling slowly, I open the last email, which is from Blue:
Hello.We’re so sorry to hear that Sam can’t make the Savoy reception. Would he like to
nominate another person to attend in his place? Please email over the name and we will be sure
to add them to the guest list.Kind regards,
Blue. The bus has come to a halt, chugging at a set of traffic lights. I take a bite of muffin and
stare silently at the email.
Another person. That could be anybody.
I’m free on Monday night. Magnus has a late seminar in Warwick.
OK. Here’s the thing. There’s no way I’d ever be invited to anything glitzy like this in the
normal way of things. Physiotherapists just aren’t. And Magnus’s events are all academic book
launches or stuffy college di
cocktails or jazz bands. This is my one and only chance.
Maybe this is karma. I’ve come into Sam’s life, I’ve made a difference for the good—and
this is my reward.
My fingers are moving almost before I’ve made a decision.
Thank you so much for your email, I find myself typing. Sam would like to nominate
Poppy Wyatt.
50 Is unethical the same as dishonest? This is the kind of moral debate I could have asked
Antony about. In different circumstances.
51 Which is a shame, because what I’m dying to ask is: Why does Willow keep sending
messages via me when she must know I’m not Violet by now? And what’s all this
communication through his PA, anyway?
52 Which makes me wonder: If man can make an emerald these days, why do we all keep
on spending loads of money on real ones? Also: Should I get some earrings?
53 I did actually think it was quite a lot. But I figured that was the hit I had to take. I
would certainly never query the price of a ring in a posh shop, never in a million years.
54 “I could draw you a graph, Poppy. A graph.”
55 Aha! Clearly the same Ed who was in the Groucho Club, the worse for wear. Just call
me Poirot.
56 Daily Mail gossip column.
57 I actually half-remember seeing that story in the paper.
58 Good thing he isn’t my boss, is all I can say.
59 I know he’s free on Wednesday at lunchtime, because someone has just canceled.
60 I know he may not have a dog. I just feel pretty sure that he does.
7
The fake ring’s perfect!
OK, not perfect. It’s a tad smaller than the original. And a bit ti
know without the other one to compare? I’ve worn it most of the afternoon and it feels really
comfortable. In fact, it’s lighter than the real thing, which is an advantage.
Now I’ve finished my last appointment of the day and am standing with my hands spread
out on the reception desk. All the patients have gone, even sweet Mrs. Randall, with whom I’ve
just had to be quite firm. I told her not to come back here for two weeks. I told her she was
perfectly capable of exercising at home alone, and there was no reason she shouldn’t be back on
the te
Then, of course, it all came out. It turned out she was nervous of letting down her doubles
partner, and that’s why she was coming in so often: to give herself confidence. I told her she was
absolutely ready and I wanted her to text me her next score before she came back to see me. I
said if it came to it, I’d play te
was being nonsensical.
Then, when she’d gone, Angela told me that Mrs. Randall is some shit-hot player who
once played in Junior Wimbledon. Yowser. Probably a good thing we didn’t play, since I can’t
even hit a backhand.
Angela’s gone home too now. It’s just A
in silence except for a spring storm outside. One minute it was a bright breezy day; the next, rain
was hammering at the windows.
“Excellent.” Ruby is nodding energetically. Her hair is up in a ponytail today, and it
bounces as she nods. “Very good. You’d never know.”
“I’d know,” A
“Really?” I peer at it in dismay.
“The question is, how observant is Magnus?” Ruby raises her eyebrows. “Does he ever
look at it?”
“I don’t think so …”
“Well, maybe keep your hands away from him for a while, to be on the safe side.”
“Keep my hands away from him? How do I do that?”
“You’ll have to restrain yourself!” says A
“How about his parents?” says Ruby.
“They’re bound to want to see it. We’re meeting in the church, so the lights will be pretty
dim, but even so … ” I bite my lip, suddenly nervous. “Oh God. Does it look real?”
“Yes!” says Ruby at once.
“No,” says A
“Well, don’t let them!” says Ruby. “If they start looking too closely, create a diversion.”
“Like what?”
“Faint? Pretend to have a fit? Tell them you’re pregnant?”
“Pregnant?” I stare at her, wanting to laugh. “Are you nuts?”
“I’m only trying to help,” she says defensively. “Maybe they’d like you to be pregnant.
Maybe Wanda’s gu
“No.” I shake my head. “No way. She’d freak out.”
“Perfect! Then she won’t look at the ring. She’ll be too consumed with rage.” Ruby nods
in satisfaction, as though she’s solved all my problems.