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wrapped around me, with his mouth—
No. Stop it, Poppy. Don’t go there. Don’t remember, or wonder, or …
“What a day,” I say at last, groping for some nice bland words.
“You said it.” Sam ushers me to the sofa and I sit down awkwardly, feeling like someone
who’s doing a job interview. “So. Now that we’re alone—how are you doing? What about the
other stuff?”
“Nothing much to report.” I give a deliberately careless shrug. “Oh, except I’m calling
my wedding off.”
As I say the words aloud, I feel slightly sick. How many times am I going to have to utter
those words? How many times am I going to have to explain myself? How am I going to cope
over the next few days?
Sam nods, wincing. “OK. That’s pretty grim.”
“Not brilliant.”
“You speak to him?”
“Wanda. I went to see her at her house. I said, ‘Wanda, do you really think I’m inferior,
or is this just in my mind?’ ”
“You didn’t!” exclaims Sam, looking delighted.
“Word for word.” I can’t help laughing at his expression, even though I half-want to cry
too. “You would have been proud of me.”
“Go, Poppy!” He lifts a hand to high-five me. “I know that took guts. And what was the
answer?”
“It was all in my head,” I admit. “She’s actually quite a sweetie. Shame about her son.”
There’s silence for a while. I feel so surreal. The wedding’s off. I’ve said it aloud, so it
must be true. But it feels about as real as Aliens have invaded.
“What are your plans now?” Sam meets my gaze, and I think I can see another question
in his eyes. A question about him and me.
“Du
I’m trying to answer his question silently—but I don’t know if my eyes are doing their
job. I don’t know if Sam can understand. After a moment I can’t bear looking at him any longer
and quickly lower my head. “Take things slowly, I guess. There’ll be a lot of crap to deal with.”
“I’m sure.” He hesitates. “Coffee?”
I’ve had so much coffee today I’m like a jumping bean, but, on the other hand, I can’t
stand this heightened atmosphere. I can’t gauge anything. I can’t read Sam. I don’t know what I
expect or want. We’re two people who were briefly thrown together by chance and are now
conducting a business transaction. That’s all.
So why does my stomach lurch every time he opens his mouth to speak? What on earth
am I expecting him to say?
“Coffee would be great, thanks. Do you have decaf?” I watch as Sam fiddles with the
Nespresso machine on a counter at the side of his office, trying to get the milk frother to work. I
think it’s a welcome distraction for both of us.
“Don’t worry,” I say at last, as he jiggles the frother, looking frustrated. “I can have it
black.”
“You hate black coffee.”
“How do you know that?” I laugh in surprise.
“You told Lucinda once in an email.” He turns, his mouth twisting. “You think you were
the only one who did a little spying?”
“You have a good memory.” I shrug. “What else do you remember?”
There’s silence. As his gaze meets mine, my heart starts a little drumbeat. His eyes are so
rich and dark and serious. The more I stare at them, the more I want to stare at them. If he’s
thinking what I’m thinking, then—
No. Stop it, Poppy. Of course he’s not. And I don’t even know what I’m thinking, not
exactly …
“Actually, don’t worry about the coffee.” I get to my feet abruptly. “I’ll head out for a
bit.”
“You sure?” Sam sounds taken aback.
“Yes, I don’t want to get in your way.” I avoid his eyes as I pass him. “I’ve got errands to
run. See you in an hour.”
I don’t run any errands. I don’t have the impetus. My future’s been derailed, and I know
I’m going to have to take some action—but at the moment I can’t face dealing with it. From
Sam’s office I wander as far as St. Paul’s Cathedral. I sit on the steps in a shaft of sunshine,
watching the tourists, pretending I’m on holiday from my own life. Then, at last, I make my way
back.
Sam is on a call as I’m shown in to his office, and he nods at me, gesturing apologetically
at the phone.
“Knock knock!” Ted’s head appears around the door, and I start. “All done. We had three
operatives on it.” He comes into the room, holding a massive sheaf of A4 paper. “Only trouble
is, we’ve had to print each text on a separate piece of paper. It’s like ruddy War and Peace.”
“Wow.” I can’t believe how many pieces of paper he’s holding. I surely can’t have sent
that many texts and emails? I mean, I’ve only had the phone for a matter of days.
“So.” Ted puts the sheets down on the table with a businesslike air and separates them
into three bundles. “One of the lads has been sorting them as we’ve gone along. These are all
Sam’s. Business emails, so forth. In-box, out-box, drafts, everything. Sam, here you go.” He
holds them out as Sam gets up from his desk.
“Great, thanks,” says Sam, flipping through them.
“We’ve printed out the attachments as well. They should all be on your computer too,
Sam, but just in case… . And these are yours, Poppy.” He pats a second bundle. “Everything
should be there.”
“Right. Thanks.” I leaf through the papers.
“Then there’s this third pile.” Ted wrinkles his brow as though in puzzlement. “We
weren’t sure what to do about this. It’s … it’s both of yours.”
“What do you mean?” Sam looks up.
“It’s your correspondence to each other. All the texts and emails and whatnot that you
sent backward and forward. In chronological order.” Ted shrugs. “I don’t know which of you
wants it or whether we should chuck them—are they important at all?”
He puts the pile of papers down, and I stare at the top sheet in disbelief. It’s a grainy
photograph of me in a mirror, holding the phone and making the Brownie sign. I’d forgotten I
ever did that. I turn to the next page to find a single printed text from Sam:
I could send this to the police and have you arrested.
Then, on the following page, is my answer:
I really, really appreciate it. Thx
That feels like a million years ago now. When Sam was just a stranger at the other end of
a phone line. When I’d never met him, had no idea what he was like.… I sense a movement at
my shoulder. Sam has come over to look too.
“Strange, seeing it all printed out,” he says.
“I know.” I nod.
I come to a picture of manky teeth and we simultaneously snort with laughter.
“Quite a few pictures of teeth, aren’t there?” says Ted, eyeing us curiously. “We
wondered what that was all about. In dental care, are you, Poppy?”
“Not exactly.” I leaf through the pages, mesmerized. It’s everything we said to each
other. Page after page of messages, back and forth, like a book of the last few days.
WHAIZLED. Use the D from OUTSTEPPED. Triple word score, plus 50-point bonus.
Have u booked dentist yet? U will get manky teeth!!!
What are you doing up so late?
My life ends tomorrow.
I can see how that might keep you up. Why does it end?
Your tie’s crooked.
I didn’t know your name was on my invitation.