I've Got Your Number

I've Got Your Number Page 127

“I know.” He nods. “It’s exquisite. Like you. And I want you to wear it. So, Poppy … “ He puts his warm hand on mine. “Sweetest Poppy … will you?”

“Oh God, Magnus,” I say helplessly. “I don’t know … ” My new iPhone is flashing with messages and I pick it up to buy myself some time. There’s a brand-new email from

[email protected]

/* */

My heart skips a beat. I sent Sam my new number this afternoon, just so that he had it. And at the last minute I added, Sorry about this afternoon, with a couple of kisses. Simply to clear the air. Now he’s answering me. At midnight. What does he want to say? With trembling fingers, my thoughts veering onto wild possibilities, I click on the message.

“Poppy?” Magnus sounds a little affronted. “Sweets? Could we focus?”

Sam is delighted to have received your email. He’ll get back to you as soon as he possibly can. Meanwhile, thanks for your interest.

I feel a sting of humiliation as I read the words. The brush-off email. He got his PA to send me the brush-off email.

I suddenly remember him, that time in the restaurant: You must have a brush-off email. They come in pretty useful for fending off unwanted advances too. Well, he couldn’t be any clearer than that, could he?

And now there’s more than a tiny pang in my chest—there’s a real wrenching pain. I was so stupid. What did I think ? At least Magnus didn’t delude himself that he and Lucinda were anything more than a casual fling. In some ways he stayed more faithful than I did. I mean, if Magnus even knew the half of what’s been going on these last few days …

“Poppy?” Magnus is peering at me. “Bad news?”

“No.” I toss the phone onto the sofa and somehow find a dazzling smile. “You’re right. We all make stupid mistakes. We all get carried away. We all get distracted by things which aren’t … which aren’t real. But the point is … ” I’m running out of steam here.

“Yes?” prompts Magnus gently.

“The point is … you bought me a ring. Yourself.”

As I say the words, my thoughts seem to come together and consolidate into something firm. All my deluded dreams fall away. This is reality, right here in front of me. I know what I want now. I take the ring out of the box and examine it for a moment, the blood beating hard in my head. “You chose it for me yourself. And I love it. And, Magnus … yes.”

I meet Magnus’s gaze head-on, suddenly not caring about Sam, wanting to take my life forward, away from here, to somewhere new.

“Yes?” He peers at me as though not sure what he’s hearing.

“Yes.” I nod.

In silence, Magnus takes the ring from me. He lifts up my left hand and slides it onto my ring finger.

I can’t quite believe it. I’m getting married.

95 Artistic license.

96 Even the fact that its name reminds of the very person I want to forget doesn’t put me off.

97 I might as well stick to the regimen.

98 Which rules out most of my DVDs, it turns out.

99 Weepfest.

100 Total weepfest.

101 What kind of movie starts with a mother fish and all her little glowy eggs being eaten by a shark, FFS? It’s supposed to be for children.

102 NB: Shouldn’t it be irrelevant anyway what I look like?

103 Because I’ve eaten them all.

16

Magnus doesn’t believe in superstitions. He’s just like his father. So even though it’s our wedding day today—even though everyone knows it’s bad luck—he stayed at my place last night. When I told him he should go to his parents’ house, he got all sulky and said I couldn’t be so ridiculous and why would he pack up all his stuff for one night? Then he added, “Surely the only people who believe in that kind of stuff are people with—”

At which point he stopped himself. But I know he was going to say “weak minds.” It’s a good thing he didn’t continue, or there would have been a major bust-up. As it is, I’m still feeling quite stroppy with him. Which isn’t exactly ideal on your wedding day. I should be feeling all starry-eyed. I shouldn’t be leaning out of the kitchen every five minutes, saying, “And another thing you always do … ”

I now know exactly why they started the tradition of being apart the night before your wedding. It’s nothing about romance, or sex, or being chaste, or whatever. It’s so you don’t have a row and stomp up the aisle seething at your bridegroom, planning all the home truths you’re going to tell him as soon as you get this wedding bit out of the way.