Sophie Kinsella - I've Got Your Number

“Would you?” Lucinda seems to wake up. “Could you do that? It’s just, there’s only one of me, you know, and I have spent the entire week working on details, all for your wedding, Poppy.”

She looks so stressed out, I feel a pang of guilt.

“Yes! No problem. I’ll go on yellow pages or something.”

“How’s your hair coming along, Poppy?” Lucinda suddenly focuses on my head, and I silently will my hair to grow another centimeter, very quickly.

“Not bad! I’m sure it will go in the chignon. Definitely.” I try to sound more positive than I feel.

Lucinda has told me about a hundred times how shortsighted and foolish it was to cut my hair to above the shoulder when I was about to become engaged. 33She also told me at the wedding-dress shop that with my pale skin, 34a white dress would never work and I should wear lime green. For my wedding. Luckily the wedding-dress-shop owner chimed in and said Lucinda was speaking nonsense: My dark hair and eyes would set off the white beautifully. So I chose to believe her instead.

The G&T arrives and Lucinda takes a deep slug. I take another sip of tepid black tea. Poor old Clemency hasn’t got anything, but she looks like she’s trying to blend into her chair and not attract any attention at all.

“And … you were going to find out about confetti?” I add cautiously. “But I can do that too,” I backtrack quickly at Lucinda’s expression. “I’ll phone the vicar.”

“Great!” Lucinda breathes out sharply. “I’d appreciate that! Because there is only one of me and I can only be in one place at once—” She breaks off abruptly as her gaze alights on my hand. “Where’s your ring, Poppy? Oh my God, haven’t you found it yet?”

As she lifts her eyes, she looks so thunderstruck, I start to feel sick again.

“Not yet. But it’ll turn up soon. I’m sure it will. The hotel staff are all looking—”

“And you haven’t told Magnus?”

“I will!” I swallow hard. “Soon.”

“But isn’t it a really important family piece?” Lucinda’s hazel eyes are wide. “Won’t they be livid?”

Is she trying to give me a nervous breakdown?

My phone buzzes and I grab it, grateful for the distraction. Magnus has just sent me a text which dashes my secret hope that his parents would suddenly catch gastric flu and have to cancel:

Dinner at 8, whole family here, can’t wait to see you!

“Is that your new phone?” Lucinda frowns critically at it. “Did you get my forwarded texts?”

“Yes, thanks.” I nod. Only about thirty-five of them, all clogging up my in-box. When she heard I’d lost my phone, Lucinda insisted on forwarding all her recent texts to me, just so I didn’t “drop the ball.” To be fair, it was quite a good idea. I got Magnus to forward all his most recent messages too, and the girls at work.

Ned Murdoch, whoever he is, has also finally contacted Sam. I’ve been looking out for that email all day. I glance at it distractedly, but it doesn’t seem particularly earth-shattering to me. Re: Ellerton’s bid. Sam, hi. A few points. You’ll see from the attachment, blah blah blah.

Anyway, I’d better send it on straightaway. I press forward and make sure it’s gone through. Then I type a quick reply to Magnus, my fingers fumbling with nerves.

Great! Can’t wait to see your parents!!!! So exciting!!!! PS: Could we meet outside first? Something I want to talk about. Just a really tiny thing. Xxxxxxxxx

22 OK, it wasn’t a couple of texts. It was about seven. But I only pressed send on five of them.

23 Poirot would probably have worked it out already.

24 There are only three of us, and we’ve known each other for yonks. So occasionally we lurch off onto other areas like our boyfriends and the Zara sale.

25 Or, rather, her dad did. He already owns a string of photocopy shops.

26 She also completely ignores all the poor women with twisted ankles. If you’re a girl, never do the marathon with Annalise on duty.

27 It was an emergency, in my defense. Natasha had split up with her boyfriend. And it’s not like the patient could see what I was doing. But, yes, I know it was wrong.

28 I know girls say that and what they really mean is, “I gave him an ultimatum and then let him think he’d come up with the idea himself, and six weeks later, bingo.” But it wasn’t like that. I honestly had no idea. Well, you wouldn’t, would you, after a month ?

29 Which I bet she did not do in her lunch hour. She should be the one getting the disciplinary hearing.

30 Which we’ve never used.

31 Which no one has registered on.

32 Personally, I’m doubtful about Lucinda’s so-called experience. Whenever I ask her about other weddings she’s done, she refers to only one, which was for another friend and consisted of thirty people in a restaurant. But obviously I never mention this in front of the Tavishes. Or Clemency. Or anyone.

33 Was I supposed to be psychic ?

34 “Deathly white,” as she called it.

4

I now have historical insight. I actually know what it felt like to have to trudge up to the guillotine in the French Revolution. As I walk up the hill from the tube clutching the wine I bought yesterday, my steps get slower and slower. And slower.

In fact, I realize, I’m not walking anymore. I’m standing. I’m staring up at the Tavishes’ house and swallowing hard, over and over again, willing myself to move forward.

Perspective, Poppy. It’s only a ring.

It’s only your prospective in-laws.

It was only a “falling-out.” According to Magnus, 35they never actually said straight out they didn’t want him to marry me. They only implied it. And maybe they’ve changed their minds!

Plus, I have discovered one tiny positive. My home insurance policy will pay out for losses, apparently. So that’s something. I’m even wondering whether to start the ring conversation via insurance and how handy it is. “You know, Wanda, I was reading an HSBC leaflet the other day—”

Oh God, who am I kidding? There’s no way to salvage this. It’s a nightmare. Let’s just get it over with.

My phone bleeps and I take it out of my pocket for old times’ sake. I’ve given up hoping for a miracle.

“You have one new message,” comes the familiar, unhurried tone of the voice-mail woman.

I feel like I know this woman, she’s talked to me so often. How many people have listened to her, desperate for her to hurry up, their hearts pounding with fear or hope? Yet she always sounds equally unfussed, like she doesn’t even care what you’re about to hear. You should be able to choose different options for different kinds of news, so she could start off: “Guess what! Ace news! Listen to your voice mail! Yay!” Or: “Sit down, love. Get a drink. You’ve got a message and it’s not good.”

I press 1, shift the mobile to the other hand, and start trudging again. The message was left while I was on the tube. It’s probably just Magnus, asking where I am.

“Hello, this is the Berrow Hotel, with a message for Poppy Wyatt. Miss Wyatt, it appears your ring was found yesterday. However, due to the chaos of the fire alarm—”

What? What?

Joy is whooshing through me like a sparkler. I can’t listen properly. I can’t take the words in. They’ve found it!