Sophie Kinsella - I've Got Your Number

“Hear, hear!” Antony raises his glass. “Happy birthday, Wanda, my love.”

It’s his mother’s birthday ? But he didn’t tell me. I don’t have a card. I don’t have a gift. How could he do this to me?

Men are crap.

Felix has produced a parcel from under his chair and is handing it to Wanda.

“Magnus,” I whisper desperately as he sits down. “You didn’t tell me it was your mother’s birthday. You never said a word! You should have told me!”

I’m almost gibbering with panic. My first meeting with his parents since we got engaged, and they don’t like me, and now this.

Magnus looks astonished. “Sweets, what’s wrong?”

How can he be so obtuse?

“I’d have bought her a present !” I say under cover of Wanda exclaiming, “Wonderful, Felix!” over some ancient book which she’s unwrapping.

“Oh!” Magnus waves a hand. “She won’t mind. Stop stressing. You’re an angel and everyone loves you. Did you like the mug, by the way?”

“The what?” I can’t even follow what he’s saying.

“The Only Just Married mug. I left it on the hall stand? For our honeymoon?” he prompts at my nonplussed expression. “I told you about it! Quite fun, I thought.”

“I didn’t see any mug.” I stare blankly at him. “I thought you’d given me that big box with ribbons.”

“What big box?” he says, looking puzzled.

“And now, my dear,” Antony is saying self-importantly to Wanda, “I don’t mind telling you, I’ve rather splashed out on you this year. If you’ll give me a minute … ”

He’s getting up and heading out to the hall.

Oh God. My insides feel watery. No. Please. No.

“I think … ” I begin, but my voice won’t work properly. “I think I might possibly … by mistake—”

“ What the— ” Antony’s voice resounds from the hall. “What’s happened to this?”

A moment later he’s in the room, holding the box. It’s all messed up. Torn tissue paper is everywhere. The kimono is falling out.

My head is pulsing with blood.

“I’m really sorry.” I can barely get the words out. “I thought … I thought it was for me. So I … I opened it.”

There’s a deathly silence. Every face is stunned, including Magnus’s.

“Sweets … ” he begins feebly, then peters out as though he can’t think what to say.

“Not to worry!” says Wanda briskly. “Give it to me. I don’t mind about the wrapping.”

“But there was another thing!” Antony is poking the tissue paper testily. “Where’s the other bit? Was it in there?”

Suddenly I realize what he’s talking about and give a little inward whimper. Every time I think things can’t get worse, they plummet. They find new, ghastly depths.

“I think … Do you mean”—I’m stuttering, my face beet-red—“This?” I pull a bit of the camisole out from under my top and everyone gazes at it, thunderstruck.

I’m sitting at the dinner table, wearing my future mother-in-law’s underwear. It’s like some twisted dream that you wake up from and think: Crikey Moses! Thank God that didn’t really happen!

The faces round the table are all motionless and jaw-dropped, like a row of versions of that painting “The Scream.”

“I’ll … I’ll dry-clean it,” I whisper huskily at last. “Sorry.”

OK. So this evening has gone about as hideously as it possibly could. There’s only one solution, which is to keep drinking wine until my nerves have been numbed or I pass out. Whichever comes first.

Supper is over, and everyone’s got over the camisole incident. Kind of.

In fact, they’ve decided to make a family joke out of it. Which is sweet of them but means that Antony keeps making ponderously funny remarks like, “Shall we have some chocolates? Unless Poppy’s already eaten them all ?” And I know I should have a sense of humor, but, every time, I flinch.

Now we’re sitting on the ancient bumpy sofas in the drawing room, playing Scrabble. The Tavishes are complete Scrabble nuts. They have a special board that spins around, and posh wooden tiles, and even a leather-bound book where they write down the scores, dating back to 1998. Wanda is the current winner, with Magnus a close second.

Antony went first and put down OUTSTEP (74 points). Wanda made IRIDIUMS (65 points). Felix made CARYATID (80 points). Magnus made CONTUSED (65 points). 40And I made STAR (5 points).

In my family, STAR would be a good word. Five points would be a pretty decent score. You wouldn’t get pitying looks and clearing of throats and feel like a loser.

I don’t often think back about past times or reminisce. It’s not really my thing. But sitting here, rigid with failure, hunching my knees, inhaling the musty Tavish smells of books and kilims and old wood fire, I can’t help it. Just a chink. Just a tiny window of memory. Us in the kitchen. Me and my little brothers, Toby and Tom, eating toast and Marmite round the Scrabble board. I remember it distinctly; I can even taste the Marmite. Toby and Tom had got so frustrated, they made a load of extra tiles out of paper and decided you could have as many as you liked. The whole room was covered in cutout squares of paper with Biro letters scrawled on them. Tom gave himself about six Z s and Toby had ten E s And they still only scored about four points per turn and ended up in a scuffle, yelling, “It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”

I feel a rush of tears behind my eyes and blink furiously. I’m being stupid. Ridiculous. Number one, this is my new family and I’m trying to integrate with them. Number two, Toby and Tom are both away at college now. They have deep voices and Tom has a beard. We never play Scrabble. I don’t even know where the set is. Number three—

“Poppy?”

“Right. Yes! I’m just … working it out.”

We’re into the second round. Antony has extended OUTSTEP into OUTSTEPPED. Wanda has simultaneously made both OD 41 and OVARY. Felix put down ELICIT, and Magnus went for YUK, which Felix challenged, but it was in the dictionary and scored him lots of points on a double-word score. Now Felix had gone to make some coffee, and I’ve been shuffling my tiles hopelessly for about five minutes,

I almost can’t bring myself to go, I’m so humiliated. I should never have agreed to play. I’ve stared and stared at the stupid letters, and this is honestly the best possible word I can make.

“ P-I-G, ” enunciates Antony carefully as I put my tiles down. “Pig. As in … the mammal, I take it?”

“Well done!” says Magnus heartily. “Six points!”

I can’t look at him. I’m fumbling miserably for another two tiles. A and L. Like that’s going to help me.

“Hey, Poppy,” says Felix, coming back into the room with a tray. “Your phone’s ringing in the kitchen. What did you put down? Oh, Pig. ” As he looks at the board his mouth twitches, and I see Wanda give him a warning frown.

I can’t bear this any longer.

“I’ll just go and check who called, if that’s OK,” I say. “Might be something important.”

I escape to the kitchen, haul my phone out of the bag, and lean against the comforting warmth of the Aga. There are three texts from Sam, starting with Good luck, which he sent two hours ago. Then twenty minutes ago he texted, Favor to ask, followed up by, Are you there?

That call was from him too. I guess I’d better see what’s up. I dial his number, picking morosely at the remains of the birthday cake on the counter.