Sophie Kinsella - I've Got Your Number

“No!” I knit my hands around the phone. “Sam, I’m really sorry. And I wish I hadn’t seen this first. But it says … ” I hesitate, agonized. “It says Willow’s being unfaithful to you. I’m sorry.”

Sam looks absolutely shocked. As I hand the phone over, I feel a wrenching sympathy for him. Who the hell sends that kind of news in a text ?

I bet she’s shagging Justin Cole. Those two would totally suit each other.

I’m scanning Sam’s face for distress, but after that initial flash of shock, he seems extraordinarily calm. He frowns, flicks to the end of the text, then puts the phone back down on the table.

“Are you OK?” I can’t help venturing.

He shrugs. “Makes no sense.”

“I know!” I’m so stirred up on his behalf, I can’t help throwing in my views. “Why would she do that? And she gives you such a hard time! She’s such a hypocrite! She’s horrible!” I break off, wondering if I’ve gone too far. Sam is looking at me oddly.

“No, you don’t understand. It makes no sense because I’m not engaged. I don’t have a fiancée.”

“But you’re engaged to Willow,” I say stupidly.

“No, I’m not.”

“But … ” I stare at him blankly. How can he not be engaged? Of course he’s engaged.

“Never have been.” He shrugs. “What gave you that idea?”

“You told me! I know you told me!” My face is screwed up, trying to remember. “At least … yes! It was in an email. Violet sent it. It said, Sam’s engaged. I know it did.”

“Oh, that.” His brow clears. “Occasionally I’ve used that as an excuse to get rid of persistent people.” He adds, as though to make it clear, “Women.”

“An excuse ?” I echo incredulously. “So, who’s Willow, then?”

“Willow is my ex-girlfriend,” he says after a pause. “We split up two months ago.”

Ex -girlfriend?

For a moment, I can’t speak. My brain feels like a fruit machine, whirling round, trying to find the right combination. I can’t cope with this. He’s engaged. He’s supposed to be engaged.

“But you—you should have said!” My agitation bursts out at last. “All this time, you let me think you were engaged!”

“No, I didn’t. I never mentioned it.” He looks perplexed. “Why are you angry?”

“I … I don’t know! It’s all wrong.”

I’m breathing hard, trying to order my thoughts. How can he not be with Willow? Everything’s different now. And it’s all his fault. 80

“We talked so much about everything.” I try to speak more calmly. “I mentioned Willow several times and you never specified who she was. How could you be so secretive?”

“I’m not secretive!” He gives a short laugh. “I would have explained who she was if the subject had come up. It’s over. It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!”

“Why?”

I want to scream with frustration. How can he ask why? Isn’t it obvious?

“Because … because … she behaves as though you’re together.” And suddenly I realize this is what’s upsetting me the most. “She behaves as though she has every right to rant at you. That’s why I never doubted you were engaged. What’s that all about?”

Sam flinches as though with irritation but says nothing.

“She cc’s your PA! She blurts everything out in public emails! It’s bizarre!”

“Willow’s always been … an exhibitionist. She likes an audience.” He sounds reluctant to get into this. “She doesn’t have the same boundaries as other people—”

“Too right she doesn’t! Do you know how possessive she is? I overheard her talking at the office.” A loudspeaker starts broadcasting announcements about upcoming stations, but I raise my voice over the noise. “You know she bitches about you to all the girls at the office? She told them you’re just going through a bad patch and you need to wake up or you’re going to realize what you’re about to lose—i.e., her.”

“We’re not going through a bad patch.” I hear a flash of real anger in his voice. “We’re over.”

“Does she know that?”

“She knows.”

“Are you sure? Are you totally positive that she realizes?”

“Of course.” He sounds impatient.

“It’s not ‘Of course’! How exactly did you break up? Did you sit down and have a proper talk with her?”

There’s silence. Sam’s not meeting my eye. He so did not sit down and have a proper talk with her. I know it. He probably sent her a brief text, saying, Over. Sam.

“Well, you need to tell her to stop all this ridiculous emailing. Don’t you?” I try to get his attention. “Sam?”

He’s checking his phone again. Typical. He doesn’t want to know, he doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t want to engage—

A thought strikes me. Oh my God, of course.

“Sam, do you ever actually reply to Willow’s emails?”

He doesn’t, does he? Suddenly it’s all clear. That’s why she starts a fresh one each time. It’s like she’s pinning messages to a blank wall.

“So if you never reply, how does she know what you really think?” I raise my voice still further over the speaker. “Oh, wait, she doesn’t! That’s why she’s so deluded about everything! That’s why she thinks you still somehow belong to her!”

Sam isn’t even meeting my eye.

“God, you are a stubborn fuck!” I yell in exasperation, just as the announcement stops.

OK. Obviously I wouldn’t have spoken so loudly if I’d realized that was about to happen. Obviously I wouldn’t have used the f-word. So that mother with her children sitting three rows away can stop shooting me evil looks as though I’m personally corrupting them.

“You really are!” I continue in a furious undertone. “You can’t just blank Willow out and think she’ll go away. You can’t press ignore forever. She won’t go away, Sam. Take it from me. You need to talk to her and explain exactly what the situation is, and what is wrong with all this, and—”

“Look, leave it.” Sam sounds irate. “If she wants to send pointless emails, she can send pointless emails. It doesn’t bother me.”

“But it’s toxic! It’s bad! It shouldn’t happen!”

“You don’t know anything about it,” he snaps. I think I’ve pressed a nerve.

And by the way, that’s a joke. I don’t know anything about it?

“I know all about it!” I contradict him. “I’ve been dealing with your in-box, remember? Mr. Blank, No Reply, Ignore Everything and Everyone.”

Sam glares at me. “Just because I don’t reply to every email with sixty-five bloody smiley faces… .”

He is not turning this against me. What’s better, smiley faces or denial?

“Well, you don’t reply to anyone, ” I retort scathingly. “Not even your own dad!”

“What?” He sounds scandalised. “What the hell are you going on about now?”

“I read his email,” I say defiantly. “About how he wants to talk to you and he wishes you’d come and visit him in Hampshire and he’s got something to tell you. He said you and he hadn’t talked for ages and he missed the old days. And you didn’t even answer him. You’re heartless.”

Sam throws his head back in a roar of laughter. “Oh, Poppy. You really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do.”

“I think you don’t.”

“I think you’ll find I have a little more insight into your own life than you do.”

I glare at him mutinously. Now I hope Sam’s dad did get my email. Wait till Sam arrives at the Chiddingford Hotel and finds his father there, all dressed up and hopeful with a rose in his buttonhole. Then maybe he won’t be so flippant.