Sophie Kinsella - I've Got Your Number

Anyone know you’re texting me?

Don’t think so. Yet.

My new rule for life. Don’t go into spooky dark woods on your own.

You’re not on your own.

I’m glad it was your phone I picked up.

So am I.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

You’re nowhere near.

Yes I am. Coming.

And suddenly there’s a lump in my throat. Enough. Stop. I slap the papers back on the pile and look up with a lighthearted smile.

“Wow!”

Ted shrugs. “Yeah, well, like I say, we didn’t know what to do with them.”

“We’ll sort it,” says Sam. “Thanks, Ted.”

His face is impassive. I have no idea if he felt anything, reading those texts.

“So we can do what we like with the phone, yeah?” says Ted.

“No problem.” Sam nods. “Cheers, Ted.”

As Ted disappears, Sam heads over to the Nespresso again and starts making a new cup.

“Come on, let me make you a coffee. I’ve worked it out now.”

“Really, I’m fine,” I begin, but the frother starts emitting hot milk with such a loud hissing, there’s no point even trying to speak.

“Here you go.” He hands me a cup.

“Thanks.”

“So … you want these?” He gestures at the pile of papers.

I feel a kind of heat rising from my feet, and I take a sip of coffee, playing for time. The phone’s gone. These printouts are the only record of that weird and wonderful time. Of course I want them.

But for some reason I can’t admit that to Sam.

“I’m easy.” I try to sound nonchalant. “You want them?”

Sam says nothing, just shrugs.

“I mean, I don’t need them for anything … ”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s all pretty inconsequential stuff… .” His phone bleeps with a text, and he pulls it out of his pocket. He scans the screen, then scowls. “Oh Jesus. Oh bloody hell. This is all I need.”

“What’s wrong?” I say in alarm. “Is it about the voice mails?”

“It’s not that.” He regards me from under lowered brows. “What the hell did you send to Willow?”

“What?” I stare at him, bewildered.

“She’s on the warpath about some email from you. Why the hell were you emailing Willow, anyway?”

“I wasn’t!” I stare at him, perplexed. “I would never email her! I don’t even know her!”

“Well, that’s not what she says—” He breaks off as his phone bleeps again. “OK. Here we are … Recognize that?” He passes it to me and I start reading.

FFS, Willow the Witch, can’t you LEAVE SAM ALONE AND STOP WRITING IN OBNOXIOUS CAPITALS? And just FYI: You are not Sam’s girlfriend. So who cares what he was doing with some “cutesy” girl last night? Why don’t you get a life?????

A cold feeling is creeping over me.

OK. Maybe I did type something like that this morning, while I was on the tube to Sam’s office. Just out of irritation at yet another rant from Willow. Just to vent a little. But I didn’t send it. I mean, of course I didn’t send it. I would never, ever have sent it.

Oh God …

“I … um … ” My mouth is dry as I finally raise my head. “I might possibly have written that as a joke. And accidentally pressed send. Totally by mistake. I mean, I didn’t intend to,” I add, to make it crystal clear. “I never would have done it on purpose. ”

I scan the words again and imagine Willow reading them. She must have hit the roof. I almost wish I’d been there to see it. I can’t help a tiny snuffle as I imagine her eyes widening, her nostrils flaring, fire coming from her mouth … 95

“You think this is funny?” snaps Sam.

“Well, no,” I say, shocked by his tone. “I mean, I’m really sorry. Obviously. But it was a mistake—”

“What does it matter whether it was a mistake or not?” He grabs the phone from me. “It’s a headache, and it’s the last thing I need on my plate—”

“Wait a minute!” I lift a hand. “I don’t understand. Why is it on your plate? Why is it your problem? It was me who sent the email, not you.”

“Believe me.” He gives me a savage look. “It’ll somehow end up being my problem.”

OK, this makes no sense. Why will it be his problem? And why is he so irate? I know I shouldn’t have sent that email, but neither should Willow have sent him ninety-five-million nutty rants. Why is he taking her side?

“Look.” I try to sound calm. “I’ll send her an email and apologize. But I think you’re overreacting. She’s not your girlfriend anymore. This isn’t anything to do with you.”

He isn’t even looking at me. He’s typing on his phone. Is he typing to Willow?

“You’re not over her, are you?” I feel a raw hurt as the truth hits me. Why didn’t I realize this before? “You’re not over Willow.”

“Of course I am.” He frowns impatiently.

“You’re not! If you were over her you wouldn’t care about this email. You’d think it served her right. You’d think it was funny. You’d take my side.” My voice is trembling, and I have a dreadful feeling that my cheeks are turning pink.

Sam looks baffled. “Poppy, why are you so upset?”

“Because … because—” I break off, breathing hard.

Because of reasons I could never tell him. Reasons I can’t even admit to myself. My stomach is churning with humiliation. Who was I kidding ?

“Because … you weren’t honest!” The words burst from me at last. “You gave me all this rubbish about ‘It’s over and Willow should understand that.’ How can she understand anything if you react like this? You’re acting as if she’s still a major part of your life and you’re still responsible for her. And that tells me you’re not over her.”

“This is all absolute bullshit.” He looks livid.

“So why not tell her to stop pestering you? Why not finish it once and for all and get closure? Is it because you don’t want closure, Sam?” My voice rises in agitation. “Do you enjoy your weirdo, standoff relationship?”

Now Sam is breathing hard too. “You have no right to comment on something you understand nothing about—”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I give a sarcastic little laugh. “You’re right. I don’t even begin to understand you two. Maybe you’ll get back together, and I hope you’ll be very happy.”

“Poppy, for Christ’s sake—”

“What?” I put my cup down with a small bang, spilling coffee over the pile of our back-and-forth texts. “Oh, I’ve ruined them now. Sorry. But I guess they don’t have anything important in them, so it doesn’t matter.”

“ What? ’ Sam looks as though he’s having trouble keeping up. “Poppy, can we sit down calmly and just … regroup?“

I don’t think I’m capable of calm. I feel erratic and out of control. All sorts of deep dark feelings are coming to the surface. I hadn’t fully admitted my hopes to myself. I hadn’t realized quite how much I’d assumed …

Anyway. I’ve been a deluded fool and I need to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“Sorry.” I take a deep breath and somehow muster a smile. “Sorry. I’m just a bit stressed. With the wedding and everything. It’s fine. Look, thanks for lending me the phone. It was nice knowing you, and I hope you’ll be very happy. With Willow or without.” I grab my bag, my hands still shaky. “So, er … hope everything goes well with Sir Nicholas, and I’ll look out for the news stories… . Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out… .” I can barely meet his eyes as I head to the door.

Sam looks utterly baffled. “Poppy, don“t go like that. Please.”

“I’m not going like anything!” I say brightly. “Really. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got a wedding to cancel, people to give minor heart attacks to—”