I've Got Your Number
Page 131
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Not really.
I’ll be brief, then. You were right and I was wrong.
I stare at his words, perplexed. Right about what? Slowly, I type:
What do you mean?
Almost immediately, his reply dings into the iPhone.
About Willow. You were right and I was wrong. I’m sorry I reacted badly. I didn’t want you to be right, but you were. I spoke to her.
What did you say?
Told her it was over, finito. Stop the emails or I’ll take out a stalking injunction.
He didn’t. I can’t believe it.
How did she react?
She was pretty shocked.
I bet.
There’s silence for a while. A fresh text from Annalise has arrived on my iPhone, but I don’t open it. I can’t bear to break the thread between Sam and me. I’m gripping my iPhone tightly, peering at the screen, waiting to see if he’ll text again. He has to text again …
And then there’s a beep.
Can’t be an easy day for you. Today was supposed to be the wedding day, right?
My insides seem to plunge. What do I answer? What?
Yes.
Well, here’s something to cheer you up.
Cheer me up? I’m peering at the screen, puzzled, when a photo text suddenly arrives, which makes me laugh in surprise. It’s a picture of Sam sitting in a dentist’s chair. He’s smiling widely and wearing a cartoon sticker on his lapel that says, I was a good dental patient!!
He did that for me, flashes through my head before I can stop it. He went to the dentist for me.
No. Don’t be stupid. He went for his teeth. I hesitate, then type:
You’re right, that did cheer me up. Well done. About time!
An instant later he replies:
Are you free for a cup of coffee?
And to my horror, with no warning, tears start pressing at my eyes. How can he call now and ask me for a cup of coffee? How can he not realize that things have moved on? What did he think I would do? As I type, my thumbs are jerky and agitated.
You brushed me off.
What?
You sent me the brush off email.
I never send emails, you know that. Must have been my PA. She’s too efficient.
He didn’t send it?
OK, now I can’t cope. I’m going to cry, or laugh hysterically, or something. I had it all sorted in my mind. I knew where everything was and where everything stood. Now my head’s a maelstrom again.
The iPhone beeps with a follow-up text from Sam:
You’re not offended, are you?
I close my eyes. I have to explain. But what do I—How do I—
At last, without even opening my eyes, I text:
You don’t understand.
What don’t I understand?
I can’t bear to type the words. Somehow I just can’t do it. Instead, I stretch out my arm as far as it will go, take a photo of myself, then examine the result.
Yes. It’s all there in the shot: my veil, my headdress, a glimpse of my wedding dress, the corner of my lily bouquet. There’s absolutely no doubt as to what’s going on.
I press Sam Mobile and then send. There. It’s gone through the ether. Now he knows. I’ll probably never hear from him again after this. That’s it. It was a strange little encounter between two people, and this is the end. With a sigh, I sink down into the chair. The bells above have stopped pealing, and there’s a strange, still quietness in the room.
Until suddenly the beeps start. Frantic and continuous, like an emergency siren. I pick up my iPhone in shock, and they’re stacking up in my in-box: text after text after text, all from Sam.
No.
No no no no no.
Stop.
You can’t.
Are you serious?
Poppy, why?
My breaths are short and ragged as I read his words. I wasn’t intending to get into a conversation, but at last I can’t stand it anymore, I have to reply.
What do you expect, I just walk away? 200 people are sitting here waiting.
Immediately, Sam’s reply comes firing back:
You think he loves you?
I twist the ring of gold strands round and round my right-hand finger, trying desperately to find a path through all the contradictory thoughts thrusting their way into my head. Does Magnus love me? I mean … what is love? No one knows what love is, exactly. No one can define it. No one can prove it. But if someone chooses a ring especially for you in Bruges, that’s got to be a good start, hasn’t it?
Yes.
I think Sam must have been poised for my answer, his replies comes shooting back so quickly, three in a row.
No.
You’re wrong.
Stop. Stop. Stop. No. No.
I want to scream at him. It’s not fair. He can’t say all this now. He can’t shake me up now.
Well, what I am supposed to do???
I send it just as the door opens. It’s the Reverend Fox, followed by Toby, Tom, Annalise, and Ruby, all talking at once in an excited babble.
I’ll be brief, then. You were right and I was wrong.
I stare at his words, perplexed. Right about what? Slowly, I type:
What do you mean?
Almost immediately, his reply dings into the iPhone.
About Willow. You were right and I was wrong. I’m sorry I reacted badly. I didn’t want you to be right, but you were. I spoke to her.
What did you say?
Told her it was over, finito. Stop the emails or I’ll take out a stalking injunction.
He didn’t. I can’t believe it.
How did she react?
She was pretty shocked.
I bet.
There’s silence for a while. A fresh text from Annalise has arrived on my iPhone, but I don’t open it. I can’t bear to break the thread between Sam and me. I’m gripping my iPhone tightly, peering at the screen, waiting to see if he’ll text again. He has to text again …
And then there’s a beep.
Can’t be an easy day for you. Today was supposed to be the wedding day, right?
My insides seem to plunge. What do I answer? What?
Yes.
Well, here’s something to cheer you up.
Cheer me up? I’m peering at the screen, puzzled, when a photo text suddenly arrives, which makes me laugh in surprise. It’s a picture of Sam sitting in a dentist’s chair. He’s smiling widely and wearing a cartoon sticker on his lapel that says, I was a good dental patient!!
He did that for me, flashes through my head before I can stop it. He went to the dentist for me.
No. Don’t be stupid. He went for his teeth. I hesitate, then type:
You’re right, that did cheer me up. Well done. About time!
An instant later he replies:
Are you free for a cup of coffee?
And to my horror, with no warning, tears start pressing at my eyes. How can he call now and ask me for a cup of coffee? How can he not realize that things have moved on? What did he think I would do? As I type, my thumbs are jerky and agitated.
You brushed me off.
What?
You sent me the brush off email.
I never send emails, you know that. Must have been my PA. She’s too efficient.
He didn’t send it?
OK, now I can’t cope. I’m going to cry, or laugh hysterically, or something. I had it all sorted in my mind. I knew where everything was and where everything stood. Now my head’s a maelstrom again.
The iPhone beeps with a follow-up text from Sam:
You’re not offended, are you?
I close my eyes. I have to explain. But what do I—How do I—
At last, without even opening my eyes, I text:
You don’t understand.
What don’t I understand?
I can’t bear to type the words. Somehow I just can’t do it. Instead, I stretch out my arm as far as it will go, take a photo of myself, then examine the result.
Yes. It’s all there in the shot: my veil, my headdress, a glimpse of my wedding dress, the corner of my lily bouquet. There’s absolutely no doubt as to what’s going on.
I press Sam Mobile and then send. There. It’s gone through the ether. Now he knows. I’ll probably never hear from him again after this. That’s it. It was a strange little encounter between two people, and this is the end. With a sigh, I sink down into the chair. The bells above have stopped pealing, and there’s a strange, still quietness in the room.
Until suddenly the beeps start. Frantic and continuous, like an emergency siren. I pick up my iPhone in shock, and they’re stacking up in my in-box: text after text after text, all from Sam.
No.
No no no no no.
Stop.
You can’t.
Are you serious?
Poppy, why?
My breaths are short and ragged as I read his words. I wasn’t intending to get into a conversation, but at last I can’t stand it anymore, I have to reply.
What do you expect, I just walk away? 200 people are sitting here waiting.
Immediately, Sam’s reply comes firing back:
You think he loves you?
I twist the ring of gold strands round and round my right-hand finger, trying desperately to find a path through all the contradictory thoughts thrusting their way into my head. Does Magnus love me? I mean … what is love? No one knows what love is, exactly. No one can define it. No one can prove it. But if someone chooses a ring especially for you in Bruges, that’s got to be a good start, hasn’t it?
Yes.
I think Sam must have been poised for my answer, his replies comes shooting back so quickly, three in a row.
No.
You’re wrong.
Stop. Stop. Stop. No. No.
I want to scream at him. It’s not fair. He can’t say all this now. He can’t shake me up now.
Well, what I am supposed to do???
I send it just as the door opens. It’s the Reverend Fox, followed by Toby, Tom, Annalise, and Ruby, all talking at once in an excited babble.
