I've Got Your Number
Page 65
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“I just want to say, I’m really, really sorry,” I say in a rush. “I’m sorry about the e-card. I’m sorry about Guatemala. I got carried away. I know I’ve caused you a lot of grief, and if I can help in any way I will. I mean … shall I send some emails for you?”
“No!” Sam sounds like he’s been scalded. “Thank you,” he adds more calmly. “You’ve done enough.”
“So, how are you managing?” I venture. “I mean, processing everyone’s ideas.”
“Jane’s taken charge for now. She’s sending out my brush-off email.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Your brush-off email? What’s that?”
“You know the sort of thing. Sam is delighted to have received your email. He’ll get back to you as soon as he possibly can. Meanwhile, thanks for your interest. Translation: Don’t expect to hear from me anytime soon. ” He raises his eyebrows. “You must have a brush-off email. They come in pretty useful for fending off unwanted advances too.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, a little offended. “I never want to brush people off. I answer them!”
“OK, that explains a lot. ” He tears off a chunk of bread and chews it. “If I’d known that, I never would have agreed to share a phone.
“Well, you don’t have to anymore.”
“Thank God. Where is it?”
I rummage in my bag, take the phone out, and put it on the table between us.
“What the hell is that ?” Sam exclaims, looking horrified.
“What?” I follow his gaze, puzzled, then realize. There were some diamanté phone stickers in the Marie Curie goody bag, and I stuck them on the phone the other day.
“Don’t worry.” I roll my eyes at his expression. “They come off.”
“They’d better.” He still seems stunned by the sight of it. Honestly. Doesn’t anyone at his company bother to decorate their phone?
Our food arrives, and for a while we’re distracted with pepper mills and mustard and some side dish of parsnip chips which they seem to think we ordered.
“You in a hurry?” inquires Sam as he’s about to bite into his steak baguette.
“No. I took a few days off to do wedding stuff, but actually it turns out there’s not a lot to do.”
The truth is, I was a bit taken aback when I spoke to Lucinda this morning. I’d told her ages ago that I was taking a few days off to help with the wedding. I’d thought we could go and sort out some of the fun stuff together. But she basically said no, thanks. She had some long story about having to go see the florist in Northwood and needing to drop in at another client first and implied I’d be in the way.75 So I’ve had the morning off. I mean, I wasn’t about to go to work for the sake of it.
As I sip my soup, I wait for Sam to volunteer some wedding talk of his own—but he doesn’t. Men just aren’t into it, are they?
“Is your soup cold?” Sam suddenly focuses on my bowl. “If it’s cold, send it back.”
It is a bit less than piping hot—but I really don’t feel like making a fuss.
“It’s fine, thanks.” I flash him a smile and take another sip.
The phone suddenly buzzes, and on reflex I pull it to me. It’s Lucinda, telling me she’s at the warehouse and could I please confirm that I want only four strands of gypsophila per bouquet?
I have no idea. Why would I specify something like that? What does four strands look like, anyway?
Yes, fine. Thanks so much, Lucinda, I really appreciate it! Not long now!!! Love, Poppy xxxxx
There’s a new email from Willow too, but I can’t bring myself to read it in front of Sam. I forward it quickly and put the phone down.
“There was a message from Willow just now.”
“Uh-uh.” He nods with an off-putting frown.
I’m dying to find out more about her. But how do I start without sounding unnatural?
I can’t even ask, “How did you meet?” because I already know, from one of her email rants. They met at her job interview for White Globe Consulting. Sam was on the panel, and he asked her some tricky question about her CV and she should have known THEN that he was going to fuck her life up. She should have stood up and WALKED AWAY. Because does he think a six-figure salary is what her life is about? Does he think everyone’s like him? Doesn’t he realize that to build a life together you have to KNOW WHAT THE BUILDING BLOCKS ARE, Sam????
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I have honestly given up reading to the end.
“Haven’t you got yourself a new phone yet?” says Sam, raising his eyebrows.
“No!” Sam sounds like he’s been scalded. “Thank you,” he adds more calmly. “You’ve done enough.”
“So, how are you managing?” I venture. “I mean, processing everyone’s ideas.”
“Jane’s taken charge for now. She’s sending out my brush-off email.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Your brush-off email? What’s that?”
“You know the sort of thing. Sam is delighted to have received your email. He’ll get back to you as soon as he possibly can. Meanwhile, thanks for your interest. Translation: Don’t expect to hear from me anytime soon. ” He raises his eyebrows. “You must have a brush-off email. They come in pretty useful for fending off unwanted advances too.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, a little offended. “I never want to brush people off. I answer them!”
“OK, that explains a lot. ” He tears off a chunk of bread and chews it. “If I’d known that, I never would have agreed to share a phone.
“Well, you don’t have to anymore.”
“Thank God. Where is it?”
I rummage in my bag, take the phone out, and put it on the table between us.
“What the hell is that ?” Sam exclaims, looking horrified.
“What?” I follow his gaze, puzzled, then realize. There were some diamanté phone stickers in the Marie Curie goody bag, and I stuck them on the phone the other day.
“Don’t worry.” I roll my eyes at his expression. “They come off.”
“They’d better.” He still seems stunned by the sight of it. Honestly. Doesn’t anyone at his company bother to decorate their phone?
Our food arrives, and for a while we’re distracted with pepper mills and mustard and some side dish of parsnip chips which they seem to think we ordered.
“You in a hurry?” inquires Sam as he’s about to bite into his steak baguette.
“No. I took a few days off to do wedding stuff, but actually it turns out there’s not a lot to do.”
The truth is, I was a bit taken aback when I spoke to Lucinda this morning. I’d told her ages ago that I was taking a few days off to help with the wedding. I’d thought we could go and sort out some of the fun stuff together. But she basically said no, thanks. She had some long story about having to go see the florist in Northwood and needing to drop in at another client first and implied I’d be in the way.75 So I’ve had the morning off. I mean, I wasn’t about to go to work for the sake of it.
As I sip my soup, I wait for Sam to volunteer some wedding talk of his own—but he doesn’t. Men just aren’t into it, are they?
“Is your soup cold?” Sam suddenly focuses on my bowl. “If it’s cold, send it back.”
It is a bit less than piping hot—but I really don’t feel like making a fuss.
“It’s fine, thanks.” I flash him a smile and take another sip.
The phone suddenly buzzes, and on reflex I pull it to me. It’s Lucinda, telling me she’s at the warehouse and could I please confirm that I want only four strands of gypsophila per bouquet?
I have no idea. Why would I specify something like that? What does four strands look like, anyway?
Yes, fine. Thanks so much, Lucinda, I really appreciate it! Not long now!!! Love, Poppy xxxxx
There’s a new email from Willow too, but I can’t bring myself to read it in front of Sam. I forward it quickly and put the phone down.
“There was a message from Willow just now.”
“Uh-uh.” He nods with an off-putting frown.
I’m dying to find out more about her. But how do I start without sounding unnatural?
I can’t even ask, “How did you meet?” because I already know, from one of her email rants. They met at her job interview for White Globe Consulting. Sam was on the panel, and he asked her some tricky question about her CV and she should have known THEN that he was going to fuck her life up. She should have stood up and WALKED AWAY. Because does he think a six-figure salary is what her life is about? Does he think everyone’s like him? Doesn’t he realize that to build a life together you have to KNOW WHAT THE BUILDING BLOCKS ARE, Sam????
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I have honestly given up reading to the end.
“Haven’t you got yourself a new phone yet?” says Sam, raising his eyebrows.
