Текст книги "I've Got Your Number "
Автор книги: Sophie Kinsella
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higher. I’m not offering him any, so he needn’t expect it. Or a Magnum.103
The door makes a familiar squeaking sound and I know he’s in the room, but I keep my
gaze resolutely fixed on the screen.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” I shrug, as though to say “Whatever.”
In my peripheral vision I can see Magnus exhale. He looks a teeny bit nervous.
“So.”
“So.” I can play this game too.
“Poppy.”
“Poppy. I mean, Magnus.” I scowl. He caught me out. By mistake I lift my eyes to his,
and he immediately rushes over and grabs my hands, just like he did that first time we met.
“Stop it!” I practically snarl at him, pulling them away. “You don’t get to do that.”
“I’m sorry!” He lifts his hands as though I’ve scalded him.
“I don’t know who you are.” I gaze miserably at Nemo and Dory. “You lied about
everything. I can’t marry someone who’s a lying cheat. So you might as well go. I don’t even
know what you’re doing here.”
Magnus heaves another huge sigh.
“Poppy … OK. I made a mistake. Hands up. I’ll admit it.”
“A ‘mistake’?” I echo sarcastically.
“Yes, a mistake! I’m not perfect, OK?” He thrusts his fingers through his hair in a
frustrated gesture. “Is that what you expect out of a man? Perfection? You want a flawless man?
Because, believe me, that man doesn’t exist. And if that’s why you’re calling off this wedding,
because I made one simple error … ” He holds his hands out, his eyes reflecting the colored light
of the TV. “I’m human, Poppy. I’m a flawed, imperfect human being.”
“I don’t want a flawless man,” I snap. “I want a man who doesn’t sleep with my wedding
planner.”
“We don’t choose our flaws, unfortunately. And I’ve regretted my weakness over and
over again.”
How is he managing to sound all noble, like he’s the victim here?
“Well, poor old you.” I turn up the volume of Finding Nemo, but, to my surprise, Magnus
grabs the remote and switches it off. I blink at him in the sudden silence.
“Poppy, you can’t be serious. You can’t want to call everything off for one tiny—”
“It’s not only that.” I feel an old, burning hurt in my chest. “You never told me about all
your other fiancées. You never told me you’d proposed to Lucinda. I thought that ring was
special. Your mum’s got it, by the way.”
“I have proposed to other girls,” he says slowly. “But now I can’t think why.”
“Because you loved them?”
“No,” he says with a sudden fierceness. “I didn’t. I was nuts. Poppy, you and I—we’re
different. We could make it. I know we could. We just have to get through the wedding—”
“Get through it?”
“That’s not what I mean.” He breathes out impatiently. “Look, come on, Poppy. The
wedding’s all set up. It’s all arranged. It’s not about what happened with Lucinda, it’s about you
and me. We can do it. I want to do it. I really want to do this.” He’s speaking with such fervor, I
stare at him in surprise.
“Magnus—”
“Will this change your mind?” To my astonishment, he sinks down on one knee beside
the sofa and reaches in his pocket. I stare speechlessly as he opens a little jewelry box. Inside is a
ring made of twisted golden strands, with a tiny diamond perched at the side.
“Where … where did that come from?” I can hardly find my voice.
“I bought it for you in Bruges.” He clears his throat, as though embarrassed to admit it. “I
was walking along the street one day. Saw it in a window, thought of you.”
I can’t believe it. Magnus bought a ring for me. Specially for me. I can hear Wanda’s
voice in my head: When he really wants to commit to someone, he’ll find a ring for himself.
He’ll choose something carefully. Give it some thought.
But I can’t relax.
“Why did you choose this ring?” I probe. “Why did it make you think of me?”
“The strands of gold.” He gives an abashed smile. “They reminded me of your hair. Not
the color, obviously,” he amends quickly. “The shine.”
That was a good answer. Quite romantic. I raise my eyes and he gives me a hopeful,
lopsided smile.
Oh God. When Magnus is sweet and puppy-dog like, he’s almost irrestistible.
Thoughts are still spinning round my head. So he made a mistake. A big, big mistake.
Am I going to throw away everything for that? Am I so perfect myself? Let’s face it, twenty-four
hours ago my arms were wrapped around another man in a wood.
I feel a tiny pang in my chest at the thought of Sam and give myself a mental shakedown.
Stop. Don’t go there. I got carried away by the situation, that’s all. Maybe Magnus did too.
“What do you think?” Magnus is watching me eagerly.
“I love it,” I whisper. “It’s amazing.”
“I know.” He nods. “It’s exquisite. Like you. And I want you to wear it. So, Poppy … “
He puts his warm hand on mine. “Sweetest Poppy … will you?”
“Oh God, Magnus,” I say helplessly. “I don’t know … ” My new iPhone is flashing with
messages and I pick it up to buy myself some time. There’s a brand-new email from
My heart skips a beat. I sent Sam my new number this afternoon, just so that he had it.
And at the last minute I added, Sorry about this afternoon, with a couple of kisses. Simply to
clear the air. Now he’s answering me. At midnight. What does he want to say? With trembling
fingers, my thoughts veering onto wild possibilities, I click on the message.
“Poppy?” Magnus sounds a little affronted. “Sweets? Could we focus?”
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. I feel a sting of humiliation as I read the words. The
brush-off email. He got his PA to send me the brush-off email.
I suddenly remember him, that time in the restaurant: You must have a brush-off email.
They come in pretty useful for fending off unwanted advances too. Well, he couldn’t be any
clearer than that, could he?
And now there’s more than a tiny pang in my chest—there’s a real wrenching pain. I was
so stupid. What did I think? At least Magnus didn’t delude himself that he and Lucinda were
anything more than a casual fling. In some ways he stayed more faithful than I did. I mean, if
Magnus even knew the half of what’s been going on these last few days …
“Poppy?” Magnus is peering at me. “Bad news?”
“No.” I toss the phone onto the sofa and somehow find a dazzling smile. “You’re right.
We all make stupid mistakes. We all get carried away. We all get distracted by things which
aren’t … which aren’t real. But the point is … ” I’m running out of steam here.
“Yes?” prompts Magnus gently.
“The point is … you bought me a ring. Yourself.”
As I say the words, my thoughts seem to come together and consolidate into something
firm. All my deluded dreams fall away. This is reality, right here in front of me. I know what I
want now. I take the ring out of the box and examine it for a moment, the blood beating hard in
my head. “You chose it for me yourself. And I love it. And, Magnus … yes.”
I meet Magnus’s gaze head-on, suddenly not caring about Sam, wanting to take my life
forward, away from here, to somewhere new.
“Yes?” He peers at me as though not sure what he’s hearing.
“Yes.” I nod.
In silence, Magnus takes the ring from me. He lifts up my left hand and slides it onto my
ring finger.
I can’t quite believe it. I’m getting married.
95 Artistic license.
96 Even the fact that its name reminds of the very person I want to forget doesn’t put me
off.
97 I might as well stick to the regimen.
98 Which rules out most of my DVDs, it turns out.
99 Weepfest.
100 Total weepfest.
101 What kind of movie starts with a mother fish and all her little glowy eggs being eaten
by a shark, FFS? It’s supposed to be for children.
102 NB: Shouldn’t it be irrelevant anyway what I look like?
103 Because I’ve eaten them all.
16
Magnus doesn’t believe in superstitions. He’s just like his father. So even though it’s our
wedding day today—even though everyone knows it’s bad luck—he stayed at my place last
night. When I told him he should go to his parents’ house, he got all sulky and said I couldn’t be
so ridiculous and why would he pack up all his stuff for one night? Then he added, “Surely the
only people who believe in that kind of stuff are people with—”
At which point he stopped himself. But I know he was going to say “weak minds.” It’s a
good thing he didn’t continue, or there would have been a major bust-up. As it is, I’m still
feeling quite stroppy with him. Which isn’t exactly ideal on your wedding day. I should be
feeling all starry-eyed. I shouldn’t be leaning out of the kitchen every five minutes, saying, “And
another thing you always do … ”
I now know exactly why they started the tradition of being apart the night before your
wedding. It’s nothing about romance, or sex, or being chaste, or whatever. It’s so you don’t have
a row and stomp up the aisle seething at your bridegroom, planning all the home truths you’re
going to tell him as soon as you get this wedding bit out of the way.
I was going to make him sleep in the sitting room, but Toby and Tom were in there in
sleeping bags.104 At least I’ve made him promise to leave the house before I get into my
wedding dress. I mean, that would be the limit.
As I pour myself a cup of coffee, I can hear him declaiming in the bathroom, and I feel
another flinch of irritation. He’s practicing his speech. Here. In the flat. Isn’t his speech supposed
to be a surprise? Does he know anything about weddings? I approach the bathroom door, ready
to give him an earful—then pause. I might as well listen to a snippet.
The door is slightly ajar, and I peer through the gap to see him in his dressing gown,
addressing himself in the mirror. To my surprise, he looks quite worked up. His cheeks are red
and he’s breathing heavily. Maybe he’s getting into the part. Maybe he’s going to make a really
passionate speech about how I’ve completed his life, and everyone will cry.
“Everyone said I’d never get married. Everyone said I’d never do it.” Magnus pauses for
so long, I wonder if he’s lost his way. “Well, look. Here I am. OK? Here I am.”
He takes a swig of something, which looks like a gin and tonic, and gazes belligerently at
himself.
“Here I am. Married, OK? Married.”
I peer at him uncertainly. I don’t know quite what’s wrong about this speech, but
something is. There’s some small detail that feels wrong … something amiss … something that
jars …
I’ve got it. He doesn’t look happy.
Why doesn’t he look happy? It’s his wedding day.
“I’ve done it.” He lifts his glass at the mirror, glowering. “So all you people who said I
couldn’t can fuck off.”
“Magnus!” I can’t help exclaiming in shock. “You can’t say ‘fuck off’ in your wedding
speech!” Magnus’s face jolts, and his belligerent air instantly vanishes as he whips round.
“Poppy! Sweets! I didn’t know you could hear me.”
“Is that your speech?” I demand.
“No! Not exactly.” He takes a deep swig of his drink. “It’s a work in progress.”
“Well, haven’t you written it yet?” I eye his glass. “Is that a gin and tonic?”
“I think I’m allowed a gin and tonic on my wedding day, don’t you?”
The belligerent air is creeping back. What is wrong with him?
If I was in one of those glossy luxury-kitchen American TV dramas, I’d go up to him
now and take his arm and say gently, “It’s going to be a great day, honey.” And his face would
soften and he’d say, “I know,” and we’d kiss, and I would have diffused the tension with my
loving tact and charm.
But I’m not in the mood. If he can be belligerent, so can I.
“Fine.” I scowl. “Get pissed. Great idea.”
“I’m not going to get pissed. Jesus. But I’ve got have something to take the edge off
the—” He stops abruptly, and I stare at him in shock. Where exactly was he heading with that
sentence?
Off the ordeal? Off the pain?
I think his mind is working the same way, because he quickly finishes the sentence.
“—the thrill. I need to take the edge off the thrill, or I’ll be far too hyper to concentrate. Sweets,
you look beautiful. Gorgeous hair. You’ll look spectacular.”
His old engaging manner has returned in full force, like the sun coming out from behind a
cloud.
“My hair hasn’t even been done yet,” I say, with a grudging smile. “The hairdresser’s on
his way.”
“Well, don’t let him ruin it.” He gathers the ends together and kisses them. “I’ll get out of
your way. See you at the church!”
“OK.” I stare after him, feeling a bit unsettled.
And I’m unsettled for the rest of the morning. It’s not exactly that I’m worried. It’s more
that I don’t know if I should be worried. I mean, let’s look at the facts. One moment Magnus is
all over me, begging me to marry him—then he gets stroppy, as though I’m forcing him into it
with a shotgun. Is it just jitters? Is this what men are always like on their wedding day? Should I
tolerate it as normal male behavior, like when he gets a cold and starts Googling nose cancer
symptoms discharge nostrils?105
If Dad were alive, I could ask him.
But that’s a thought path I really can’t let myself go down, not today, or I’ll be a mess. I
blink hard and scrub at my nose with a tissue. Come on, Poppy. Brighten up. Stop inventing
problems that don’t exist. I’m getting married!
Toby and Tom emerge from their cocoons just as the hairdresser arrives. They make
monster cups of tea in mugs which they brought themselves,106 then instantly start bantering
with the hairdresser and putting rollers in their hair and making me fall about with laughter. I
wish for the zillionth time that I saw more of them. Then they disappear off to have breakfast at a
café, and Ruby and Annalise arrive two hours early because they couldn’t wait, and the
hairdresser announces he’s ready, and my aunt Trudy rings from her mobile, saying they’re
nearly here and her tights have laddered, is there anywhere she can buy a new pair?107
And then we’re into a blur of hair dryers blasting, nails being painted, makeup being
done, hair being put up, flowers arriving, dresses being put on, dresses being taken off to go to
the loo, sandwiches being delivered, and a near spray-tan disaster (it was actually just a blotch of
coffee on Annalise’s knee). Somehow, it’s two o’clock before I realize it, and the cars are here
and I’m standing in front of the mirror in my dress and veil. Tom and Toby are standing on either
side of me, so handsome in their morning coats that I have to blink away the tears again.
Annalise and Ruby have already left for the church. This is it. My last few moments as a single
girl.
“Mum and Dad would have been so proud of you,” says Toby gruffly. “Amazing dress.”
“Thanks.” I try to shrug nonchalantly.
I suppose I look OK, as brides go. My dress is really long and slim, with a low back and
tiny bits of lace on the sleeves. My hair’s in a chignon.108 My veil is gossamer light, and I’ve
got a beaded headdress and a gorgeous posy of lilies. But somehow, just like Magnus this
morning, something seems amiss …
It’s my expression, I suddenly realize with dismay. It isn’t right. My eyes are tense and
my mouth keeps twitching downward and I’m not radiant. I try baring my teeth at myself in a
broad smile—but now I look freaky, like some kind of scary clown-bride.
“You OK?” Tom is watching me curiously.
“Fine!” I pull at my veil, trying to bunch it round my face more. The point is, it doesn’t
matter what my expression is like. Everyone will be looking at my train.
“Hey, sis.” Toby glances at Tom as though for approval. “So you know, if you did
change your mind, we’d be totally cool. We’d help you do a getaway. We’ve discussed it,
haven’t we, Tom?”
“Four-thirty from St. Pancras.” Tom nods. “Gets you to Paris in time for dinner.”
“Do a getaway?” I stare at him in dismay. “What do you mean? Why would you plan a
getaway? Don’t you like Magnus?”
“No! Waoh! Never said that.” Toby lifts his hands defensively. “Just … putting it out
there. Giving you the option. We see it as our job.”
“Well, don’t see it as your job.” I speak more sharply than I meant to. “We’ve got to get
to the church.”
“I got the papers when I was out, by the way,” adds Tom, proffering a stack of
newspapers. “You want to have a read in the car?”
“No!” I recoil in horror. “Of course not! I’ll get newsprint on my dress!”
Only my little brother could suggest reading the newspaper on the way to my own
wedding. As if, it’ll be so boring we’d better have some entertainment.
Having said that, I can’t help flicking through the Guardian quickly as Toby goes for a
quick final bathroom break. There’s a picture of Sam on page 5, under the headline SCANDAL
ROCKS BUSINESS WORLD, and as soon as I see it, my stomach clenches tightly.
But less tightly than before. I’m sure of it.
The car is a black Rolls Royce limousine, which looks pretty amazing in my nondescript
Balham street, and a small crowd of neighbors has gathered to watch as I come out. I do a little
twirl and everyone claps as I get into the car. We set off, and I feel like a proper, glowing, radiant
bride.
Except I can’t look that radiant and glowing, because as we’re driving along Buckingham
Palace Road, Tom leans forward and says, “Poppy? Are you carsick or something?”
“What?”
“You look ill.”
“No, I don’t.” I scowl at him.
“You do,” says Toby, peering at me dubiously. “Kind of … green.”
“Yeah, green.” Tom’s face lights up. “That’s what I meant. Like you’re about to hurl. Are
you about to hurl?”
That is so typical of brothers. Why couldn’t I have had sisters, who would tell me I
looked beautiful and lend me their blusher?
“No, I’m not about to hurl! And it doesn’t matter what I look like.” I turn my face away.
“No one will be able to see through my veil.” My iPhone beeps, and I haul it out of my little
bridal bag. It’s a text from Annalise:
Don’t go up Park Lane! Accident! We’re stuck!
“Hey.” I lean forward to the driver. “There’s an accident on Park Lane.”
“Right you are.” he nods. “We’ll avoid that route, then.”
As we swing around into a little side road, I’m aware of Tom and Toby exchanging
glances.
“What?” I say at last.
“Nothing,” Toby says soothingly. “Just sit back and relax. Shall I tell you some jokes,
take your mind off it?”
“No. Thanks.”
I stare out the window, watching the streets go by. And suddenly, before I feel quite
ready, we’ve arrived. The church bells are pealing with a single, rhythmic tone as we get out of
the car. A couple of late guests I don’t recognize are running up the steps, the woman clutching
her hat. They smile at me, and I give a self-conscious nod.
It’s for real. I’m actually doing this. This is the happiest day of my life. I should
remember every moment. Especially how happy I am.
Tom surveys me and grimaces. “Pops, you look awful. I’ll tell the vicar you’re ill.” He
barges straight past me into the church.
“No, don’t! I’m not ill!” I exclaim furiously, but it’s too late. He’s on a mission. Sure
enough, a few moments later Reverend Fox is hurrying out of the church, an anxious look on his
face.
“Oh my goodness, your brother’s right,” he says as soon as he sees me. “You don’t look
well.”
“I’m fine!”
“Why don’t you take a few minutes to compose yourself alone before we begin the
service?” He’s ushering me into a small side room. “Sit down a moment, have a glass of water,
perhaps eat a biscuit? There are some in the church hall. We need to wait for the bridesmaids
anyway. I gather they’ve been held up in traffic.”
“I’ll look out for them on the street,” says Tom. “They won’t be long.”
“I’ll get the biscuits,” chimes in Toby. “Will you be all right, sis?”
“Fine.”
They all head out and I’m left alone in the silent room. A tiny mirror is perched on a
shelf, and as I look into it I wince. I do look sick. What’s wrong with me?
My iPhone dings and I peer at it in surprise. I’ve got a text from Mrs. Randall.
6–4, 6–2. Thank you, Poppy!
She did it! She got back on the tennis court! This is the best thing I’ve heard all day. And
all of a sudden I wish I were at work, away from here, absorbed in the process of treating
someone, doing something useful—
No. Stop. Don’t be stupid, Poppy. How can you wish you were at work on your wedding
day? I must be some sort of freak. No other brides wish they were at the office. None of the
bridal magazines carry articles on “How to Look Radiant Rather than Like You Want to Vomit”.
Another text has dinged into my phone, but this one is from Annalise.
Finally!!!! We’re on the move! Are you there already?
OK. Let’s focus on the here and now. The simple act of texting a reply makes me feel
more relaxed.
Just arrived.
An instant later she replies:
Argh! Going as quick as we can. Anyway, you’re supposed to be late. It’s good luck.
Have you still got your blue garter on?
Annalise was so obsessed by me wearing a blue garter that she brought along three
different choices this morning. I’m sorry, what are garters all about? To be frank, I could really
do without a length of tight elastic cutting off my leg circulation right now—but I promised her
faithfully I’d keep it on.
Of course! Even though my leg will probably fall off. Nice surprise for Magnus on the
wedding night.
I smile as I send the text. It’s cheering me up, having this stupid conversation. I put my
iPhone down, have a drink of water, and take a deep breath. OK. I’m feeling better. The iPhone
dings with a new text, and I pick it up to see what Annalise has replied—
But it’s from Sam Mobile.
For a few instants I can’t move. My stomach is moiling around as though I’m a teenager.
Oh God. This is pathetic. It’s mortifying. I see the word Sam and I go to pieces.
Half of me wants to ignore it. What do I care what he’s got to say? Why should I give
one iota of head space or time to him, when it’s my wedding day and I have other things to focus
on?
But I know I’ll never get through the wedding with an unopened text burning a hole in
my iPhone. I open it as calmly as I can, bearing in mind that my fingers can hardly
function—and it’s a one-word Sam special.
Hi.
Hi? What’s that supposed to mean, for God’s sake?
Well, I’m not going to be rude. I’ll text back a similarly effusive response.
Hi.
A moment later there’s another ding:
This a good time?
What?
Is he for real? Or is he being sarcastic? Or—
Then I realize. Of course. He thinks I canceled the wedding. He doesn’t know. He has no
idea.
And suddenly I see his text in a new light. He’s not making a point. He’s just saying hi.
I swallow hard, trying to work out what to put. Somehow I can’t bear to tell him what I’m
doing. Not straight out.
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.
“Oh my God! The traffic! I thought we wouldn’t make it.”
“Yes, but they couldn’t start without you, could they? It’s like planes.”
“They can, you know. They once took my luggage off the plane I was on, just because I
was trying these jeans on and I didn’t hear the announcement.”
“Is there a mirror? I’ve got to do my lip gloss again.”
“Poppy, we got you some biscuits—”
She doesn’t want biscuits! She’s got to be slim for her big moment!” Annalise swoops
down on me. “What’s happened to your veil? It’s all bunched up. And your dress is crooked! Let
me … ”
“All right, missus?” Ruby gives me a hug as Annalise tugs at my train. “Ready?”
“I … ” I feel dazed. “I guess so.”
“You look great.” Toby is crunching a digestive. “Much better. Hey, Felix wanted to say
a quick hello. Is that OK?”
“Oh, of course.”
I feel powerless, standing here with everyone milling around me. I can’t even physically
move, because Annalise is still adjusting my train. My iPhone beeps, and Reverend Fox gives me
a frosty smile.
“Better turn that off, don’t you think?”
“Can you imagine if it went off during the service?” Annalise giggles. “Do you want me
to hold it for you?”
She holds out her hand and I stare back at her, paralyzed. There’s a new text from Sam in
