Текст книги "I've Got Your Number "

Автор книги: Sophie Kinsella

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

my in-box. His reply. Part of me is so desperate to read it, I almost can’t contain my hands.

        But another part is telling me to stop. Don’t go there. How can I read it now, as I’m about

to walk up the aisle? It’ll mess me up. I’m here at my wedding day, surrounded by friends and

family. This is my real life. Not some guy I’m connected to through the ether. It’s time to say

goodbye. It’s time to cut this thread.

        “Thanks, Annalise.” I turn the iPhone off and gaze at it for a moment as the light dies

away. There’s no one in there anymore. It’s just a dead, blank metal box.

        I hand it to Annalise and she thrusts it into her bra.

        “You’re holding your flowers too high.” She frowns at me. “You look really tense.”

        “I’m fine.” I avoid her gaze.

        “Hey, guess what?” Ruby comes rustling up in her dress. “I forgot to tell you: We’re

getting a celebrity patient! That businessman who’s been all over the news. Sir Nicholas

something?”

        “You mean Sir Nicholas Murray?” I say incredulously.

        “That’s the one.” She beams. “His assistant phoned up and booked a session with me!

Said I’d been recommended by someone whose opinion he regards very highly. Who on earth

d’you think that was?”

        “I’ve … I’ve no idea,” I manage.

        I’m so touched. And a bit freaked. Never in a million years did I think that Sir Nicholas

would take me up on my recommendation. How can I face him again? What if he mentions Sam?

What if—

        No. Stop it, Poppy. By the time I see Sir Nicholas again, I’ll be a married woman. The

whole bizarre little episode will be long forgotten. It’ll be fine.

        “I’ll alert the organist that we’re ready to go,” says Reverend Fox. “Take your places for

the procession, everyone.”

        Annalise and Ruby make their way to their places behind me. Tom and Toby are flanking

me, each with an arm loosely crooked in mine. There’s a knock at the door, and Felix’s owlish

face peers round.

        “Poppy, you look amazing.”

        “Thanks! Come in!”

        “Just thought I’d wish you luck.” He heads toward me, skirting my dress hem carefully

with his feet. “And say I’m so chuffed you’re joining the family. We all are. My parents think

you’re brilliant.”

        “Really?” I say, trying to hide my dubious tone. “Both your parents?”

        “Oh yes.” He nods fervently. “They love you. They were so gutted when they heard it

was all off.”

        “Off?’ echo four astonished voices, all at once.

        “Was the wedding off?” says Tom.

        “When was it off?” demands Annalise. “You never told us, Poppy! Why didn’t you tell

us?”

        Great. This is all I need, the third degree from my entire wedding party.

        “It was only temporary.” I try to downplay it. “You know. One of those last-minute

wedding-jitter things. Everyone has them.”

        “Mum gave Magnus such a hard time.” Felix’s eyes gleam behind his glasses. “She said

he was a fool and he’d never find anyone better than you.”

        “Really?” I can’t help feeling a glow.

        “Oh, she was livid.” Felix looks highly entertained. “She practically threw the ring at

him.”

        “She threw the emerald ring?” I say in astonishment. That ring is worth thousands. Surely

even Wanda wouldn’t start chucking it around the room.

        “No, the gold twisty ring. That ring.” He nods at my hand. “When she was getting it out

of her dressing table for Magnus. She threw it at him and cut his forehead.” He chuckles. “Not

badly, of course.”

        I stare at him, frozen. What did he just say? Wanda got the gold twisty ring out of her

dressing table?

         “I thought … ” I try to sound relaxed. “I thought Magnus bought it in Bruges.”

         Felix looks blank. “Oh no. It’s Mum’s. Was Mum’s.”

         “Right.” I lick my dry lips. “So, Felix, what happened exactly? Why did she give it to

him? I wish I’d been there!” I try to sound lighthearted. “Tell me the whole story.”

         “Well.” Felix screws up his eyes, as though trying to recall. “Mum told Magnus not to

bother trying to give you that emerald ring again. And she got out the gold ring and said she

couldn’t wait to have you as a daughter-in-law. Then Dad said, ‘Why are you bothering? It’s

obvious Magnus doesn’t have the sticking power for a marriage,’ and Magnus got in a fury with

him and said, yes, he does, and Dad said, ‘Look at the Birmingham job,’ and they had this

massive argument like they always do and then … we got a takeaway supper.” He blinks. “That

was pretty much it.”

         Behind me, Annalise is leaning forward to listen. “So that’s why you switched rings. I

knew you weren’t allergic to emeralds.”

         This is Wanda’s ring. Magnus didn’t buy it especially for me at all. As I stare at my hand,

I feel a bit sick. Then something else occurs to me.

         “What Birmingham job?”

         “You know. The one he quit. Dad always gives Magnus a hard time for being a quitter.

Sorry, I thought you knew.” Felix is eyeing me curiously as loud organ chords from above make

us all jump. “Oh, we’re starting. I’d better beetle off. See you in there!”

         “Yes, OK.” Somehow I manage to nod. But I feel as though I’m on another planet. I need

to digest all this.

         “Ready?” Reverend Fox is at the door, beckoning us out. As we arrive at the back of the

church, I can’t help gasping. It’s filled with spectacular flower arrangements, and rows of people

in hats, and a crackling air of expectation. I can just glimpse the back of Magnus’s head, right at

the front.

         Magnus. The thought makes my stomach turn over. I can’t—I need time to think—

         But I don’t have any time. The organ piece is gathering momentum. The choir suddenly

crashes in with a triumphant chord. The Reverend Fox has already disappeared up the aisle. The

fairground ride has begun, and I’m on it.

         “All right?” Toby grins across at Tom. “Don’t trip her up, Bigfoot.”

         And we’re off. We’re moving up the aisle, and people are smiling at me, and I’m aiming

for a serene, happy gaze, but, inside, my thoughts are about as serene as the particles whizzing

about in CERN.

         It doesn’t matter… . it’s only a ring… . I’m overreacting… . But he lied to me… .

         Oh, wow, look at Wanda’s hat… .

         God this music is amazing, Lucinda was right to get the choir …

         What job in Birmingham? Why did he never tell me about that?

         Am I gliding? Shit. OK, that’s better… .

         Come on, Poppy. Let’s get some perspective. You have a great relationship with Magnus.

Whether he bought you the ring himself or not is irrelevant. Some ancient job in Birmingham is

irrelevant. And as for Sam—

         No. Forget Sam. This is reality. This is my wedding. It’s my wedding, and I can’t even

focus on it properly. What’s wrong with me?

         I’m going to do it. I can do it. Yes. Yes. Bring it on… .

         Why the hell does Magnus look so sweaty?

         As I arrive at the altar, all other thoughts are temporarily overcome by this last one. I

can’t help gaping at him in dismay. He looks terrible. If I look like I’m sick, then he looks like

he’s got malaria.

         “Hi.” He gives me a weedy smile. “You look lovely.”

         “Are you OK?” I whisper as I hand my bouquet to Ruby.

         “Why wouldn’t I be OK?” he retorts defensively.

         That doesn’t seem quite the right answer, but I can’t exactly challenge him on it.

         The music has stopped, and Reverend Fox is addressing the congregation with an

ebullient beam. He looks as though he absolutely loves taking weddings.

         “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here in the sight of God … ”

         As I hear the familiar words echoing around the church, I start to relax. OK. Here we go.

This is what it’s all about. This is what I’ve been looking forward to. The pledges. The vows.

The ancient, magical words which have been repeated under this roof so many times, for

generations and generations.

         So maybe we’ve had some blips and jitters in the run-up to our wedding. What couple

doesn’t? But if we can just focus on our vows, if we can just make them special …

         “Magnus.” Reverend Fox turns to Magnus, and there’s a rustle of anticipation in the

congregation. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s

ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her,

in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both

shall live?”

         Magnus has a slightly glazed look in his eye, and he’s breathing heavily. He looks as

though he’s psyching himself up for the hundred-meter Olympic final.

         “Magnus?” prompts Reverend Fox.

         “OK,” he says, almost to himself. “OK. Here goes. I can do this.” He takes an almighty

deep breath and, in a loud, dramatic voice which rises to the ceiling, announces proudly: “I do.”

         I do?

         I do?

         Wasn’t he listening?

         “Magnus,” I whisper with a meaningful edge. “It’s not ‘I do.’ ”

         Magnus peers at me, clearly baffled. “Of course it’s ‘I do.’ ”

         I feel a surge of irritation. He wasn’t listening to a single word. He just said “I do’

because it’s what they say in American films. I knew we should have rehearsed our vows. I

should have ignored Antony’s snarky comments and made Magnus run through them.

         “It’s not ‘I do,’ it’s ‘I will’!” I’m trying not to sound as upset as I feel. “Didn’t you listen

to the question? ‘Wilt thou.’ ‘Wilt thou.’ ”

         “Oh.” Magnus’s brow clears in understanding. “I get it. Sorry. I will, then. Although it

hardly matters, surely,” he adds with a shrug.

         What?

         “Shall we resume?” Reverend Fox is saying hurriedly. “Poppy.” He beams at me. “Wilt

thou take this man to thy wedded husband … ”

         I’m sorry. I can’t let that go.

         “Sorry, Reverend Fox.” I lift a hand. “One more thing. Sorry.” For good measure, I

swivel round to the congregation. “I just need to clear up a tiny point. I won’t be a moment.” I

turn back to Magnus and say in a furious undertone, “What do you mean, ‘it hardly matters’? Of

course it matters! It’s a question. You’re supposed to answer it.”

         “Sweets, I think that’s taking it a little literally.” Magnus is looking distinctly

uncomfortable. “Can we crack on?”

         “No, we cannot crack on! It’s a literal question! Wilt thou take me? A question. What do

you think it is?”

         “Well.” Magnus shrugs again. “You know. A symbol.”

         It’s as though he’s lit my fuse paper. How can he say that? He knows how important the

vows are to me.

         “Not everything in life is a bloody symbol!” I explode. “It’s a real, proper question, and

you didn’t answer it properly! Don’t you mean anything you’re saying here?”

         “For God’s sake, Poppy.” Magnus lowers his voice. “Is this really the time?”

         What’s he suggesting, that we say the vows and then discuss whether we meant them or

not afterward?

         OK, so perhaps we should have discussed our vows before we were standing at the altar.

I can see that now. If I could go back in time, I’d do it differently. But I can’t. It’s now or never.

And, in my defense, Magnus knew what the wedding vows were, didn’t he? I mean, I haven’t

exactly sprung them on him, have I? They’re not exactly a secret, are they?

         “Yes, it is!” My voice rises with agitation. “This would be the time! Right now would be

the time!” I swing round to face the congregation, who all gaze at me, agog. “Hands up: Who

thinks that, at a wedding, the groom should mean his vows?”

         There’s absolute silence. Then, to my astonishment, Antony slowly raises his hand into

the air, followed by Wanda, looking sheepish. Seeing them, Annalise and Ruby shoot their hands

up. Within about thirty seconds, all the pews are full of waving hands. Tom and Toby each have

both hands up, and so have my aunt and uncle.

         Reverend Fox looks utterly flummoxed by events.

         “I do mean them,” says Magnus, but he sounds so lame and unconvincing, even

Reverend Fox winces.

         “Really?” I turn to him. “Forsaking all others? In sickness and in health? Till death us do

part? You’re absolutely sure about that, are you? Or did you just want to prove to everyone that

you can go through with a wedding?”

         And although I wasn’t planning to say that, as soon as the words are out of my mouth,

they feel true.

         That’s what this is. Everything falls into place. His belligerent speech this morning. His

sweaty forehead. Even his proposal. No wonder he waited only a month. This was never about

him and me, it was about proving a point. Maybe this is all about his father calling him a quitter.

Or his zillion previous proposals. God knows. But the whole thing has been wrong from the start.

It’s been back to front. And I believed in it because I wanted to.

         I can suddenly feel the pressing of tears behind my eyes. But I refuse to crumble.

         “Magnus,” I say more gently. “Listen. There’s no point doing this. Don’t marry me just

to prove you’re not a quitter. Because you will quit, sooner or later. Whatever your intentions

are. It’ll happen.”

         “Rubbish,” he says fiercely.

         “You will. You don’t love me enough for the long haul.”

         “Yes, I do!”

         “You don’t, Magnus,” I say, almost wearily. “I don’t light up your life like I should. And

you don’t light up mine.” I pause. “Not enough. Not enough for forever.”

         “Really?” Magnus looks shocked. “I don’t?” I can see that I’ve pricked his vanity.

         “No. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, Poppy,” he says, clearly in a huff. “If that’s the way you

feel—”

        “But it’s the way you feel too!” I exclaim. “Be honest! Magnus, you and I, we’re not

destined to be together forever. We’re not the main event. I think we’re … ” I screw up my face,

trying to think of a way to put it. “I think we’re each other’s footnotes.”

        There’s silence. Magnus looks as though he wants to find a riposte but can’t. I touch his

hand, then turn to the vicar. “Reverend Fox, I’m sorry. We’ve wasted your time. I think we

should probably call it a day.”

        “I see,” says Reverend Fox. “Goodness. I see.” He mops his head with his handkerchief,

looking flustered. “Are you sure … Perhaps a five-minute chat in the vestry … ”

        “I don’t think that’ll fix it,” I say gently. “I think we’re done. Don’t you, Magnus?”

        “If you say so.” Magnus looks genuinely gutted, and for a moment I wonder—

        No. There’s no doubt. I’m doing the right thing.

        “Well … what shall we do now?” I say hesitantly. “Shall we still have the reception?”

        Magnus looks uncertain—then nods. “Might as well. We’ve paid for it.”

        I step down from the altar, then pause. OK, this is awkward. We didn’t rehearse this. The

congregation is all watching, agog, to see what happens next.

        “So … um … should I …” I turn to Magnus. “I mean, we can’t exactly walk down the

aisle together.”

        “You go first.” He shrugs. “Then I’ll go.”

        Reverend Fox is signaling at the organist, who suddenly starts playing the bridal march.

        “No!” I squeak in horror. “No music! Please!”

        “So sorry!” Reverend Fox makes hasty cut-it gestures. “I was trying to signal Don’t play.

Mrs. Fortescue is a little deaf, I’m afraid. She may not have followed exactly what’s been going

on.”

        This is such a shambles. I don’t even know whether to hold my flowers or not. In the end,

I grab them from Ruby, who gives me a sympathetic squeeze on the arm, while Annalise

whispers, “Are you insane?”

        The music has finally petered out, so I start making my way back down the aisle in

silence, avoiding everyone’s eyes and prickling all over with self-consciousness. Oh God, this is

hideous. There should be an exit strategy for this eventuality. There should be an option in the

Book of Common Prayer: Procession for Ye Bride Who Chang-ed Her Minde.

        No one’s talking as I make my way along the stone aisle. Everyone’s watching me,

riveted. But I’m aware of phones being turned on, from the cacophony of bleepy noises up and

down the pews. Great. I expect there’ll be a race to see who can post it on Facebook.

        Suddenly a woman at the end of a pew thrusts a hand out in front of me. She’s got a big

pink hat on, and I have absolutely no idea who she is.

        “Stop!”

        “Me?” I come to a halt and look at her.

        “Yes, you.” She looks a bit flustered. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got a message for

you.”

        “For me?” I say, puzzled. “But I don’t even know you.”

        “That’s what’s so odd.” She flushes. “Sorry, I should introduce myself. I’m Magnus’s

godmother, Margaret. I don’t know many people here. But a text arrived in my phone during the

service, from someone called Sam Roxton. At least … it’s not for you, it’s about you. It says: If

you happen to be at the wedding of Poppy Wyatt—”

         There’s a loud gasp behind her. “I’ve got that message too!” a girl exclaims. “Exactly the

same! If you happen to be at the wedding of Poppy Wyatt—”

         “Me too! Same here!” Voices start chiming in around the church. “I’ve just got it! If you

happen to be at the wedding of Poppy Wyatt …”

         I’m too bewildered to speak. What’s going on? Has Sam been texting the wedding

guests? More and more hands are flying up; more and more phones are bleeping; more and more

people are exclaiming.

         Has he texted everyone at the wedding?

         “Have we all got the same text?” Margaret looks around the congregation in disbelief.

“All right, let’s see. If you’ve got the message in your phone, read it out. I’ll count us in. One,

two, three: If you happen …”

         As the rumble of voices starts, I feel faint. This can’t be real. There’s a crowd of two

hundred people at this wedding, and most are joining in, reading aloud from their phones in

unison. As the words echo round the church, it sounds like a mass prayer or a football chant or

something.

         “ … to be at the wedding of Poppy Wyatt, I’d like to ask a favor. Stop it. Stop her. Hold

it off. Delay it. She’s doing the wrong thing. At least get her to think about it.”

         I’m transfixed in the aisle, clutching my bouquet, my heart thudding. I can’t believe he’s

done this. I can’t believe it. Where did he get all the phone numbers from? Lucinda?

         “Let me tell you why. As a clever man once said: A treasure such as this should not be

left in the hands of Philistines. And Poppy is a treasure, though she doesn’t realize it.”

         I can’t help glancing over at Antony, who is holding his phone and has raised his

eyebrows very high.

         “There isn’t time to talk or discuss or be reasonable. Which is why I’m taking this

extreme measure. And I hope you will too. Anything you can do. Anything you can say. The

wedding is wrong. Thank you.”

         As the reading comes to an end, everyone seems slightly shell-shocked.

         “What the fuck—” Magnus is striding down from the altar. “Who was that?”

         I can’t answer. Sam’s words are going round and round my head. I want to grab

someone’s phone and read them through again.

         “I’m going to reply!” exclaims Margaret. “Who’s this?” she says aloud as she taps at her

phone. “Are you her lover?” She presses send with a dramatic flourish, and there’s a rapt silence

in the church, till her phone suddenly bleeps. “He’s answered!” She pauses for effect, then reads

out: “Lover? I don’t know. I don’t know if she loves me. I don’t know if I love her.”

         Deep down inside, I feel a crushing disappointment. Of course he doesn’t love me. He

just thinks I shouldn’t marry Magnus. He’s just putting right what he sees as a wrong. That’s a

totally different thing. It doesn’t mean he has any feelings for me whatsoever. Let alone—

         “All I can say is, she’s the one I think about.” Margaret pauses, and her voice softens as

she reads. “All the time. She’s the voice I want to hear. She’s the face I hope to see.”

         My throat is full of lumps. I’m swallowing desperately, trying to keep my composure.

He’s the one I think about. All the time. He’s the voice I want to hear. When my phone bleeps, I

hope it’s him.

         “Who is he?” Magnus sounds incredulous.

         “Yes, who is he?” pipes up Annalise from beside the altar, and there’s a ripple of laughter

around the church.

         “He’s just … a guy. I found his phone… .” I trail off helplessly.

        I can’t even begin to describe who Sam is and what we’ve been to each other.

        Margaret’s phone bleeps again, and the hubbub dies down to an expectant hush. “It’s

from him,” she says.

        “What does he say?” I can hardly trust my voice.

        The church is so silent and still, I can almost hear my own heart beating.

        “It says, And I’ll be standing outside the church. Warn her.”

        He’s here.

        I don’t even realize I’m running until one of the sidesmen backs out of my way, looking

alarmed. The heavy church door is closed, and it takes about five tugs before I manage to wrench

it open. I burst out and stand on the step, panting hard, looking up and down the pavement,

searching for his face …

        There he is. On the other side of the road. He’s standing in the doorway of a Starbucks, in

jeans and a dark-blue shirt. As he meets my gaze, his eyes crinkle, but he doesn’t smile. He

keeps looking at my hands. His eyes have a huge question burning in them.

        Doesn’t he know? Can’t he tell the answer?

        “Is that him?” breathes Annalise beside me. “Dreamy. Can I have Magnus?”

        “Annalise, give me my phone,” I say, without taking my eyes off Sam.

        “Here you go.” A moment later the iPhone is in my hand, lit up and ready to go, and I’m

sending him a text.

        Hi.

        He texts something back, and a moment later it arrives.

        Nice outfit.

        Involuntarily, I glance down at my wedding dress.

        This old thing.

        There’s a long silence—and then I see Sam typing a new message. His head is bowed and

he doesn’t look up, even when he’s finished, even when the text arrives in my phone.

        So are you married?

        I carefully line up my phone and take a picture of my bare left finger.

        Sam Mobile.

        Send.

        A crowd of wedding guests is jostling behind me to see, but I don’t move my head an

inch. My eyes are glued on Sam, so that I see the reaction on his face as the text arrives. I see his

brow relax; I see his face expand into the most brilliant, joyous smile. And finally he looks up at

me.

        I could go to bed in that smile.

        Now he’s texting again.

        Want a cup of coffee?

        “Poppy.” A voice in my ear interrupts me, and I turn to see Wanda peering anxiously at

me from under her hat, which looks like a massive dead moth. “Poppy, I’m sorry. I acted

dishonorably and selfishly.”

        “What do you mean?” I say, momentarily confused.

        “The second ring. I told Magnus … At least, I suggested that he might—” Wanda breaks

off, wincing.

        “I know. You told Magnus to pretend he’d chosen the ring for me especially, didn’t

you?” I touch her arm. “Wanda, I appreciate it. But you’d better have this one back too.” I pull

the twisty gold ring off my right hand and give it to her.

        “I would have loved you to join our family,” she says wistfully. “But that shouldn’t have

clouded my judgment. It was wrong of me.” Her gaze drifts across the road to Sam. “He’s the

one, isn’t he?”

        I nod, and her face softens like a crumpled rose petal being released.

        “Go on, then. Go.”

        And without waiting a beat longer, I walk down the steps, across the road, dodging the

cars, ignoring the hooting horns, tearing off my veil, until I’m a foot away from Sam. For a

moment we just stand there, facing each other, breathing hard.

        “So you’ve been sending a few texts,” I say at last.

        “A couple.” Sam nods.

        “Interesting.” I nod back. “Did Lucinda help out?”

        “She turned out to be pretty keen to derail the wedding,” Sam says, looking amused.

        “But I don’t understand. How did you even find her?”

        “She has a pretty fancy website.” Sam smiles wryly. “I called her mobile and she was

only too eager to help. In fact, she sent the text for me. Didn’t you know that you have some

state-of-the-art automatic mechanism to contact all the guests?”

        Lucinda’s text-alert system. It finally came in useful.

        I shift my bouquet to the other hand. I never realized how heavy flowers were.

        “That’s a pretty fancy outfit for Starbucks.” Sam is eyeing me up and down.

        “I always wear a wedding dress for coffee dates. I think it adds a nice touch, don’t you?”

        I glance back at the church and can’t help giggling. The entire congregation seems to

have spilled out of the church and is standing on the pavement like an audience.

        “What are they waiting to see?” Sam follows my gaze, and I shrug.

        “Who knows? You could always do a dance. Or tell a joke. Or … kiss the bride?”

        “Not the bride.” He wraps his arms around me and gradually pulls me close. Our noses

are practically touching. I can see right into his eyes. I can feel the warmth of his skin. “You.”

        “Me.”

        “The girl who stole my phone.” His lips brush against the corner of my mouth. “The

thief.”

        “It was in a bin.”

        “Still stealing.”

        “No, it isn’t—” I begin, but now his mouth is firmly on mine and I can’t speak at all.

        And suddenly life is good.

        I know that things are still uncertain; I know that reality hasn’t gone away. There’ll be

explanations and recriminations and messiness. But right now I’m entwined with a man I think I

might love. And I haven’t married the man I know I don’t love. And from where I’m looking,

that’s pretty good going, for now.

        At last we draw away from each other, and across the road I can hear Annalise whooping

in appreciation. Which is pretty tacky of her, but that’s just Annalise.

        “I brought you some reading matter, by the way,” Sam says. “In case there was a dull

moment.”

        He reaches inside his jacket and produces a bundle of coffee-stained A4 papers. And as I

see them, there’s a thickening in my chest. He kept them. Even after we parted so badly. He kept

our texts.

        “Any good?” I manage a nonchalant tone.

        “Not bad.” He flips through them, then lifts his head. “Looking forward to the sequel.”

         “Really?” And now the way he’s looking at me is making me tingle all over. “So, do you

know what happens next?”

         “Oh … I have a fair idea.” He trails his fingers down my neck, and I feel an instant bolt

of lust. I am totally ready for my honeymoon night.109 I don’t need the champagne or the

canapés or the three-course dinner or the first dance. Or even the last dance.

         But, on the other hand, there’s the small matter of two hundred people standing across the

street, watching me, as though waiting for instructions. Some of them have traveled for miles. I

can’t bail out on them.

         “So … we’ve got this party,” I say tentatively to Sam. “It’s, like, all my friends and

family, all at once, in a really intimidating bunch, plus all the friends and family of the guy I was

supposed to marry today. And sugared almonds. You want to come?”

         Sam raises his eyebrows. “You think Magnus will shoot me?”

         “Dunno.” I squint at Magnus across the road. He’s standing there, along with everyone

else, watching us. But as far as I can tell, he doesn’t look too homicidal.110 “I don’t think so.

Shall I send him a text and ask him?”

         “If you like.” Sam shrugs, taking out his own phone.

         Magnus. This guy I’m standing with is Sam. I know this isn’t exactly usual—but can I

bring him to our wedding reception? Poppy xxx

         PS—why don’t you bring a guest too??

         A moment later I get a response.

         If you must. Mag

         Which isn’t exactly enthusiastic but doesn’t sound like he’s planning to shoot anyone

either.111

         I’m about to put my phone away when it bleeps again, and I stare in surprise. It’s a text

from Sam. He must have just sent it a few seconds ago. Without looking at him, I open it to see:

         <3

         It’s a heart. He sent me a love heart. Without even saying anything. Like a little secret.

         My eyes feel hot, but somehow I manage to stay calm as I type my reply:

         Me too.

         I want to add more … but, no. More can come later.

         I press send then look up with a bright smile, take Sam by the arm, and draw up my train

out of the dusty pavement.

         “So. Come on, then. Let’s hit my wedding.”

         THE END