“Sure.” I smile, even though there’s a little wrenching in my stomach. “Have it. It’s just a phone.”
“As for your messages, contacts, all the rest of it … ” Marco exchanges doubtful looks with Ted. “What are we going to do about that?”
“I need my messages.” I’m alarmed at how shaky my voice is. I feel almost violated. But there’s nothing I can do. It would be unreasonable and unhelpful to refuse.
“We could print them out.” Ted brightens. “How’s that? We print everything out for you, then you’ve got a record.”
“Some of them are my messages,” points out Sam.
“Yes, some are his.” I nod.
“What?” Marco looks from me to Sam. “Sorry, I’m confused. Whose phone is this?”
“It’s his phone, really, but I’ve been using it—”
“We’ve both been using it,” explains Sam. “Jointly. Sharing.”
“Sharing?” Marco and Ted both seem so appalled, I almost want to giggle.
“I’ve never come across anyone sharing a phone before,” says Marco flatly. “That’s sick.”
“Me neither.” Ted shudders. “I wouldn’t even share a phone with my girlfriend.”
“So … how did that work out for you?” says Marco, looking curiously from Sam to me.
“It had its moments,” says Sam, raising his eyebrows.
“There were definitely some moments.” I nod again. “But, actually, I recommend it.”
“Me too. Everyone should try it at least once.” Sam grins at me, and I can’t helping smiling back.
“O-kay.” Marco sounds as though he’s realized he’s dealing with a pair of nutters. “Well, we’ll get to it. Come on, Ted.”
“How long will you be?” asks Sam, and Ted wrinkles his face.
“Could be a while. An hour?”
They disappear out of Sam’s office, and he closes the door. For a minute we just look at each other, and I notice a tiny nick on his cheek. He didn’t have that last night.
Last night. In an instant I’m transported back to the forest. I’m standing in the dark, with the smell of the peaty ground in my nostrils, with woodland sounds in my ears, with his arms wrapped around me, with his mouth—
No. Stop it, Poppy. Don’t go there. Don’t remember, or wonder, or …
“What a day,” I say at last, groping for some nice bland words.
“You said it.” Sam ushers me to the sofa and I sit down awkwardly, feeling like someone who’s doing a job interview. “So. Now that we’re alone—how are you doing? What about the other stuff?”
“Nothing much to report.” I give a deliberately careless shrug. “Oh, except I’m calling my wedding off.”
As I say the words aloud, I feel slightly sick. How many times am I going to have to utter those words? How many times am I going to have to explain myself? How am I going to cope over the next few days?
Sam nods, wincing. “OK. That’s pretty grim.”
“Not brilliant.”
“You speak to him?”
“Wanda. I went to see her at her house. I said, ‘Wanda, do you really think I’m inferior, or is this just in my mind?’ ”
“You didn’t!” exclaims Sam, looking delighted.
“Word for word.” I can’t help laughing at his expression, even though I half-want to cry too. “You would have been proud of me.”
“Go, Poppy!” He lifts a hand to high-five me. “I know that took guts. And what was the answer?”
“It was all in my head,” I admit. “She’s actually quite a sweetie. Shame about her son.”
There’s silence for a while. I feel so surreal. The wedding’s off. I’ve said it aloud, so it must be true. But it feels about as real as Aliens have invaded.
“What are your plans now?” Sam meets my gaze, and I think I can see another question in his eyes. A question about him and me.
“Dunno,” I say after a pause.
I’m trying to answer his question silently—but I don’t know if my eyes are doing their job. I don’t know if Sam can understand. After a moment I can’t bear looking at him any longer and quickly lower my head. “Take things slowly, I guess. There’ll be a lot of crap to deal with.”
“I’m sure.” He hesitates. “Coffee?”
I’ve had so much coffee today I’m like a jumping bean, but, on the other hand, I can’t stand this heightened atmosphere. I can’t gauge anything. I can’t read Sam. I don’t know what I expect or want. We’re two people who were briefly thrown together by chance and are now conducting a business transaction. That’s all.