I've Got Your Number

  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 should have known this would happen. I should have ignored Antony’s snarky comments and made Magnus rehearse the vows.

  “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 first 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 abou
t 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 sidemen 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 phone 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 back, 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 canapes or the three-course dinner or the first dance. Or even the last dance.