“Right. Thanks.” I leaf through the papers.
“Then there’s this third pile.” Ted wrinkles his brow as though in puzzlement. “We weren’t sure what to do about this. It’s … it’s both of yours.”
“What do you mean?” Sam looks up.
“It’s your correspondence to each other. All the texts and emails and whatnot that you sent backward and forward. In chronological order.” Ted shrugs. “I don’t know which of you wants it or whether we should chuck them—are they important at all?”
He puts the pile of papers down, and I stare at the top sheet in disbelief. It’s a grainy photograph of me in a mirror, holding the phone and making the Brownie sign. I’d forgotten I ever did that. I turn to the next page to find a single printed text from Sam:
I could send this to the police and have you arrested.
Then, on the following page, is my answer:
I really, really appreciate it. Thx
That feels like a million years ago now. When Sam was just a stranger at the other end of a phone line. When I’d never met him, had no idea what he was like.… I sense a movement at my shoulder. Sam has come over to look too.
“Strange, seeing it all printed out,” he says.
“I know.” I nod.
I come to a picture of manky teeth and we simultaneously snort with laughter.
“Quite a few pictures of teeth, aren’t there?” says Ted, eyeing us curiously. “We wondered what that was all about. In dental care, are you, Poppy?”
“Not exactly.” I leaf through the pages, mesmerized. It’s everything we said to each other. Page after page of messages, back and forth, like a book of the last few days.
WHAIZLED. Use the D from OUTSTEPPED. Triple word score, plus 50-point bonus.
Have u booked dentist yet? U will get manky teeth!!!
What are you doing up so late?
My life ends tomorrow.
I can see how that might keep you up. Why does it end?
Your tie’s crooked.
I didn’t know your name was on my invitation.
Just stopped by to collect your goody bag for you. All part of the service. No need to thank me.
How did Vicks react?
As I reach the texts from last night, I catch my breath. Seeing those words, it’s as though I’m back there.
I don’t dare look at Sam or give away any hint of emotion, so I calmly leaf through as though I’m really not bothered, catching just the odd text here and there.
Anyone know you’re texting me?
Don’t think so. Yet.
My new rule for life. Don’t go into spooky dark woods on your own.
You’re not on your own.
I’m glad it was your phone I picked up.
So am I.
Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
You’re nowhere near.
Yes I am. Coming.
And suddenly there’s a lump in my throat. Enough. Stop. I slap the papers back on the pile and look up with a lighthearted smile.
“Wow!”
Ted shrugs. “Yeah, well, like I say, we didn’t know what to do with them.”
“We’ll sort it,” says Sam. “Thanks, Ted.”
His face is impassive. I have no idea if he felt anything, reading those texts.
“So we can do what we like with the phone, yeah?” says Ted.
“No problem.” Sam nods. “Cheers, Ted.”
As Ted disappears, Sam heads over to the Nespresso again and starts making a new cup.
“Come on, let me make you a coffee. I’ve worked it out now.”
“Really, I’m fine,” I begin, but the frother starts emitting hot milk with such a loud hissing, there’s no point even trying to speak.
“Here you go.” He hands me a cup.
“Thanks.”
“So … you want these?” He gestures at the pile of papers.
I feel a kind of heat rising from my feet, and I take a sip of coffee, playing for time. The phone’s gone. These printouts are the only record of that weird and wonderful time. Of course I want them.
But for some reason I can’t admit that to Sam.
“I’m easy.” I try to sound nonchalant. “You want them?”
Sam says nothing, just shrugs.
“I mean, I don’t need them for anything … ”
“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s all pretty inconsequential stuff… .” His phone bleeps with a text, and he pulls it out of his pocket. He scans the screen, then scowls. “Oh Jesus. Oh bloody hell. This is all I need.”
“What’s wrong?” I say in alarm. “Is it about the voice mails?”
“It’s not that.” He regards me from under lowered brows. “What the hell did you send to Willow?”
“What?” I stare at him, bewildered.
“She’s on the warpath about some email from you. Why the hell were you emailing Willow, anyway?”
“I wasn’t!” I stare at him, perplexed. “I would never email her! I don’t even know her!”
“Well, that’s not what she says—” He breaks off as his phone bleeps again. “OK. Here we are … Recognize that?” He passes it to me and I start reading.
FFS, Willow the Witch, can’t you LEAVE SAM ALONE AND STOP WRITING IN OBNOXIOUS CAPITALS? And just FYI: You are not Sam’s girlfriend. So who cares what he was doing with some “cutesy” girl last night? Why don’t you get a life?????
A cold feeling is creeping over me.
OK. Maybe I did type something like that this morning, while I was on the tube to Sam’s office. Just out of irritation at yet another rant from Willow. Just to vent a little. But I didn’t send it. I mean, of course I didn’t send it. I would never, ever have sent it.