Chapter 5
I won! I won the Scrabble game!
Everyone was gobsmacked. They pretended not to be—but they were.
The raised eyebrows and astonished glances became more frequent and less guarded as the game went on.
When I got that triple word score with saxatile, Felix actually broke out into applause and said, “Bravo!” And as we were tidying the kitchen afterward, Wanda asked me if I’d ever thought of studying linguistics.
My name was entered in the family Scrabble book, Antony offered me the “winner’s glass of port,” and everyone clapped. It was such a sweet moment.
And, yes, of course I feel guilty. Halfway through, I felt even worse when I texted Sam in admiration, How do you know all these words? and he replied, I don’t. The Internet does.
The Internet?
For a moment I felt too shocked to reply. I thought he was thinking of the words, not finding them on Scrabble or whatever.
That’s CHEATING!!!! I typed.
You already crossed that line, he texted back. What’s the difference? And then he added, Flattered you thought I was a genius.
Then, of course, I felt really stupid.
And he had a point. Once you’ve started cheating, does it matter what your methods are?
I know I’m storing up problems for the future. I know Sam Roxton won’t always be on the end of my phone to feed me words. I know I couldn’t possibly repeat the feat. Which is why I’m planning to retire from family Scrabble, as of tomorrow. It was a short, brilliant career. And now it’s over.
The only person who wasn’t entirely fulsome in his praise was Magnus, which was a bit surprising.
I mean, he said, “Well done,” along with everyone else—but he didn’t give me a special hug or even ask me how come I knew all those words.
And when Wanda said, “Magnus, you didn’t tell us Poppy was so talented!
” he flashed her this quick smile and said, “I told you, Poppy’s brilliant at everything.
” Which was nice—but kind of meaningless too.
The thing is…he came in second.
He can’t be jealous of me, surely?
It’s about eleven now, and we’re back in my flat.
I’m half-tempted to go and talk to Magnus about it, but he’s disappeared off to do some preparation for a lecture on Symbols and Symbolic Thought in Dante[*44] which he’s giving tomorrow.
So instead I curl up on the sofa and forward some emails which came in earlier for Sam.
After a few I can’t help clicking my tongue with frustration.
Half these emails are reminders and chasers.
He still hasn’t replied about the conference accommodation at Chiddingford Hotel, or the Fun Run, or the dentist. Or the new James I can’t help it. This time I put: Do you realize how toxic YOU are, Willow the Witch?
And then deleted it. Naturally.
The most frustrating thing is that I never get to see Sam’s replies.
There’s no back-and-forth correspondence; she always starts a fresh email.
Sometimes they’re friendly—like yesterday she sent one that just said, You’re a really, really special man, you know that, Sam?
Which was quite sweet. But nine out of ten are whinging. I can’t help feeling sorry for him.
Anyway. His life. His fiancée. Whatever.
“Sweetheart!” Magnus comes into the room, interrupting my thoughts.
“Oh, hi!” I quickly press off. “Finished your work?”
“Don’t let me disturb you.” He nods at the phone. “Chatting to the girls?”
I give a noncommittal smile and slip the phone into my pocket.
I know, I know, I know. This is bad. Keeping a secret from Magnus.
Not telling him about the ring or the phone or any of it.
But how can I start now? Where would I begin?
And maybe I’d regret it. What if I confess all and cause a huge rift and half an hour later the ring turns up and I needn’t have said anything?
“You know me!” I say at last, and give a little laugh. “What did you talk to your parents about tonight?” I quickly move on to the subject I really want to find out about—i.e., what do his parents think of me and have they changed their mind?
“Oh, my parents.” He makes an impatient gesture and sinks down on the sofa. He’s tapping his fingers on the arm, and his eyes are distant.
“You OK?” I say cautiously.
“I’m great.” He turns to me and the clouds fall away from his eyes. Suddenly he’s focused. “Remember when we first met?”
“Yes.” I smile back. “Of course I do.”
He starts stroking my leg. “I arrived at that place expecting the battle-ax. But there you were.”
I wish he wouldn’t always call Ruby a battle-ax. She’s not. She’s gorgeous and lovely and sexy; her arms are just a teeny bit meaty. But I hide my squirm of irritation and keep smiling.
“You were like an angel in that white uniform. I’ve never seen anything more sexy in my life.” His hand is moving farther up my leg with intent. “I wanted you, right there, right then.”
Magnus loves telling this story, and I love hearing it.
“And I wanted you.” I lean over and gently bite his earlobe. “The minute I saw you.”
“I know you did. I could tell.” He pulls my top aside and starts to nuzzle my bare shoulder.
“Hey, Poppy, let’s get back into that room one day,” he whispers.
“That’s the best sex I’ve ever had. You, in that white uniform, up on that couch, with that massage oil…
Jesus…”[*46] He starts tugging at my skirt and we both tumble off the sofa onto the carpet.
And as my phone bleeps with another text, I barely notice.
—