Chapter 12
12
POPPY
‘Oh, you are just the sweetest, most beautiful kitty in the world.’ Evie is lying on the floor petting an indifferent Saffron.
‘Please don’t tell her that,’ I say dryly. ‘She already has an ego the size of Buckingham Palace.’
‘But she’s so pretty! Aren’t you just the prettiest?’ she coos.
Saffron stares at me as if to say, ‘See? I’m irresistible.’
‘Evie always wanted a cat,’ says Olivia, ‘but Mummy said no so often…’
‘I eventually stopped asking,’ says Evie, finishing her sister’s sentence. They’re best friends as well as sisters and sometimes, it’s like they share one brain.
‘So,’ says Tristan, who has endured a good fifteen minutes of three women talking outfits (mine) and hairstyles (Olivia’s latest) and shoes (Evie’s), ‘you had something you wanted to discuss with us?’
Evie sits up and crosses her legs, then reaches for her glass of wine. ‘You go, Liv,’ she says to Olivia.
‘Which topic?’ asks Olivia.
‘Surrendered pets, obvs. Not the other thing,’ she replies, an edge to her voice.
I know right away from how quickly she shut her sister down that the ‘other thing’ is Tyler. Hopefully, we can circle back to him and his alleged wrongdoings later, just us girls.
Olivia regards her sister for a moment, her lips pursed, before turning to me and Tristan with a smile.
‘We have a proposal. It’s about the money you set aside from Grandad’s inheritance.’
She’s referring to the sum that Tristan earmarked for a charitable endeavour. I look over and meet his eye, and I can tell he’s thrumming with excitement.
‘Actually,’ he says to them, ‘I’m glad you’ve brought that up. I did write a cheque for the Avian Wildlife Trust of the Hebrides,’ he adds, referring to his grandfather’s favourite charity, ‘but I’ve yet to put proper thought into anything else. What did you have in mind?’
Now the sisters exchange a look, with Evie sitting up even straighter and nodding encouragingly at Olivia.
‘Well, as you probably know,’ says Olivia, ‘many families who adopted pets during the pandemic are now finding it difficult to keep them.’
‘They’ve had to go back into work and school and the pets aren’t coping being alone all day. And many people are finding pet ownership too expensive to sustain,’ says Evie.
‘This means shelters across Greater London – and the UK – are overrun with surrendered cats and dogs,’ Olivia continues.
‘Oh, are you thinking of opening a shelter?’ asks Tristan.
‘Well, at first we were, yes,’ answers Olivia.
‘But then we realised there’s something else we can do, something that will have greater impact,’ says Evie.
‘Precisely. What we’re proposing is to create a sort of scholarship programme, but for pet owners in need. If they’re struggling financially to keep their pet, they can apply for a bursary from our not-for-profit,’ Olivia explains.
‘And, if their pet is suffering from separation anxiety while they’re out of the house, they can ask for a subsidy for pet daycare or even a pet carer to come into the home,’ adds Evie.
I look at Tristan, who’s listening intently and beaming with pride.
Olivia reaches into her handbag and takes out a bound document. ‘We’ve done our research, and we’ve put together this proposal.’ She hands it to Tristan, who starts flipping through it, his eyes perusing each page.
‘It’s in two stages,’ she says, ‘with the first focusing on Greater London. And if we’re successful, we can consider expanding to the rest of the UK.’
Tristan lingers on one page, his lips moving slightly as he reads.
‘Read it later, Tris,’ says Evie. ‘It’s just research and figures and projections.’ She sighs and rolls her eyes as if she’s a teenager and not the twenty-something co-founder of London’s next not-for-profit.
‘This looks fantastic,’ he says, finally tearing his eyes from the proposal. He looks at them in turn. ‘Very impressive. I’ll look it over and we’ll set up a meeting this coming week to talk it through, all right?’
‘Thanks, Tristan,’ says Olivia with a modest smile.
‘I knew you’d like it,’ says Evie, slightly smug. ‘We totally smashed it.’
‘Evie!’ scolds Olivia playfully.
‘What? It’s a brilliant concept and we’ve worked bloody hard on that proposal,’ she says. ‘ And we’ll both get to use our degrees, meaning Mummy will finally get off our backs about having proper jobs. “How long do you think you can backpack around the world sleeping on other people’s sofas?”’ she says, mimicking their mother. ‘You see? Two birds, one stone,’ she concludes.
I don’t care for their mother, Lucinda, but I think if I had two daughters in their mid-twenties, one with an MBA and the other with a degree in social justice, I’d be encouraging them to (finally) start their careers as well.
‘Not to mention, you’ll be taking this off my desk,’ says Tristan. ‘Every time it comes to mind, I feel guilty that I haven’t done anything about it.’
I pat him reassuringly on the leg – he’s too hard on himself. He captures my hand in his and gives it a squeeze.
‘So, now we’ve told you about our idea, we need your advice, Poppy. Well, Evie does.’
‘Liv!’ Evie hisses. She flicks her eyes towards Tristan, who takes the hint.
‘I’ve got to crack on with preparing lunch anyway.’ He gets up and makes a show of putting in his earbuds to give us privacy.
Evie watches him head into the kitchen and only when he dons an apron and opens the fridge does she turn back to me.
‘Liv’s been on at me about something,’ she tells me.
‘I’ve not been on at you – I just think you should talk it over with Poppy. She’s a professional .’
‘Evie?’ I ask, pretending I had no idea this was coming. ‘What’s going on?’
She blows out so forcefully, her cheeks bulge. ‘It’s my boyfriend, Tyler… Look, never mind, it’s silly really.’
‘It’s not silly, Evie. Just tell her.’
She bites her lower lip and reluctantly meets my eye, her countenance a stark contrast to the spunky person she was a few minutes ago.
‘He’s asked about an open relationship. He says he loves me, but he’d like us to see other people.’
‘He wants to sleep with other people,’ corrects Olivia, her voice brimming with judgement.
I adopt a poker face because there is no way I can say what I’m thinking.
‘And how do you feel about that idea?’ I ask evenly, now wearing two caps: matchmaker and (former) psychologist.
Evie shrugs, but it’s obvious she’s hurting.
‘I don’t know. I mean, I love Ty and I want him to be happy, but part of me thinks he’s not as serious about us as I am.’
Her instincts are bang on. In fact, I’d wager that Tyler has already started seeing other people and is looking for a way to assuage his guilt with a retroactive ‘agreement’.
‘He doesn’t deserve you,’ says Olivia emphatically.
‘How long have you been together?’ I ask.
‘Three and a half months.’
So, I was right; it hasn’t been very long.
‘Have you said “I love you” to each other?’
‘I have. He just says, “Me too.”’
I nod, wondering how best to couch my response. ‘Are you interested in sleeping with other people?’
‘Not really,’ she replies sullenly. I get up from the sofa and drop down next to her on the floor, then take her hand. ‘Oh, bollocks, is it that bad?’ she asks.
‘I can almost guarantee that Tyler is not your person,’ I say.
‘I told you, Evie,’ says Olivia gently.
Evie expels a long breath then looks me in the eye. ‘He’s probably already sleeping around, isn’t he?’
‘Probably,’ I reply.
‘Bastard,’ she whispers, tears welling up.
‘Agreed.’
She smiles wanly.
‘How about this? We pick a date, I kick Tristan out and you, me, and Olivia have a girls’ night in?’
‘Really?’ she asks, swiping at a tear that’s escaped.
‘Sure. I can even invite Shaz and Lauren and Jacinda if you like. We can tell you our war stories.’
‘War stories?’ she asks, clearly confused.
‘Our dating disasters,’ I reply, thinking of Greta and how she’s putting herself in the firing line for the greater good.
‘Oh, okay. Thanks, Poppy.’
I draw her into a hug, which she returns, and Olivia leaps up and joins in.
‘Should I be joining in?’ Tristan calls loudly from the kitchen. He never realises how loudly he talks when his earbuds are in.
I untangle myself from the hug and call back, ‘Secret women’s business, Tris.’
‘Gotcha. More wine then?’
‘Yes, please, but I’ll come and get it,’ I reply.
‘You’re so lucky, Poppy,’ says Evie softly. ‘I want what you and Tristan have.’
‘Well, step one is to give Tyler the Prick the flick,’ I tell her, hoping the quip lands as intended.
To my relief, she bursts out laughing. ‘Tyler the Prick gets the flick,’ she says through her laughter. ‘I love it.’
I’m glad I could be of help. Now she just has to follow through.
Greta
I’m flipping through the latest issue of Panache – something I do every month to stay abreast of what our closest competitor is publishing – and immediately after ‘Trend Tracker’ is a brand-new column that turns my blood to ice: Heart-to-Heart Hub, a romantic advice column by morning talk show regular, Lola Lovegrove, who has made a career of penning self-help books, mostly about romance.
I stare down at the page disbelievingly. ‘What? But how ?’ I ask myself aloud.
I quickly scan each reader question, then Lola Lovegrove’s advice. Not only is the concept eerily similar to Poppy’s column, but so is the execution, right down to the format and tone. The only distinguishing feature is that Poppy is a psychologist, not a TV personality who purports to be an expert in all things romance.
‘What rotten luck.’
I look up, checking the time on my laptop. The Nouveau Life staff meeting starts in eighteen minutes, but Anjali needs to see this. I scoop up the magazine and beeline to her office. I see through the glass wall that she’s on the phone, but I slip inside and take a seat. She eyes me curiously and mouths, ‘Everything all right?’ I shake my head and she wraps up the call.
‘What’s happened?’ she asks.
I open Panache to the offending page and slide it across her desk. ‘It’s this.’
I watch her face closely as she reads the page, her expression morphing from curious to unsettled to riled in moments.
‘Well, fuck,’ she says and I blink at her. This is only the second time I’ve heard her use that word. The first was when she slammed her fingers in her office door a few years back.
‘We have to kill the column, don’t we?’
‘Yes. I can’t see how we can publish it without looking like copycats.’
It goes without saying that although Panache is a competitor, Nouveau is still considered the premier fashion magazine in the world. We don’t follow trends – we set them.
‘I thought so – it’s disappointing, though.’
‘It is,’ she says, her gaze drifting.
It’s obvious she’s mulling something over and I wait for her to tell me what it is, but she doesn’t. Then it hits me – Poppy’s cover. She’s only at Nouveau Life because of me – to play matchmaker. Without the column, there’s no reason for Poppy to stick around. Anjali must be wondering how this will impact her (not-so-secret) plan.
Should I say something? Or would that reveal I’m aware of her true intentions? Then I come up with the perfect solution – one that will address Anjali’s dilemma without divulging what I know.
‘You know, Poppy and I have taken to meeting at The Daily Grind whenever we need to discuss the details of my assignment. We figured it’s safer than meeting here and risking the team finding out I’m the contributor. We could just keep doing that instead of her coming into the office.’
Anjali meets my eye, the corners of her mouth twitching. ‘How did you know that’s what I was thinking about?’
I shrug. ‘Just following the logical fallout of killing the column.’
She grins. ‘Spoken like a true managing editor.’
I lift my chin, happily accepting the praise, then I catch sight of the clock on the wall over her shoulder. ‘Oops – staff meeting. I’ll let you know how it goes.’
The team has mixed reactions to my news, with Taj taking it the hardest – not surprising since they’ve always been the most invested in Poppy’s column.
Lisa raises her hand, even though I’ve asked her a dozen times not to – we’re not in school.
‘Yes, Lisa?’
‘Why can’t we keep the column? Theirs is in the print format, not the digital,’ she says, tapping on the page with her forefinger. ‘Isn’t that enough of a point of difference?’
Bex, who has been quiet until now, her lips pressed into a thin line and her brows knitted, lifts her gaze to reply. ‘We can’t,’ she says quietly. ‘We’re Nouveau – we’re leaders, not followers. They beat us to it – fair and square.’
‘But that’s just the thing…’ says Taj. ‘ Is it “fair and square”? Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious?’
‘What is?’ I ask.
I glance at Bex then Lisa but they’re both staring at Taj.
‘That Panache just happens to publish their column right as we’re planning to launch ours. I mean, the timing is oddly coincidental, don’t you think?’
‘But their print issue would have been planned ages ago, just like Nouveau ’s,’ says Bex. ‘It’s just bad luck.’
‘Or Panache only recently decided to print an advice column and appropriated space they’d set aside for news items.’
Taj’s words hang in the air like a bad smell – because what if they’re right?
And if they are, then how the hell did Panache get wind of our plans?
We stare at each other in silence for a few moments until Lisa says, ‘Well, that’s just shite, that is.’