I've Got Your Number

I've Got Your Number Page 125

“Same.” I nod, a lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

I lift a hand in final farewell and walk away down the corridor. Head high. Keep going. Don’t look back.

By the time I reach the street, my face is lightly spattered with tears and I’m fizzing with furious, agitated thoughts—although who I’m most furious at I’m not sure. Maybe myself.

But there’s one way I can make myself feel better. Within half an hour I’ve visited an Orange shop, signed up for the most expensive, full-on contract going, and am in possession of a slick, state-of-the-art iPhone. Ted said “any budget”—well, I’ve taken him at his word.

And now I’ve got to christen it. I head out of the shop to an open, paved area away from the traffic. I dial Magnus’s number and give a satisfied nod when it goes straight to voice mail. That’s what I wanted.

“OK, you little shit. ” I imbue the word with as much venom as I can manage. “I’ve spoken to Lucinda. I know it all. I know you slept with her, I know you proposed to her, I know this ring has been round the houses, I know you’re a lying scumbag, and, just so you know—the wedding’s off. Did you hear that? Off. So I hope you can find another good use for your waistcoat. And your life. See you, Magnus. Not.”

There are moments in life that the white-chocolate Magnum ice cream was invented for, and this is one of them.96

I can’t face the phone calls yet. I can’t face telling the vicar, or my brothers, or any of my friends. I’m too battered. I need to restore my energies first. And so, by the time I’ve reached home, I have a plan.

Tonight: watch comfort DVDs, eat Magnums, cry a lot. Hair mask.97

Tomorrow: break news to world that wedding is canceled, deal with fallout, watch Annalise try not to whoop with joy, etcetera, etcetera.

I’ve been texting my new mobile number to everyone I know, and a few friendly texts have already come back—but I haven’t mentioned the wedding to anyone. It can all wait till tomorrow.

I don’t want to watch anything with weddings in it, obviously,98 so in the end I plump for cartoons, which turn out to be the biggest tearjerkers of the lot. I watch Toy Story 3, 99 Up, 100 and by midnight I’m on Finding Nemo. I’m curled up on the sofa in my ancient pajamas and furry throw, with the white wine within easy reach, my hair all oily with conditioning mask and the puffiest eyes in the universe. Finding Nemo always makes me cry anyway, but this time I’m a sniveling wreck before Nemo’s even lost. 101 I’m wondering if I should find something else to watch which is less savage and brutal, when the buzzer sounds.

Which is weird. I’m not expecting anyone. Unless … are Toby and Tom a day early? It would be just like them to arrive at midnight, straight off some cheapie coach. The Entryphone is conveniently within reach from the sofa, so I pull the receiver down, pause Finding Nemo, and tentatively say, “Hi.”

“It’s Magnus.”

Magnus?

I sit up straight on the sofa as though I’ve had an electric shock. Magnus. Here. On my doorstep. Has he heard the message?

“Hi.” I swallow, trying to pull myself together. “I thought you were in Bruges.”

“I’m back.”

“Right. So why didn’t you use your key?”

“I thought you might have changed the locks.”

“Oh.” I brush a lock of hair out of my tearstained eyes. So he has heard the message. “Well … I haven’t.”

“Can I come up, then?”

“I suppose.”

I put the receiver down and look around. Shit. It’s a pigsty in here. For one panicked instant I feel an urge to jump up, dispose of the Magnum wrappers, wash off my hair mask, plump up the cushions, shove on some eyeliner, and find some attractive matching loungewear. That’s what Annalise would do.

And maybe that’s what stops me. Who cares if I’ve got puffy eyes and a hair mask? I’m not marrying this man, so it’s irrelevant what I look like.102

I hear his key in the lock and defiantly put Finding Nemo back on. I’m not pausing my life for him. I’ve done enough of that already. I turn the volume up slightly and fill my wineglass higher. I’m not offering him any, so he needn’t expect it. Or a Magnum.103

The door makes a familiar squeaking sound and I know he’s in the room, but I keep my gaze resolutely fixed on the screen.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” I shrug, as though to say “Whatever.”

In my peripheral vision I can see Magnus exhale. He looks a teeny bit nervous.

“So.”

“So.” I can play this game too.