I've Got Your Number (37 page)

I stare in disbelief. A smiley face. Sam Roxton typed a smiley face! A moment later he sends a follow-up.

I know. I don’t believe it either.

I laugh out loud, then shiver as a breeze hits my shoulders. This is all very well. But I’m standing in a field in Hampshire with no coat and no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing. Come on, Poppy. Focus. There’s no moon, and all the stars must be hidden behind clouds. I can hardly see to type.

Where ARE you? In the wood? Can’t see a thing.

Through the wood. Other side. I’ll meet you.

Cautiously, I start picking my way through the trees, cursing as a bramble catches my leg. There are probably stinging nettles and snake pits. There are probably man traps. I reach for my phone, trying to text and avoid brambles at the same time.

My new rule for life. Don’t go into spooky dark woods on your own.

There’s silence a moment—then my phone bleeps.

You’re not on your own.

I clutch the phone more tightly. It’s true; with him on the other end, I do feel secure. I walk on a bit more, nearly tripping over a tree root, wondering where the moon’s got to. Waxing, I suppose. Or waning. Whichever.

Look for me. I’m coming.

I peer at his text in disbelief.
Look
for him? How can I look for him?

It’s pitch-black, hadn’t you noticed?

My phone. Look for the light. Don’t call out. Someone might hear.

I peer into the gloom. I can’t see anything at all except the dark shadows of trees and looming mounds of bramble bushes. Still, I guess the worst that can happen is I fall off a sudden cliff and break all my limbs. I take another few
steps forward, listening to my own padding footsteps, breathing in the musky, damp air.

OK?

Still here.

I’ve reached a tiny clearing and I hesitate, biting my lip. Before I go on, I want to say the things I won’t be able to when I see him. I’ll be too embarrassed. It’s different by text.

Just wanted to say I think you’ve done an amazing thing. Putting yourself on the line like that.

It had to be done.

That’s typical of him to brush it off.

No. It didn’t. But you did it.

I wait a little while, feeling the breeze on my face and listening to an owl hooting above me somewhere—but he doesn’t reply. I don’t care, I’m going to press on. I have to say these things, because I have a feeling no one else will.

You could have taken an easier path.

Of course.

But you didn’t.

That’s my rule for life.

And with no warning I feel a hotness behind my eyes. I have no idea why. I don’t know why I suddenly feel affected. I want to type I admire you, but I can’t bring myself to. Not even by text. Instead, after a moment’s hesitation, I type:

I understand you.

Of course you do. You’d do the same.

I stare at the screen, discomfited.
Me
? What have I got to do with it?

I wouldn’t.

I’ve got to know you pretty well, Poppy Wyatt. You would.

I don’t know what to say, so I start moving through the wood again, into what seems even blacker darkness. My hand is wrapped round the phone so tightly I’m going to get a cramp. But somehow I can’t loosen my fingers. I feel as though the harder I grip, the more I’m connected to Sam. I feel as though I’m holding his hand.

And I don’t want to let go. I don’t want this to end. Even though I’m stumbling and cold and in the middle of nowhere. We’re in a place that we won’t ever be again.

On impulse, I type:

I’m glad it was your phone I picked up.

A moment later his reply comes:

So am I.

I feel a tiny glow inside. Maybe he’s just being polite. But I don’t think so.

It’s been good. Weird but good.

Weird but good would sum it up, yes.

He sent another smiley face! I don’t believe it!

What’s happened to the man formerly known as Sam Roxton?

He’s broadening his horizons. Which reminds me, where have all your kisses gone?

I peer at my phone, surprised at myself.

Dunno. You’ve cured me.

I’ve never sent kisses to Sam, it occurs to me. Not once. Strange. Well, I can make up for that now. I’m almost giggling as I press the
X
button down firmly.

Xxxxxxxx

A moment later his reply arrives:

Xxxxxxxxxx

Ha! With a snuffle of laughter, I type an even longer row of kisses.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

xxx
xxx
xxx

I see you.

I peer through the gloom again, but he must have better eyesight than I do, because I can’t see anything.

Really?

Coming.

I lean forward, craning my neck, squinting for a glimpse of light, but there’s nothing. He must have seen some other light.

Can’t see you.

I’m coming.

You’re nowhere near.

Yes I am. Coming.

And then suddenly I hear his footsteps approaching. He’s
behind
me, thirty feet away, at a guess. No wonder I couldn’t see him.

I should turn. Right now I should turn. This is the moment
that it would be natural to swivel round and greet him. Call out a hello; wave my phone in the air.

But my feet are rooted to the spot. I can’t bring myself to move. Because as soon as I do, it will be time to be polite and matter-of-fact and back to normal. And I can’t bear that. I want to stay here. In the place where we can say anything to each other. In the magic spell.

Sam pauses, right behind me. There’s an unbearable fragile beat as I wait for him to shatter the quiet. But it’s as though he feels the same way. He says nothing. All I can hear is the gentle sound of his breathing. Slowly, his arms wrap round me from behind. I close my eyes and lean back against his chest, feeling unreal.

I’m standing in a wood with Sam and his arms are around me and they really shouldn’t be. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where I’m going with this.

Except … I do. Of course I do. Because as his hands gently cup my waist, I don’t make a sound. As he swivels me around to face him, I don’t make a sound. And as his stubble rasps my face, I don’t make a sound. I don’t need to. We’re still talking. Every touch he makes, every imprint of his skin is like another word, another thought, a continuation of our conversation. And we’re not done yet. Not yet.