The Model Wife Part 23

'Really?' He looked dubiously at the pink concoction. 'Bit girlie for me. I think I'll stick to champagne.' They clinked gla.s.ses and their eyes locked. Poppy's heart thudded.

'Have you been busy?' she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. 'Yeah. You know how it is. It's hot in here, isn't it? Shall we go outside?'

'OK.' Feeling almost hypnotized, she followed him through a door on to a roof terrace. Below them, Brick Lane was a kaleidoscopic shambles of neon curry signs, overflowing bins, mini-cabs and girls in high heels. Poppy realized she was more drunk than she'd thought.

'So, pretty married woman,' Toby said, as they leant against the iron bal.u.s.trade, 'I've been thinking about you.'

'Then why didn't you get in touch?' she blurted out.

He laughed. 'I'm here now, aren't I? Anyway. I didn't know if you wanted to see me. I mean, you are are married.' married.'

'To a husband I never see.' She was surprised how venomous her words sounded.

Toby shook his head in mock indignation. 'That's outrageous. If you were my wife I'd lock you in a cage. Never let you out of my sight.'

Her stomach flipped, as he turned round and looked into her eyes. It's going to happen. But I'm married. But he's so handsome. And he's my age. But I'm married, she thought.

'Hi guys!' yelled Meena. 'I've been looking for you!'

'Are you OK?' Poppy asked.

'I'm fine, I'm... Bleeurgh-'

Poppy and Toby's shoes were drenched in fuchsia-coloured vomit.

'Oh, s.h.i.+t.' Meena giggled, flopping about. 'Sorry.'

Poppy glanced anxiously at Toby, but he was laughing. 'Are you all right, sweetheart?'

'I'm so embarra.s.sed.' She didn't look anything of the sort, far too gone for that.

'Ah, come on. It happens to us all.'

Poppy looked at him, more smitten than ever. Most guys would have been furious to have their shoes puked on. Luke Luke would have been furious. would have been furious.

'Awurrgh!' cried Meena, as the pizza she'd eaten for lunch mingling with some Thai mini-bites flew into a conveniently situated plant pot.

'Jesus.' Toby turned to Poppy. 'I think you'd better get her home.'

'I'll be OK,' Meena managed to say. 'I can get home by myself.'

'Well, if you're sure,' Poppy said immediately. She didn't want to leave right now.

'Don't be silly,' Toby said, 'you're in a terrible state. I'll I'll take you home.' He looked at her. 'Poppy, are you going to come?' take you home.' He looked at her. 'Poppy, are you going to come?'

Poppy knew she'd been judged and found wanting. 'Of course,' she said.

Toby found them a taxi. The traffic was light and it only took forty minutes to get back to Kilburn. Toby sat in the front making calls on his mobile to people called Sergei and Vladimir, Poppy sat in the back with Meena beside her fast asleep. They had to shake her awake to get her out on to the street and through the flimsy front door and up the stairs with its fraying brown carpet.

It was weird being back in the flat, like visiting some Tracey Emin style museum of Poppy's life. Meena had never got round to finding a new flatmate, so the place was virtually identical to when Poppy had lived there: there were the same gaudy Indian prints on the wall, the same tatty throw over the orange sofa, the same pile of magazines on the coffee table, the same curtains that looked like evidence from the Texas chainsaw ma.s.sacre, probably the same dirty mugs in the sink untouched since the day of Poppy's departure. She'd thought that old carefree side of her had died, but perhaps now it was being reborn.

'I think you should stay the night,' Toby said, once Meena was tucked up in bed in bra and knickers, a bucket beside her. 'She might throw up in her sleep.'

'I can't!' Poppy exclaimed. 'I've got a little girl to get back to.'

'Oh, so you do. I keep forgetting.' He frowned. 'I guess I'd better stay then. It's not safe to leave her on her own.'

A trail of jealousy slithered down Poppy's spine like a fat slug. 'Well, I could call my nanny,' she said. 'See if she can stay over.'

Brigita was as obliging as ever.

'Of course, Mummy. Go out on t'p.i.s.s. Enjoy yourself.'

'I'm not enjoying myself,' Poppy said loftily. 'I'm looking after my sick friend.'

'Whatever. Clara and I'll be reight.'

'Er, OK,' said Poppy hoping, as so often, she'd understood Brigita's gist. She hung up and turned to Toby who was b.u.t.toning his coat.

'Do you know a minicab number?' he asked.

'There's a firm next door.'

'Is there? Great. That'll save me having to wait for hours.' Seeing Poppy's woebegone face, he pecked her on the lips, then more tenderly stroked her hair.

'I'd like to stay but people need me.' He bent down and kissed Poppy on the cheek. 'You're a nice person, Poppy, looking after your friend.'

'Thank you,' she said, guilty that it wasn't quite so simple.

There was a tiny pause. They looked at each other, then Toby leant forward and took her face in his hands and suddenly they were kissing hungrily.

'I can't do this,' she said, just as he gasped, 'You're so lovely.' They looked at each other pa.s.sionately, then the moment was broken by the strains of OutKast's 'Hey Ya' blaring from Toby's jeans' pocket.

's.h.i.+t,' he said, pulling out his phone. Poppy expected him to turn it off, but instead he said, 'h.e.l.lo, Constantine? Yeah. Fine. Well, look, I'm a bit busy right now but I can be with you in, what, an hour? Is that OK?' He turned back to Poppy. 'Sorry about that, darling.' He kissed her on the lips, but this time perfunctorily. 'I wish I could stay,' he said again, 'but I've got people to see. I'm just going to use the bathroom.'

Poppy sat on the sofa. Suddenly she was cold. She pulled Meena's slightly grimy fake fur throw round her.

Toby was gone quite a while. When he returned he seemed a bit different, brisker somehow, more detached.

's.h.i.+t, I've really got to get a move on.'

She'd heard it all before from Luke. But instead of arguing, she smiled like a plucky landgirl.

'I'll see you soon,' Toby said, his hand on the doork.n.o.b. 'Call you tomorrow. Now you take care. Look after Meena.'

And he was gone, leaving Poppy with nothing to do but splash her face with water in the old bathroom. The tap Luke had mended was dripping again, while the squeaking windmill vent in the corner was clogged with cobwebs now that Poppy was no longer around to dust.

Poppy went into her old room, which appeared to have become Meena's walk-in wardrobe, removed a pile of clothes from her old bed and climbed under the musty duvet, another fossil from her past. It was late, but sleep took a long time to arrive. Her head was pounding as the alcohol wore off and she pondered on what she'd done.

She was married. She couldn't kiss other men. But she was also it was the first time she'd bluntly acknowledged it to herself so miserable. The man she'd thought was her handsome prince had neglected her for so long, she felt like Sleeping Beauty shut up in a tower. But now a new prince was in town and his kiss had made Poppy wake up to a world she'd missed out on, to the prospect that someone else might love her.

31.

Two drunks trading insults beneath her window woke Poppy about seven. She groaned and tried to open her eyes, which the fairies appeared to have superglued shut in the night. She rolled out of bed and padded across the hall to Meena's room. Meena was curled up under a blanket, mascara streaked down her face, hair a bird's nest, snoring slightly. She didn't look pretty but she had survived the night.

Poppy showered, taking in the bathroom's greying grout, the lukewarm, dribbly water, the damp patch creeping up the wall. Suddenly she felt desperate to be back with Clara in smart, clean Maida Vale. Home.

She dressed hastily in last night's clothes and, having scribbled a note for Meena, hurried as fast as her heels could carry her down the shabby stairs and out into Kilburn High Road, lined with pound shops selling cut-price shampoos and baby wipes, obscure fruits and vegetables and tight-fitting, synthetic clothes.

As she headed towards the bus stop, guilt about her behaviour the previous night alternated with a fantasy about a possible different life that had opened up to her. What she'd done was wrong, but at the same time it had been so wonderful. Wonderful kisses with a wonderful man, a man who couldn't remember the heyday of the Beatles, who wasn't a few years away from collecting his Freedom Pa.s.s.

Poppy stopped dead, turned round and walked a few steps back down the road to a newsagent's she'd just pa.s.sed. There, on the stand, nestled between Closer Closer and and Now Now was this week's copy of was this week's copy of Wicked. Wicked. A huge picture of Jordan on the cover. MY BABY AGONY, the headline screamed. Then a smaller picture of two contestants from A huge picture of Jordan on the cover. MY BABY AGONY, the headline screamed. Then a smaller picture of two contestants from The X Factor The X Factor kelli and nargess: our feud and then in the bottom left-hand corner a tiny head shot of Poppy, winking just as the photographer from kelli and nargess: our feud and then in the bottom left-hand corner a tiny head shot of Poppy, winking just as the photographer from Wicked Wicked had asked her to. 'Introducing Our New Columnist: the Bimbo Bites Back.' had asked her to. 'Introducing Our New Columnist: the Bimbo Bites Back.'

Poppy stared mesmerized. She wasn't sure about this. Had there been talk of calling her the Bimbo? But still... 'our new columnist'. Hands shaking, she picked up a copy.

'Oi!' yelled the Indian man behind the counter, 'no browsing.'

'Sorry!' She paid him one pound twenty, flas.h.i.+ng the magazine in front of him, hoping he'd notice the resemblance between the glossy siren on the cover and the raddled hooker going home after a busy night's trade who stood in front of him. Unsurprisingly, he didn't. She thought about exclaiming: 'That's me! That's me!' but there were many mad people roaming Kilburn and she knew she'd be dismissed as one of them.

On the top deck of the bus, Poppy read the column, then re-read it. She was rather shaken. All the comments she'd made to Migsy about people's hideous outfits and appearances were there in black and white. Poppy hadn't realized Migsy was going to print what she said, she thought it had just been giggly girls-only gossip. And those vile things she'd said about Hannah were now staring at her from the page. G.o.d only knew how she'd retaliate. Poppy s.h.i.+vered nervously, but at the same time couldn't stop grinning at her photograph, at her words in print. All right, they were a little unkind but she was a published writer. She wondered what Luke would think. And Mum. And Meena. And Toby.

'You look badly, Mummy. Do you catch sickness from yer mate?' Brigita turned to Clara, who was sitting in her high chair, spooning Weetabix and banana all round her mouth. 'Come on, Clara, eat your breakfast then we go to the museum.'

'Ug,' said Clara.

'The museum?'

'The Science Museum. It's our favourite place, isn't it Clara? I teach her all about the solar system: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Ura.n.u.s, Neptune, Pluto.' She filled Clara's beaker from the tap. 'And how is Luke? I just hear on the news that Minnie Maltravers has adopted a little Guatemalan baby. Do you think he will meet her? She is my idol that woman. b.l.o.o.d.y gorgeous, in'it?'

'I don't know,' Poppy said. 'I haven't heard from him.' And I hadn't even noticed, she thought, surprised. Normally Luke's silence when he was away drove her to distraction. She reached in her bag. 'Have a look at this.'

Silently, Brigita read the column. Then she looked up smiling at her boss.

'Did you really write this? I don't think you're so cleverclogs. Look, Clara, look. And they take nice photo too! Is amazing what they can do with lights and on the computer.'

'More banana.'

'More banana, please please,' Brigita corrected, as Poppy said, 'I think I'll have a little lie down if that's OK.'

'Of course, Mummy. You definitely need to sleep. Look at those black circles under the eyes. I'm going to call my friends and tell them to buy Wicked Wicked. And I must send copy to my parents. They will be so chuffed. I am working for not one but two famous persons now. I feel honoured.'

'Don't be silly.' Poppy laughed, secretly delighted that she was suddenly seen on a par with Luke. 'I'll see you later, Clara sweets.'

'Ug.'

She slept and woke an hour later. Turning her phone on, she found she had two messages. One was an over-excited rant from Meena, who'd seen the column.

'I loved it, loved it, loved it. It's hilarious, Poppy, much funnier than the normal celebrity b.o.l.l.o.c.ks you read. And thanks for getting me home last night. I owe you my life.'

The next was from her mum.

'h.e.l.lo, Poppy. Seen the column.' A pause. 'It's not quite what I had in mind for you when I sent you to Brettenden House, but it's still a job of sorts, and some of it I actually found quite funny. Talk soon. Bye. Oh by the way, I'm off to Ma.r.s.eilles for my spa weekend. Fingers crossed. You never know, I could be returning with a new father for you.'

Normally, Poppy would have been infuriated by such a message but now, her mind on Toby, Louise's words drifted over her head. Poppy wondered why he hadn't called. She remembered what she always told Meena in these situations he was probably just playing it cool. Or he'd be at work. This concierge stuff was obviously very demanding with rich clients wanting you 24/7. Poppy dozed off again. When she woke up it was four o'clock and the phone was ringing with a voice message from her agent, Barbara.

'Darling, brilliant column.' A chuckle. 'I didn't know you had it in you, you always looked so sweet and innocent. Phone's been going crazy all day with various offers. Call me.'

She called. Barbara was on the other line, but this time Jenny on reception knew exactly who she was and organized a lunch date for the following week.

Then Poppy called Migsy.

'Wicked magazine, Mich.e.l.le speaking!' magazine, Mich.e.l.le speaking!'

'Migsy, I mean, Mich.e.l.le, it's Poppy.'

There was just the tiniest of pauses, then Migsy exclaimed. 'Poppy! We have been talking about nothing but you today and how great you are. The column's been a huge hit. Readers have been emailing us all day saying how much they like it.'

'You said you were going to let me see it before it went to print.'

'Oh? Didn't you get my email? I wondered why you didn't get back to me.'

'You didn't send an email.'

'I did! Oh don't tell me it didn't get through? We've been having a nightmare with our server recently. But there wasn't a problem, was there?'

'Well...' Poppy was torn. She wanted to carry on doing the column, but she had to let Migsy know she knew she'd duped her. 'I just didn't realize all those nasty comments were going to be printed.'

'What did you think was going to happen?' Migsy sounded defensive.

'I don't know... I thought our conversation was private. I thought you were just going to... you know, list the people I'd seen.'

Migsy tutted. 'I have no idea what gave you that impression. Of course we're interested in your opinions. You're a fascinating woman.'

'But I didn't say all those things. I mean... you put words into my mouth.'

'But you agreed with them!'

Poppy was feeling too hungover to argue. 'You won't do that again, will you?' she tried feebly.

'Of course not. G.o.d, I'm so sorry if there was a misunderstanding but like I say, it really is all's well that ends well, because you're a star now. And I tell you what, how about I negotiate a rise for you? Say five hundred pounds a column in future.'