Perfect Timing (24 page)

Jake, back from a spectacularly unsuccessful flea market in Chigwell, sat peacefully in front of the TV eating a Birds Eye frozen dinner for one. Claudia would not have been impressed.

Jake didn't care. It was Sunday afternoon. The Birds Eye roast-dinner-on-a-plate was actually quite edible, especially when you were as hungry as he was after a long day sifting through boxes of Barbie dolls with matted nylon hair, bent cutlery, dodgy electrical items, and chipped tea sets. And he was watching
The Antiques Roadshow
, one of his favorite programs. What more could a man want?

One of the furniture experts was assessing a French provincial chestnut armoire carved with vines and acanthus scrolls. The owner was pretending to be interested in the age of the piece. Lying through her buck teeth, she said, ‘Well no, we never have,' when the expert asked if she'd ever wondered about its value.

‘Two thousand six hundred,' muttered Jake, chasing the last potato around his plastic plate. ‘Maybe two eight.'

‘Well,' said the expert, prolonging the agony, ‘it is a particularly charming example of the period.'

‘Come on, come on,' Jake urged.

‘On the other hand, this split in the wood will obviously have an effect on the value.'

‘Okay, two four,' amended Jake. He cursed as the phone rang. Didn't these crank callers have any sense of timing?

The owner of the armoire was looking mulish. ‘Actually, I'm sure that split wasn't there this morning. Are you sure your cameraman didn't do that when he bumped into it just now?'

Great, a fight.

‘Hello,' said Jake, answering the phone. If it was yet another nutter he was hanging up.

‘Oh… hi.' The male voice at the other end of the line sounded briefly taken aback. ‘I was kind of expecting to speak to Poppy. Is she there?'

‘No.' Jake's tone was brisk. He had dealt with enough of these dirty phone callers by now. ‘And before you say anything else, your number can be traced.'

‘Just as well.' This time the voice sounded amused. ‘That's rather the point of the exercise, isn't it? To trace me. Besides, if I didn't want to be found, would I be ringing you now?'

He didn't sound like an obscene phone caller. Adrenaline began to fizz through Jake.

‘Are you Tom?' He spoke cautiously, hardly daring to believe it could have happened at last. ‘Are you really
that
Tom?'

‘Of course I am,' said the voice. ‘I fell in love with Poppy when she fell down that flight of steps. When she didn't turn up at Delgado's I thought that was it. I couldn't believe it when I heard she'd canceled the wedding.' He paused then added dryly, ‘I suppose that dippy friend of hers didn't pass on my address.'

‘My God, it is you.'

‘If you like, I can tell you about the hat she was wearing.'

‘It's okay.' Jake glanced at the television, where the credits were rolling up the screen. The jolly signature tune signaled the end of the show; now he would never know how much that armoire was worth.

‘Anyway,' said Tom, ‘if it isn't a rude question, who are you?'

***

‘Jake, you just caught me.' Poppy sounded pleased to hear from him. ‘I was about to jump in the bath.'

‘You still can. Claudia's the one I want to speak to.'

‘Oh charming. What's she got that I haven't?'

Exhilarated by success, Jake grinned and said, ‘Big boobs for a start.'

But Poppy had already chucked the phone over to Claudia, who was on the floor doing sit-ups. Mike Cousins' remark about her Rubenesque figure had hit a nerve.

‘Thanks a lot,' said Claudia. Jake, who was managing to offend everyone, didn't even blush.

‘Listen, we did it. He phoned. Just now. We've
found
him.'

‘You mean—?'

‘Don't say it! Yes, Tom of course—who else? But not a word to Poppy, okay? We want it to be a surprise.'

‘So what was that about?' Poppy asked nosily when Claudia had hung up. ‘Is something going on between you and Jake that I should know about?'

Claudia fished around for inspiration. ‘He just rang to say he was looking forward to tomorrow night.' She looked vague. ‘You know, at… um…'

‘Chez Nico,' Poppy supplied, straight-faced. As if Claudia had forgotten. She still found it hard enough to believe Jake was taking Claudia somewhere so smart. And now… luurve messages, no less. He was actually phoning, in true teenage fashion, to say he couldn't wait.

Something was definitely up.

When she didn't move, Claudia said, ‘I thought you were having a bath.'

‘Just wondering what kind of hat to wear at your wedding.'

‘Typical.' Claudia resumed her sit-ups. ‘You always have to make fun of people. You're only jealous because nobody ever takes you out, let alone anywhere nice.'

She was pleased with this bit of jokey repartee. Knowing that Tom had been found—and that Poppy would at last have a love life of her own—made it extra amusing.

Poppy, who didn't get the joke, was less amused. Since Caspar had moved out she hadn't been in the greatest of spirits. A twittery, about-to-sit-an-exam kind of feeling had taken up more or less permanent residence in her stomach, a sensation so weird that if she'd had sex any time in the last century, she might have wondered if maybe she wasn't the tiniest bit pregnant.

But she hadn't, so she definitely wasn't that.

Cheers Claudia, Poppy thought, for reminding me what an empty, wizened-old-spinster life I lead. In case I'd forgotten, thanks for pointing it out.

‘…forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty,' fibbed Claudia, collapsing on her back with a groan. ‘God, why do sit-ups have to hurt so much?'

‘All this,' Poppy mocked, ‘for Jake's benefit.'

‘No. Well…'

‘Don't tell me. He's
so
much more attractive now he's got money to throw about.'

What was Poppy implying, that she was a fortune hunter?

Huffily, Claudia said, ‘That's not true.'

‘You mean you'd be just as happy eating fish and chips in a bus shelter?'

Even Claudia didn't have the nerve to lie her way out of this one. Instead, as if the question simply wasn't worth answering, she sighed and stretched her arms lazily above her head. ‘Oh please. You're not happy so you can't bear anyone else to be, is that it? I don't know what's got into you tonight.'

Nothing, thought Poppy. Not for ages. Maybe that's the trouble.

‘I'm just warning you. Jake's my friend.' She spoke through gritted teeth. ‘And I don't want to see him get hurt.'

***

‘…I'm not trying to be a killjoy, okay? I'm just saying bear it in mind.'

Hoping she hadn't upset him, Poppy offered Jake her last Juicy Fruit.

He shook his head. ‘No thanks. Should you be eating that now?'

Jake was far too hyped-up to pay much attention to Poppy's lecture. Tom was due any minute now and he wanted Poppy to make a good second impression. Sartorial elegance might not be Jake's forte, but even he knew the sight of someone chewing chewing gum wasn't the ultimate turn-on.

‘Why not?' Poppy stared at the unwrapped stick.

‘Um… won't it ruin your appetite?'

She broke into a grin and folded the gum expertly into her mouth. ‘Jake, five doughnuts and a chip sandwich don't ruin my appetite.'

‘Oh well, suit yourself.'

Jake was definitely odd today. Poppy guessed he was on edge about dinner with Claudia. She waited until a pair of Americans had finished examining a pewter mug (‘Look at that silver, Herman, you'd think they'd take the trouble to polish it') before trying again.

‘Jake, were you listening to me? I know it's only a dinner date, but I'm just saying don't get too carried away.'

‘Hmm?' Jake couldn't stop glancing across at the main doors. What if Tom didn't turn up?

‘Tonight. Claudia. The thing is, I know you like her and you think she likes you because she's having dinner with you—'

‘You're chewing and talking at the same time.'

‘Sorry. Look, what I'm trying to get across is, Claudia's always gone on and on about how when she gets married it's going to be to someone seriously rich.'

Was Jake listening to her? Or was he only pretending to ignore her because she was telling him something he didn't want to hear? Dramatically, Poppy launched into the next phase, ‘And when she
does
finally land some dopey rolling-in-it idiot, she's going to murder him the minute the honeymoon's over. I'm serious, Jake, she told me so herself. A quick splash of weedkiller in the casserole, that's how I reckon she'll do it. With Claudia's cooking, who'd notice?'

‘Stop wittering, Poppy,' said Jake, ‘and serve the customer.'

The customer said, ‘I'd like three condoms, please, and a stupid hat.'

She turned her head in what felt like slow motion and there he was. Those dark, dark eyes, thickly lashed and as bright as coal, were watching her reaction. The tangled black curls were damp from the rain. He was wearing a dark grey sweater and faded jeans and he smelled exactly the same as he always had in her dreams.

Poppy wondered if she
was
dreaming, but no, she was fairly sure this was real.

Oh damn, she thought vainly, why didn't I listen to Jake? What kind of a gormless Gertie do I look like with my mouth hanging open and my chewing gum on show?

But it was no good wishing she'd got make-up on, or that her hair could be looking a bit more glam, a bit less as if it had been given a brief going over with an egg whisk. This was the day the extraordinary coincidence she had waited for for so long had actually happened. She was wearing a battered sweatshirt and her least flattering leggings—the ones with the exhausted Lycra, that gave her wrinkled knees like an elephant's—but it was no good panicking because there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

By some miracle, at least Tom had still recognized her.

Hastily, before it fell out of her open mouth and put him off completely, Poppy swallowed her gum.

‘My God, it's you! How amazing… Jake, this is someone I haven't seen for ages… his name's Tom… and this… this is Jake…'

Poppy's voice trailed away. Introductions always floored her; she could never remember the proper way, which had something to do with age, but how were you supposed to go about it if you didn't know who was the eldest, ask to see their driving licenses before you began?

‘I think she's in shock,' said Jake. ‘Poppy, are you okay? Do you want to sit down?'

‘I really wish I'd thrown these leggings away now,' said Poppy. She gripped the sides of the cashbox until her fingers ached and forced herself to concentrate. She needed to pull herself together, fast. What must Tom think?

‘It's—it's great to see you again,' she heard herself stammer idiotically. ‘Is there something you're in-in-interested in, or are you just having a browse?'

Tom said, ‘Oh no, there's definitely something I'm in-in-interested in.'

He was teasing her. It struck Poppy that he didn't seem nearly as astounded to see her as she was seeing him. She tried to say something sensible, without stammering, but her chewing gum had got itself wedged at epiglottis level. This time all that came out was a mousy squeak.

‘Lost for words,' observed Jake. ‘Now there's a first.'

‘And here we are, making fun of her.' Tom grinned and ran a finger lightly over her knuckles, white where they still clutched the cashbox. ‘I suppose we aren't being very fair. Poppy, this isn't a coincidence. I didn't just happen to be passing. Jake found me.'

This was getting more bizarre by the minute. Behind Tom, an old dear in an ochre trench coat was hissing crossly, ‘If you'd move out of my way, young man, I'd quite like to have a look at that Staffordshire pig.'

Poppy swallowed again. This time the chewing gum went down and stayed down.

‘Jake what? What d'you mean,
found
you?'

With some pride, Jake said, ‘I advertised.'

Was this how it felt to be electrocuted? Poppy shook her head.

‘Advertised how?'

‘In all the papers. But that didn't work.' Jake was beaming like a new father. ‘So we tried newsstands' windows. And bingo.'

She knew she was parroting everything they said, but it was all she was capable of just now.

‘You put an advert in a newsstand's window,' Poppy said carefully. She turned to Tom. ‘And you
saw
it?'

‘Well, the girl who lives in the flat downstairs saw it, and remembered me telling her about the night we met.'

He'd told other people about her…

‘And it wasn't actually me who put the ad in that window,' said Jake, not to be outdone. ‘It was Claudia.'

Tom took Poppy to a tiny restaurant just off Kensington High Street. Like a sleepwalker, Poppy allowed herself to be helped into her seat.

‘Jake was right, by the way, about me being lost for words. I'm not usually like this.'

‘Look,' said Tom, ‘maybe there's something we should get straight before we go any further. Is my turning up out of the blue a nice surprise or a bloody awful shock? Are you happy about it or not?'

‘God yes, of
course
I'm happy.' Flustered, Poppy realized she sounded like some hopeless lovestruck groupie. ‘I mean… I mean…'

‘Good.' Beneath the table, Tom's foot touched hers. His smile reassured her. ‘Seeing as Jake's been to all this trouble. Imagine how offended he'd be if we took one look at each other and went Ugh!'

‘Dina told me she'd bumped into you. She lost your address. I wanted to kill her!'

‘Don't worry, I'll do it when we next see her.' He lit a cigarette and exhaled with relief. ‘It'll make up for all those weeks afterwards, twitching every time the phone rang and being disappointed when it wasn't you.'

‘I saw you, just before Christmas.' The words began tumbling out. ‘At a petrol station. I tried to get your attention but you disappeared so fast—'

‘What I don't understand,' said Tom, ‘is why you didn't turn up at Delgado's that night. Did you think I wouldn't be there?'

‘I knew you
would
be there. I did turn up. I saw you at that table in the window.' There was so much to say, so many things to explain. A waitress was hovering behind them. Poppy glanced at the menu in her hand, knowing she wouldn't be able to eat.

‘It's okay, you choose,' Tom told the waitress. ‘Anything you like. And a bottle of something to go with it.'

‘I panicked,' Poppy admitted when they were alone once more. ‘I was meant to be getting married. Meeting you wasn't supposed to happen.'

Tom grinned. ‘I think it was. Anyway, you didn't get married.'

‘I couldn't.'

‘Can't have been easy.'

‘It was awful. Like the end bit of
The Graduate
, but without anyone to jump on the bus with. In the end, I jumped on by myself,' Poppy said dryly, ‘and came to London. Before I could be burned at the stake.'

‘What about your family?' Tom stubbed out his cigarette, half-smoked. ‘Were they okay about it? Did you ever regret calling off the wedding?'

‘Not for an instant.' He was running an index finger idly over the veins on the inside of her wrist. Distracted, Poppy trembled with pleasure. ‘As for my family… I would never have found my real father if it hadn't been for you.'

Tom frowned. ‘You've lost me.'

‘It's a long story. And no, I haven't lost you,' said Poppy, realizing that there was simply no point in being coy. ‘I've found you. God, that sounds cheesy.' Laughing, she buried her face in her hands. ‘I can't believe I just said it.'

‘Here comes the food. We're going to have to pretend to eat.'

Their eyes locked. Over the worst of the shock now, Poppy had begun to relax. The last time they had met, it had been the middle of the night, pitch-black, and tropically warm. Ever since, trying to conjure up a mental image of Tom, she had only been able to picture him in darkness.

Now, almost a year later, it was daylight. Unforgiving drizzly grey daylight at that. It was a huge relief to discover he was as breathtakingly handsome as she remembered. The sight of him still made her stomach disappear.

The magic was still there. Remembering her elephant-kneed leggings and out-of-control hair, Poppy amended that. It was still there, on her side at least.

‘What's the matter?' said Tom.

‘I wish I wasn't wearing these clothes.'

‘You look fine.'

‘I can look better.'

‘I know.' That knee-trembling grin reappeared. Heavens, he was gorgeous.

‘Everything all right?' inquired the waitress, who evidently thought so too. She was addressing Tom. Poppy, watching the way she looked at him, spotted the quick glance down at his left hand. The ring-check, every single girl's reflexive response to a good-looking man…

Poppy followed the waitress's gaze.

‘Oh bloody hell, I don't believe it,' she wailed. ‘You're married!'