Page 18 of Shout Out To My Ex

POPPY

‘And lastly, you have an update for us, Poppy?’ says Saskia, giving me the floor at our morning staff meeting. Seated at the conference table with Saskia are five agents, including me, Paloma, head of client relations, and Mia, our tech expert.

‘Thank you, Saskia, yes. We’ve just had a remarkable breakthrough in the search for Elle Bliss’s long-lost love, courtesy of Marie, and?—’

‘Sorry to interrupt, but have you chosen a case name yet?’ asks George.

Of all the agents, I’m the least attached to the practice of finding the perfect case name. Over the years, I’ve endured dozens of huffs, sighs, and eye rolls of disappointment when I’ve chosen something too generic or a name that’s been used before.

Even when I think I’ve come up with something clever and original, one of my colleagues will poo-poo it as ‘too out there’ or ‘too Australian’ – forgive me for being an Australian! We are part of the Commonwealth, you know. While I digress, Iamstarting to wonder why I bother. I should just assign the naming of cases to the team and be done with it forever more.

‘Well, I?—’

‘The key players are Elle Bliss, fashion designer, and – as we’ve just learnt – a shoe designer called Lorenzo who, in real life, is actually called Leo,’ Nasrin interjects.

I scowl at her. ‘I was getting to that.’

‘Come on, Poppy. That’s got to spark some sort of inspiration,’ says Freya (who used to be my favourite).

‘Fine, how about… I don’t know… “The One Who Slippered Away”?’

‘Oh god, that’s terrible,’ says George.

The others seem to agree with him. Freya makes an ‘eek’ face, Nasrin bursts out laughing, and Ursula weighs in with, ‘Oh no, you absolutely cannot call the case that.’ And while nothing on her face moves (Ursula has had more work done than my mother-in-law), I can tell from her tone that she’s horrified.

Even Saskia seems amused by my suggestion.

‘Well, what then?’ I look around the table. ‘What would you call it?’

There’s quiet for a moment, then Ursula raises a hand to get our attention. When all eyes are on her, she says, ‘Elle and the Shoemaker,’ as though she’s announcing a recently discovered symphony by Mozart or a previously unearthed Shakespearean sonnet andnotthe name of my case.

‘Great. Very clever. I like how you riffed on the fairy tale,’ I say – Ursulaalwaysnames her cases after fairy tales. She smiles at me benevolently. ‘So!’ I say, continuing with my briefing. ‘Good news. Marie was able to track down Elle’s long-lost love.’

‘Excellent,’ says Saskia.

‘Bad news is we still have no idea why he disappeared ten years ago,’ Nasrin chimes in.

‘Yes, but more good news is that he’s here in London and we’re working with Cassie – the sister – to arrange a reunion.’

‘Bad news?—’

‘Nas, can we please stop playing “good news, bad news”?’

‘Butisthere an additional challenge?’ Saskia asks – her way of getting this briefing back on track.

Nas starts to speak but as soon as I lock eyes with her, she stops. As much as she (obviously) wishes she was lead on this case, I am, and she knows it. She mouths, ‘Sorry,’ and I turn to Saskia.

‘As I mentioned when I first presented this case, Cassie doesn’t want her sister to find out she’s behind the reunion. It’s got to seem like a coincidence. But…’ I grimace, wishing I could find a diplomatic way to put this.

‘Want me to take this one?’ asks Nas across the table.

I chuckle. ‘Sure, all yours.’

‘The sister is a terrible actor.’

A chorus of ‘ahh’ echoes through the room. This dilemma comes up on occasion. We plan a strategy for a ‘happenstance meeting’ but when we run through role plays in preparation, we discover that the person who’s supposed to pull it off has the acting talent of a tea towel.

‘I mean, shehasbeen able to keep all of this under wraps,’ I say, indicating the agency, ‘so at least she has a reasonable ability to fib.’

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