Page 7 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘Because…’ I say feebly.

How can I make Margot understand when, of the two of us, she’s making the most sense? Ishouldgo back to Arabella at Perfect Pairings. But I don’t want to. I never warmed to her, and I’m not convinced she’d be a sympathetic ear. She’ll be one of those ‘we did everything we could’ people, fobbing me off with a non-apology and a shrug.

Oh god. Did I convince myself that Jon was a good match so I’d no longer have to deal with Arabella? Gah, there are so many layers to this. It might be years before I untangle it all.

‘Because…?’ Margot probes, bringing me back to the conversation.

I hedge, picking tiny bobbles off my pilled pyjama bottoms.

‘Look, you’ll need to inform them at some point,’ she continues. ‘They need to know who they’re dealing with.Andthey should report him.’

‘To whom? It’s not like there’s some sort of policing body for tossers who lie to their fiancées.’

She tilts her head, partly in sympathy and partly to make her point.

‘I know, I know, I need to tell them – and I will – but I still want to talk to Poppy.’

Margot sips her coffee, wearing a far-off look.

‘Hang about…’ she says, her eyes lighting up. She leans forward, her coffee mug now at a precarious angle, and I grimace at the thought of her tipping coffee over my cream-coloured sofa. But she doesn’t seem to notice that she’s about to spill,normy reaction.

‘Do you think this Poppy gal would help you get revenge on Jon?’ she asks.

I recoil. ‘No! That’s not why I— I’m not asking her to do that.’

She stares at me for a moment, then sits back against the sofa, letting me off the hook –andsaving me half a can of upholstery cleaner. ‘Well, in that case,’ she says, her brows raised matter-of-factly, ‘after I finish my coffee, I’m off to the nearest garden centre for a pair of gardening shears.’

‘Gardening sh—’ Her meaning lands and I can’t help but chuckle. Then I remember who I’m talking to – a proud, man-hating divorcée. ‘Margot,no,’ I say firmly, which makesherlaugh.

Clearly, Jon had better watch out. Facing the Wrath of Margot makes lifting the lid on Pandora’s box look like tearing open a bag of crisps. I’m positive her ex-husband would agree.

She continues sipping her coffee, still chuckling to herself, and I’m about to go and put the kettle on again when Bruno Mars’ ‘Just the Way You Are’ blares from my phone. I stare at it in horror. That’s Jon’s ringtone.

‘Is that…?’ asks Margot.

Unable to speak, I meet her eyes and numbly nod. I must look like I’ve seen a ghost, as I suddenly feel faint and clammy.

We wait out several bars of the chipper song, one I will immediately change to Taylor Swift’s ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’, and when the call finally goes to voicemail, I expel a loud sigh.

‘What do you suppose Jon the Con has to say?’ asks Margot.

‘Jon the Con?’ I ask, scrunching my nose in distaste.

‘Do you prefer “Arseface”?’

‘Actually, yes.’

‘All right, what do you supposeArsefacehas to say?’

My phone chimes with a message notification and even though I was expecting it, I yelp.

‘On edge much?’ asks Margot.

‘Wouldn’t you be?’

She snatches the phone from the table and inputs the passcode. She’s the only person besides me who knows it – a testament to how much I trust her and something I now regret.

‘He didn’t leave a voice message,’ she tells me, ‘but he’s sent a text. Want me to read it to you?’

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