Page 72 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘Who was in a relationship with a narcissistic arsehole.Yes, yes, you are. Welcome to the club. And it’s a massive bloody club!’

Wonderful – Margot’s on one of her all-men-are-bastards rants.

Run away, run away!I shout in my head, conjuring John Cleese from my dad’s favourite Monty Python film.

‘So, it was a good book launch?’ I ask brightly.

‘Oh, Kate, it was brilliant,’ she replies, seamlessly reverting to supportive-friend mode. ‘I’m so proud of Gayle. This book is going to fly, you know.’

‘I’m sure it will. And thank you for getting me a copy. I can’t wait to read it.’

‘It’s one of those if-I-don’t-laugh-I’ll-cry things,’ she says, likely to be helpful but failing miserably.

‘Great!’ I exclaim. ‘Look, I should crack on with unpacking, then get to bed.’

‘Okay, but brunch tomorrow?’ she asks.

‘Sure,’ I reply. I do have a lot to catch her up on, including that I’ve told Mum and Dad that the engagement is over.

‘Good. I want to hear all about why you didn’t sleep with Thor.’

‘Margot!’

‘Byeee,’ she chirrups, leaving me sniggering to myself.

* * *

When I wake on Sunday morning, there’s already a text message from Jon. I read it sleepily then bolt upright.

Hi beautiful. I’m unexpectedly back in London. Can I take you to lunch?

‘Bugger,’ I exclaim aloud.

Ignoring that he’s probably been in London this entire week, considering Poppy met him at the Langham on Wednesday, how do I get out of seeing him when it’s beenweeks? As far as Jon’s concerned, we’re happily engaged. And until the agency’s plan to fully ensnare Jon comes to fruition, including the collective confrontation, Adriana and I are not supposed to let on that we know about each other.

BUT I DO NOT WANT TO SEE HIM. It will be difficult enough facing Jon with Adriana by my side.

Poppy! Poppy will know what to do. Is 8.47a.m. too early to call someone on a Sunday? If it were Margot, that would be a resounding yes – any time before 10a.m. is considered an afront to her very being. When she said ‘brunch’ last night, she meant no earlier than noon.

I decide to call Poppy at 9a.m. – surely that’s a reasonable enough hour – then scroll socials while the minutes click over, which they eventually do, even though thirteen minutes feels like anage.

‘Good morning, Kate,’ she answers cheerily and not at all like I’ve dragged her from a lazy lie-in.

‘Hi, Poppy, I amsosorry to call you at the weekend –again. And I promise I won’t make a habit of it.’ It’s probably an empty promise – this makes two weekends in a row.

‘It’s okay,’ she says with a trilling laugh. Maybe she’s used to clients bothering her outside of work hours. ‘What’s up?’

I tell her about Jon’s message and she sucks her breath through her teeth, which doesnotinstil confidence.

‘And where is he supposed to be right now?’

‘Bangkok. Or Stockholm. Madrid maybe. So many lies, I’ve lost track.’

‘Right. Hmm.’

‘Poppy, I really don’t want to see him. I was hoping I could fob him off with text messages until all this gets sorted.’

‘No, I understand. Youcouldtell him you’re busy.’

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