Page 16 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘Fine. Oh, have you heard from Arseface?’ she asks.

‘Only his daily text messages,’ I reply, my stomach taking a nosedive.

So much for feeling more buoyant, but what did I expect? These past few days have been an exercise in emotional nimbleness – I’m up one moment, down the next, and my stomach is along for the ride. It hasn’t felt this rubbish since I ate a dodgy kebab after the Taylor Swift concert and spent the night on the loo.

I wish the Ever After Agencywasthe Justice League and Poppy was Wonder Woman. Maybe then I could borrow her bracelets to fend off Jon’s lies like bullets.

You’re everything I ever dreamed of – ping – I’m so lucky to have you – ping – I miss you so much – ping – I love you, Kate – ping – We’ll have the best life together, Kate – ping, ping, ping.

Lies – every one of them. Bloody liar.

‘And?’ Margot prods.

‘Oh, soz. He says how much he misses me and I?—’

‘You reply with two emojis – the scissors and the cherries,’ she says, interrupting me again.

‘Scissors and cher— Oh, I get it. Graphic – apt even – but no. I just reply “See you soon”.’

‘Even though you never want to see him again.’

‘Even though “never” will be far too soon, yes,’ I reply, my voice straining as that buoyant feeling rapidly slips away.Focus, Kate.‘Anyway,’ I say brightly. ‘I’m at the Tube now. Call you after work?’

‘Okay.’

She ends the call without saying goodbye – no standing on ceremony with Margot – and I descend underground.

* * *

Poppy

I’ve been distracted all morning, ever since Kate Whitaker dropped her bombshell. I was absolutely useless at the staff meeting, stumbling over the updates on my other cases, even though I know them inside and out. I’m now re-examining Kate’s case file, focusing on the list of potential matches I assembled months ago. Our vetting process is thorough – as Kate said, we’re like a red-flag filter – buthowthorough? Could any of these men be leading double lives like Kate’s fiancé?

God, even theideaof matching someone with such a duplicitous liar makes me queasy.

And for the first time in ages, I’m anxious about how to proceed. I play many roles as a matchmaker: confidante, counsellor, cheerleader, conciliator, cupid… I donotwant to add vigilante to that list.

‘Shall we go in, Poppy?’ Ursula – senior agent and frequent mentor – is beside my desk, her generously applied Chanel N°5 wafting in the air between us.

‘Ah, sure,’ I reply, returning to the here and now. I stand, picking up my tablet from the desktop. ‘After you.’

I follow Ursula into our boss’ office where the agency’s founder, Saskia, and her co-founder, Paloma, are waiting for us. There’s a bit of chatter between the other three as we get comfy on the facing sofas, but I don’t join in as I’m collecting my thoughts.

As I called this meeting, they all eventually look my way, which is my cue to begin. I force a smile and walk them through Kate’s situation, watching closely for their reactions.

Saskia, who we refer to as ‘The Swan’ for her calm and stoic nature, listens intently, nodding at certain points, her eyes narrowing at others. Paloma, who is far more forthright and easier to read, intermittently tuts, occasionally frowns, and several times, she looks at Saskia with a can-you-believe-this? expression.

When I disclose that Willem de Vries has asked Kate to go to Amsterdam and why, she asks, ‘Hewhat?’

But it’s Ursula’s reaction that surprises me the most. First, her brows lift half a millimetre, which for Ursula, who’s had more work done than a certain LA-based famous-for-being-famous family, means she’s intrigued; I’ve captured her imagination. Then, as I reveal each detail of Kate’s conundrum, Ursula’s complexion turns a deep shade of red and her almost immobile lips purse ever so slightly. She’s obviously incensed, but is it the general awfulness of the situation, or is she simply empathising?

‘So, I’d appreciate your take on this situation,’ I say, yet to drop the biggest revelation, that Kate has asked me to help her get revenge. ‘But there’s one more thi?—’

‘And the name of this agency?’ Ursula asks abruptly, cutting me off. ‘The one that matched Kate with a prospective polygamist?’

‘Perfect Pairings,’ I reply.

Ordinarily, I might enjoy the alliteration of four Ps in a row, but this is not an ordinary situation.

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