Shout Out To My Ex: (The Ever After Agency Book 2)
Shout Out To My Ex: Chapter 38

After Poppy explains the ins and outs of case names and Ursula’s attachment to fairy tales (Elle and the Shoemaker – how clever!) she updates me and Leo on Nouveau.

‘Really?’ I ask, barely believing it. She nods, a satisfied smile on her face. ‘That’s brilliant.’ I look to Leo.

‘Thanks, Poppy, that’s awesome,’ he says, ‘and can you please thank your colleagues for us?’ We glance about the busy conference room and I’m impressed by how quickly they’ve come together to help us.

‘Of course,’ Poppy replies, ‘and I know Paloma will want to do some coaching ahead of the TV interview. She’s waiting on confirmation that you’re booked for Saturday morning, but knowing her and how many connections she has, that will come through shortly.’

‘Poppy…’ I say, turning back to her. I need to apologise for my behaviour yesterday but I’m not sure what to say.

‘You don’t need to say anything,’ she says, somehow understanding immediately. ‘It’s totally expected that you were thrown by everything I told you – and that was on top of reconnecting with this one,’ she says, nodding in Leo’s direction. I look up at him, studying his face.

I can’t stop looking at him. Is it going to be weird if I simply stare at him for minutes at a time? Because it’s very possible that will happen. A lot. While I’m staring at him, something comes to mind.

‘Can I ask a question?’ I ask them both.

‘Go for it,’ Poppy replies.

‘How did you two… you know, coordinate? With the Eurostar tickets?’

Poppy’s face breaks into a broad smile. ‘That I can’t take credit for I’m afraid.’

‘Umm…’ Leo rubs his hand along his jawline. ‘I may have a confession.’

‘Go on then,’ I say with a laugh. ‘What’s one more revelation in the midst of all this?’

‘You’re going to think I’m… well, some sort of creep.’

‘I will not. Don’t be silly.’

‘Okay… I’m pretty sure you will, but here goes…’

Poppy seems as interested in his explanation as I am and regards him with an amused smile.

‘So, the night of the H&M party⁠—’

‘You mean the night another woman announced your engagement?’

‘Uh… ouch?’ he responds, my quip having hit its mark.

‘Sorry,’ I say, contrite. ‘I know that wasn’t your doing, but it may be difficult to ever think of that night as simply “the night of the H&M party”.’ I make the air quotes.

‘That’s reasonable,’ he replies, his expression softening. ‘We can come up with a code name or something.’

‘Or – and hear me out – after this conversation, we never speak of it again.’

This makes him laugh and he folds me into arms. ‘Oh, I’ve missed you,’ he whispers with affection, but I suspect he’s actually teasing me.

‘The train tickets, Leo,’ I prod, my voice muffled by his chest. He releases me.

‘Okay, here goes – for real this time. At the H— Oops, my bad – moving along. Anyhoo, Poppy mentioned you were travelling back to London on the Eurostar the next morning. I asked which class you’d be in – you know, uh… out of interest – and she said that Nouveau had sprung for first. From there, it was pretty easy.’

‘What was pretty easy?’ I ask, not getting it.

‘I went online that night and booked the fourth seat in every four-seat berth where three other passengers were already sitting.’

I shake my head, attempting to untangle what he just said. It takes a second, but I finally get it. ‘So, how many seats did you have to book?’

‘Only five.’

‘Five!’

‘I wanted to spend time with you. And I was due back in London, so…’

‘And how many sets of three people did you approach before replaceing us?’

‘Four.’

‘Hahaha!’ I’m not laughing at him, but at the hilarity of Leo wandering through train carriages, checking his tickets and replaceing strangers in those seats, then having to move on to the next berth. All in search of me.

Oh. He did that. For me. The laughter dies in my throat, and more tears well up.

‘Nicely done,’ says Poppy. I’ve been so transfixed by Leo’s story, I’d forgotten she was there.

‘Is that the sort of thing you would do – you know, to make a match?’ Leo asks her as I blink back the tears and compose myself.

‘Oh, you have no idea,’ she replies with an enigmatic smile. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call.’

‘I like her,’ Leo says when she’s gone.

‘Mmm, I didn’t mind her at first, but then after she told me who she really was, I hated her a little…’

‘And now?’

‘How can I hate the woman who brought us back together?’ I ask, watching Poppy across the room.

‘Right, Elle, Leo…’ says Paloma.

I step back half a step, as I replace her a lot. It’s like she carries this bubble of intensity with her, as if her personality is a physical being.

‘Good news,’ she says cheerily, ‘we’ve just had confirmation that Hello Britain will interview you on Saturday morning.’ My stomach clenches at Paloma’s so-called ‘good news’. ‘I know that’s a few days away, but we should begin preparations immediately.’

‘And by “preparations” you mean…?’ asks Leo.

‘Talking points, mostly,’ she replies. ‘And we’ll do several run throughs, obvs.’

‘Run throughs?’ I ask, hating how my voice squeaks. I sound like a scared little girl. Scratch that – when it comes to appearing on television, I am a scared little girl.

‘Mock interviews. I’ll play Lydia Torrent and you’ll play yourselves,’ she says with that self-assured smile of hers. ‘When can we get started? Does tomorrow work for you?’ She consults her phone. ‘I can block out the entire afternoon.’

‘Sounds great,’ replies Leo.

‘Yes, perfect,’ I squeak.

Perfectly dreadful. Not only have I just agreed to be on national television, but I’ve also signed up for hours and hours of Paloma.

She wanders off, barking orders at the nice woman from reception, Anita.

And now the atmosphere has returned to the room – or at least our little corner of it – I feel like I can breathe again.

‘She’s kinda intense,’ Leo whispers, breaking the tension and making me giggle. ‘And I’ve lived in New York for the past three years – I’ve met a lot of intense people. Paloma’s moved into the number two slot right behind this customer I had who would bring her entire entourage into the store, including her psychic – I’m not kidding – who chose which shoes she should buy based on the alignment of the planets – still not kidding – and her pet ferret, named Charlton Heston.’

I’m properly laughing now and when our eyes meet, his are creased at the corners and lit from within. With love.

‘You’re quite funny,’ I tease.

‘Sweetheart, I am hilarious.’ This kicks us off again and when I circle my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his chest, we’re both still shaking with laughter.

You can do this, Elle. With Leo at your side, you can do anything.

Poppy

‘Hello, darling,’ says my husband when he answers the phone. I’d expected voicemail, as Tristan is often tied up in meetings during the day – I’d even prepared a witty message to leave – but this is way better.

‘Hi! So, I have news.’

‘About your case? All sorted?’

‘Mostly, just… I have to work on Saturday.’

‘Ahh, the day of the big intervention.’

‘Yep. My client is appearing on Hello Britain and I need to be there to support her.’

‘Ah, I see.’

‘I suppose we could do the Shaz thing next weekend. Or not at all. I’m still not sure how I feel about it.’

‘Darling, you know how Jass can be when her mind is set.’

‘Mmm, true. Hey, can you pretend that you had something come up on Saturday? A work thing?’

‘You mean lie to one of my closest friends?’

‘Yep.’

He chuckles. ‘Er, no.’

‘Please.’ He chuckles again and I exhale a loud sigh. ‘Okay, I’ll call Jass.’

‘I must dash, but good luck!’

I make the next call hoping for voicemail.

‘You’ve just caught me,’ says Jass, not even offering a hello. ‘What’s up?’

‘So, you know the plan for Saturday?’

‘Yes. Boxes and bubble wrap purchased and van booked. I figure once we’ve moved her clothes and personal items over to Lauren’s, she can organise the big move on her own – like a proper grown-up.’

‘Yeah, um…’

‘Was there something else? I’ve got three minutes – less if I pop to the loo before my next meeting.’

‘Yeah, I can’t do Saturday – something’s come up and I need to work.’

She’s silent but I wait it out.

‘Well, we’re free tonight. You two?’ she asks.

‘You want to do it tonight?’ I’m not sure I’m mentally prepared to show up at my bestie’s unannounced and insist she move to another flat. Plus, it’s already been a massive day. I was looking forward to a bubble bath and one of Tristan’s yummy dinners.

‘We’ve got things on tomorrow night and Friday, so…’ Jacinda says.

‘What about next weekend?’ I ask hopefully.

‘Poppy,’ she says, conveying all the reasons that next weekend won’t do in just two syllables – namely that the sooner we do this, the sooner Shaz will settle into Lauren’s, meaning she’ll be completely moved when Lauren returns from Finland.

‘Tonight works,’ I say, not even knowing if Shaz is going to be home. Minor detail.

‘Excellent. I’ll make the re-arrangements and we’ll meet you outside at six-thirty. Bollocks, no time for the loo. Will just have to hold it. Byeee.’

She ends the call, leaving me feeling slightly guilty. I hate having to sit through a meeting when I need to wee.

‘Right, so how are we handling this?’ Jacinda asks, right as I’m about to press the buzzer to Shaz and Alfie’s flat.

‘What are you talking about? This was your idea!’

‘Yes, but she’s your best friend.’ She blinks at me with those enormous brown eyes.

‘Look, I don’t mean to criticise or anything – and thank you for organising all the packing accoutrement and the van – but, again, this was your idea. I thought you’d have a speech planned or something.’

‘What’s the hold up?’ asks Ravi, peeking out from behind Tristan, who’s laden with a stack of folded packing boxes.

‘Your wife has only now mentioned that we need to strategise.’

‘Wait a minute, I was on logistics – and we had to move this up by three days at late notice.’

‘Yes, but—’ My phone rings – Shaz’s ringtone. ‘Oh, shit, that’s Shaz,’ I say, fishing it out of my back pocket. ‘What do I say?’ I ask the others.

‘How about “hello”?’ quips Ravi dryly.

‘Hey, Shaz,’ I say, hoping I’ve achieved a breezy tone. ‘What’s up, pussy cat?’ Okay, that wasn’t breezy – that was weird and oddly referenced 1960s pop culture.

‘Poppy, why the fuck are you and Tristan and Ravi and Jacinda standing outside my flat?’

‘Oh, uh…’ I look up and Shaz is at the window, staring down at us with a less-than-impressed look on her face. ‘Hi.’ I wave, and so do Jacinda and Ravi – him with a tape dispenser in his hand. Unsurprisingly, Shaz does not wave back.

‘And what is Tristan carrying?’

‘Will you just let us up?’

There’s a frustrated sigh, then the click of the building’s front door unlocking. I stuff my phone in my pocket and lead the way up to Shaz’s flat. She’s waiting with the door open and arms crossed, the look on her face having transformed from annoyed to totally pissed off in the short time it took us to walk up the stairs.

‘Come on in, you lot,’ she says, staring each of us down as we pass by. Then she closes the door and now we’re shut inside with a very angry woman.