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Amiable? Note to self: use more sexy language next time you’re discussing Joe.
Poppy now appears to be weighing up my fake boyfriend on my behalf because, in her mind, I am utterly incapable in the love department. ‘He dresses well …’ she muses. ‘Oh, and I remember once at pick-up Lila fell over and he handed me a plaster from his rucksack and waited with me until she’d calmed down. That was sweet. It made me wonder about whether you two should hook up, actually.’
‘Right, and?’
‘And then I ruled him out.’
I’m baffled and find myself strangely keen to defend the excellence of my pretend boyfriend. ‘Poppy, in what world is it a no to attractive-and-kind-single-father Joe and a yes to gym-bro-with-a-penis-tattoo Paul?’
‘Sad dad,’ Poppy sums up. ‘Is it a good idea to get into a relationship with a man who has a ton of baggage?’
‘For goodness sake!’ I huff. ‘Everyone has baggage, it’s what we do with it that counts. And for the record, Joe is not sad. I mean, of course he is sad about losing his wife but he’s also ready to move on. Pop, I thought you’d be happy about this.’
‘Course I am,’ she says, softening. ‘Just a bit concerned, too. I don’t want you to get hurt again.’
‘I can literally promise you that won’t happen,’ I say with the utmost confidence. ‘To be clear, it’s very early days and who knows how this will end up but he made me laugh when we went out for pizza and we’re going out tonight which is why you’re here being the best sister on the planet.’
‘You should have that put on a mug for me.’ She grins. ‘You know, the more I think about this, the better it seems. I’m totally over my lack of enthusiasm. Joe knows what it’s like to raise a child by himself. Your kids are at the same school which will be ideal for organising playdates. Joe’s a good name. Solid, dependable. Actually, I am getting great energy from this, Soph. Joe and Sophie. It’s got a ring to it.’
‘It has, hasn’t it?’ I say excitedly. How Poppy managed to move from zero to a hundred in such a short space of time is testament to her gloriously joyful personality. She always, always sees the positive side of things.
‘And thank fuck I brought clothes,’ she adds, nodding towards the heaving suitcase she’s wheeled into my bedroom. ‘Call it sisterly intuition but I had a hunch you might be doing something fun tonight. And your wardrobe is a fun free zone. I mean, look at you right now. You’re going on a date, not to a funeral,’ she says, one side of her mouth curled up in displeasure as she flicks through my wardrobe. ‘Everything you own is black, navy or this hideous grey colour. You’re not a recovering Goth.’
‘Hey!’ I protest. ‘All of these things are stylish.’
‘Yeah, in a city banker sort of way.’
‘You know I like to look professional, now stop making a scene.’
‘And what about when you’re not at work?’ She eyes me again. ‘You’ve got good taste in yoga leggings, I’ll give you that. But where’s the middle ground? Where’s the off-duty style? Look at you. Smart trousers and a T-shirt. It doesn’t exactly scream exciting or, heaven forbid, fun. You know what your problem is, don’t you?’
‘I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.’
‘Your wardrobe is deeply boring.’
‘Don’t pull back the punches, sis.’
Poppy puts her hand on her hip. ‘You’ve been dressing like this for years and frankly, Soph, it’s a vibe kill.’
‘You’re a vibe kill,’ I retort.
Although to be fair, she’s right. I used to have way more fun with my outfits but when I set up on my own, I wanted to make sure I came across as unquestioningly professional.
‘And what even is this?’ Poppy asks, holding up the khaki boilersuit I bought at the start of the school year after spotting Tally in something similar. I’ve never actually had the balls to wear it of course.
‘Boilersuits are all the rage. Tally has an entire highlight section on her Instagram about them.’
‘This one is the colour of pea soup. Do you wear it when you’re working on a steam locomotive?’
‘Piss off.’
Poppy bites her lip. ‘I’ve brought options,’ she says, unzipping the suitcase with reverence. She has a LOT of clothes. Clothes and bags were two things she’d happily splurge on when she was working for the bank and now it looks like Net-a-Porter just delivered their entire warehouse straight into my bedroom. Apart from the fact that my hips seem to have got wider since I had Lila, Poppy and I are still roughly the same dress size, and for the next fifteen minutes she maintains a monologue revolved around what to wear for a drinks date. Smart casual … Cool and sophisticated … Tiny hint of sexy … Leather pants …
‘LEATHER PANTS? I am not wearing leather underwear, Poppy. It’s a drinks date. What is wrong with you?!’
‘Oh, sorry, I meant trousers, Soph. I’ve been doing some engagement shots for Alexis today. Remember her? The one from our village? From school? She’s getting married to an American called Chase who genuinely dresses in head-to-toe Ralph Lauren. It was like meeting an extra from Gossip Girl. I must have picked up some of his Americanisms during their photoshoot.’
Relieved, I sit down on my bed but Poppy pulls me right back up again, handing me a white shirt and some wide-legged jeans. I wriggle out of my trousers obediently. When I’m fully dressed (she has French-tucked the shirt into the jeans and added a chunky gold necklace), she spins me around to look in the mirror, standing back in admiration.
