Declan groaned deep inside his throat and Poppy felt her legs go jelly-like, and then someone cleared their throat behind Declan and they jumped apart as though they were doing something extremely illicit, rather than a married couple sharing a kiss.
Poppy opened her eyes properly and discovered that Ned Fox-Houghton, their way-past-retirement-age local MP, was tapping his watch. ‘Time to restart, Declan.’
Declan cleared his throat. ‘Of course. Just give us a moment?’
‘Alright. See you in a minute.’
‘Bloody politicians,’ Declan said after he’d left.
Poppy tried to smile but it turned out, horrifyingly, because she wasnota pathetic person, that she was crying.
‘Oh, Pops, no, don’t cry. Look, why don’t I get someone else to finish the compering? Itreallyisn’t as skilled a job as I like to pretend it is. You literally just have to hold a mic and read questions out and make a few weak jokes.’ He was great at acting the caring husband, she had to give him that.
‘No, it’s fine.’ She dried her eyes with her fingers and walked past him and into the ladies.
She waited until she could hear his voice booming out across the hall and then went outside and got in the car to drive herself home. All sorts of people would offer Declan a lift, so he’d be fine.
And right now she was not going to carry on crying. She was going to sort her life out.
She needed details about the other woman now. She needed a name. She needed to find out what secret he’d written down on New Year’s Eve.
12
GEORGIE
A couple of days later, Georgie – by now wondering whether she should just pick up the phone andaskstraight out whether her secret was actually true– was slipping into detective mode. She was gathering gloves (you never knew) and a balaclava Max had worn for a fancy dress party (again, you never knew) into a large bag for life (for burglar-style anonymity), ready to go to Raf’s to feed the cats and find her envelope, when Max opened the front door.
‘Gaaah,’ she screamed.
‘Mum? Are you okay? You look surprised? I live here?’ Honestly. Eleven-year-olds could be such smartarses at times.
‘I thought you were going to Josh’s after school. Obviously I’m pleased to see you.’ Eek, what if she sounded as if she wasn’t? ‘Love you. How was your day? And are you not, in fact, going to Josh’s?’
‘He vomited in Geography and had to go home. It went everywhere, including in Ella White’s pencil case. It was really funny. Like when you vomited on New Year’s Day.’ He took his coat off.
‘Hilarious,’ Georgie said. ‘Soooo, you’re home now for the evening?’
‘Yes?’
‘Great. Um, I’m going out, though.’
‘To do what?’
‘Feed someone’s cats.’
‘Another one? You should say nosometimes.’ Max had a point. Georgie was the go-to pet-feeder for half the households on their street, and all her pet-owning friends when they went on holiday. ‘Whose?’
‘Just Raf. You know, Noah from the pub in Melting’s cousin.’
‘Oh yes, the one you vomited on. Is he on holiday?’
‘No, Noah broke his leg and Raf’s gone to help him out in the pub.’
‘Does he live nearby?’
‘Not really. But, yes, in Bristol.’
‘Oh. Are you trying to make up to him for vomiting on him?’
