Someone Like You (The Ever After Agency #4)

Chapter 6

6

POPPY

This morning, I’m presenting Raff’s case at the staff meeting for the first time.

Freya, who’s seated next to me, bounces in her chair with anticipation. She’s far more excited about Raff’s case than her own, matching a thrice-divorced woman with husband number four.

‘Poppy, are you ready to present your new case?’ asks Paloma, our head of client relations.

‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Our client is Rafferty Delaney, but his friends and family call him Raff.’ Freya emits a high-pitched ‘eep’ and I send a silencing look in her direction.

‘Sorry,’ she whispers.

I press a button on a remote and Raff’s face appears on the screen at the far end of the conference room. I flick another look Freya’s way, but she stays quiet.

‘Wait, isn’t he the bloke who just won Britain’s Best Bakers ?’ asks fellow agent, George.

‘The one and the same.’

George swivels towards Freya. ‘And isn’t he also one of your closest friends? ’

‘George, astute observations as always,’ says Paloma, ‘but perhaps you could allow Poppy to continue?’

‘Right, yes, sorry.’

‘So, with thanks to George for the spoilers…’ I say to my colleagues. As well as Freya, George, Saskia, and Paloma, there’s another agent, Nasrin, our senior agent, Ursula, and Mia, our tech expert.

‘…Raff is a referral from Freya and he was recently crowned Britain’s Best Baker . He is also a serial monogamist who genuinely wants to find his match – as long as he isn’t aware of our efforts. So, we’ll be needing your?—’

‘Sorry,’ says George, interrupting again. ‘What does that mean – him not being aware of our efforts?’

‘He says we’re allowed to match him, but he won’t go on any dates,’ Freya explains matter-of-factly.

Across the table, Nasrin barks out a laugh. ‘Good luck with that then. What are you suggesting? Swapping out his personal trainer for a potential match?’

‘He doesn’t have a personal trainer,’ Freya replies earnestly.

‘It was an example , Freya,’ says Nasrin.

‘Ursula,’ I say, getting this discussion back on track, ‘you’re the most experienced here. You must have had cases that called for less conventional measures.’

Ursula has been a matchmaker for longer than many of us have been alive. Though the exact number of years is unknown – just like her true age. Let’s just say that her immobile face is a testament to her love of cosmetic surgery and the only clues to her age are that her husband is in his early seventies and she occasionally references matchmaking in the nineties when everything was analogue and she used an actual Rolodex.

‘I recall a case in 2005,’ she begins, ‘in which the client engaged me for their friend and wanted the match to seem natural… ra ndom… happenstance , if you will. So, I designed a series of meet cutes, and each potential was given a time and location, as well as a photograph of the client and a script outlining how they could “meet by accident”.’

‘Oh, that sounds perfect ,’ Freya says prematurely.

‘And it was successful?’ asks George, voicing my exact concern.

‘Oh, yes, absolutely,’ replies Ursula. ‘She met her match on her Sunday morning run. He literally bumped into her as she rounded a corner on the woodlands trail, and that was that – a successful match.’

‘Does your boy run, Freya?’ asks Nasrin, a teasing edge to her voice.

‘No, he’s not a runner. But maybe?—’

‘Freya,’ I say, cutting her off, ‘Nas was only teasing. We don’t have to set up a running-around-the-park meet cute.’

‘Oh, of course.’

‘So, we appear to have a strategy,’ says Paloma, who likes to keep our staff meetings moving along. ‘Ursula, will you be Poppy’s second on this one?’

‘I’d be happy to.’

‘What?’ says Freya, talking over Ursula. ‘But I thought I would…’ She trails off as she often does, but her meaning is clear. She wanted to be my lieutenant on this case, something I was worried about.

‘You’re a little too close to this one, Freya,’ Saskia chimes in diplomatically.

‘And Ursula has experience with the strategy,’ Paloma adds.

‘I designed the strategy,’ says Ursula, her lips quivering almost imperceptibly. This is the Ursula equivalent of peevish lip-pursing.

‘Apologies, Ursula,’ Paloma says contritely. ‘You’re absolutely right.’

Ursula’s longstanding reputation as one of the top matchmakers in the UK has earned her a status that belies the agency’s official hierarchy. Paloma may be a co-founder of the Ever After Agency, but Ursula is the undisputed Queen of Matchmaking, and she benevolently nods her acceptance of the apology.

‘That’s all, everyone,’ says Paloma, closing the meeting.

I get up from the table, but Freya remains seated, her face contorted with disappointment. I sit back down and wait for the others to file out.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

‘Hardly,’ she replies gloomily. ‘Why didn’t you speak up? You know I’m far better positioned to be your second on this case than Ursula is.’

I don’t know that. Actually, I’m positive she isn’t, but I need to tread lightly here. Freya is my closest colleague at the agency – and a friend. I would never want to hurt her feelings or make her feel like I’m usurping her in any way. I know what this case means to her.

‘Look, we’d need Ursula to approve the list of potentials anyway. With her helping to assemble that list, we’ll be one step ahead. That means we can start matching Raff sooner. Right?’

I totally pulled that out of my bum – what a load of hooey! This will shave off half a day – max . From the way her frown deepens, Freya is also unconvinced, so I try another tactic.

‘Frey,’ I say as gently as possible, ‘you had to know that you wouldn’t be assigned to this case, even as my second.’

I regard her closely, witnessing the thoughts playing behind her eyes and the moment she concedes.

‘You’re right,’ she says, and I couldn’t be more relieved. I reach over and give her forearm a squeeze. ‘But, Poppy, how are you going to pull off these “chance encounters” if I’m not part of the case – not even peripherally? ’

How did I miss that key factor when Ursula’s strategy seemed like a perfect solution only minutes ago?

‘I know,’ says Freya, answering her own question. ‘Gaby can help.’

‘That’s a great idea but will she be up for it?’ I ask.

Gaby may have got Raff to agree to the Nouveau Life interview, but what if she’s still hesitant about finding him a match?

‘Of course! She said she’d help if I got approval from Saskia and Paloma, remember?’ Freya replies, her bright optimism re-igniting. It’s something I admire about Freya – how resilient she is – but until I know for sure that Gaby’s onboard, I’ll hold off on celebrating.

‘And Poppy,’ says Freya, suddenly serious again, ‘even though I’m not your second, you’ll keep me in the loop, right?’

With that pleading look in her eye, how can I say anything but yes?

‘Of course.’

She smiles brightly, throwing her arms around my neck and hugging me tightly.

As seems to be happening with more frequency lately, I arrive home from work to find our friends sitting at the breakfast bar sipping beverages while Tristan cooks dinner. This time, it’s Tristan’s best friend, Ravi, and his wife, Jacinda.

‘There you are,’ says Jacinda, sliding off her stool.

‘Hello, darling,’ says Tristan. ‘I’ll come and welcome you properly after I finish the polenta.’ Polenta, as I’ve learnt since marrying a man who cooks, requires constant stirring or it gets lumpy.

‘Hi,’ I say to Jacinda, accepting a cheek kiss. ‘Hi, Rav,’ I say with a wave .

He sends me a warm smile. ‘Hiya.’

I shrug out of my coat and hang it up. ‘Are you two early or am I late?’ I ask, checking the clock on the stove. It’s barely gone six.

‘We’re early,’ they both reply, but neither offers an explanation.

‘Oh, a Chardy,’ I say, spying the open bottle of wine on the counter. I slip past Tristan, sneaking a cheeky bum pat, and get myself a glass from one of the overhead cupboards. ‘Who’s having a top-up?’ I ask.

‘Yes, please,’ replies my husband, sliding his glass towards me, and I top up his wine.

‘Rav? Jass?’ I ask, turning around. Only Ravi’s having a whisky and Jacinda’s drinking— Wait… I meet her eyes. ‘Is that water?’

‘Yes,’ she replies, both hands encircling the glass.

I hold up the bottle. ‘Did you want a glass? It’s from Burgundy.’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Okay,’ I say brightly, even though it’s highly unusual for Jacinda to decline a glass of wine. I suspect I know why she’s not drinking, but it’s something that should come from them, rather than me asking outright.

I put the bottle in the fridge and when I turn back around, they‘re having a hushed, but intense conversation, making my suspicions mount. To give the illusion of privacy, even though I can make out most of what they’re saying, I go and stand beside Tristan and watch him stir the polenta. He flashes me a wink and I blow him a kiss, wondering if he’s listening in to our friends’ conversation like I am.

‘I want to tell them, Rav. I’m practically bursting with it,’ Jacinda whispers.

‘All right,’ Ravi replies softly.

‘So, we have some news…’ Jacinda begins, raising her voice.

‘You do ?’ I ask, spinning around .

Jacinda starts laughing. ‘Poppy, you are the worst actor. You already know what I’m going to say, don’t you?’

‘I may have figured it out.’

‘Figured out what?’ asks Tristan, looking over his shoulder.

Jacinda shares a look with Ravi, who beams at her. ‘It’s early days,’ she says, turning back to me, ‘and we’re not supposed to be telling people yet, but you’re not people , you’re family, so… We’re having a baby!’

As the words land, tears spring to my eyes. I’m going to be an aunty! There’s going to be a little person in the world who calls me ‘Aunty Poppy’!

I run around to Jacinda and throw my arms around her. ‘I am so happy for you!’

‘Ahem! It wasn’t an immaculate conception, you know.’

‘Ravi, that’s crass,’ chides Jacinda as I let her go.

‘Congratulations,’ I say, giving him a hug. ‘Now you’ll have a reason to tell dad jokes.’

‘Oi,’ he replies, making me laugh.

‘See? I already find you funnier.’

He shakes his head at me, his mouth stretching into a reluctant grin.

‘Congratulations,’ says Tristan, having left his post. He hugs Jacinda, then shakes hands with Ravi.

‘Tris, what about the polenta?’ asks Jacinda, eyeing the pot on the stove.

‘I’ve turned off the hob. Your news trumps smooth polenta, Jacinda,’ he says with a grin. ‘And we can do better than this for a celebratory drink,’ he says, taking her water glass. He heads back into the kitchen. ‘How about a round of mocktails so we can toast your good news?’

‘I won’t say no to that,’ replies Jacinda, beaming.

I stand between Jacinda and Ravi, hooking my arm over their shoulders. ‘So, when is Baby Sharma due?’ I ask, looking between them.

‘The beginning of summer,’ Ravi replies.

‘Oh, a Cancer!’ I declare, and Ravi groans, his eyes rolling dramatically.

‘Ravi thinks astrology is a load of rubbish,’ Jacinda tells me.

‘Yes, I’m married to a sceptic as well,’ I reply, shooting an amused look at Tristan.

‘Because it is a load of rubbish!’ he calls over his shoulder.

‘Are you going to find out the baby’s sex before they’re born?’ I ask, ignoring Tristan. I scoot around Jacinda and slide onto the stool next to hers.

‘We’re not sure,’ Ravi replies.

‘We don’t care either way, of course,’ says Jacinda. ‘We just want a healthy child.’

‘And we’d happily wait till the baby’s born…’

‘We would, but my mum’s another story,’ Jacinda interjects. ‘She’ll want to know as soon as possible if she’s finally getting a granddaughter.’

‘Ahh, there are a lot of boys in your family,’ I say. Jacinda has three older brothers, and they all have sons – one of them has three .

‘Precisely.’

‘Well, whoever Baby Sharma is, they will be so, so loved.’

‘Thanks, Poppy,’ says Jacinda, covering my hand with hers.

‘And here we are,’ says Tristan, bearing a pitcher filled with a colourful concoction and a tray with four glasses. ‘Shall we sit on the sofas?’

‘Good idea,’ says Ravi, climbing off his stool and stretching his arms overhead.

We make our way to the two facing sofas and get comfy. Tristan smacks a kiss onto my cheek – a delayed ‘welcome home’ – then pours from the pitcher and hands out the mocktails. When we all have one, he raises his. ‘To our dear friends, Ravi and Jacinda, and their soon-to-be addition to the family.’

‘To us,’ says Ravi. He leans in and kisses Jacinda tenderly – an extremely unusual display of affection for the Sharmas.

‘To us,’ she says quietly, and they lock eyes as they sip.

I look away, feeling as if I’m intruding on an intimate moment.

‘Blimey, that’s good, Tris,’ says Jacinda. ‘You sure there’s no booze in that?’

‘A total virgin,’ he replies.

‘Unlike my wife.’

Tristan and I exchange a look, then crack up.

‘Ravi!’ Jacinda pretends to be outraged but she soon starts sniggering with the rest of us.

A baby in the family… How lovely.

I look across at my husband, feeling sudden and intense longing. We talked about having children before we got married – and both of us want at least one child – but since that first discussion, we haven’t really discussed it again. And I’m thirty-seven now.

Maybe it’s time to revisit the topic.

Maybe it’s time to have a baby.