The cinema complex was decked out in crudely cut cardboard love hearts and red crepe-paper streamers. They were showing re-runs of classic romance movies. Poppy and Annalise made their choice based on a process of elimination, taking turns striking off the least likely contenders one by one.
‘The Holiday is a no for me, I can’t handle Jack Black.’
‘So is Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Used to be my fave but Garret and I watched it together on our first date.’
‘I’m not doing Notting Hill either. Never been a fan of Julia Roberts.’
Eventually they found they were left with Love Actually. Poppy would have preferred something with some action or adventure, but this was going to have to do.
As they bought a large popcorn to share, a packet of Maltesers and a couple of soft drinks, Poppy wondered if she should confess to Annalise before the movie started. She wasn’t entirely sure what had made her lie to her that morning, but the truth was, she hadn’t stuffed things up at the forty-yard line with Will the previous evening. She’d headed down to the warehouse ready to give Annalise all the details of the previous night’s tryst, just as Annalise always told Poppy about her own escapades with Lawrence. But at the last minute she’d changed her mind and instead told the fabricated version of events.
Maybe it was the guy at the pub who’d warned her about Will. Maybe he’d got into her head when he’d said Annalise wasn’t a good friend for offering her up to Will on a platter, and Poppy didn’t want to give Annalise the satisfaction of knowing her technique had succeeded. But now she felt funny about her lie.
The real story was that once they’d made it back to Will’s place, the cab had pulled away and Will had taken Poppy inside. She was drunk, he was drunk, and she hadn’t slept with anyone apart from Garret in more than nine years. So she couldn’t say it was sexy or sweet or romantic. She couldn’t even say it was mind-blowing – although it did hit the spot, or he did, so to speak. Instead, it was fumbly and messy and at times awkward, but it was fun. It was new and different, and it woke her up.
When they kissed, it was hard and fast with tongues sliding, exploring. She hadn’t been undressed by a man in years. When she and Garret had sex, they’d both strip down under the covers and then turn to one another. But Will tore at her clothes, wrenched her sports bra up over her head and leaned down to take one of her nipples in his mouth while the bra still had her arms trapped together above her head.
She elbowed him in the face when she tried to get his shirt off and he caught his watch in her hair. When he first went down on her, she was self-conscious about her lack of maintenance down below for all of three seconds before she was overcome by pleasure, and when she returned the favour, she experimented with her tongue in ways she’d never considered with Garret.
Their foreplay didn’t last long and Will had barely pulled on the condom in time before he slid himself inside her and Poppy found herself digging her fingernails into his flesh as the both of them moaned together.
Afterwards, it was hard to know how she really felt about the entire experience. The first man she’d been with since her husband left her. Was she ashamed? Did she feel dirty? Or did she feel empowered? Fulfilled and content? She was a single woman – she had every right to sleep with whoever she wanted. But the question was, had he actually wanted her, or was he only interested because Annalise had painted her as an easy target?
As she gathered up her things, dressed herself in the dark and crept from his apartment, Poppy found herself thinking of the man at the pub who’d tried to warn her. Did knowing Will’s reasons for sleeping with her take away from the pleasure of what she’d just experienced? If she was honest, yes, of course it did. Didn’t anyone want to feel desired for who they were?
But still, she’d needed what Will had given her. She’d needed it to open her back up to the possibilities of being with a man other than Garret. It was a new beginning. And that’s why she’d forgiven Annalise for setting her up behind her back. That’s why she’d chosen not to call her out on it.
* * *
In the cinema, as they waited for the previews to start, Annalise grabbed Poppy’s cup of lemonade and removed the lid. ‘Here,’ she whispered, ‘special surprise for you,’ and she tipped in vodka from a flask she’d been hiding inside her handbag.
‘Annalise!’ Poppy hissed. ‘We’re not teenagers. We could just wait and go for a drink after the movie. I swear to God, I think you may have a problem.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ She giggled before touching her cup to Poppy’s. ‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Pass the popcorn.’
Two-thirds of the way through the movie, Emma Thompson was figuring out that her husband had bought another woman an expensive necklace and Annalise was whispering to Poppy that she ought to kick him in the nuts, when Poppy’s phone started buzzing in her back pocket. She shifted slightly and pulled it out from under her butt to try to take a discreet look at the screen, then glanced sideways as she realised Annalise was doing the same with her own phone. Poppy saw that it was a NOP notification and pocketed it to check it later. Annalise was still looking at hers and a moment later she nudged Poppy.
‘Bathroom,’ she whispered, and stood up, ducked her head low and turned sideways to shift past her and along the row of seats.
Later that night Poppy remembered the notification and went to look for the message. But once again it had vanished.