Page 92 of Special Delivery
The phone buzzed on the kitchen bench. An unknown number was calling.
‘Hello?’ Poppy said cautiously.
‘Put your heels on, McKellar, we’re going out.’
‘What? Who is this?’
‘It’s Kate, James’s sister! I’ve been meaning to get in touch for ages and I was speaking to April, who mentioned you were friends, so I decided you’re crashing our dinner date. Mr Spice King at seven thirty.’
Poppy replayed the words in her head in case she’d missed something. Kate was calling? And she knew April? Since when? And why and how? And also: it was already five past seven.
‘It’s all sorted,’ Kate continued. ‘I called the restaurant and they’ve changed the booking and Harper’s in the car ready to babysit.’
‘Hi, Poppy,’ called Harper from the background.
‘We should be at your place in about twenty minutes. You’re next door to Mary, right?’
‘Uh, yes, that’s right,’ said Poppy, trying to catch up.
‘Cool. We’ll see you soon.’
‘Wait!’ Poppy said, trying to regain some level of control. ‘Maeve is—’
‘—sick, I know. I can’t remember who told me. April? Or James? No, it was the lady at the pharmacy—she golfs with your mum. Anyway, her conjunctivitis will be no match for Harper. She’s been around her fair share of pooing, spewing babies. A bit of eye gunk won’t faze her.’
‘But … but,’ stammered Poppy. ‘How do you even know April?’
‘Played rep netball with her for ten years,’ replied Kate. ‘She’s a monster on the centre court. A demon on the dancefloor too.’
Poppy chuckled. She could corroborate that last bit. ‘Okay, I’ll get ready. Is Mr Spice King the karaoke place?’
‘Sure is,’ replied Kate cheerfully. ‘You’re under no obligation to participate, but I must warn you that April gets very domineering with a mic. She calls herself a red-headed Beyoncé.’
Kate arrived twenty minutes later, flanked by a baggy-jeaned Harper. Poppy gave the teenager a tour of the house, detailed instructions for the baby monitor, a full rundown of bottles, nappies, formula tins and their precise locations, and finally, the password for the wi-fi. Harper looked most interested in that.
As Poppy climbed into Kate’s car, she checked her phone in case Harper had texted between her leaving the front door and reaching the driveway. Unsurprisingly, there were no notifications.
‘Relax, mate,’ said Kate. ‘You’ve done this before, remember?’
The restaurant was packed, to the extent that Poppy had to suck in her stomach to squeeze between the tables. April was already seated, wearing an emerald lurex skivvy that made her eyes look even greener.
‘Took the liberty of ordering a bottle,’ she announced by way of greeting. ‘What are you wearing, doll?’ she asked Kate. ‘It’s, like, six degrees outside.’
‘It’s the first day of spring, hence …’ Kate waved her hands at her leather miniskirt and legs that were preposterously tanned for this early in the season.
‘Goal attacks,’ said April, rolling her eyes. ‘Such show-offs.’
‘I knew it,’ Poppy said, sliding into a chair.
‘Knew what?’ asked Kate.
‘It’s so obvious you’d play goal attack and April would play centre. You have very conspicuous GA and centre energy. Unco girls like me can pick it instantly. It must be evolutionary—my way of working out the leaders of the pack so I can convince them not to feed me to the wolves.’
‘No wolf would want you,’ scoffed April. ‘You’d be too gristly now your boobs have deflated.’
‘So true,’ said Poppy with a groan. ‘And you haven’t even seen me naked.’
‘Ha! You’re not my type.’ April winked. ‘But I’ve been wanting to ask: did anyone get naked after the races? And I’m not actually asking you,’ she said to Kate.
