Right, so two weeks before his work trip, they had a massive row. Dan and Poppy Whitmore. A proper row. The sort where their cat Mog made himself scarce and hid somewhere unknown just to stay out of the firing line.
***
Poppy asked for flowers.
– Dan, buy me flowers. Just because. No reason.
– What’s the reason? – he asked, not looking up from his phone.
– Me. I’m the reason.
Dan thought: “Why not? That’s logical.” Went to the shop. Came back twenty minutes later with a big bag. Poppy smiled, peeked inside. Pulled out a cabbage. Fresh, firm, white.
– Are these flowers? – she asked quietly.
– It’s a cabbage. Flowers cost thirty quid and die. Cabbage is a pound fifty. You can make salad for three days.
– Dan.
– What?
– You’re an idiot.
– I’m your idiot.
She didn’t talk to him for three days. He didn’t have a clue what he’d done. She didn’t explain. Then he went off on his business trip. To Manchester. He said:
– Work, nothing personal.
Poppy thought: “Nothing personal – that’s us.”
He was away for two weeks.
She was left with two kids, a cat, endless laundry, school runs, nursery, and the same scrambled eggs every morning.
And WhatsApp.
That’s where they messaged each other…
Day one.
He: “Arrived. Depressing hotel room. Negotiations tomorrow.”
She: “Well done. The cat wolfed his food and howled for an hour demanding more.”
He: “Who’s well done, me or the cat?”
She: “The cat.”
Day two.
He: “Photo of breakfast. Photo of hotel. Photo of colleague Colin snoring in the next room.”
She: “Lovely. Our tap’s leaking. Water’s pouring out. Called a plumber. He didn’t come.”
He: “Call the council.”
She: “Called. They said they’ll send someone within three days.”
He: “What a bunch of tossers.”
She: “The tosser is the one who went to Manchester.”
Day three.
He: “How are the kids?”
She: “Son got a D in his test, daughter won’t eat her dinner. I’m tired.”
He: “Hang on in there.”
She: “Thanks. I’m not hanging on. I’m falling.”
Day four.
He: “Saw a huge cuddly bunny in the shopping centre today. Thought about getting it for our daughter, but I was scared of dragging it on the plane.”
She: “You’ve never been scared of dragging things on a plane. You were scared of spending the money.”
He: “You’ve got me sussed.”
She: “I had you sussed on our first date, when you ordered tea without sugar and said sugar was bad for you.”
He: “And you ordered cake and ate the whole thing without offering me any.”
She: “Because you’d just told me how bad it is.”
Day five.
He: “Fell asleep in a meeting today. Honestly. Just closed my eyes and blacked out for a second. When I opened them, everyone was staring.”
She: “Are you going to get sacked?”
He: “I hope so. I’m knackered.”
She: “I’m knackered too.”
He: “Let’s be knackered together, but in different cities?”
She: “Let’s be knackered together, but at home. When are you coming back?”
He: “I miss you.”
She: “Me too.”
He went quiet for a minute. Then wrote: “You know, I only just realised I don’t miss home. I miss you. The way you wince when you drink your coffee because it’s too hot. The way you tell the cat off and then feel sorry for him. The way you laugh when our son tells his jokes.”
She didn’t reply. She read that message five times. Then cried. Because he had never written anything like that. In fifteen years of marriage, not once. He was a materialist, a pragmatist, the kind of man who only says “I love you” on birthdays, and only when reminded. And now this – about coffee, about the cat, about the jokes. As if someone had hacked his phone. Or he’d seen the light.
Day six.
She: “Were you drunk last night?”
He: “No. As sober as a judge.”
She: “Then why those words?”
He: “Because I miss you. It’s like alcohol – your brain switches off and your tongue loosens.”
She: “Are you comparing love to alcohol?”
He: “I’m comparing love to honesty. Sometimes, to be honest, you need to be a little drunk. Or very lonely.”
She: “You’re lonely? You have colleagues.”
He: “Colleagues aren’t you. They don’t know I’m scared of the dark and sleep with a nightlight. You know that. And you’ve never laughed about it.”
She: “I did laugh. Once. When you said you were scared of the dark because Mog might be in it.”
He: “Mog’s a beast. He poops in slippers. That’s terrifying.”
She: “You’re an idiot.”
He: “I’m your idiot.”
Day seven.
She woke up to a message. He’d written at four in the morning: “Can’t sleep. Thinking about you. Imagining meeting you at the airport. You’ll be wearing that blue dress I love. I’ll have flowers. We’ll hug and I’ll say: Sorry I’m like this. And you’ll ask: Like what? And I’ll say: Quiet. And you’ll say: I’m used to it. And I’ll say: That’s bad. And you’ll say: That’s life.”
She didn’t reply. She just put on the blue dress. Even though it was only the seventh morning, and the airport meeting was a week away.
Day eight.
He: “Went to the zoo today. On my own. Watched the monkeys. They look like our colleagues – pulling faces, throwing food, acting like they’re in charge.”
She: “You went to the zoo alone? At forty?”
He: “So what? I’m allowed a bit of childhood. You allow me.”
She: “I do. Just send photos.”
He sent a photo. A monkey pulling a face. Him too. She burst out laughing. The kids came running: “Mum, what’s up?” She said: “Dad’s fooling around.” The kids: “He always fools around when we’re not there.” She: “Yes. Shame we never notice.”
Day nine.
He: “I’ve been thinking. Remember how we met? You dropped your purse in the Tube, I picked it up. You said: ‘You’re very observant.’ I said: ‘And you’re very beautiful.’ Then we went for coffee.”
She: “I still remember you ordering tea without sugar.”
He: “And you had cake.”
She: “I still remember that cake. It was lovely. Cherry.”
He: “And I remember how you looked at me. As if I wasn’t just a man on the Tube, but a whole life.”
She: “You were a whole life. You still are. I just forget sometimes.”
He: “I forget too. But right now, I don’t.”
Day ten.
He didn’t send a single message. From morning to night, silence. She called – he didn’t pick up. She texted – no answer. She started to panic. Imagined the worst: he’d collapsed, got ill, been hit by a car. Mog followed her around demanding food. The kids asked for cartoons. She thought about him.
At eleven at night, a message: “Sorry. Phone died. Left the charger in the hotel. Spent the whole day hunting for a new one. Found one with Colin. He gave it to me but made me promise not to fall asleep in meetings again. How are you?”
She: “I was worried. Thought you were dead.”
He: “I’m alive. I miss you. I’ll be back soon.”
She: “Three days.”
He: “Three days. Will you meet me?”
She: “In the blue dress.”
He: “With flowers.”
She: “Deal.”
Day eleven.
He: “Bought presents. Lego for our son, a bunny for our daughter, a scarf for you.”
She: “You’re rubbish at scarves. Last time you brought pink, and I don’t wear pink.”
He: “It’s not pink. It’s dusty rose.”
She: “Dusty rose is pink.”
He: “It’s the colour of a Manchester sunset.”
She: “Are you a poet?”
He: “I’m an accountant. But for you, I can be a poet.”
She: “Don’t. I love you as an accountant. Your handwriting is clear and the numbers add up.”
Day twelve.
He: “Flight’s tomorrow. Come and meet me.”
She: “I will.”
He: “Are you nervous?”
She: “No.”
He: “I’m nervous. Like the first time.”
She: “The first time I choked on cake and you patted me on the back. It was awkward.”
He: “I liked it. I got to touch you.”
Day thirteen. The reunion.
She stood in the airport. In the blue dress. With the kids. They obviously didn’t bring the cat – he’d have caused a scene. She watched the arrivals board. His flight was delayed by an hour. She drank coffee, the kids played on their phones. She thought: “Why did he write all those things? Why the coffee? Why the monkeys? He’s never been like this. Has he actually fallen in love with me again? Or is it just a work trip – an escape from routine, from the kids, from burnt scrambled eggs? Maybe when he’s home he’ll go quiet again, ask about the cabbage and disappear into his laptop.”
He came through arrivals. With flowers. A huge bunch. She’d never seen him with flowers like that – except at their wedding, and even then it was Poppy’s mum who’d picked the bouquet. He walked over, hugged her, kissed her. Said:
– Sorry I’m like this.
She: “Like what?”
He: “Quiet.”
She: “I’m used to it.”
He: “That’s bad.”
She: “That’s life.”
He: “No. It’s a habit. I’ll change.”
She: “Don’t. I love you however you are. Even with cabbage.”
He: “The cabbage was a mistake.”
She: “Cabbage is the past. Flowers are the present.”
They went home. In the taxi he held her hand. The kids fell asleep. Mog met them in the hallway, sniffed the flowers, sneezed and went off to the kitchen.
She put the flowers in a vase. He put his laptop away in a drawer. Said:
– Tonight I’m not working. Tonight I’m only yours.
She: “And tomorrow?”
He: “Tomorrow I’m yours with a laptop. But tonight – no.”
They ordered pizza, drank wine, and watched a film. A stupid romantic film. She laughed, he held her. Mog sat next to them demanding ham.
– Dan, – she said. – Will you really change?
– I don’t know. But I’ll try.
– And if you can’t?
– Then you’ll text me “you’re a tosser”. And I’ll text back “I miss your legs.”
She laughed.
– You’re an idiot.
– I’m your idiot.
They finished the wine and the pizza. Put the kids to bed. Mog fell asleep in the armchair. Poppy looked at her husband.
– You know, I missed something too. Not you – us. The people we were at the beginning. Fun, silly, no mortgage, no cabbage.
– Cabbage is a symbol of my stupidity. I’m never buying cabbage again.
– Buy it. Just buy flowers with it.
– Deal.
They hugged and fell asleep. On the sofa. Because the bed had already been taken by the cat.
In the morning he went to work. With the laptop. Kissed her, said “I love you.”
In the evening he didn’t forget the flowers. He popped into a flower shop and asked:
– Something cheap, but that’ll make my wife smile.
The florist suggested daisies. He took them.
Poppy put them in a vase. Mog sniffed them, sneezed and left.
And that’s how it went, every day.
So that’s the story. Ordinary. Simple. A bit ridiculous, even stupid.
So what? Love often sounds stupid. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.
