quickly go and watch Jack Harper's interview?'
I know Connor isn't my number one fan at the moment. But I don't exactly have a lot of
choice.
'Could I do what?' Connor stares at me in astonishment.
'Could you man the phones? Just for half an hour. I'd be so incredibly grateful…'
'I can't believe you're even asking me that!' says Connor incredulously. 'You know how
important Jack Harper is to me! Emma, I really don't know what you've turned into.'
After he's stalked off, I sit there for twenty minutes. I take several messages for Paul, one for
Nick and one for Caroline. I file a couple of letters. I address a couple of envelopes. And then
suddenly, I've had it.
This is stupid. This is more than stupid. It's ridiculous. I love Jack. He loves me. I should be
there, supporting him. I pick up my coffee and hurry along the corridor. The meeting room is
crowded with people, but I edge in at the back, and squeeze between two guys who aren't
even watching Jack, but are discussing some football match.
'What are you doing here?' says Artemis, as I arrive at her side. 'What about the phones?'
'No taxation without representation,' I hear myself responding coolly, which perhaps isn't
exactly appropriate (I'm not even sure what it means), but has the desired effect of shutting
her up.
I crane my neck so I can see over everyone's heads, and my eyes focus on the screen — and
there he is. Sitting on a chair in a studio, in jeans and a white T-shirt. There's a bright blue
backdrop and the words 'Business Inspirations' behind him, and two smart-looking
interviewers sitting opposite him.
There he is. The man I love.
This is the first time I've seen him since we slept together, it suddenly occurs to me. But his
face is as warm as ever, and his eyes look all dark and glossy under the studio lights.
Oh God, I want to kiss him.
If no-one else was here I would go up to the television set and kiss it. I honestly would.
'What have they asked him so far?' I murmur to Artemis.
'They're talking to him about how he works. His inspirations, his partnership with Pete Laidler,
stuff like that.'
'Sssh!' says someone else.
'Of course it was tough after Pete died,' Jack's saying. 'It was tough for all of us. But recently
…' He pauses. 'Recently my life has turned around and I'm finding inspiration again. I'm
enjoying it again.'
A small tingle runs over me.
He has to be referring to me. He has to be. I've turned his life around! Oh my God. That's
even more romantic than 'I was gripped'.
'You've already expanded into the sports drinks market,' the male interviewer is saying. 'Now
I believe you're looking to expand into the women's market.'
'What?'
There's a frisson around the room, and people start turning their heads.
'We're going into the women's market?'
'Since when?'
'I knew, actually,' Artemis is saying smugly. 'Quite a few people have known for a while-'
I stare at the screen, instantly recalling those people up in Jack's office. That's what the
ovaries were for. Gosh, this is quite exciting. A new venture!
'Can you give us any further details about that?' the male interviewer is saying. 'Will this be a
soft drink marketed at women?'
'It's very early stages,' says Jack. 'But we're planning an entire line. A drink, clothing, a
fragrance. We have a strong creative vision.' He smiles at the man. 'We're excited.'
'So, what's your target market this time?' asks the man, consulting his notes. 'Are you aiming
at sportswomen?'
'Not at all,' says Jack. 'We're aiming at… the girl on the street.'
'The "girl on the street"?' The female interviewer sits up, looking slightly affronted. 'What's
that supposed to mean? Who is this girl on the street?'
'She's twenty-something,' says Jack after a pause. 'She works in an office, takes the tube to
work, goes out in the evenings and comes home on the night bus… just an ordinary, nothingspecial
girl.'
'There are thousands of them,' puts in the man with a smile.
'But the Panther brand has always been associated with men,' chips in the woman, looking
sceptical. 'With competition. With masculine values. Do you really think you can make the
switch to the female market?'
'We've done research,' says Jack pleasantly. 'We feel we know our market.'
'Research!' she scoffs. 'Isn't this just another case of men telling women what they want?'
'I don't believe so,' says Jack, still pleasantly, but I can see a slight flicker of annoyance pass
across his face.
'Plenty of companies have tried to switch markets without success. How do you know you
won't just be another one of them?'
'I'm confident,' says Jack.
God, why is she being so aggressive? I think indignantly. Of course Jack knows what he's
doing!
'You round up a load of women in some focus group and ask them a few questions! How does
that tell you anything?'
'That's only a small part of the picture, I can assure you,' says Jack evenly.
'Oh, come on,' the woman says, leaning back and folding her arms. 'Can a company like
Panther — can a man like you — really tap into the psyche of, as you put it, an ordinary,
nothing-special girl?'
'Yes. I can!' Jack meets her gaze square-on. 'I know this girl.'
'You know her?' The woman raises her eyebrows.
'I know who this girl is,' says Jack. 'I know what her tastes are; what colours she likes. I know
what she eats, I know what she drinks. I know what she wants out of life. She's size twelve
but she'd like to be size ten. She…' he spreads his arms as though searching for inspiration.
'She eats Cheerios for breakfast and dips Flakes in her cappuccinos.'
I look in surprise at my hand, holding a Flake. I was about to dip it into my coffee. And… I
had Cheerios this morning.
'We're surrounded these days by images of perfect, glossy people,' Jack is saying with
animation. 'But this girl is real. She has bad hair days, and good hair days. She wears Gstrings
even though she finds them uncomfortable. She writes out exercise routines, then
ignores them. She pretends to read business journals but hides celebrity magazines inside
them.'
I stare blankly at the television screen.
Just… hang on a minute. This all sounds a bit familiar.
'That's exactly what you do, Emma,' says Artemis. 'I've seen your copy of OK! inside
Marketing Week,' She turns to me with a mocking laugh and her gaze lands on my Flake.
'She loves clothes but she's not a fashion victim,' Jack is saying on screen. 'She'll wear, maybe,
a pair of jeans…'
Artemis stares in disbelief at my Levis.
'… and a flower in her hair…'
Dazedly I lift a hand and touch the fabric rose in my hair.
He can't-
He can't be talking about-
'Oh… my… God,' says Artemis slowly.
'What?' says Caroline, next to her. She follows Artemis's gaze, and her expression changes.
'Oh my God! Emma! It's you!'
'It's not,' I say, but my voice won't quite work properly.
'It is!'
A few people start nudging each other and turning to look at me.
'She reads fifteen horoscopes every day and chooses the one she likes best…' Jack's voice is
saying.
'It is you! It's exactly you!'
'… she scans the back of highbrow books and pretends she's read them…'
'I knew you hadn't read Great Expectations!' says Artemis triumphantly.
'… she adores sweet sherry…'
'Sweet sherry?' says Nick, turning in horror. 'You cannot be serious.'
'It's Emma!' I can hear people saying on the other side of the room. 'It's Emma Corrigan!'
'Emma?' says Katie, looking straight at me in disbelief. 'But… but…'
'It's not Emma!' says Connor all of a sudden, with a laugh. He's standing over on the other
side of the room, leaning against the wall. 'Don't be ridiculous! Emma's size eight, for a start.
Not size twelve!'
'Size eight?' says Artemis with a snort of laughter.
'Size eight!' Caroline giggles. 'That's a good one!'
'Aren't you size eight?' Connor looks at me bewil-deredly. 'But you said…'
'I… I know I did.' I swallow, my face like a furnace. 'But I was… I was…'
'Do you really buy all your clothes from thrift shops and pretend they're new?' says Caroline,
looking up with interest from the screen.
'No!' I say defensively. 'I mean, yes, maybe… sometimes…'
'She weighs 135 pounds, but pretends she weighs 125,' Jack's voice is saying.
What? What?
My entire body contracts in shock.
'I do not!' I yell in outrage at the screen. 'I do not weigh anything like 135 pounds! I weigh…
about… 128… and a half…' I tail off as the entire room turns to stare at me.
'… hates crochet…'
There's an almighty gasp from across the room.
'You hate crochet?' comes Katie's disbelieving voice.
'No!' I say, swivelling in horror. 'That's wrong! I love crochet! You know I love crochet.'
But Katie is stalking furiously out of the room.
'She cries when she hears the Carpenters,' Jack's voice is saying on the screen. 'She loves
Abba but she can't stand jazz…'
Oh no. Oh no oh no…
Connor is staring at me as though I have personally driven a stake through his heart.
'You can't stand… jazz?'
It's like one of those dreams where everyone can see your underwear and you want to run but
you can't. I can't tear myself away. All I can do is stare ahead in agony as Jack's voice
continues inexorably.
All my secrets. All my personal, private secrets. Revealed on television. I'm in such a state of
shock, I'm not even taking them all in.
'She wears lucky underwear on first dates… she borrows designer shoes from her flatmate
and passes them off as her own… pretends to kick-box… confused about religion… worries
that her breasts are too small…'
I close my eyes, unable to bear it. My breasts. He mentioned my breasts. On television.
'When she goes out, she can play sophisticated, but on her bed…'
I'm suddenly faint with fear.
No. No. Please not this. Please, please …
'… she has a Barbie bedcover.'
A huge roar of laughter goes round the room, and I bury my face in my hands. I am beyond
mortification. No-one was supposed to know about my Barbie bedcover. No-one.
'Is she sexy?' the interviewer is asking, and my heart gives a huge jump. I stare at the screen,
unable to breathe for apprehension. What's he going to say?
'She's very sexual,' says Jack at once, and all eyes swivel towards me, agog. 'This is a modern
girl who carries condoms in her purse.'
OK. Every time I think this can't get any worse, it does.
My mother is watching this. My mother.
'But maybe she hasn't reached her full potential… maybe there's a side of her which has been
frustrated…'
I can't look at Connor. I can't look anywhere.
'Maybe she's willing to experiment… maybe she's had — I don't know — a lesbian fantasy
about her best friend.'
No! No! My entire body clenches in horror. I have a sudden image of Lissy watching the
screen at home, wide-eyed, clasping a hand over her mouth. She'll know it was her. I will
never be able to look her in the eye again.
'It was a dream, OK?' I manage desperately, as everyone gawps at me. 'Not a fantasy. They're
different!'
I feel like throwing myself at the television. Draping my arms over it. Stopping him.
But it wouldn't do any good, would it? A million TVs are on, in a million homes. People,
everywhere, are watching.
'She believes in love and romance. She believes her life is one day going to be transformed
into something wonderful and exciting. She has hopes and fears and worries, just like anyone.
Sometimes she feels frightened.' He pauses, and adds in a softer voice, 'Sometimes she feels
unloved. Sometimes she feels she will never gain approval from those people who are most
important to her.'
As I stare at Jack's warm, serious face on the screen, I feel my eyes stinging slightly.
'But she's brave and goodhearted and faces her life head on…' He shakes his head dazedly
and smiles at the interviewer. 'I'm… I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened there. I guess I
got a little carried away. Could we-' His voice is abruptly cut off by the interviewer.
Carried away.
He got a little carried away.
This is like saying Hitler was a tad aggressive.
'Jack Harper, many thanks for talking to us,' the interviewer starts saying. 'Next week, we'll be
chatting to the charismatic king of motivational videos, Ernie Powers. Meanwhile, many
thanks again to…'
Everyone stares at the screen as she finishes her spiel and the programme's music starts. Then
someone leans forward and switches the television off.
For a few seconds the entire room is silent. Everyone is gaping at me, as though they're
expecting me to make a speech, or do a little dance or something. Some faces are sympathetic,
some are curious, some are gleeful and some are just Jeez-am-I-glad-I'm-not-you.
Now I know exactly how zoo animals feel.
I am never visiting a zoo again.
'But… but I don't understand,' comes a voice from across the room, and all the heads swivel
avidly towards Connor, like at a tennis match. He's staring at me, his face red with confusion.
'How does Jack Harper know so much about you?'
Oh God. I know Connor got a really good degree from Manchester University and everything.
But sometimes he is so slow on the uptake.
The heads have swivelled back towards me again.
'I…' My whole body is prickling with embarrassment. 'Because we… we…'
I can't say it out loud. I just can't.
But I don't have to. Connor's face is slowly turning different colours.
'No,' he gulps, staring at me as though he's seen a ghost. And not just any old ghost. A really
big ghost with clanky chains going 'Whoooarr!'
'No,' he says again. 'No. I don't believe it.'
'Connor-' says someone, putting a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off.
'Connor, I'm really sorry,' I say helplessly.
'You're joking!' exclaims some guy in the corner, who is obviously even slower than Connor,
and has just had it spelled out to him, word for word. He looks up at me. 'So how long has this
been going on?'
It's as if he opened the floodgates. Suddenly everyone in the entire room starts pitching
questions at me. I can't hear myself think for the babble.
'Is that why he came to Britain? To see you?'
'Are you going to marry him?'
'You know, you don't look like weigh 135 pounds…'
'Do you really have a Barbie bedspread?'
'So in the lesbian fantasy, was it just the two of you, or…'
'Have you had sex with Jack Harper at the office?'
'Is that why you dumped Connor?'
I can't cope with this. I have to get out of here. Now.
Without looking at anyone, I get to my feet and stumble out of the room. As I head down the
corridor, I'm too dazed to think of anything other than I must get my bag and go. Now.
I enter the empty marketing department, where phones are shrilly ringing around. The habit's
too ingrained, I can't ignore them.
'Hello?' I say, picking up one randomly.
'So!' comes Jemima's furious voice. '"She borrows designer shoes from her flatmate and
passes them off as her own." Whose shoes might those be, then? Lissy's?'
'Look, Jemima, can I just… I'm sorry… I have to go,' I say feebly, and put the phone down.
No more phones. Get bag. Go.
As I zip up my bag with trembling hands, a couple of people who have followed me into the
office are picking up some of the ringing phones.
'Emma, your grandad's on the line,' says Artemis, putting her hand over the receiver.
'Something about the night bus and he'll never trust you again?'
'You have a call from Harvey's Bristol Cream publicity department,' chimes in Caroline. 'They
want to know where they can send you a free case of sweet sherry?'
'How did they get my name? How? Has the word spread already? Are the women on
reception telling everybody?'
'Emma, I have your dad here,' says Nick. 'He says he needs to talk to you urgently…'
'I can't,' I say numbly. 'I can't talk to anybody. I have to… I have to…'
I grab my jacket and almost run out of the office and down the corridor to the stairs.
Everywhere, people are making their way back to their offices after watching the interview,
and they all stare at me as I hurry by.
'Emma!' As I'm nearing the stairs, a woman named Fiona, whom I barely know, grabs me by
the arm. She weighs about 300 pounds and is always campaigning for bigger chairs and wider
doorways. 'Never be ashamed of your body. Rejoice in it! The earth mother has given it to
you! If you want to come to our workshop on Saturday…'
I tear my arm away in horror, and start clattering down the marble stairs. But as I reach the
next floor, someone else grabs my arm.
'Hey, can you tell me which charity shops you go to?' It's a girl I don't even recognize.
'Because you always look really well dressed to me…'
'I adore Barbie dolls too!' Carol Finch from Accounts is suddenly in my path. 'Shall we start a
club together, Emma?'
'I… I really have to go.'
I back away, then start running down the stairs. But people keep accosting me from all
directions.
'I didn't realize I was a lesbian till I was thirty-three…'
'A lot of people are confused about religion. This is a leaflet about our Bible study group…'
'Leave me alone!' I yell in anguish. 'Everyone just leave me alone!'
I sprint for the entrance, the voices following me, echoing on the marble floor. As I'm
frantically pushing against the heavy glass doors, Dave the security guard saunters up, and
stares right at my breasts.
'They look all right to me, love,' he says encouragingly.
I finally get the door open, run outside and down the road, not looking right or left. At last I
come to a halt, sink down on a bench and bury my head in my hands.
My body is still reverberating with shock.
I can barely form a coherent thought.
I have never been so completely and utterly embarrassed in all my life.
TWENTY
I know Connor isn't my number one fan at the moment. But I don't exactly have a lot of
choice.
'Could I do what?' Connor stares at me in astonishment.
'Could you man the phones? Just for half an hour. I'd be so incredibly grateful…'
'I can't believe you're even asking me that!' says Connor incredulously. 'You know how
important Jack Harper is to me! Emma, I really don't know what you've turned into.'
After he's stalked off, I sit there for twenty minutes. I take several messages for Paul, one for
Nick and one for Caroline. I file a couple of letters. I address a couple of envelopes. And then
suddenly, I've had it.
This is stupid. This is more than stupid. It's ridiculous. I love Jack. He loves me. I should be
there, supporting him. I pick up my coffee and hurry along the corridor. The meeting room is
crowded with people, but I edge in at the back, and squeeze between two guys who aren't
even watching Jack, but are discussing some football match.
'What are you doing here?' says Artemis, as I arrive at her side. 'What about the phones?'
'No taxation without representation,' I hear myself responding coolly, which perhaps isn't
exactly appropriate (I'm not even sure what it means), but has the desired effect of shutting
her up.
I crane my neck so I can see over everyone's heads, and my eyes focus on the screen — and
there he is. Sitting on a chair in a studio, in jeans and a white T-shirt. There's a bright blue
backdrop and the words 'Business Inspirations' behind him, and two smart-looking
interviewers sitting opposite him.
There he is. The man I love.
This is the first time I've seen him since we slept together, it suddenly occurs to me. But his
face is as warm as ever, and his eyes look all dark and glossy under the studio lights.
Oh God, I want to kiss him.
If no-one else was here I would go up to the television set and kiss it. I honestly would.
'What have they asked him so far?' I murmur to Artemis.
'They're talking to him about how he works. His inspirations, his partnership with Pete Laidler,
stuff like that.'
'Sssh!' says someone else.
'Of course it was tough after Pete died,' Jack's saying. 'It was tough for all of us. But recently
…' He pauses. 'Recently my life has turned around and I'm finding inspiration again. I'm
enjoying it again.'
A small tingle runs over me.
He has to be referring to me. He has to be. I've turned his life around! Oh my God. That's
even more romantic than 'I was gripped'.
'You've already expanded into the sports drinks market,' the male interviewer is saying. 'Now
I believe you're looking to expand into the women's market.'
'What?'
There's a frisson around the room, and people start turning their heads.
'We're going into the women's market?'
'Since when?'
'I knew, actually,' Artemis is saying smugly. 'Quite a few people have known for a while-'
I stare at the screen, instantly recalling those people up in Jack's office. That's what the
ovaries were for. Gosh, this is quite exciting. A new venture!
'Can you give us any further details about that?' the male interviewer is saying. 'Will this be a
soft drink marketed at women?'
'It's very early stages,' says Jack. 'But we're planning an entire line. A drink, clothing, a
fragrance. We have a strong creative vision.' He smiles at the man. 'We're excited.'
'So, what's your target market this time?' asks the man, consulting his notes. 'Are you aiming
at sportswomen?'
'Not at all,' says Jack. 'We're aiming at… the girl on the street.'
'The "girl on the street"?' The female interviewer sits up, looking slightly affronted. 'What's
that supposed to mean? Who is this girl on the street?'
'She's twenty-something,' says Jack after a pause. 'She works in an office, takes the tube to
work, goes out in the evenings and comes home on the night bus… just an ordinary, nothingspecial
girl.'
'There are thousands of them,' puts in the man with a smile.
'But the Panther brand has always been associated with men,' chips in the woman, looking
sceptical. 'With competition. With masculine values. Do you really think you can make the
switch to the female market?'
'We've done research,' says Jack pleasantly. 'We feel we know our market.'
'Research!' she scoffs. 'Isn't this just another case of men telling women what they want?'
'I don't believe so,' says Jack, still pleasantly, but I can see a slight flicker of annoyance pass
across his face.
'Plenty of companies have tried to switch markets without success. How do you know you
won't just be another one of them?'
'I'm confident,' says Jack.
God, why is she being so aggressive? I think indignantly. Of course Jack knows what he's
doing!
'You round up a load of women in some focus group and ask them a few questions! How does
that tell you anything?'
'That's only a small part of the picture, I can assure you,' says Jack evenly.
'Oh, come on,' the woman says, leaning back and folding her arms. 'Can a company like
Panther — can a man like you — really tap into the psyche of, as you put it, an ordinary,
nothing-special girl?'
'Yes. I can!' Jack meets her gaze square-on. 'I know this girl.'
'You know her?' The woman raises her eyebrows.
'I know who this girl is,' says Jack. 'I know what her tastes are; what colours she likes. I know
what she eats, I know what she drinks. I know what she wants out of life. She's size twelve
but she'd like to be size ten. She…' he spreads his arms as though searching for inspiration.
'She eats Cheerios for breakfast and dips Flakes in her cappuccinos.'
I look in surprise at my hand, holding a Flake. I was about to dip it into my coffee. And… I
had Cheerios this morning.
'We're surrounded these days by images of perfect, glossy people,' Jack is saying with
animation. 'But this girl is real. She has bad hair days, and good hair days. She wears Gstrings
even though she finds them uncomfortable. She writes out exercise routines, then
ignores them. She pretends to read business journals but hides celebrity magazines inside
them.'
I stare blankly at the television screen.
Just… hang on a minute. This all sounds a bit familiar.
'That's exactly what you do, Emma,' says Artemis. 'I've seen your copy of OK! inside
Marketing Week,' She turns to me with a mocking laugh and her gaze lands on my Flake.
'She loves clothes but she's not a fashion victim,' Jack is saying on screen. 'She'll wear, maybe,
a pair of jeans…'
Artemis stares in disbelief at my Levis.
'… and a flower in her hair…'
Dazedly I lift a hand and touch the fabric rose in my hair.
He can't-
He can't be talking about-
'Oh… my… God,' says Artemis slowly.
'What?' says Caroline, next to her. She follows Artemis's gaze, and her expression changes.
'Oh my God! Emma! It's you!'
'It's not,' I say, but my voice won't quite work properly.
'It is!'
A few people start nudging each other and turning to look at me.
'She reads fifteen horoscopes every day and chooses the one she likes best…' Jack's voice is
saying.
'It is you! It's exactly you!'
'… she scans the back of highbrow books and pretends she's read them…'
'I knew you hadn't read Great Expectations!' says Artemis triumphantly.
'… she adores sweet sherry…'
'Sweet sherry?' says Nick, turning in horror. 'You cannot be serious.'
'It's Emma!' I can hear people saying on the other side of the room. 'It's Emma Corrigan!'
'Emma?' says Katie, looking straight at me in disbelief. 'But… but…'
'It's not Emma!' says Connor all of a sudden, with a laugh. He's standing over on the other
side of the room, leaning against the wall. 'Don't be ridiculous! Emma's size eight, for a start.
Not size twelve!'
'Size eight?' says Artemis with a snort of laughter.
'Size eight!' Caroline giggles. 'That's a good one!'
'Aren't you size eight?' Connor looks at me bewil-deredly. 'But you said…'
'I… I know I did.' I swallow, my face like a furnace. 'But I was… I was…'
'Do you really buy all your clothes from thrift shops and pretend they're new?' says Caroline,
looking up with interest from the screen.
'No!' I say defensively. 'I mean, yes, maybe… sometimes…'
'She weighs 135 pounds, but pretends she weighs 125,' Jack's voice is saying.
What? What?
My entire body contracts in shock.
'I do not!' I yell in outrage at the screen. 'I do not weigh anything like 135 pounds! I weigh…
about… 128… and a half…' I tail off as the entire room turns to stare at me.
'… hates crochet…'
There's an almighty gasp from across the room.
'You hate crochet?' comes Katie's disbelieving voice.
'No!' I say, swivelling in horror. 'That's wrong! I love crochet! You know I love crochet.'
But Katie is stalking furiously out of the room.
'She cries when she hears the Carpenters,' Jack's voice is saying on the screen. 'She loves
Abba but she can't stand jazz…'
Oh no. Oh no oh no…
Connor is staring at me as though I have personally driven a stake through his heart.
'You can't stand… jazz?'
* * *
It's like one of those dreams where everyone can see your underwear and you want to run but
you can't. I can't tear myself away. All I can do is stare ahead in agony as Jack's voice
continues inexorably.
All my secrets. All my personal, private secrets. Revealed on television. I'm in such a state of
shock, I'm not even taking them all in.
'She wears lucky underwear on first dates… she borrows designer shoes from her flatmate
and passes them off as her own… pretends to kick-box… confused about religion… worries
that her breasts are too small…'
I close my eyes, unable to bear it. My breasts. He mentioned my breasts. On television.
'When she goes out, she can play sophisticated, but on her bed…'
I'm suddenly faint with fear.
No. No. Please not this. Please, please …
'… she has a Barbie bedcover.'
A huge roar of laughter goes round the room, and I bury my face in my hands. I am beyond
mortification. No-one was supposed to know about my Barbie bedcover. No-one.
'Is she sexy?' the interviewer is asking, and my heart gives a huge jump. I stare at the screen,
unable to breathe for apprehension. What's he going to say?
'She's very sexual,' says Jack at once, and all eyes swivel towards me, agog. 'This is a modern
girl who carries condoms in her purse.'
OK. Every time I think this can't get any worse, it does.
My mother is watching this. My mother.
'But maybe she hasn't reached her full potential… maybe there's a side of her which has been
frustrated…'
I can't look at Connor. I can't look anywhere.
'Maybe she's willing to experiment… maybe she's had — I don't know — a lesbian fantasy
about her best friend.'
No! No! My entire body clenches in horror. I have a sudden image of Lissy watching the
screen at home, wide-eyed, clasping a hand over her mouth. She'll know it was her. I will
never be able to look her in the eye again.
'It was a dream, OK?' I manage desperately, as everyone gawps at me. 'Not a fantasy. They're
different!'
I feel like throwing myself at the television. Draping my arms over it. Stopping him.
But it wouldn't do any good, would it? A million TVs are on, in a million homes. People,
everywhere, are watching.
'She believes in love and romance. She believes her life is one day going to be transformed
into something wonderful and exciting. She has hopes and fears and worries, just like anyone.
Sometimes she feels frightened.' He pauses, and adds in a softer voice, 'Sometimes she feels
unloved. Sometimes she feels she will never gain approval from those people who are most
important to her.'
As I stare at Jack's warm, serious face on the screen, I feel my eyes stinging slightly.
'But she's brave and goodhearted and faces her life head on…' He shakes his head dazedly
and smiles at the interviewer. 'I'm… I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened there. I guess I
got a little carried away. Could we-' His voice is abruptly cut off by the interviewer.
Carried away.
He got a little carried away.
This is like saying Hitler was a tad aggressive.
'Jack Harper, many thanks for talking to us,' the interviewer starts saying. 'Next week, we'll be
chatting to the charismatic king of motivational videos, Ernie Powers. Meanwhile, many
thanks again to…'
Everyone stares at the screen as she finishes her spiel and the programme's music starts. Then
someone leans forward and switches the television off.
For a few seconds the entire room is silent. Everyone is gaping at me, as though they're
expecting me to make a speech, or do a little dance or something. Some faces are sympathetic,
some are curious, some are gleeful and some are just Jeez-am-I-glad-I'm-not-you.
Now I know exactly how zoo animals feel.
I am never visiting a zoo again.
'But… but I don't understand,' comes a voice from across the room, and all the heads swivel
avidly towards Connor, like at a tennis match. He's staring at me, his face red with confusion.
'How does Jack Harper know so much about you?'
Oh God. I know Connor got a really good degree from Manchester University and everything.
But sometimes he is so slow on the uptake.
The heads have swivelled back towards me again.
'I…' My whole body is prickling with embarrassment. 'Because we… we…'
I can't say it out loud. I just can't.
But I don't have to. Connor's face is slowly turning different colours.
'No,' he gulps, staring at me as though he's seen a ghost. And not just any old ghost. A really
big ghost with clanky chains going 'Whoooarr!'
'No,' he says again. 'No. I don't believe it.'
'Connor-' says someone, putting a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off.
'Connor, I'm really sorry,' I say helplessly.
'You're joking!' exclaims some guy in the corner, who is obviously even slower than Connor,
and has just had it spelled out to him, word for word. He looks up at me. 'So how long has this
been going on?'
It's as if he opened the floodgates. Suddenly everyone in the entire room starts pitching
questions at me. I can't hear myself think for the babble.
'Is that why he came to Britain? To see you?'
'Are you going to marry him?'
'You know, you don't look like weigh 135 pounds…'
'Do you really have a Barbie bedspread?'
'So in the lesbian fantasy, was it just the two of you, or…'
'Have you had sex with Jack Harper at the office?'
'Is that why you dumped Connor?'
I can't cope with this. I have to get out of here. Now.
Without looking at anyone, I get to my feet and stumble out of the room. As I head down the
corridor, I'm too dazed to think of anything other than I must get my bag and go. Now.
I enter the empty marketing department, where phones are shrilly ringing around. The habit's
too ingrained, I can't ignore them.
'Hello?' I say, picking up one randomly.
'So!' comes Jemima's furious voice. '"She borrows designer shoes from her flatmate and
passes them off as her own." Whose shoes might those be, then? Lissy's?'
'Look, Jemima, can I just… I'm sorry… I have to go,' I say feebly, and put the phone down.
No more phones. Get bag. Go.
As I zip up my bag with trembling hands, a couple of people who have followed me into the
office are picking up some of the ringing phones.
'Emma, your grandad's on the line,' says Artemis, putting her hand over the receiver.
'Something about the night bus and he'll never trust you again?'
'You have a call from Harvey's Bristol Cream publicity department,' chimes in Caroline. 'They
want to know where they can send you a free case of sweet sherry?'
'How did they get my name? How? Has the word spread already? Are the women on
reception telling everybody?'
'Emma, I have your dad here,' says Nick. 'He says he needs to talk to you urgently…'
'I can't,' I say numbly. 'I can't talk to anybody. I have to… I have to…'
I grab my jacket and almost run out of the office and down the corridor to the stairs.
Everywhere, people are making their way back to their offices after watching the interview,
and they all stare at me as I hurry by.
'Emma!' As I'm nearing the stairs, a woman named Fiona, whom I barely know, grabs me by
the arm. She weighs about 300 pounds and is always campaigning for bigger chairs and wider
doorways. 'Never be ashamed of your body. Rejoice in it! The earth mother has given it to
you! If you want to come to our workshop on Saturday…'
I tear my arm away in horror, and start clattering down the marble stairs. But as I reach the
next floor, someone else grabs my arm.
'Hey, can you tell me which charity shops you go to?' It's a girl I don't even recognize.
'Because you always look really well dressed to me…'
'I adore Barbie dolls too!' Carol Finch from Accounts is suddenly in my path. 'Shall we start a
club together, Emma?'
'I… I really have to go.'
I back away, then start running down the stairs. But people keep accosting me from all
directions.
'I didn't realize I was a lesbian till I was thirty-three…'
'A lot of people are confused about religion. This is a leaflet about our Bible study group…'
'Leave me alone!' I yell in anguish. 'Everyone just leave me alone!'
I sprint for the entrance, the voices following me, echoing on the marble floor. As I'm
frantically pushing against the heavy glass doors, Dave the security guard saunters up, and
stares right at my breasts.
'They look all right to me, love,' he says encouragingly.
I finally get the door open, run outside and down the road, not looking right or left. At last I
come to a halt, sink down on a bench and bury my head in my hands.
My body is still reverberating with shock.
I can barely form a coherent thought.
I have never been so completely and utterly embarrassed in all my life.
TWENTY
'Are you OK? Emma?'
I've been sitting on the bench for about five minutes, staring down at the pavement, my mind
a whirl of confusion. Now there's a voice in my ear, above the everyday street sounds of
people walking by and buses grinding and cars hooting. It's a man's voice. I open my eyes,
blink in the sunlight and stare dazedly at a pair of green eyes that seem familiar.
Then suddenly I realize. It's Aidan from the smoothie bar.
'Is everything all right?' he's saying. 'Are you OK?'
For a few moments I can't quite reply. All my emotions have been scattered on the floor like a
dropped tea tray, and I'm not sure which one to pick up first.
'I think that would have to be a no,' I say at last. 'I'm not OK. I'm not OK at all.'
'Oh.' He looks alarmed. 'Well… is there anything I can-'
'Would you be OK if all your secrets had been revealed on television by a man you trusted?' I
say shakily. 'Would you be OK if you'd just been mortified in front of all your friends and
colleagues and family?'
There's a bemused silence.
'Would you?'
'Er… probably not?' he hazards hurriedly.
'Exactly! I mean, how would you feel if someone revealed in public that you… you wore
women's underwear?'
He turns pale with shock.
'I don't wear women's underwear!'
'I know you don't wear women's underwear!' I expostulate. 'Or rather, I don't know that you
don't, but just assuming for a moment that you did. How would you like it if someone just told
everyone in a so-called business interview on television?'
Aidan stares at me, as though his mind is suddenly putting two and two together.
'Wait a moment. That interview with Jack Harper. Is that what you're talking about? We had it
on in the smoothie bar.'
'Oh great!' I throw my hands in the air. 'Just great! Because you know, it would be a shame if
anyone in the entire universe had missed it.'
'So, that's you? Who reads fifteen horoscopes a day and lies about her…' He breaks off at my
expression. 'Sorry. Sorry. You must be feeling very hurt.'
'Yes. I am. I'm feeling hurt. And angry. And embarrassed.'
And I'm confused, I add silently. I'm so confused and shocked and bewildered I feel as though
I can barely keep my balance on this bench. In the space of a few minutes, my entire world
has turned upside down.
I thought Jack loved me. I thought he-
I thought he and I-
A searing pain suddenly hits me, and I bury my head in my hands.
'So, how did he know so much about you?' Aidan's saying tentatively. 'Are you and he… an
item?'
'We met on a plane.' I look up, trying to keep control of myself. 'And… I spent the entire
journey telling him everything about myself. And then we went on a few dates, and I thought
…' My voice is starting to jump about. 'I honestly thought it might be… you know.' I feel my
cheeks flame crimson. 'The real thing. But the truth is, he was never interested in me, was he?
Not really. He just wanted to find out what an ordinary girl-on-the-street was like. For his
stupid target market. For his stupid new women's line.'
As the realization hits me properly for the first time, a tear rolls down my cheek, swiftly
followed by another one.
Jack used me.
That's why he asked me out to dinner. That's why he was so fascinated by me. That's why he
found everything I said so interesting. That's why he was gripped.
It wasn't love. It was business.
Suddenly, without meaning to, I give a sob.
'I'm sorry,' I gulp. 'I'm sorry. I just… it's just been such a shock.'
'Don't worry,' says Aidan sympathetically. 'It's a completely natural reaction.' He shakes his
head. 'I don't know much about big business, but it seems to me these guys don't get to the top
without trampling over a few people on the way. They'd have to be pretty ruthless to be so
successful.' He pauses, watching as I try, only half successfully, to stop my tears. 'Emma, can
I offer a word of advice?'
'What?' I look up, wiping my eyes.
'Take it out in your kick-boxing. Use the aggression. Use the hurt.'
I stare at him in disbelief. Was he not listening?
'Aidan, I don't do kick-boxing!' I hear myself crying shrilly. 'I don't kick-box, OK? I never
have!'
'You don't?' He looks confused. 'But you said-'
'I was lying!'
There's a short pause.
'Right,' says Aidan at last. 'Well… no worries! You could go for something with lower
impact. T'ai Chi, maybe…' He gazes at me uncertainly. 'Listen, do you want a drink?
Something to calm you down? I could make you a mango-banana blend with camomile
flowers, throw in some soothing nutmeg.'
'No thanks.' I blow my nose, take a deep breath, then reach for my bag. 'I think I'll go home,
actually.'
'Will you be OK?'
'I'll be fine.' I force a smile. 'I'm fine.'
But of course that's a lie too. I'm not fine at all. As I sit on the tube going home, tears pour
down my face, one by one, landing in big wet drips on my skirt. People are staring at me, but
I don't care. Why should I care? I've already suffered the worst embarrassment possible; a few
extra people gawping is neither here nor there.
I feel so stupid. So stupid.
Of course we weren't soulmates. Of course he wasn't genuinely interested in me. Of course he
never loved me.
A fresh pain rushes through me and I scrabble for a tissue.
'Don't worry, darling!' says a large lady sitting to my left, wearing a voluminous print dress
covered with pineapples. 'He's not worth it! Now you just go home, wash your face, have a
nice cup of tea…'
'How do you know she's crying over a man?' chimes in a woman in a dark suit aggressively.
'That is such a cliched, counter-feminist perspective. She could be crying over anything! A
piece of music, a line of poetry, world famine, the political situation in the Middle East.' She
looks at me expectantly.
'Actually, I was crying over a man,' I admit.
The tube stops, and the woman in the dark suit rolls her eyes at us and gets out. The pineapple
lady rolls her eyes back.
'World famine!' she says scornfully, and I can't help giving a half-giggle. 'Now, don't you
worry, love.' She gives me a comforting pat on the shoulder as I dab at my eyes. 'Have a nice
cup of tea, and a few nice chocolate digestives, and have a nice chat with your mum. You've
still got your mum, haven't you?'
'Actually, we're not really speaking at the moment,' I confess.
'Well then, your dad?'
Tacitly, I shake my head.
'Well… how about your best friend? You must have a best friend!' The pineapple lady gives
me a comforting smile.
'Yes, I have got a best friend,' I gulp. 'But she's just been informed on national television that
I've been having secret lesbian fantasies about her.'
The pineapple lady stares at me silently for a few moments.
'Have a nice cup of tea,' she says at last, with less conviction. 'And… good luck, dear.'
I make my way slowly back from the tube station to our street. As I reach the corner I stop,
blow my nose, and take a few deep breaths. The pain in my chest has receded slightly, and in
its place I'm feeling thumping, jumping nerves.
How am I going to face Lissy after what Jack said on television? How?
I've known Lissy a long time. And I've had plenty of embarrassing moments in front of her.
But none of them comes anywhere near this.
This is worse than the time when I threw up in her parents' bathroom. This is worse than the
time she saw me kissing my reflection in the mirror and saying 'ooh, baby' in a sexy voice.
This is even worse than the time she caught me writing a Valentine to our maths teacher, Mr
Blake.
I am hoping against hope that she might have suddenly decided to go out for the day or
something. But as I open the front door of the flat, there she is, coming out of the kitchen into
the hall. And as she looks at me, I can already see it in her face. She's completely freaked out.
So that's it. Not only has Jack betrayed me. He's ruined my best friendship, too. Things will
never be the same between me and Lissy again. It's just like When Harry Met Sally. Sex has
got in the way of our relationship, and now we can't be friends any more because we want to
sleep together.
No. Scratch that. We don't want to sleep together. We want to — No, the point is we don't want
to-
Anyway. Whatever. It's not good.
'Oh!' she says, staring at the floor. 'Gosh! Um… hi, Emma!'
'Hi!' I reply in a strangled voice. 'I thought I'd come home. The office was just too… too
awful…'
I tail off, and there's the most excruciating, prickling silence for a few moments.
'So… I guess you saw it,' I say at last.
'Yes, I saw it,' says Lissy, still staring at the floor, 'And I…' She clears her throat. 'I just
wanted to say that… that if you want me to move out, then I will.'
A lump comes to my throat. I knew it. After twenty-one years, our friendship is over. One tiny
secret comes out — and that's the end of everything.
'It's OK,' I say, trying not to burst into tears. 'I'll move out.'
'No!' says Lissy awkwardly. 'I'll move out. This isn't your fault, Emma. It's been me who's
been… leading you on.'
'What?' I stare at her. 'Lissy, you haven't been leading me on!'
'Yes I have.' She looks stricken. 'I feel terrible. I just never realized you had… those kind of
feelings.'
'I don't!'
'But I can see it all now! I've been walking around half-dressed, no wonder you were
frustrated!'
'I wasn't frustrated,' I say quickly. 'Lissy, I'm not a lesbian.'
'Bisexual, then. Or "multi-oriented". Whatever term you want to use.'
'I'm not bisexual, either! Or multi-whatever it was.'
'Emma, please!' Lissy grabs my hand. 'Don't be ashamed of your sexuality. And I promise, I'll
support you a hundred per cent, whatever choice you decide to make-'
'Lissy, I'm not bisexual!' I cry. 'I don't need support! I just had one dream, OK? It wasn't a
fantasy, it was just a weird dream, which I didn't intend to have, and it doesn't mean I'm a
lesbian, and it doesn't mean I fancy you, and it doesn't mean anything.'
'Oh.' There's silence. Lissy looks taken aback. 'Oh, right. I thought it was a… a… you know.'
She clears her throat. 'That you wanted to…'
'No! I just had a dream. Just one, stupid dream.'
'Oh. Right.'
There's a long pause, during which Lissy looks intently at her fingernails, and I study the
buckle of my watch.
'So, did we actually…' says Lissy at last.
Oh God.
'Kind of,' I admit.
'And… was I any good?'
'What?' I gape at her.
'In the dream.' She looks straight at me, her cheeks bright pink. 'Was I any good?'
'Lissy…' I say, pulling an agonized face.
'I was crap, wasn't I? I was crap! I knew it.'
'No, of course you weren't crap!' I exclaim. 'You were… you were really…'
I cannot believe I'm seriously having a conversation about my best friend's sexual prowess as
a dream lesbian.
'Look, can we just leave the subject? My day has been embarrassing enough already.'
'Oh. Oh God, yes,' says Lissy, suddenly full of remorse. 'Sorry. Emma. You must be feeling
really…'
'Totally and utterly humiliated and betrayed?' I try to give a smile. 'Yup, that's pretty much
how I feel.'
'Did anyone at the office see it, then?' says Lissy sympathetically.
'Did anyone at the office see it?' I wheel round. 'Lissy, they all saw it. They all knew it was
me! And they were all laughing at me, and I just wanted to curl up and die …'
'Oh God,' says Lissy in distress. 'Really?'
'It was awful.' I close my eyes as fresh mortification washes over me. 'I have never been more
embarrassed in my entire life. I have never felt more… exposed. The whole world knows I
find G-strings uncomfortable and I don't really kick-box, and I've never read Dickens.' My
voice is wobbling more and more, and then, with no warning, I give a huge sob. 'Oh God,
Lissy. You were right. I feel such a complete… fool. He was just using me, right from the
beginning. He was never really interested in me. I was just a… a market research project.'
'You don't know that!' she says in dismay.
'I do! Of course I do. That's why he was gripped. That's why he was so fascinated by
everything I said. It wasn't because he loved me. It was because he realized he had his target
customer, right next to him. The kind of normal, ordinary, girl-on-the-street he would never
normally give the time of day to!' I give another huge sob. 'I mean, he said it on the television,
didn't he? I'm just a nothing-special girl.'
'You are not,' says Lissy fiercely. 'You are not nothing-special!'
'I am! That's exactly what I am. I'm just an ordinary nothing. And I was so stupid, I believed it
all. I honestly thought Jack loved me. I mean, maybe not exactly loved me.' I feel myself
colour. 'But… you know. Felt about me like I felt about him.'
'I know.' Lissy looks like she wants to cry herself. 'I know you did.' She leans forward and
gives me a huge hug.
Suddenly she draws awkwardly away. 'This isn't making you feel uncomfortable, is it? I mean,
it's not… turning you on or anything-'
'Lissy, for the last time, I'm not a lesbian!' I cry in exasperation.
'OK!' she says hurriedly. 'OK. Sorry.' She gives me another tight hug, then stands up. 'Come
on,' she says. 'You need a drink.'
We go onto the tiny, overgrown balcony which was described as 'spacious roof terrace' by the
landlord when we first rented this flat, and sit in a patch of sun, drinking the schnapps which
Lissy got duty-free last year. Each sip makes my mouth burn unbearably, but five seconds
later sends a lovely soothing warmth all over my body.
'I should have known,' I say, staring into my glass. 'I should have known a big important
millionaire like that would never really be interested in a girl like me.'
'I just can't believe it,' says Lissy, sighing for the thousandth time. 'I can't believe it was all
made up. It was all so romantic. Changing his mind about going to America… and the bus…
and bringing you that pink cocktail…'
'But that's the point.' I can feel tears rising again, and fiercely blink them back. 'That's what
makes it so humiliating. He knew exactly what I would like. I told him on the plane I was
bored with Connor. He knew I wanted excitement, and intrigue, and a big romance. He just
fed me everything he knew I'd like. And I believed it — because I wanted to believe it.'
'You honestly think the whole thing was one big plan?' Lissy bites her lip.
'Of course it was a plan,' I say tearfully. 'He deliberately followed me around, he watched
everything I did, he wanted to get into my life! Look at the way he came and poked around
my bedroom. No wonder he seemed so bloody interested. I expect he was taking notes all the
time. I expect he had a Dictaphone in his pocket. And I just… invited him in.' I take a deep
gulp of schnapps and give a little shudder. 'I am never going to trust a man again. Never.'
'But he seemed so nice!' says Lissy dolefully. 'I just can't believe he was being so cynical.'
'Lissy…' I look up. 'The truth is, a man like that doesn't get to the top without being ruthless
and trampling over people. It just doesn't happen.'
'Doesn't it?' She stares back at me, her brow crumpled. 'Maybe you're right. God, how
depressing.'
'Is that Emma?' comes a piercing voice, and Jemima appears on the balcony in a white robe
and face mask, her eyes narrowed furiously. 'So! Miss I-never-borrow-your-clothes. What
have you got to say about my Prada slingbacks?'
Oh God. There's no point lying about it, is there?
'They're really pointy and uncomfortable?' I say with a little shrug, and Jemima inhales
sharply.
'I knew it! I knew it all along. You do borrow my clothes. What about my Joseph jumper?
What about my Gucci bag?'
'Which Gucci bag?' I shoot back defiantly.
For moment Jemima flounders for words.
'All of them!' she says at last. 'You know, I could sue you for this. I could take you to the
cleaners!' She brandishes a piece of paper at me. 'I've got a list here of items of apparel which
I fully suspect have been worn by someone other than me during the last three months-'
'Oh shut up about your stupid clothes,' says Lissy. 'Emma's really upset. She's been
completely betrayed and humiliated by the man she thought loved her.'
'Well, surprise, surprise, let me just faint with shock,' says Jemima tartly. 'I could have told
you that was going to happen. I did tell you! Never tell a man all about yourself, it's bound to
lead to trouble. Did I not warn you?'
'You said she wouldn't get a rock on her finger!' exclaims Lissy. 'You didn't say, he will pitch
up on television, telling the nation all her private secrets. You know, Jemima, you could be a
bit more sympathetic.'
'No, Lissy, she's right,' I say miserably. 'She was completely right all along. If I'd just kept my
stupid mouth shut, then none of this would have happened.' I reach for the schnapps bottle and
morosely pour myself another glass. 'Relationships are a battle. They are a chess game. And
what did I do? I just threw all my chess pieces down on the board at once, and said, "Here!
Have them all!"' I take a gulp of my drink. 'The truth is, men and women should tell each
other nothing. Nothing.'
'I couldn't agree more,' says Jemima. 'I'm planning to tell my future husband as little as
possible-' She breaks off as the cordless phone in her hand gives a shrill ring.
'Hi!' she says, switching it on. 'Camilla? Oh. Er… OK. Just hang on a moment.'
She puts her hand over the receiver and looks at me, wide-eyed. 'It's Jack!' she mouths.
I stare back in utter shock.
Somehow I'd almost forgotten Jack existed in real life. All I can see is that face on the
television screen, smiling and nodding and slowly leading me to my humiliation.
'Tell him Emma doesn't want to speak to him!' hisses Lissy.
'No! She should speak to him,' hisses back Jemima. 'Otherwise he'll think he's won.'
'But surely-'
'Give it to me!' I say, and grab the phone out of Jemima's hand, my heart thumping. 'Hi,' I say,
in as curt a tone as I can muster.
'Emma, it's me,' comes Jack's familiar voice, and with no warning, I feel a rush of emotion
which almost overwhelms me. I want to cry. I want to hit him, hurt him…
But somehow, I keep control of myself.
'I never want to speak to you again,' I say. I switch off the phone, breathing rather hard.
'Well done!' says Lissy.
An instant later the phone rings again.
'Please, Emma,' says Jack, 'just listen for a moment. I know you must be very upset. But if
you just give me a second to explain-'
'Didn't you hear me?' I exclaim, my face flushing. 'You used me and you humiliated me and I
never want to speak to you again, or see you, or hear you or… or…'
'Taste you,' hisses Jemima, nodding urgently.
'… or touch you again. Never ever. Ever.' I switch off the phone, march inside and yank the
line out of the wall. Then, with trembling hands, I get my mobile out of my bag and, just as it
begins to ring, switch it off.
As I emerge on the balcony again, I'm still half shaking with shock. I can't quite believe it's all
ended like this. In one day, my entire perfect romance has crumbled into nothing.
'Are you OK?' says Lissy anxiously.
'I'm fine. I think.' I sink onto a chair. 'A bit shaky.'
'Now, Emma,' says Jemima, examining one of her cuticles. 'I don't want to rush you. But you
know what you have to do, don't you?'
'What?'
'You have to get your revenge!' She looks up and fixes me with a determined gaze. 'You have
to make him pay.'
'Oh no.' Lissy pulls a face. 'Isn't revenge really undignified? Isn't it better just to walk away?'
'What good is walking away?' retorts Jemima. 'Will walking away teach him a lesson? Will
walking away make him wish he'd never crossed you?'
'Emma and I have always agreed we'd rather keep the moral high ground,' says Lissy
determinedly. '"Living well is the best revenge." George Herbert.'
Jemima stares at her blankly for a few seconds.
'So anyway,' she says at last, turning back to me. 'I'd be delighted to help. Revenge is actually
quite a speciality of mine, though I say it myself…'
I avoid Lissy's eyes.
'What did you have in mind?'
'Scrape his car, shred his suits, sew fish inside his curtains and wait for them to rot…' Jemima
reels off instantly, as though reciting poetry.
'Did you learn that at finishing school?' says Lissy, rolling her eyes.
'I'm being a feminist, actually,' retorts Jemima. 'We women have to stand up for our rights.
You know, before she married my father, Mummy went out with this scientist chap who
practically jilted her. He changed his mind three weeks before the wedding, can you believe
it? So one night she crept into his lab and pulled out all the plugs of his stupid machines. His
whole research was ruined! She always says, that taught Emerson!'
'Emerson?' says Lissy, staring at her in disbelief. 'As in… Emerson Davies?'
'That's right! Davies.'
'Emerson Davies who nearly discovered a cure for smallpox?'
'Well, he shouldn't have messed Mummy about, should he?' says Jemima, lifting her chin
mutinously. She turns to me. 'Another of Mummy's tips is chilli oil. You somehow arrange to
have sex with the chap again, and then you say. "How about a little massage oil?" And you
rub it into his… you know.' Her eyes sparkle. 'That'll hurt him where it counts!'
'Your mother told you this?' says Lissy.
'Yes,' says Jemima. 'It was rather sweet, actually. On my eighteenth birthday she sat me down
and said we should have a little chat about men and women-'
Lissy is staring at her incredulously.
'In which she instructed you to rub chilli oil into men's genitals?'
'Only if they treat you badly,' says Jemima in annoyance. 'What is your problem, Lissy? Do
you think you should just let men walk all over you and get away with it? Great blow for
feminism.'
'I'm not saying that,' says Lissy. 'I just wouldn't get my revenge with… chilli oil!'
'Well, what would you do then, clever clogs?' says Jemima, putting her hands on her hips.
'OK,' says Lissy. 'If I was going to stoop so low as get my revenge, which I never would
because personally I think it's a huge mistake…' She pauses for breath. 'I'd do exactly what
he did. I'd expose one of his secrets.'
'Actually… that's rather good,' says Jemima grudgingly.
'Humiliate him,' says Lissy, with a tiny air of vindication. 'Embarrass him. See how he likes it.'
They both turn and look at me expectantly.
'But I don't know any of his secrets,' I say.
'You must do!' says Jemima.
'Of course you do!'
'I don't,' I say, feeling a fresh humiliation. 'Lissy, you had it right all along. Our relationship
was completely one-sided. I shared all my secrets with him — but he didn't share any of his
with me. He didn't tell me anything. We weren't soulmates. I was a completely deluded
moron.'
I've been sitting on the bench for about five minutes, staring down at the pavement, my mind
a whirl of confusion. Now there's a voice in my ear, above the everyday street sounds of
people walking by and buses grinding and cars hooting. It's a man's voice. I open my eyes,
blink in the sunlight and stare dazedly at a pair of green eyes that seem familiar.
Then suddenly I realize. It's Aidan from the smoothie bar.
'Is everything all right?' he's saying. 'Are you OK?'
For a few moments I can't quite reply. All my emotions have been scattered on the floor like a
dropped tea tray, and I'm not sure which one to pick up first.
'I think that would have to be a no,' I say at last. 'I'm not OK. I'm not OK at all.'
'Oh.' He looks alarmed. 'Well… is there anything I can-'
'Would you be OK if all your secrets had been revealed on television by a man you trusted?' I
say shakily. 'Would you be OK if you'd just been mortified in front of all your friends and
colleagues and family?'
There's a bemused silence.
'Would you?'
'Er… probably not?' he hazards hurriedly.
'Exactly! I mean, how would you feel if someone revealed in public that you… you wore
women's underwear?'
He turns pale with shock.
'I don't wear women's underwear!'
'I know you don't wear women's underwear!' I expostulate. 'Or rather, I don't know that you
don't, but just assuming for a moment that you did. How would you like it if someone just told
everyone in a so-called business interview on television?'
Aidan stares at me, as though his mind is suddenly putting two and two together.
'Wait a moment. That interview with Jack Harper. Is that what you're talking about? We had it
on in the smoothie bar.'
'Oh great!' I throw my hands in the air. 'Just great! Because you know, it would be a shame if
anyone in the entire universe had missed it.'
'So, that's you? Who reads fifteen horoscopes a day and lies about her…' He breaks off at my
expression. 'Sorry. Sorry. You must be feeling very hurt.'
'Yes. I am. I'm feeling hurt. And angry. And embarrassed.'
And I'm confused, I add silently. I'm so confused and shocked and bewildered I feel as though
I can barely keep my balance on this bench. In the space of a few minutes, my entire world
has turned upside down.
I thought Jack loved me. I thought he-
I thought he and I-
A searing pain suddenly hits me, and I bury my head in my hands.
'So, how did he know so much about you?' Aidan's saying tentatively. 'Are you and he… an
item?'
'We met on a plane.' I look up, trying to keep control of myself. 'And… I spent the entire
journey telling him everything about myself. And then we went on a few dates, and I thought
…' My voice is starting to jump about. 'I honestly thought it might be… you know.' I feel my
cheeks flame crimson. 'The real thing. But the truth is, he was never interested in me, was he?
Not really. He just wanted to find out what an ordinary girl-on-the-street was like. For his
stupid target market. For his stupid new women's line.'
As the realization hits me properly for the first time, a tear rolls down my cheek, swiftly
followed by another one.
Jack used me.
That's why he asked me out to dinner. That's why he was so fascinated by me. That's why he
found everything I said so interesting. That's why he was gripped.
It wasn't love. It was business.
Suddenly, without meaning to, I give a sob.
'I'm sorry,' I gulp. 'I'm sorry. I just… it's just been such a shock.'
'Don't worry,' says Aidan sympathetically. 'It's a completely natural reaction.' He shakes his
head. 'I don't know much about big business, but it seems to me these guys don't get to the top
without trampling over a few people on the way. They'd have to be pretty ruthless to be so
successful.' He pauses, watching as I try, only half successfully, to stop my tears. 'Emma, can
I offer a word of advice?'
'What?' I look up, wiping my eyes.
'Take it out in your kick-boxing. Use the aggression. Use the hurt.'
I stare at him in disbelief. Was he not listening?
'Aidan, I don't do kick-boxing!' I hear myself crying shrilly. 'I don't kick-box, OK? I never
have!'
'You don't?' He looks confused. 'But you said-'
'I was lying!'
There's a short pause.
'Right,' says Aidan at last. 'Well… no worries! You could go for something with lower
impact. T'ai Chi, maybe…' He gazes at me uncertainly. 'Listen, do you want a drink?
Something to calm you down? I could make you a mango-banana blend with camomile
flowers, throw in some soothing nutmeg.'
'No thanks.' I blow my nose, take a deep breath, then reach for my bag. 'I think I'll go home,
actually.'
'Will you be OK?'
'I'll be fine.' I force a smile. 'I'm fine.'
But of course that's a lie too. I'm not fine at all. As I sit on the tube going home, tears pour
down my face, one by one, landing in big wet drips on my skirt. People are staring at me, but
I don't care. Why should I care? I've already suffered the worst embarrassment possible; a few
extra people gawping is neither here nor there.
I feel so stupid. So stupid.
Of course we weren't soulmates. Of course he wasn't genuinely interested in me. Of course he
never loved me.
A fresh pain rushes through me and I scrabble for a tissue.
'Don't worry, darling!' says a large lady sitting to my left, wearing a voluminous print dress
covered with pineapples. 'He's not worth it! Now you just go home, wash your face, have a
nice cup of tea…'
'How do you know she's crying over a man?' chimes in a woman in a dark suit aggressively.
'That is such a cliched, counter-feminist perspective. She could be crying over anything! A
piece of music, a line of poetry, world famine, the political situation in the Middle East.' She
looks at me expectantly.
'Actually, I was crying over a man,' I admit.
The tube stops, and the woman in the dark suit rolls her eyes at us and gets out. The pineapple
lady rolls her eyes back.
'World famine!' she says scornfully, and I can't help giving a half-giggle. 'Now, don't you
worry, love.' She gives me a comforting pat on the shoulder as I dab at my eyes. 'Have a nice
cup of tea, and a few nice chocolate digestives, and have a nice chat with your mum. You've
still got your mum, haven't you?'
'Actually, we're not really speaking at the moment,' I confess.
'Well then, your dad?'
Tacitly, I shake my head.
'Well… how about your best friend? You must have a best friend!' The pineapple lady gives
me a comforting smile.
'Yes, I have got a best friend,' I gulp. 'But she's just been informed on national television that
I've been having secret lesbian fantasies about her.'
The pineapple lady stares at me silently for a few moments.
'Have a nice cup of tea,' she says at last, with less conviction. 'And… good luck, dear.'
I make my way slowly back from the tube station to our street. As I reach the corner I stop,
blow my nose, and take a few deep breaths. The pain in my chest has receded slightly, and in
its place I'm feeling thumping, jumping nerves.
How am I going to face Lissy after what Jack said on television? How?
I've known Lissy a long time. And I've had plenty of embarrassing moments in front of her.
But none of them comes anywhere near this.
This is worse than the time when I threw up in her parents' bathroom. This is worse than the
time she saw me kissing my reflection in the mirror and saying 'ooh, baby' in a sexy voice.
This is even worse than the time she caught me writing a Valentine to our maths teacher, Mr
Blake.
I am hoping against hope that she might have suddenly decided to go out for the day or
something. But as I open the front door of the flat, there she is, coming out of the kitchen into
the hall. And as she looks at me, I can already see it in her face. She's completely freaked out.
So that's it. Not only has Jack betrayed me. He's ruined my best friendship, too. Things will
never be the same between me and Lissy again. It's just like When Harry Met Sally. Sex has
got in the way of our relationship, and now we can't be friends any more because we want to
sleep together.
No. Scratch that. We don't want to sleep together. We want to — No, the point is we don't want
to-
Anyway. Whatever. It's not good.
'Oh!' she says, staring at the floor. 'Gosh! Um… hi, Emma!'
'Hi!' I reply in a strangled voice. 'I thought I'd come home. The office was just too… too
awful…'
I tail off, and there's the most excruciating, prickling silence for a few moments.
'So… I guess you saw it,' I say at last.
'Yes, I saw it,' says Lissy, still staring at the floor, 'And I…' She clears her throat. 'I just
wanted to say that… that if you want me to move out, then I will.'
A lump comes to my throat. I knew it. After twenty-one years, our friendship is over. One tiny
secret comes out — and that's the end of everything.
'It's OK,' I say, trying not to burst into tears. 'I'll move out.'
'No!' says Lissy awkwardly. 'I'll move out. This isn't your fault, Emma. It's been me who's
been… leading you on.'
'What?' I stare at her. 'Lissy, you haven't been leading me on!'
'Yes I have.' She looks stricken. 'I feel terrible. I just never realized you had… those kind of
feelings.'
'I don't!'
'But I can see it all now! I've been walking around half-dressed, no wonder you were
frustrated!'
'I wasn't frustrated,' I say quickly. 'Lissy, I'm not a lesbian.'
'Bisexual, then. Or "multi-oriented". Whatever term you want to use.'
'I'm not bisexual, either! Or multi-whatever it was.'
'Emma, please!' Lissy grabs my hand. 'Don't be ashamed of your sexuality. And I promise, I'll
support you a hundred per cent, whatever choice you decide to make-'
'Lissy, I'm not bisexual!' I cry. 'I don't need support! I just had one dream, OK? It wasn't a
fantasy, it was just a weird dream, which I didn't intend to have, and it doesn't mean I'm a
lesbian, and it doesn't mean I fancy you, and it doesn't mean anything.'
'Oh.' There's silence. Lissy looks taken aback. 'Oh, right. I thought it was a… a… you know.'
She clears her throat. 'That you wanted to…'
'No! I just had a dream. Just one, stupid dream.'
'Oh. Right.'
There's a long pause, during which Lissy looks intently at her fingernails, and I study the
buckle of my watch.
'So, did we actually…' says Lissy at last.
Oh God.
'Kind of,' I admit.
'And… was I any good?'
'What?' I gape at her.
'In the dream.' She looks straight at me, her cheeks bright pink. 'Was I any good?'
'Lissy…' I say, pulling an agonized face.
'I was crap, wasn't I? I was crap! I knew it.'
'No, of course you weren't crap!' I exclaim. 'You were… you were really…'
I cannot believe I'm seriously having a conversation about my best friend's sexual prowess as
a dream lesbian.
'Look, can we just leave the subject? My day has been embarrassing enough already.'
'Oh. Oh God, yes,' says Lissy, suddenly full of remorse. 'Sorry. Emma. You must be feeling
really…'
'Totally and utterly humiliated and betrayed?' I try to give a smile. 'Yup, that's pretty much
how I feel.'
'Did anyone at the office see it, then?' says Lissy sympathetically.
'Did anyone at the office see it?' I wheel round. 'Lissy, they all saw it. They all knew it was
me! And they were all laughing at me, and I just wanted to curl up and die …'
'Oh God,' says Lissy in distress. 'Really?'
'It was awful.' I close my eyes as fresh mortification washes over me. 'I have never been more
embarrassed in my entire life. I have never felt more… exposed. The whole world knows I
find G-strings uncomfortable and I don't really kick-box, and I've never read Dickens.' My
voice is wobbling more and more, and then, with no warning, I give a huge sob. 'Oh God,
Lissy. You were right. I feel such a complete… fool. He was just using me, right from the
beginning. He was never really interested in me. I was just a… a market research project.'
'You don't know that!' she says in dismay.
'I do! Of course I do. That's why he was gripped. That's why he was so fascinated by
everything I said. It wasn't because he loved me. It was because he realized he had his target
customer, right next to him. The kind of normal, ordinary, girl-on-the-street he would never
normally give the time of day to!' I give another huge sob. 'I mean, he said it on the television,
didn't he? I'm just a nothing-special girl.'
'You are not,' says Lissy fiercely. 'You are not nothing-special!'
'I am! That's exactly what I am. I'm just an ordinary nothing. And I was so stupid, I believed it
all. I honestly thought Jack loved me. I mean, maybe not exactly loved me.' I feel myself
colour. 'But… you know. Felt about me like I felt about him.'
'I know.' Lissy looks like she wants to cry herself. 'I know you did.' She leans forward and
gives me a huge hug.
Suddenly she draws awkwardly away. 'This isn't making you feel uncomfortable, is it? I mean,
it's not… turning you on or anything-'
'Lissy, for the last time, I'm not a lesbian!' I cry in exasperation.
'OK!' she says hurriedly. 'OK. Sorry.' She gives me another tight hug, then stands up. 'Come
on,' she says. 'You need a drink.'
We go onto the tiny, overgrown balcony which was described as 'spacious roof terrace' by the
landlord when we first rented this flat, and sit in a patch of sun, drinking the schnapps which
Lissy got duty-free last year. Each sip makes my mouth burn unbearably, but five seconds
later sends a lovely soothing warmth all over my body.
'I should have known,' I say, staring into my glass. 'I should have known a big important
millionaire like that would never really be interested in a girl like me.'
'I just can't believe it,' says Lissy, sighing for the thousandth time. 'I can't believe it was all
made up. It was all so romantic. Changing his mind about going to America… and the bus…
and bringing you that pink cocktail…'
'But that's the point.' I can feel tears rising again, and fiercely blink them back. 'That's what
makes it so humiliating. He knew exactly what I would like. I told him on the plane I was
bored with Connor. He knew I wanted excitement, and intrigue, and a big romance. He just
fed me everything he knew I'd like. And I believed it — because I wanted to believe it.'
'You honestly think the whole thing was one big plan?' Lissy bites her lip.
'Of course it was a plan,' I say tearfully. 'He deliberately followed me around, he watched
everything I did, he wanted to get into my life! Look at the way he came and poked around
my bedroom. No wonder he seemed so bloody interested. I expect he was taking notes all the
time. I expect he had a Dictaphone in his pocket. And I just… invited him in.' I take a deep
gulp of schnapps and give a little shudder. 'I am never going to trust a man again. Never.'
'But he seemed so nice!' says Lissy dolefully. 'I just can't believe he was being so cynical.'
'Lissy…' I look up. 'The truth is, a man like that doesn't get to the top without being ruthless
and trampling over people. It just doesn't happen.'
'Doesn't it?' She stares back at me, her brow crumpled. 'Maybe you're right. God, how
depressing.'
'Is that Emma?' comes a piercing voice, and Jemima appears on the balcony in a white robe
and face mask, her eyes narrowed furiously. 'So! Miss I-never-borrow-your-clothes. What
have you got to say about my Prada slingbacks?'
Oh God. There's no point lying about it, is there?
'They're really pointy and uncomfortable?' I say with a little shrug, and Jemima inhales
sharply.
'I knew it! I knew it all along. You do borrow my clothes. What about my Joseph jumper?
What about my Gucci bag?'
'Which Gucci bag?' I shoot back defiantly.
For moment Jemima flounders for words.
'All of them!' she says at last. 'You know, I could sue you for this. I could take you to the
cleaners!' She brandishes a piece of paper at me. 'I've got a list here of items of apparel which
I fully suspect have been worn by someone other than me during the last three months-'
'Oh shut up about your stupid clothes,' says Lissy. 'Emma's really upset. She's been
completely betrayed and humiliated by the man she thought loved her.'
'Well, surprise, surprise, let me just faint with shock,' says Jemima tartly. 'I could have told
you that was going to happen. I did tell you! Never tell a man all about yourself, it's bound to
lead to trouble. Did I not warn you?'
'You said she wouldn't get a rock on her finger!' exclaims Lissy. 'You didn't say, he will pitch
up on television, telling the nation all her private secrets. You know, Jemima, you could be a
bit more sympathetic.'
'No, Lissy, she's right,' I say miserably. 'She was completely right all along. If I'd just kept my
stupid mouth shut, then none of this would have happened.' I reach for the schnapps bottle and
morosely pour myself another glass. 'Relationships are a battle. They are a chess game. And
what did I do? I just threw all my chess pieces down on the board at once, and said, "Here!
Have them all!"' I take a gulp of my drink. 'The truth is, men and women should tell each
other nothing. Nothing.'
'I couldn't agree more,' says Jemima. 'I'm planning to tell my future husband as little as
possible-' She breaks off as the cordless phone in her hand gives a shrill ring.
'Hi!' she says, switching it on. 'Camilla? Oh. Er… OK. Just hang on a moment.'
She puts her hand over the receiver and looks at me, wide-eyed. 'It's Jack!' she mouths.
I stare back in utter shock.
Somehow I'd almost forgotten Jack existed in real life. All I can see is that face on the
television screen, smiling and nodding and slowly leading me to my humiliation.
'Tell him Emma doesn't want to speak to him!' hisses Lissy.
'No! She should speak to him,' hisses back Jemima. 'Otherwise he'll think he's won.'
'But surely-'
'Give it to me!' I say, and grab the phone out of Jemima's hand, my heart thumping. 'Hi,' I say,
in as curt a tone as I can muster.
'Emma, it's me,' comes Jack's familiar voice, and with no warning, I feel a rush of emotion
which almost overwhelms me. I want to cry. I want to hit him, hurt him…
But somehow, I keep control of myself.
'I never want to speak to you again,' I say. I switch off the phone, breathing rather hard.
'Well done!' says Lissy.
An instant later the phone rings again.
'Please, Emma,' says Jack, 'just listen for a moment. I know you must be very upset. But if
you just give me a second to explain-'
'Didn't you hear me?' I exclaim, my face flushing. 'You used me and you humiliated me and I
never want to speak to you again, or see you, or hear you or… or…'
'Taste you,' hisses Jemima, nodding urgently.
'… or touch you again. Never ever. Ever.' I switch off the phone, march inside and yank the
line out of the wall. Then, with trembling hands, I get my mobile out of my bag and, just as it
begins to ring, switch it off.
As I emerge on the balcony again, I'm still half shaking with shock. I can't quite believe it's all
ended like this. In one day, my entire perfect romance has crumbled into nothing.
'Are you OK?' says Lissy anxiously.
'I'm fine. I think.' I sink onto a chair. 'A bit shaky.'
'Now, Emma,' says Jemima, examining one of her cuticles. 'I don't want to rush you. But you
know what you have to do, don't you?'
'What?'
'You have to get your revenge!' She looks up and fixes me with a determined gaze. 'You have
to make him pay.'
'Oh no.' Lissy pulls a face. 'Isn't revenge really undignified? Isn't it better just to walk away?'
'What good is walking away?' retorts Jemima. 'Will walking away teach him a lesson? Will
walking away make him wish he'd never crossed you?'
'Emma and I have always agreed we'd rather keep the moral high ground,' says Lissy
determinedly. '"Living well is the best revenge." George Herbert.'
Jemima stares at her blankly for a few seconds.
'So anyway,' she says at last, turning back to me. 'I'd be delighted to help. Revenge is actually
quite a speciality of mine, though I say it myself…'
I avoid Lissy's eyes.
'What did you have in mind?'
'Scrape his car, shred his suits, sew fish inside his curtains and wait for them to rot…' Jemima
reels off instantly, as though reciting poetry.
'Did you learn that at finishing school?' says Lissy, rolling her eyes.
'I'm being a feminist, actually,' retorts Jemima. 'We women have to stand up for our rights.
You know, before she married my father, Mummy went out with this scientist chap who
practically jilted her. He changed his mind three weeks before the wedding, can you believe
it? So one night she crept into his lab and pulled out all the plugs of his stupid machines. His
whole research was ruined! She always says, that taught Emerson!'
'Emerson?' says Lissy, staring at her in disbelief. 'As in… Emerson Davies?'
'That's right! Davies.'
'Emerson Davies who nearly discovered a cure for smallpox?'
'Well, he shouldn't have messed Mummy about, should he?' says Jemima, lifting her chin
mutinously. She turns to me. 'Another of Mummy's tips is chilli oil. You somehow arrange to
have sex with the chap again, and then you say. "How about a little massage oil?" And you
rub it into his… you know.' Her eyes sparkle. 'That'll hurt him where it counts!'
'Your mother told you this?' says Lissy.
'Yes,' says Jemima. 'It was rather sweet, actually. On my eighteenth birthday she sat me down
and said we should have a little chat about men and women-'
Lissy is staring at her incredulously.
'In which she instructed you to rub chilli oil into men's genitals?'
'Only if they treat you badly,' says Jemima in annoyance. 'What is your problem, Lissy? Do
you think you should just let men walk all over you and get away with it? Great blow for
feminism.'
'I'm not saying that,' says Lissy. 'I just wouldn't get my revenge with… chilli oil!'
'Well, what would you do then, clever clogs?' says Jemima, putting her hands on her hips.
'OK,' says Lissy. 'If I was going to stoop so low as get my revenge, which I never would
because personally I think it's a huge mistake…' She pauses for breath. 'I'd do exactly what
he did. I'd expose one of his secrets.'
'Actually… that's rather good,' says Jemima grudgingly.
'Humiliate him,' says Lissy, with a tiny air of vindication. 'Embarrass him. See how he likes it.'
They both turn and look at me expectantly.
'But I don't know any of his secrets,' I say.
'You must do!' says Jemima.
'Of course you do!'
'I don't,' I say, feeling a fresh humiliation. 'Lissy, you had it right all along. Our relationship
was completely one-sided. I shared all my secrets with him — but he didn't share any of his
with me. He didn't tell me anything. We weren't soulmates. I was a completely deluded
moron.'