'Emma, you weren't a moron,' says Lissy, putting a sympathetic hand on mine. 'You were just
trusting.'
'Trusting — moron — it's the same thing.'
'You must know something!' says Jemima. 'You slept with him, for goodness sake! He must
have some secret. Some weak point.'
'An Achilles' heel,' puts in Lissy, and Jemima gives her an odd look.
'It doesn't have to be to do with his feet,' she says, and turns to me, pulling a 'Lissy's lost it'
face. 'It could be anything. Anything at all. Think back!'
I close my eyes obediently and cast my mind back. But my mind's swirling a bit, from all that
schnapps. Secrets… Jack's secrets… think back…
Scotland. Suddenly a coherent thought passes through my mind. I open my eyes, feeling a
tingle of exhilaration. I do know one of his secrets. I do!
'What?' says Jemima avidly. 'Have you remembered something?'
'He…' I stop, feeling torn.
I did make a promise to Jack. I did promise.
But then, so what? So bloody what? My chest swells in emotion again. Why on earth am I
keeping any stupid promise to him? It's not like he kept my secrets to himself, is it?
'He was in Scotland!' I say triumphantly. 'The first time we met after the plane, he asked me to
keep it a secret that he was in Scotland.'
'Why did he do that?' says Lissy.
'I dunno.'
'What was he doing in Scotland?' puts in Jemima.
'I dunno.'
There's a pause.
'Hmm,' says Jemima kindly. 'It's not the most embarrassing secret in the world, is it? I mean,
plenty of smart people live in Scotland. Haven't you got anything better? Like… does he
wear a chest wig?'
'A chest wig!' Lissy gives an explosive snort of laughter. 'Or a toupee!'
'Of course he doesn't wear a chest wig. Or a toupee,' I retort indignantly. Do they honestly
think I'd go out with a man who wore a toupee?
'Well then, you'll have to make something up,' says Jemima. 'You know, before the affair with
the scientist, Mummy was treated very badly by some politician chap. So she made up a
rumour that he was taking bribes from the Communist party, and passed it round the House of
Commons. She always says, that taught Dennis a lesson!'
'Not… Dennis Llewellyn?' Lissy says.
'Er, yes, I think that was him.'
'The disgraced Home Secretary?' Lissy looks aghast. 'The one who spent his whole life
fighting to clear his name and ended up in a mental institution?'
'Well, he shouldn't have messed Mummy around, should he?' says Jemima, sticking out her
chin. A bleeper goes off in her pocket. 'Time for my footbath!'
As she disappears back into the house, Lissy rolls her eyes.
'She's nuts,' she says. 'Totally nuts. Emma, you are not making anything up about Jack
Harper.'
'I won't make anything up!' I say indignantly. 'Who do you think I am? Anyway.' I stare into
my schnapps, feeling my exhilaration fade away. 'Who am I kidding? I could never get my
revenge on Jack. I could never hurt him. He doesn't have any weak points. He's a huge,
powerful millionaire.' I take a miserable slug of my drink. 'And I'm a nothing-special…
crappy… ordinary… nothing.'
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
trusting.'
'Trusting — moron — it's the same thing.'
'You must know something!' says Jemima. 'You slept with him, for goodness sake! He must
have some secret. Some weak point.'
'An Achilles' heel,' puts in Lissy, and Jemima gives her an odd look.
'It doesn't have to be to do with his feet,' she says, and turns to me, pulling a 'Lissy's lost it'
face. 'It could be anything. Anything at all. Think back!'
I close my eyes obediently and cast my mind back. But my mind's swirling a bit, from all that
schnapps. Secrets… Jack's secrets… think back…
Scotland. Suddenly a coherent thought passes through my mind. I open my eyes, feeling a
tingle of exhilaration. I do know one of his secrets. I do!
'What?' says Jemima avidly. 'Have you remembered something?'
'He…' I stop, feeling torn.
I did make a promise to Jack. I did promise.
But then, so what? So bloody what? My chest swells in emotion again. Why on earth am I
keeping any stupid promise to him? It's not like he kept my secrets to himself, is it?
'He was in Scotland!' I say triumphantly. 'The first time we met after the plane, he asked me to
keep it a secret that he was in Scotland.'
'Why did he do that?' says Lissy.
'I dunno.'
'What was he doing in Scotland?' puts in Jemima.
'I dunno.'
There's a pause.
'Hmm,' says Jemima kindly. 'It's not the most embarrassing secret in the world, is it? I mean,
plenty of smart people live in Scotland. Haven't you got anything better? Like… does he
wear a chest wig?'
'A chest wig!' Lissy gives an explosive snort of laughter. 'Or a toupee!'
'Of course he doesn't wear a chest wig. Or a toupee,' I retort indignantly. Do they honestly
think I'd go out with a man who wore a toupee?
'Well then, you'll have to make something up,' says Jemima. 'You know, before the affair with
the scientist, Mummy was treated very badly by some politician chap. So she made up a
rumour that he was taking bribes from the Communist party, and passed it round the House of
Commons. She always says, that taught Dennis a lesson!'
'Not… Dennis Llewellyn?' Lissy says.
'Er, yes, I think that was him.'
'The disgraced Home Secretary?' Lissy looks aghast. 'The one who spent his whole life
fighting to clear his name and ended up in a mental institution?'
'Well, he shouldn't have messed Mummy around, should he?' says Jemima, sticking out her
chin. A bleeper goes off in her pocket. 'Time for my footbath!'
As she disappears back into the house, Lissy rolls her eyes.
'She's nuts,' she says. 'Totally nuts. Emma, you are not making anything up about Jack
Harper.'
'I won't make anything up!' I say indignantly. 'Who do you think I am? Anyway.' I stare into
my schnapps, feeling my exhilaration fade away. 'Who am I kidding? I could never get my
revenge on Jack. I could never hurt him. He doesn't have any weak points. He's a huge,
powerful millionaire.' I take a miserable slug of my drink. 'And I'm a nothing-special…
crappy… ordinary… nothing.'
TWENTY-ONE
The next morning I wake up full of sick dread. I feel exactly like a five-year-old who doesn't
want to go to school. A five-year-old with a severe hangover, that is.
'I can't go,' I say, as 8.30 arrives. 'I can't face them.'
'Yes you can,' says Lissy reassuringly, doing up my jacket buttons. 'It'll be fine. Just keep your
chin up.'
'What if they're horrid to me?'
'They won't be horrid to you. They're your friends. Anyway, they'll probably all have
forgotten about it by now.'
'They won't! Can't I just stay at home with you?' I grab her hand beseechingly. 'I'll be really
good, I promise.'
'Emma, I've explained to you,' says Lissy patiently. 'I've got to go to court today.'
She prises my hand out of hers. 'But I'll be here when you get home. And we'll have
something really nice for supper. OK?'
'OK,' I say in a small voice. 'Can we have chocolate ice-cream?'
'Of course we can,' says Lissy, opening the front door of our flat. 'Now, go on. You'll be fine!'
Feeling like a dog being shooed out, I go down the stairs and open the front door. I'm just
stepping out of the house when a van pulls up at the side of the road. A man gets out in a blue
uniform, holding the biggest bunch of flowers I've ever seen, all tied up with dark green
ribbon, and squints at the number on our house.
'Hello,' he says. 'I'm looking for an Emma Corrigan.'
'That's me!' I say in surprise.
'Aha!' He smiles, and holds out a pen and clipboard. 'Well, this is your lucky day. If you could
just sign here…'
I stare at the bouquet in disbelief. Roses, freesias, amazing big purple flowers… fantastic
dark red pompom things… dark green frondy bits… pale green ones which look just like
asparagus…
OK, I may not know what they're all called. But I do know one thing. These flowers are
expensive.
There's only one person who could have sent them.
'Wait,' I say, without taking the pen. 'I want to check who they're from.'
I grab the card, rip it open, and scan down the long message, not reading any of it until I come
to the name at the bottom.
Jack.
I feel a huge dart of emotion. After all he did, Jack thinks he can fob me off with some manky
bunch of flowers?
All right, huge, deluxe bunch of flowers.
But that's not the point.
'I don't want them, thank you,' I say, lifting my chin.
'You don't want them?' The delivery man stares at me.
'No. Tell the person who sent them that thanks, but no thanks.'
'What's going on?' comes a breathless voice beside me, and I look up to see Lissy gawping at
the bouquet. 'Oh my God. Are they from Jack?'
'Yes. But I don't want them,' I say. 'Please take them away.'
'Wait!' exclaims Lissy, grabbing the cellophane. 'Let me just smell them.' She buries her face
in the blooms and inhales deeply. 'Wow! That's absolutely incredible! Emma, have you smelt
them?'
'No!' I say, crossly. 'I don't want to smell them.'
'I've never seen flowers as amazing as this.' She looks at the man. 'So what will happen to
them?'
'Dunno.' He shrugs. 'They'll get chucked away, I suppose.'
'Gosh.' She glances at me. 'That seems like an awful waste…'
Hang on. She's not-
'Lissy, I can't accept them!' I exclaim. 'I can't! He'll think I'm saying everything's OK between
us.'
'No, you're quite right,' says Lissy reluctantly. 'You have to send them back.' She touches a
pink velvety rose petal. 'It is a shame, though…'
'Send what back?' comes a sharp voice behind me. 'You are joking, aren't you?'
Oh, for God's sake. Now Jemima has arrived in the street, still in her white dressing gown.
'You're not sending those back!' she cries. 'I'm giving a dinner party tomorrow night. They'll
be perfect.' She' grabs the label. 'Smythe and Foxe! Do you know how much these must have
cost?'
'I don't care how much they cost!' I exclaim. 'They're from Jack! I can't possibly keep them.'
'Why not?'
She is unbelievable.
'Because… because it's a matter of principle. If I keep them, I'm basically saying, "I forgive
you." '
'Not necessarily,' retorts Jemima. 'You could be saying "I don't forgive you." Or you could be
saying "I can't be bothered to return your stupid flowers, that's how little you mean to me."'
There's silence as we all consider this.
The thing is, they are pretty amazing flowers.
'So do you want them or not?' says the delivery guy.
'I…' Oh God, now I'm all confused.
'Emma, if you send them back you look weak,' says Jemima firmly. 'You look like you can't
bear to have any reminder of him in the house. But if you keep them, then you're saying, "I
don't care about you!" You're standing firm! You're being strong. You're being-'
'Oh, God, OK!' I say, and grab the pen from the delivery guy. 'I'll sign for them. But could
you please tell him that this does not mean I forgive him, nor that he isn't a cynical, heartless,
despicable user and furthermore, if Jemima wasn't having a dinner party, these would be
straight in the bin.' As I finish signing I'm red-faced and breathing hard, and I stamp a full
stop so hard it tears the page. 'Can you remember all that?'
The delivery guy looks at me blankly.
'Love, I just work at the depot.'
'I know!' says Lissy suddenly. She grabs the clipboard back and prints WITHOUT PREJUDICE
clearly under my name.
'What does that mean?' I say.
'It means "I'll never forgive you, you complete bastard… but I'll keep the flowers anyway."'
'And you're still going to get even,' adds Jemima determinedly.
It's one of those amazingly bright, crisp mornings that make you feel that London really is the
best city in the world. As I'm walking from the tube station to work, my spirits can't help
rising a little.
Maybe Lissy's right. Maybe everyone at work will already have forgotten about the whole
thing. I mean, let's get a bit of proportion here. It wasn't that big a deal. It wasn't that
interesting. Surely some other piece of gossip will have come along in the meantime. Surely
everyone will be talking about… the football. Or politics or something. Exactly.
I push open the glass door to the foyer with a small spurt of optimism, and walk in, my head
held high.
'… a Barbie bedspread!' I immediately hear from across the marble. A guy from Accounts is
talking to a woman with a 'Visitor' badge, who is listening avidly.
'… shagging Jack Harper all along?' comes a voice from above me, and I look up to see a
group of girls walking up the stairs.
'It's Connor I feel sorry for,' one replies. 'That poor guy…'
'… pretended she loved jazz,' someone else is saying as they get out of the lift. 'I mean, why
on earth would you do that?'
OK. So… they haven't forgotten.
All my crisp optimism dies away, and for an instant I consider running away and spending the
rest of my life under the duvet.
But I can't do that.
For a start, I'd probably get bored after about a week.
And secondly… I have to face them. I have to do this.
Clenching my fists at my sides, I slowly make my way up the stairs and along the corridor.
Everyone I pass either blatantly stares at me, or pretends they're not looking when they are,
and at least five conversations are hastily broken off as I approach.
As I reach the door to the marketing department, I take a deep breath, then walk in, trying to
look as unconcerned as possible.
'Hi everyone,' I say, taking off my jacket and hanging it on my chair.
'Emma!' exclaims Artemis in tones of sarcastic delight.'Well I never!'
'Good morning, Emma,' says Paul, coming out of his office and giving me an appraising look.
'You OK?'
'Fine, thanks.'
'Anything you'd like to… talk about?' To my surprise he looks as if he genuinely means it.
But honestly. What does he think? That I'm going to go in there and sob on his shoulder, 'That
bastard Jack Harper used me'?
I'll only do that if I get really, really desperate.
'No,' I say, my face prickling. 'Thanks, but I'm OK.'
'Good.' He pauses, then adopts a more businesslike tone. 'Now, I'm assuming that when you
disappeared yesterday, it was because you'd decided to work from home.'
'Er… yes.' I clear my throat. 'That's right.'
'No doubt you got lots of useful tasks done?'
'Er… yes. Loads.'
'Excellent. Just what I thought. All right, then, carry on. And the rest of you.' Paul looks
around the office warningly. 'Remember what I said.'
'Of course,' says Artemis at once. 'We all remember!'
Paul disappears into his office again, and I stare rigidly at my computer as it warms up. It'll be
fine, I tell myself. I'll just concentrate on my work, completely immerse myself…
Suddenly I become aware that someone's humming a tune, quite loudly. It's something I
recognize. It's…
It's the Carpenters.
And now a few others around the room are joining in on the chorus.
'Close to yoooou…'
'All right, Emma?' says Nick, as my head jerks up suspiciously. 'D'you want a hanky?'
'Close to yoooou…' everybody trills in unison again, and I hear muffled laughter.
I'm not going to react. I'm not going to give them the pleasure.
As calmly as possible I click onto my emails, and give a small gasp of shock. I normally get
about ten emails every morning, if that. Today I have ninety-five.
Dad: I'd really like to talk…
Carol: I've already got two more people for our Barbie Club!
Moira: I know where you can get really comfy G-strings…
Sharon: So how long has this been going on?!!
Fiona: Re: the body awareness workshop…
I scroll down the endless list and suddenly feel a stabbing in my heart.
There are three from Jack.
What should I do?
Should I read them?
My hand hovers uncertainly over my mouse. Does he deserve at least a chance to explain?
'Oh Emma,' says Artemis innocently, coming over to my desk with a carrier bag. 'I've got this
jumper I wondered if you'd like. It's a bit too small for me, but it's very nice. And it should fit
you, because -' she pauses, and catches Caroline's eye — 'it's a size eight.'
Immediately both of them erupt into hysterical giggles.
'Thanks, Artemis,' I say shortly. 'That's really sweet of you.'
'I'm off for a coffee,' says Fergus, standing up. 'Anybody want anything?'
'Make mine a Harvey's Bristol Cream,' says Nick brightly.
'Ha ha,' I mutter under my breath.
'Oh Emma, I meant to say,' Nick adds, sauntering over to my desk. 'That new secretary in
Admin. Have you seen her? She's quite something, isn't she?'
He winks at me and I stare at him blankly for a moment, not understanding.
'Nice spiky haircut,' he adds. 'Nice dungarees.'
'Shut up!' I cry furiously, my face flaming red. 'I'm not a… I'm not… Just fuck off, all of
you!'
My hand trembling with anger, I swiftly delete each and every one of Jack's emails. He
doesn't deserve anything. No chance. Nothing.
I rise to my feet and stride out of the room, breathing hard. I head for the ladies' room, slam
the door behind me, and rest my hot forehead on the mirror. Hatred for Jack Harper is
bubbling through me like lava. Does he have any idea what I'm going through? Does he have
any idea what he's done to me?
'Emma!' A voice interrupts my thoughts and I give a start. Immediately I feel a jolt of
apprehension.
Katie has come into the Ladies without me hearing. She's standing right behind me, holding
her makeup bag. Her face is reflected in the mirror next to mine… and she isn't smiling. It's
just like Fatal Attraction.
'So,' she says in a strange voice. 'You don't like crochet.'
Oh God. Oh God. What have I done? I've unleashed the bunny-boiler side of Katie that noone's
ever seen before. Maybe she'll impale me with a crochet needle, I find myself thinking
wildly.
'Katie,' I say, my heart thumping hard. 'Katie, please listen. I never meant… I never said…'
'Emma, don't even try.' She lifts her hand. 'There's no point. We both know the truth.'
'He was wrong!' I say quickly. 'He got confused! I meant I don't like… um… creches. You
know, all those babies everywhere-'
'You know, I was pretty upset yesterday,' Katie cuts me off with an eerie smile. 'But after
work I went straight home, and I called my mum. And do you know what she said to me?'
'What?' I say apprehensively.
'She said… she doesn't like crochet either.'
'What?' I wheel round and gape at her.
'And neither does my granny.' Her face flushes, and now she looks like the old Katie again.
'Or any of my relatives. They've all been pretending for years, just like you. It all makes sense
now!' Her voice rises in agitation. 'You know, I made my granny a whole sofa cover last
Christmas, and she told me that burglars had stolen it. But I mean, what kind of burglars steal
a crochet sofa cover?'
'Katie, I don't know what to say…'
'Emma, why couldn't you have told me before? All that time. Making stupid presents that
people didn't want.'
'Oh God, Katie, I'm sorry!' I say, filled with remorse. 'I'm so sorry. I just… didn't want to hurt
you.'
'I know you were trying to be kind. But I feel really stupid now.'
'Yes, well. That makes two of us,' I say, a little morosely.
The door opens, and Wendy from Accounts comes in. There's a pause as she stares at us both,
opens her mouth, closes it again, then disappears into one of the cubicles.
'So, are you OK?' says Katie in a lower voice.
'I'm fine,' I say with a tiny shrug. 'You know…'
Yeah. I'm so fine, I'm hiding in the loos rather than face my colleagues.
'Have you spoken to Jack?' she says tentatively.
'No. He sent me some stupid flowers. Like, Oh, that's OK, then. He probably didn't even order
them himself, he probably got Sven to do it.'
There's the sound of flushing, and Wendy comes out of the cubicle again.
'Well… this is the mascara I was talking about,' Katie says quickly, handing me a tube.
'Thanks,' I say. 'You say it… um… volumizes and lengthens?'
Wendy rolls her eyes.
'It's OK,' she says. 'I'm not listening!' She washes her hands, dries them, then gives me an avid
look. 'So Emma, are you going out with Jack Harper?'
'No,' I say curtly. 'He used me and he betrayed me, and to be honest, I'd be happy if I never
saw him again in my whole life.'
'Oh right!' she says brightly. 'It's just, I was wondering. If you're speaking to him again, could
you just mention that I'd really like to move to the PR department?'
'What?' I stare at her blankly.
'If you could just casually drop it in. That I have good communication skills and I think I'd be
really suited to PR.'
Casually drop it in? What, like, 'I never want to see you again, Jack, and by the way, Wendy
thinks she'd be good at PR'?
'I'm not sure,' I say at last. 'I just… don't think it's something I could do.'
'Well, I think that's really selfish of you, Emma,' says Wendy, looking offended. 'All I'm
asking you is, if the subject comes up, to mention that I'd like to move to PR. Just mention it. I
mean, how hard is that?'
'Wendy, piss off!' says Katie. 'Leave Emma alone.'
'I was only asking!' says Wendy. 'I suppose you think you're above us now, do you?'
'No!' I exclaim in shock. 'It's not that-' But Wendy's already flounced out.
'Great,' I say, a sudden wobble to my voice. 'Just great! Now everyone's going to hate me, as
well as everything else.'
I exhale sharply and stare at my reflection. I still can't quite believe how everything has turned
upside down, just like that. Everything I believed in has turned out to be false. My perfect
man is a cynical user. My dreamy romance was all a fabrication. I was happier than I'd ever
been in my life. And now I'm just a stupid, humiliated laughing stock.
Oh God. My eyes are pricking again.
'Are you OK, Emma?' says Katie, gazing at me in dismay. 'Here, have a tissue.' She
rummages in her makeup bag. 'And some eye gel.'
'Thanks,' I say, swallowing hard. I dab the eye gel on my eyes and force myself to breathe
deeply until I'm completely calm again.
'I think you're really brave,' says Katie, watching me. 'In fact, I'm amazed you even came in
today. I would have been far too embarrassed.'
'Katie,' I say, turning to face her. 'Yesterday I had all my most personal, private secrets
broadcast on TV.' I spread my arms widely. 'How could anything possibly be more
embarrassing than that?'
'Here she is!' comes a ringing voice behind us, and Caroline bursts into the Ladies. 'Emma,
your parents are here to see you!'
No. I do not believe this. I do not believe this.
My parents are standing by my desk. Dad's wearing a smart grey suit, and Mum's all dressed
up in a white jacket and navy skirt, and they're kind of holding a bunch of flowers between
them. And the entire office is staring at them, as though they're some kind of rare creature.
Scratch that. The entire office has now turned their heads in order to stare at me.
'Hi, Mum,' I say in a voice that has suddenly gone rather husky. 'Hi, Dad.'
What are they doing here?
'Emma!' says Dad, making an attempt at his normal jovial voice. 'We just thought we'd… pop
in to see you.'
'Right,' I say, nodding dazedly. As though this is a perfectly normal course of events.
'We brought you a little present,' says Mum brightly. 'Some flowers for your desk.' She puts
the bouquet down awkwardly. 'Look at Emma's desk, Brian. Isn't it smart! Look at the… the
computer!'
'Splendid!' says Dad, giving it a little pat. 'Very… very fine desk indeed.'
'And are these your friends?' says Mum, smiling around the office.
'Kind of,' I say, scowling as Artemis beams back winsomely at her.
'We were just saying, the other day,' continues Mum, 'how proud you should be of yourself,
Emma. Working for a big company like this. I'm sure many girls would be very envious of
your career. Don't you agree, Brian?'
'Absolutely!' says Dad. 'You've done very well for yourself, Emma.'
I'm so taken aback, I can't even open my mouth. I meet Dad's eye, and he gives a strange,
awkward little smile. And Mum's hands are trembling slightly as she puts the flowers down.
They're nervous, I realize with a jolt of shock. They're both nervous.
I'm just trying to get my head round this as Paul appears at the door of his office.
'So Emma,' he says, raising his eyebrows. 'You have visitors, I gather?'
'Er… yes,' I say. 'Paul, these are… um… my parents, Brian and Rachel…'
'Enchanted,' says Paul politely.
'We don't want to be any bother,' says Mum hurriedly.
'No bother at all,' says Paul, and bestows a charming smile on her. 'Unfortunately, the room
we usually use for family bonding sessions is being redecorated.'
'Oh!' says Mum, unsure as to whether he's being serious or not. 'Oh dear!'
'So perhaps, Emma, you'd like to take your parents out for — shall we call it an early lunch?'
I look up at the clock. It's a quarter to ten.
'Thanks, Paul,' I say gratefully.
This is surreal. It's completely surreal.
It's the middle of the morning. I should be at work. And instead I'm walking down the street
with my parents, wondering what on earth we're going to say to each other. I can't even
remember the last time it was just my parents and me. Just the three of us, no Grandpa, no
Kerry, no Nev. It's as if we've gone back in time fifteen years, or something.
'We could go in here,' I say, as we reach an Italian coffee shop.
'Good idea!' says Dad heartily, and pushes the door open. 'We saw your friend Jack Harper on
television yesterday,' he adds casually.
'He's not my friend,' I reply shortly, and he and Mum glance at each other.
We sit down at a wooden table and a waiter brings us each a menu, and there's silence.
Oh God. Now I'm feeling nervous.
'So…' I begin, then stop. What I want to say is, Why are you here? But it might sound a bit
rude. 'What… brings you to London?' I say, instead.
'We just thought we'd like to visit you,' says Mum, looking through her reading glasses at the
menu. 'Now, shall I have a cup of tea… or what's this? A frap-pelatte?'
'I want a normal cup of coffee,' says Dad, peering at the menu with a frown. 'Do they do such
a thing?'
'If they don't, you'll have to have a cappuccino and spoon off the froth,' says Mum. 'Or an
espresso and just ask them to add hot water.'
I don't believe this. They have driven two hundred miles. Are we just going to sit here and
talk about hot beverages all day?
'Oh, and that reminds me,' adds Mum casually. 'We've bought you a little something, Emma.
Haven't we, Brian?'
'Oh… right,' I say in surprise. 'What is it?'
'It's a car,' says Mum, and looks up at the waiter who's appeared at our table. 'Hello! I would
like a cappuccino, my husband would like a filter coffee if that's possible, and Emma would
like-'
'A car?' I echo in disbelief.
'Car,' echoes the Italian waiter, and gives me a suspicious look. 'You want coffee?'
'I'd… I'd like a cappuccino, please,' I say distractedly.
'And a selection of cakes,' adds Mum. 'Grazie!'
'Mum…' I put a hand to my head as the waiter disappears. 'What do you mean, you've bought
me a car?'
'Just a little run-around. You ought to have a car. It's not safe, you travelling on all these buses.
Grandpa's quite right.'
'But… but I can't afford a car,' I say stupidly. 'I can't even… what about the money I owe
you? What about-'
'Forget the money,' says Dad. 'We're going to wipe the slate clean.'
'What?' I stare at him, more bewildered than ever. 'But we can't do that! I still owe you-'
'Forget the money,' says Dad, a sudden edge to his voice. 'I want you to forget all about it,
Emma. You don't owe us anything. Nothing at all.'
I honestly cannot take all this in. I look confusedly from Dad to Mum. Then back to Dad.
Then, very slowly, back to Mum again.
And it's really strange. But it almost feels as though we're seeing each other properly for the
first time in years. As though we're seeing each other and saying hello and kind of… starting
again.
'We were wondering what you thought about taking a little holiday next year,' says Mum.
'With us.'
'Just… us?' I say, looking around the table.
'Just the three of us, we thought.' She gives me a tentative smile. 'It might be fun! You don't
have to, of course, if you've got other plans.'
'No! I'd like to!' I say quickly. 'I really would. But… but what about…'
I can't even bring myself to say Kerry's name.
There's a tiny silence, during which Mum and Dad look at each other, and then away again.
'Kerry sends her love, of course!' says Mum brightly, as though she's changing the subject
completely. She clears her throat. 'You know, she thought she might visit Hong Kong next
year. Visit her father. She hasn't seen him for at least five years, and maybe it's time they…
had some time together.'
'Right,' I say dazedly. 'Good idea.'
I can't believe this. Everything's changed. It's as if the entire family has been thrown up in the
air and has fallen down in different positions, and nothing's like it was before.
'We feel, Emma,' says Dad, and stops. 'We feel… that perhaps we haven't been… that
perhaps we haven't always noticed…' He breaks off and rubs his nose vigorously.
'Cappu-ccino,' says the waiter, planting a cup in front of me. 'Filter co—ffee, cappu-ccino…
coffee cake … lemon cake … chocolate-'
'Thank you!' interrupts Mum. 'Thank you so much. I think we can manage from here.' The
waiter disappears again, and she looks at me. 'Emma, what we want to say is… we're very
proud of you.'
Oh God. Oh God, I think I'm going to cry.
'Right,' I manage.
'And we…' Dad begins. 'That is to say, we both — your mother and I -' He clears his throat.
'We've always… and always will… both of us…'
He pauses, breathing rather hard. I don't quite dare say anything.
'What I'm trying to say, Emma,' he starts again. 'As I'm sure you… as I'm sure we all…
which is to say…'
He stops again, and wipes his perspiring face with a napkin.
'The fact of the matter is that… is that…'
'Oh, just tell your daughter you love her, Brian, for once in your bloody life!' cries Mum.
'I… I… love you, Emma!' says Dad in a choked-up voice. 'Oh Jesus.' He brushes roughly at
his eye.
'I love you too, Dad,' I say, my throat tight. 'And you, Mum.'
'You see!' says Mum, dabbing at her eye. 'I knew it wasn't a mistake to come!' She clutches
hold of my hand, and I clutch hold of Dad's hand, and for a moment we're in a kind of
awkward group hug.
'You know… we're all sacred links in the eternal circle of life,' I say with a sudden swell of
emotion.
'What?' Both my parents look at me blankly.
'Er, never mind. Doesn't matter.' I release my hand, take a sip of cappuccino, and look up.
And my heart nearly stops.
Jack is standing at the door of the coffee shop.
want to go to school. A five-year-old with a severe hangover, that is.
'I can't go,' I say, as 8.30 arrives. 'I can't face them.'
'Yes you can,' says Lissy reassuringly, doing up my jacket buttons. 'It'll be fine. Just keep your
chin up.'
'What if they're horrid to me?'
'They won't be horrid to you. They're your friends. Anyway, they'll probably all have
forgotten about it by now.'
'They won't! Can't I just stay at home with you?' I grab her hand beseechingly. 'I'll be really
good, I promise.'
'Emma, I've explained to you,' says Lissy patiently. 'I've got to go to court today.'
She prises my hand out of hers. 'But I'll be here when you get home. And we'll have
something really nice for supper. OK?'
'OK,' I say in a small voice. 'Can we have chocolate ice-cream?'
'Of course we can,' says Lissy, opening the front door of our flat. 'Now, go on. You'll be fine!'
Feeling like a dog being shooed out, I go down the stairs and open the front door. I'm just
stepping out of the house when a van pulls up at the side of the road. A man gets out in a blue
uniform, holding the biggest bunch of flowers I've ever seen, all tied up with dark green
ribbon, and squints at the number on our house.
'Hello,' he says. 'I'm looking for an Emma Corrigan.'
'That's me!' I say in surprise.
'Aha!' He smiles, and holds out a pen and clipboard. 'Well, this is your lucky day. If you could
just sign here…'
I stare at the bouquet in disbelief. Roses, freesias, amazing big purple flowers… fantastic
dark red pompom things… dark green frondy bits… pale green ones which look just like
asparagus…
OK, I may not know what they're all called. But I do know one thing. These flowers are
expensive.
There's only one person who could have sent them.
'Wait,' I say, without taking the pen. 'I want to check who they're from.'
I grab the card, rip it open, and scan down the long message, not reading any of it until I come
to the name at the bottom.
Jack.
I feel a huge dart of emotion. After all he did, Jack thinks he can fob me off with some manky
bunch of flowers?
All right, huge, deluxe bunch of flowers.
But that's not the point.
'I don't want them, thank you,' I say, lifting my chin.
'You don't want them?' The delivery man stares at me.
'No. Tell the person who sent them that thanks, but no thanks.'
'What's going on?' comes a breathless voice beside me, and I look up to see Lissy gawping at
the bouquet. 'Oh my God. Are they from Jack?'
'Yes. But I don't want them,' I say. 'Please take them away.'
'Wait!' exclaims Lissy, grabbing the cellophane. 'Let me just smell them.' She buries her face
in the blooms and inhales deeply. 'Wow! That's absolutely incredible! Emma, have you smelt
them?'
'No!' I say, crossly. 'I don't want to smell them.'
'I've never seen flowers as amazing as this.' She looks at the man. 'So what will happen to
them?'
'Dunno.' He shrugs. 'They'll get chucked away, I suppose.'
'Gosh.' She glances at me. 'That seems like an awful waste…'
Hang on. She's not-
'Lissy, I can't accept them!' I exclaim. 'I can't! He'll think I'm saying everything's OK between
us.'
'No, you're quite right,' says Lissy reluctantly. 'You have to send them back.' She touches a
pink velvety rose petal. 'It is a shame, though…'
'Send what back?' comes a sharp voice behind me. 'You are joking, aren't you?'
Oh, for God's sake. Now Jemima has arrived in the street, still in her white dressing gown.
'You're not sending those back!' she cries. 'I'm giving a dinner party tomorrow night. They'll
be perfect.' She' grabs the label. 'Smythe and Foxe! Do you know how much these must have
cost?'
'I don't care how much they cost!' I exclaim. 'They're from Jack! I can't possibly keep them.'
'Why not?'
She is unbelievable.
'Because… because it's a matter of principle. If I keep them, I'm basically saying, "I forgive
you." '
'Not necessarily,' retorts Jemima. 'You could be saying "I don't forgive you." Or you could be
saying "I can't be bothered to return your stupid flowers, that's how little you mean to me."'
There's silence as we all consider this.
The thing is, they are pretty amazing flowers.
'So do you want them or not?' says the delivery guy.
'I…' Oh God, now I'm all confused.
'Emma, if you send them back you look weak,' says Jemima firmly. 'You look like you can't
bear to have any reminder of him in the house. But if you keep them, then you're saying, "I
don't care about you!" You're standing firm! You're being strong. You're being-'
'Oh, God, OK!' I say, and grab the pen from the delivery guy. 'I'll sign for them. But could
you please tell him that this does not mean I forgive him, nor that he isn't a cynical, heartless,
despicable user and furthermore, if Jemima wasn't having a dinner party, these would be
straight in the bin.' As I finish signing I'm red-faced and breathing hard, and I stamp a full
stop so hard it tears the page. 'Can you remember all that?'
The delivery guy looks at me blankly.
'Love, I just work at the depot.'
'I know!' says Lissy suddenly. She grabs the clipboard back and prints WITHOUT PREJUDICE
clearly under my name.
'What does that mean?' I say.
'It means "I'll never forgive you, you complete bastard… but I'll keep the flowers anyway."'
'And you're still going to get even,' adds Jemima determinedly.
It's one of those amazingly bright, crisp mornings that make you feel that London really is the
best city in the world. As I'm walking from the tube station to work, my spirits can't help
rising a little.
Maybe Lissy's right. Maybe everyone at work will already have forgotten about the whole
thing. I mean, let's get a bit of proportion here. It wasn't that big a deal. It wasn't that
interesting. Surely some other piece of gossip will have come along in the meantime. Surely
everyone will be talking about… the football. Or politics or something. Exactly.
I push open the glass door to the foyer with a small spurt of optimism, and walk in, my head
held high.
'… a Barbie bedspread!' I immediately hear from across the marble. A guy from Accounts is
talking to a woman with a 'Visitor' badge, who is listening avidly.
'… shagging Jack Harper all along?' comes a voice from above me, and I look up to see a
group of girls walking up the stairs.
'It's Connor I feel sorry for,' one replies. 'That poor guy…'
'… pretended she loved jazz,' someone else is saying as they get out of the lift. 'I mean, why
on earth would you do that?'
OK. So… they haven't forgotten.
All my crisp optimism dies away, and for an instant I consider running away and spending the
rest of my life under the duvet.
But I can't do that.
For a start, I'd probably get bored after about a week.
And secondly… I have to face them. I have to do this.
Clenching my fists at my sides, I slowly make my way up the stairs and along the corridor.
Everyone I pass either blatantly stares at me, or pretends they're not looking when they are,
and at least five conversations are hastily broken off as I approach.
As I reach the door to the marketing department, I take a deep breath, then walk in, trying to
look as unconcerned as possible.
'Hi everyone,' I say, taking off my jacket and hanging it on my chair.
'Emma!' exclaims Artemis in tones of sarcastic delight.'Well I never!'
'Good morning, Emma,' says Paul, coming out of his office and giving me an appraising look.
'You OK?'
'Fine, thanks.'
'Anything you'd like to… talk about?' To my surprise he looks as if he genuinely means it.
But honestly. What does he think? That I'm going to go in there and sob on his shoulder, 'That
bastard Jack Harper used me'?
I'll only do that if I get really, really desperate.
'No,' I say, my face prickling. 'Thanks, but I'm OK.'
'Good.' He pauses, then adopts a more businesslike tone. 'Now, I'm assuming that when you
disappeared yesterday, it was because you'd decided to work from home.'
'Er… yes.' I clear my throat. 'That's right.'
'No doubt you got lots of useful tasks done?'
'Er… yes. Loads.'
'Excellent. Just what I thought. All right, then, carry on. And the rest of you.' Paul looks
around the office warningly. 'Remember what I said.'
'Of course,' says Artemis at once. 'We all remember!'
Paul disappears into his office again, and I stare rigidly at my computer as it warms up. It'll be
fine, I tell myself. I'll just concentrate on my work, completely immerse myself…
Suddenly I become aware that someone's humming a tune, quite loudly. It's something I
recognize. It's…
It's the Carpenters.
And now a few others around the room are joining in on the chorus.
'Close to yoooou…'
'All right, Emma?' says Nick, as my head jerks up suspiciously. 'D'you want a hanky?'
'Close to yoooou…' everybody trills in unison again, and I hear muffled laughter.
I'm not going to react. I'm not going to give them the pleasure.
As calmly as possible I click onto my emails, and give a small gasp of shock. I normally get
about ten emails every morning, if that. Today I have ninety-five.
Dad: I'd really like to talk…
Carol: I've already got two more people for our Barbie Club!
Moira: I know where you can get really comfy G-strings…
Sharon: So how long has this been going on?!!
Fiona: Re: the body awareness workshop…
I scroll down the endless list and suddenly feel a stabbing in my heart.
There are three from Jack.
What should I do?
Should I read them?
My hand hovers uncertainly over my mouse. Does he deserve at least a chance to explain?
'Oh Emma,' says Artemis innocently, coming over to my desk with a carrier bag. 'I've got this
jumper I wondered if you'd like. It's a bit too small for me, but it's very nice. And it should fit
you, because -' she pauses, and catches Caroline's eye — 'it's a size eight.'
Immediately both of them erupt into hysterical giggles.
'Thanks, Artemis,' I say shortly. 'That's really sweet of you.'
'I'm off for a coffee,' says Fergus, standing up. 'Anybody want anything?'
'Make mine a Harvey's Bristol Cream,' says Nick brightly.
'Ha ha,' I mutter under my breath.
'Oh Emma, I meant to say,' Nick adds, sauntering over to my desk. 'That new secretary in
Admin. Have you seen her? She's quite something, isn't she?'
He winks at me and I stare at him blankly for a moment, not understanding.
'Nice spiky haircut,' he adds. 'Nice dungarees.'
'Shut up!' I cry furiously, my face flaming red. 'I'm not a… I'm not… Just fuck off, all of
you!'
My hand trembling with anger, I swiftly delete each and every one of Jack's emails. He
doesn't deserve anything. No chance. Nothing.
I rise to my feet and stride out of the room, breathing hard. I head for the ladies' room, slam
the door behind me, and rest my hot forehead on the mirror. Hatred for Jack Harper is
bubbling through me like lava. Does he have any idea what I'm going through? Does he have
any idea what he's done to me?
'Emma!' A voice interrupts my thoughts and I give a start. Immediately I feel a jolt of
apprehension.
Katie has come into the Ladies without me hearing. She's standing right behind me, holding
her makeup bag. Her face is reflected in the mirror next to mine… and she isn't smiling. It's
just like Fatal Attraction.
'So,' she says in a strange voice. 'You don't like crochet.'
Oh God. Oh God. What have I done? I've unleashed the bunny-boiler side of Katie that noone's
ever seen before. Maybe she'll impale me with a crochet needle, I find myself thinking
wildly.
'Katie,' I say, my heart thumping hard. 'Katie, please listen. I never meant… I never said…'
'Emma, don't even try.' She lifts her hand. 'There's no point. We both know the truth.'
'He was wrong!' I say quickly. 'He got confused! I meant I don't like… um… creches. You
know, all those babies everywhere-'
'You know, I was pretty upset yesterday,' Katie cuts me off with an eerie smile. 'But after
work I went straight home, and I called my mum. And do you know what she said to me?'
'What?' I say apprehensively.
'She said… she doesn't like crochet either.'
'What?' I wheel round and gape at her.
'And neither does my granny.' Her face flushes, and now she looks like the old Katie again.
'Or any of my relatives. They've all been pretending for years, just like you. It all makes sense
now!' Her voice rises in agitation. 'You know, I made my granny a whole sofa cover last
Christmas, and she told me that burglars had stolen it. But I mean, what kind of burglars steal
a crochet sofa cover?'
'Katie, I don't know what to say…'
'Emma, why couldn't you have told me before? All that time. Making stupid presents that
people didn't want.'
'Oh God, Katie, I'm sorry!' I say, filled with remorse. 'I'm so sorry. I just… didn't want to hurt
you.'
'I know you were trying to be kind. But I feel really stupid now.'
'Yes, well. That makes two of us,' I say, a little morosely.
The door opens, and Wendy from Accounts comes in. There's a pause as she stares at us both,
opens her mouth, closes it again, then disappears into one of the cubicles.
'So, are you OK?' says Katie in a lower voice.
'I'm fine,' I say with a tiny shrug. 'You know…'
Yeah. I'm so fine, I'm hiding in the loos rather than face my colleagues.
'Have you spoken to Jack?' she says tentatively.
'No. He sent me some stupid flowers. Like, Oh, that's OK, then. He probably didn't even order
them himself, he probably got Sven to do it.'
There's the sound of flushing, and Wendy comes out of the cubicle again.
'Well… this is the mascara I was talking about,' Katie says quickly, handing me a tube.
'Thanks,' I say. 'You say it… um… volumizes and lengthens?'
Wendy rolls her eyes.
'It's OK,' she says. 'I'm not listening!' She washes her hands, dries them, then gives me an avid
look. 'So Emma, are you going out with Jack Harper?'
'No,' I say curtly. 'He used me and he betrayed me, and to be honest, I'd be happy if I never
saw him again in my whole life.'
'Oh right!' she says brightly. 'It's just, I was wondering. If you're speaking to him again, could
you just mention that I'd really like to move to the PR department?'
'What?' I stare at her blankly.
'If you could just casually drop it in. That I have good communication skills and I think I'd be
really suited to PR.'
Casually drop it in? What, like, 'I never want to see you again, Jack, and by the way, Wendy
thinks she'd be good at PR'?
'I'm not sure,' I say at last. 'I just… don't think it's something I could do.'
'Well, I think that's really selfish of you, Emma,' says Wendy, looking offended. 'All I'm
asking you is, if the subject comes up, to mention that I'd like to move to PR. Just mention it. I
mean, how hard is that?'
'Wendy, piss off!' says Katie. 'Leave Emma alone.'
'I was only asking!' says Wendy. 'I suppose you think you're above us now, do you?'
'No!' I exclaim in shock. 'It's not that-' But Wendy's already flounced out.
'Great,' I say, a sudden wobble to my voice. 'Just great! Now everyone's going to hate me, as
well as everything else.'
I exhale sharply and stare at my reflection. I still can't quite believe how everything has turned
upside down, just like that. Everything I believed in has turned out to be false. My perfect
man is a cynical user. My dreamy romance was all a fabrication. I was happier than I'd ever
been in my life. And now I'm just a stupid, humiliated laughing stock.
Oh God. My eyes are pricking again.
'Are you OK, Emma?' says Katie, gazing at me in dismay. 'Here, have a tissue.' She
rummages in her makeup bag. 'And some eye gel.'
'Thanks,' I say, swallowing hard. I dab the eye gel on my eyes and force myself to breathe
deeply until I'm completely calm again.
'I think you're really brave,' says Katie, watching me. 'In fact, I'm amazed you even came in
today. I would have been far too embarrassed.'
'Katie,' I say, turning to face her. 'Yesterday I had all my most personal, private secrets
broadcast on TV.' I spread my arms widely. 'How could anything possibly be more
embarrassing than that?'
'Here she is!' comes a ringing voice behind us, and Caroline bursts into the Ladies. 'Emma,
your parents are here to see you!'
No. I do not believe this. I do not believe this.
My parents are standing by my desk. Dad's wearing a smart grey suit, and Mum's all dressed
up in a white jacket and navy skirt, and they're kind of holding a bunch of flowers between
them. And the entire office is staring at them, as though they're some kind of rare creature.
Scratch that. The entire office has now turned their heads in order to stare at me.
'Hi, Mum,' I say in a voice that has suddenly gone rather husky. 'Hi, Dad.'
What are they doing here?
'Emma!' says Dad, making an attempt at his normal jovial voice. 'We just thought we'd… pop
in to see you.'
'Right,' I say, nodding dazedly. As though this is a perfectly normal course of events.
'We brought you a little present,' says Mum brightly. 'Some flowers for your desk.' She puts
the bouquet down awkwardly. 'Look at Emma's desk, Brian. Isn't it smart! Look at the… the
computer!'
'Splendid!' says Dad, giving it a little pat. 'Very… very fine desk indeed.'
'And are these your friends?' says Mum, smiling around the office.
'Kind of,' I say, scowling as Artemis beams back winsomely at her.
'We were just saying, the other day,' continues Mum, 'how proud you should be of yourself,
Emma. Working for a big company like this. I'm sure many girls would be very envious of
your career. Don't you agree, Brian?'
'Absolutely!' says Dad. 'You've done very well for yourself, Emma.'
I'm so taken aback, I can't even open my mouth. I meet Dad's eye, and he gives a strange,
awkward little smile. And Mum's hands are trembling slightly as she puts the flowers down.
They're nervous, I realize with a jolt of shock. They're both nervous.
I'm just trying to get my head round this as Paul appears at the door of his office.
'So Emma,' he says, raising his eyebrows. 'You have visitors, I gather?'
'Er… yes,' I say. 'Paul, these are… um… my parents, Brian and Rachel…'
'Enchanted,' says Paul politely.
'We don't want to be any bother,' says Mum hurriedly.
'No bother at all,' says Paul, and bestows a charming smile on her. 'Unfortunately, the room
we usually use for family bonding sessions is being redecorated.'
'Oh!' says Mum, unsure as to whether he's being serious or not. 'Oh dear!'
'So perhaps, Emma, you'd like to take your parents out for — shall we call it an early lunch?'
I look up at the clock. It's a quarter to ten.
'Thanks, Paul,' I say gratefully.
This is surreal. It's completely surreal.
It's the middle of the morning. I should be at work. And instead I'm walking down the street
with my parents, wondering what on earth we're going to say to each other. I can't even
remember the last time it was just my parents and me. Just the three of us, no Grandpa, no
Kerry, no Nev. It's as if we've gone back in time fifteen years, or something.
'We could go in here,' I say, as we reach an Italian coffee shop.
'Good idea!' says Dad heartily, and pushes the door open. 'We saw your friend Jack Harper on
television yesterday,' he adds casually.
'He's not my friend,' I reply shortly, and he and Mum glance at each other.
We sit down at a wooden table and a waiter brings us each a menu, and there's silence.
Oh God. Now I'm feeling nervous.
'So…' I begin, then stop. What I want to say is, Why are you here? But it might sound a bit
rude. 'What… brings you to London?' I say, instead.
'We just thought we'd like to visit you,' says Mum, looking through her reading glasses at the
menu. 'Now, shall I have a cup of tea… or what's this? A frap-pelatte?'
'I want a normal cup of coffee,' says Dad, peering at the menu with a frown. 'Do they do such
a thing?'
'If they don't, you'll have to have a cappuccino and spoon off the froth,' says Mum. 'Or an
espresso and just ask them to add hot water.'
I don't believe this. They have driven two hundred miles. Are we just going to sit here and
talk about hot beverages all day?
'Oh, and that reminds me,' adds Mum casually. 'We've bought you a little something, Emma.
Haven't we, Brian?'
'Oh… right,' I say in surprise. 'What is it?'
'It's a car,' says Mum, and looks up at the waiter who's appeared at our table. 'Hello! I would
like a cappuccino, my husband would like a filter coffee if that's possible, and Emma would
like-'
'A car?' I echo in disbelief.
'Car,' echoes the Italian waiter, and gives me a suspicious look. 'You want coffee?'
'I'd… I'd like a cappuccino, please,' I say distractedly.
'And a selection of cakes,' adds Mum. 'Grazie!'
'Mum…' I put a hand to my head as the waiter disappears. 'What do you mean, you've bought
me a car?'
'Just a little run-around. You ought to have a car. It's not safe, you travelling on all these buses.
Grandpa's quite right.'
'But… but I can't afford a car,' I say stupidly. 'I can't even… what about the money I owe
you? What about-'
'Forget the money,' says Dad. 'We're going to wipe the slate clean.'
'What?' I stare at him, more bewildered than ever. 'But we can't do that! I still owe you-'
'Forget the money,' says Dad, a sudden edge to his voice. 'I want you to forget all about it,
Emma. You don't owe us anything. Nothing at all.'
I honestly cannot take all this in. I look confusedly from Dad to Mum. Then back to Dad.
Then, very slowly, back to Mum again.
And it's really strange. But it almost feels as though we're seeing each other properly for the
first time in years. As though we're seeing each other and saying hello and kind of… starting
again.
'We were wondering what you thought about taking a little holiday next year,' says Mum.
'With us.'
'Just… us?' I say, looking around the table.
'Just the three of us, we thought.' She gives me a tentative smile. 'It might be fun! You don't
have to, of course, if you've got other plans.'
'No! I'd like to!' I say quickly. 'I really would. But… but what about…'
I can't even bring myself to say Kerry's name.
There's a tiny silence, during which Mum and Dad look at each other, and then away again.
'Kerry sends her love, of course!' says Mum brightly, as though she's changing the subject
completely. She clears her throat. 'You know, she thought she might visit Hong Kong next
year. Visit her father. She hasn't seen him for at least five years, and maybe it's time they…
had some time together.'
'Right,' I say dazedly. 'Good idea.'
I can't believe this. Everything's changed. It's as if the entire family has been thrown up in the
air and has fallen down in different positions, and nothing's like it was before.
'We feel, Emma,' says Dad, and stops. 'We feel… that perhaps we haven't been… that
perhaps we haven't always noticed…' He breaks off and rubs his nose vigorously.
'Cappu-ccino,' says the waiter, planting a cup in front of me. 'Filter co—ffee, cappu-ccino…
coffee cake … lemon cake … chocolate-'
'Thank you!' interrupts Mum. 'Thank you so much. I think we can manage from here.' The
waiter disappears again, and she looks at me. 'Emma, what we want to say is… we're very
proud of you.'
Oh God. Oh God, I think I'm going to cry.
'Right,' I manage.
'And we…' Dad begins. 'That is to say, we both — your mother and I -' He clears his throat.
'We've always… and always will… both of us…'
He pauses, breathing rather hard. I don't quite dare say anything.
'What I'm trying to say, Emma,' he starts again. 'As I'm sure you… as I'm sure we all…
which is to say…'
He stops again, and wipes his perspiring face with a napkin.
'The fact of the matter is that… is that…'
'Oh, just tell your daughter you love her, Brian, for once in your bloody life!' cries Mum.
'I… I… love you, Emma!' says Dad in a choked-up voice. 'Oh Jesus.' He brushes roughly at
his eye.
'I love you too, Dad,' I say, my throat tight. 'And you, Mum.'
'You see!' says Mum, dabbing at her eye. 'I knew it wasn't a mistake to come!' She clutches
hold of my hand, and I clutch hold of Dad's hand, and for a moment we're in a kind of
awkward group hug.
'You know… we're all sacred links in the eternal circle of life,' I say with a sudden swell of
emotion.
'What?' Both my parents look at me blankly.
'Er, never mind. Doesn't matter.' I release my hand, take a sip of cappuccino, and look up.
And my heart nearly stops.
Jack is standing at the door of the coffee shop.
TWENTY-TWO
My heart is hammering in my chest as I stare at him through the glass doors. He puts out a
hand, the door pings, and suddenly he's inside the coffee shop.
As he walks towards our table, I feel a rush of emotion. This is the man I thought I was in
love with. This is the man who completely used me. Now the initial shock has faded, all the
old feelings of pain and humiliation are threatening to take over and turn me to jelly again.
But I'm not going to let them. I'm going to be strong and dignified.
'Ignore him,' I say to Mum and Dad.
'Who?' says Dad, turning round in his chair. 'Oh!'
'Emma, I want to talk to you,' says Jack, his face earnest.
'Well, I don't want to talk to you.'
'I'm so sorry to interrupt.' He glances at Mum and Dad. 'If we could just have a moment…'
'I'm not going anywhere!' I say in outrage. 'I'm having a nice cup of coffee with my parents.'
'Please.' He sits down at an adjoining table. 'I want to explain. I want to apologize.'
'There's no explanation you could possibly give me.' I look fiercely at Mum and Dad. 'Pretend
he isn't there. Just carry on.'
There's silence. Mum and Dad are giving each other surreptitious looks, and I can see Mum
mouthing something. She stops abruptly as she sees me looking at her, and takes a sip of
coffee.
'Let's just… have a conversation!' I say desperately. 'So, Mum.'
'Yes?' she says hopefully.
My mind is blank. I can't think of anything. All I can think is that Jack is sitting four feet
away.
'How's the golf?' I say at last.
'It's… er… fine, thanks.' Mum shoots a glance at Jack.
'Don't look at him!' I mutter. 'And… and Dad?' I persevere, loudly. 'How's your golf?'
'It's… also fine,' says Dad stiltedly.
'Where do you play?' asks Jack politely.
'You're not in the conversation!' I cry, turning furiously on my chair.
There's silence.
'Dear me!' says Mum suddenly in a stagy voice. 'Just look at the time! We're due at the… the
… sculpture exhibition.'
What?
'Lovely to see you, Emma-'
'You can't go!' I say in panic. But Dad's already opening his wallet and placing a ?20 note on
the table, while Mum stands up and puts on her white jacket.
'Just listen to him,' she whispers, bending down to give me a kiss.
'Bye, Emma,' says Dad, and squeezes my hand awkwardly. And within the space of about
thirty seconds, they're gone.
I cannot believe they have done this to me.
'So,' says Jack, as the door pings shut.
Determinedly I shift my chair round, so I can't see him.
'Emma, please.'
Even more determinedly I shift my chair round again, until I'm staring straight at the wall.
That'll show him.
The only thing is, now I can't reach my cappuccino.
'Here.' I look round to see Jack has moved his chair right up next to mine, and is holding out
my cup to me.
'Leave me alone!' I say angrily, leaping to my feet. 'We have nothing to talk about. Nothing.'
I grab my bag and stalk out of the coffee shop, into the busy street. A moment later, I feel a
hand on my shoulder.
'We could at least discuss what happened…'
'Discuss what?' I wheel round. 'How you used me? How you betrayed me?'
'OK, Emma. I appreciate I embarrassed you. But… is it really such a big deal?'
'Such a big deal?' I cry in disbelief, nearly knocking over a lady with a shopping trolley. 'You
came into my life. You fed me this huge amazing romance. You made me fall in lo-' I halt
myself abruptly, panting slightly. 'You said you were gripped by me. You made me… care
for you… and I believed every single word!' My voice is starting to wobble treacherously. 'I
believed it all, Jack. But all the way along, you had an ulterior motive. You were just using
me for your stupid research. All the time, you were just… using me.'
Jack stares at me.
'No,' he says. 'No, wait. You have this wrong.' He grabs my arm. 'That's not the way it was. I
didn't set out to use you.'
How does he have the nerve to say that?
'Of course you did!' I say, wrenching my arm out of his grasp, jabbing the button at a
pedestrian crossing. 'Of course you did! Don't deny it was me you were talking about in that
interview. Don't deny you had me in mind.' I feel a fresh spasm of humiliation. 'Every detail
was me. Every bloody detail!'
'OK.' Jack is clasping his head. 'OK. Listen. I don't deny I had you in mind. I don't deny you
filtered into… But that doesn't mean…' He looks up. 'I have you on my mind most of the
time. That's the truth, I have you on my mind.'
The pedestrian crossing starts bleeping, telling us to cross. This is my cue to storm off and
him to come running after me — but neither of us moves. I want to storm off, but somehow my
body isn't doing it. Somehow my body wants to hear more.
'Emma, when Pete and I started the Panther Corporation, you know how we worked?' Jack's
dark eyes are burning into mine. 'You know how we made our decisions?'
I give a minuscule, tell-me-if-you-like shrug.
'Gut instinct. Would we buy this? Would we like this? Would we go for this? That's what we
asked each other. Every day, over and over.' He hesitates. 'During the past few weeks, I've
been immersed in this new women's line. And all I've found myself asking myself is… would
Emma like it? Would Emma drink it? Would Emma buy it?' Jack closes his eyes for a
moment, then opens them. 'Yes, you got info my thoughts. Yes, you fed into my work. Emma,
my life and my business have always gotten confused. That's the way I've always been. But
that doesn't mean my life isn't real.' He hesitates. 'It doesn't mean that what we had… we
have… is any less real.'
He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets.
'Emma, I didn't lie to you. I didn't feed you anything. I was gripped by you the minute I met
you on that plane. The minute you looked up at me and said, "I don't even know if I've got a G
spot!" I was hooked. Not because of business… because of you. Because of who you are.
Every single tiny detail.' The flicker of a smile passes over his face. 'From the way you pick
out your favourite horoscope every morning to the way you wrote the letter from Ernest P.
Leopold. To your exercise plan on the wall. All of it.'
His gaze is fixed on mine, and my throat feels tight, and my head is all confused. And for an
instant I feel myself wavering.
Just for an instant.
'That's all very well,' I say, my voice shaking. 'But you embarrassed me. You humiliated me!'
I turn on my heel and start striding across the road again.
'I didn't mean to say so much,' says Jack, following me. 'I didn't mean to say anything. Believe
me, Emma, I regret it as much as you do. The minute we stopped, I asked them to cut out that
part. They promised me they would. I was…' He shakes his head. 'I don't know, goaded, I got
carried away…'
'You got carried away?' I feel a renewed surge of outrage. 'Jack, you exposed every single
detail about me!'
'I know, and I'm sorry…'
'You told the world about my underwear… and my sex life… and my Barbie bedcover and
you didn't tell them it was ironic…'
'Emma, I'm sorry-'
'You told them how much I weigh!' My voice rises to a shriek. 'And you got it wrong!'
'Emma, really, I'm sorry-'
'Sorry isn't good enough!' I wheel round furiously round to face him. 'You ruined my life!'
'I ruined your life?' He gives me a strange look. 'Is your life ruined? Is it such a disaster for
people to know the truth about you?'
'I…I…' For a moment I flounder. 'You don't know what it was like for me,' I say, on firmer
ground. 'Everyone was laughing at me. Everyone was teasing me, in the whole office. Artemis
was teasing me-'
'I'll fire her,' Jack cuts me off firmly.
I'm so shocked, I give a half-giggle, then turn it into a cough.
'And Nick was teasing me-'
'I'll fire him too.' Jack thinks for a moment. 'How about this: anyone who teased you, I'll fire.'
This time I can't help giggling out loud.
'You won't have a company left.'
'So be it. That'll teach me. That'll teach me to be so thoughtless.'
For a moment we stare at each other in the sunshine. My heart's beating quickly. I'm not quite
sure what to think.
'Would you like to buy some lucky heather?' A woman in a pink sweatshirt suddenly thrusts a
foil-wrapped sprig in my face, and I shake my head irritably.
'Lucky heather, sir?'
'I'll take the whole basket,' says Jack. 'I think I need it.' He reaches into his wallet, gives the
woman two ?50 notes, and takes the basket from her. All the time, his eyes are fixed on mine.
'Emma, I want to make this up to you,' he says, as the woman hurries away. 'Could we have
lunch? A drink? A… a smoothie?' His face crinkles into a tiny smile, but I don't smile back.
I'm too confused to smile. I can feel part of me starting to unbend; I can feel part of me
starting to believe him. Wanting to forgive him. But my mind is still jumbled up. Things are
still wrong somewhere.
'I don't know,' I say, rubbing my nose.
'Things were going so well, before I had to go and fuck it up.'
'Were they?' I say.
'Weren't they?' Jack hesitates, gazing at me over the heather. 'I kind of thought they were.'
My mind is buzzing. There are things I need to say. There are things I need to get into the
open. A thought crystallizes in my head.
'Jack… what were you doing in Scotland? When we first met.'
At once, Jack's expression changes. His face closes up and he looks away.
'Emma, I'm afraid I can't tell you that.'
'Why not?' I say, trying to sound light.
'It's… complicated.'
'OK, then.' I think for a moment. 'Where did you go rushing off to that night with Sven? When
you had to cut our date short.'
Jack sighs.
'Emma-'
'How about the night you had all those calls? What were those about?'
This time, Jack doesn't even bother answering.
'I see.' I push my hair back, trying to stay calm. 'Jack, did it ever occur to you that in all our
time together, you hardly told me anything about yourself?'
'I… guess I'm a private person,' says Jack. 'Is it such a big deal?'
'It's quite a big deal to me. I shared everything with you. Like you said. All my thoughts, all
my worries, everything. And you shared nothing with me.'
'That's not true-' He steps forward, still holding the cumbersome basket, and several sprigs
of heather fall to the ground.
'Practically nothing, then.' I close my eyes briefly, trying to sort my thoughts. 'Jack,
relationships are all about trust and equality. If one person shares, then the other person
should share, too. I mean, you didn't even tell me you were going to be on television.'
'It was just a dumb interview, for Chrissakes!' A girl with six shopping bags knocks yet more
heather out of Jack's basket, and in frustration he dumps it on a passing motorcycle courier's
pannier. 'Emma, you're over-reacting.'
'I told you all my secrets,' I say stubbornly. 'You didn't tell me any of yours.'
Jack gives a sigh.
'With all due respect, Emma, I think it's a little different-'
'What?' I stare at him in shock. 'Why… why should it be any different?'
'You have to understand. I have things in my life which are very sensitive… complicated…
very important…'
'And I don't?' My voice bursts from me like a rocket. 'You think my secrets are less important
than yours? You think I'm less hurt by you blurting them out on television?' I'm shaking all
over, with fury, with disappointment. 'I suppose that's because you're so huge and important
and I'm — what am I, again, Jack?' I can feel my eyes glittering with tears. 'A nothing-special
girl? An "ordinary, nothing-special girl"?'
Jack winces, and I can see I've hit home. He closes his eyes and for a long time I think he isn't
going to speak.
'I didn't mean to use those words,' he says, rubbing his forehead. 'The minute I said them, I
wished I could take them back. I was… I was trying to evoke something very different from
that… a kind of image He looks up. 'Emma, you have to know I didn't mean-'
'I'm going to ask you again!' I say, my heart pounding. 'What were you doing in Scotland?'
There's silence. As I meet Jack's eyes, I know he's not going to tell me. He knows this is
important to me and he's still not going to tell me.
'Fine,' I say, my voice lurching slightly. 'That's fine. I'm obviously not as important as you.
I'm just some amusing girl who provides you with entertainment on flights and gives you
ideas for your business.'
'Emma-'
'The thing is, Jack, that's not a real relationship. A real relationship is two-way. A real
relationship is based on equality. And trust.' I swallow the lump in my throat. 'So why don't
you just go and be with someone on your level, who you can share your precious secrets
with? Because you obviously can't share them with me.'
I turn sharply before he can say anything else, and stalk away, two tears rolling down my
cheeks, trampling the lucky heather underfoot.
hand, the door pings, and suddenly he's inside the coffee shop.
As he walks towards our table, I feel a rush of emotion. This is the man I thought I was in
love with. This is the man who completely used me. Now the initial shock has faded, all the
old feelings of pain and humiliation are threatening to take over and turn me to jelly again.
But I'm not going to let them. I'm going to be strong and dignified.
'Ignore him,' I say to Mum and Dad.
'Who?' says Dad, turning round in his chair. 'Oh!'
'Emma, I want to talk to you,' says Jack, his face earnest.
'Well, I don't want to talk to you.'
'I'm so sorry to interrupt.' He glances at Mum and Dad. 'If we could just have a moment…'
'I'm not going anywhere!' I say in outrage. 'I'm having a nice cup of coffee with my parents.'
'Please.' He sits down at an adjoining table. 'I want to explain. I want to apologize.'
'There's no explanation you could possibly give me.' I look fiercely at Mum and Dad. 'Pretend
he isn't there. Just carry on.'
There's silence. Mum and Dad are giving each other surreptitious looks, and I can see Mum
mouthing something. She stops abruptly as she sees me looking at her, and takes a sip of
coffee.
'Let's just… have a conversation!' I say desperately. 'So, Mum.'
'Yes?' she says hopefully.
My mind is blank. I can't think of anything. All I can think is that Jack is sitting four feet
away.
'How's the golf?' I say at last.
'It's… er… fine, thanks.' Mum shoots a glance at Jack.
'Don't look at him!' I mutter. 'And… and Dad?' I persevere, loudly. 'How's your golf?'
'It's… also fine,' says Dad stiltedly.
'Where do you play?' asks Jack politely.
'You're not in the conversation!' I cry, turning furiously on my chair.
There's silence.
'Dear me!' says Mum suddenly in a stagy voice. 'Just look at the time! We're due at the… the
… sculpture exhibition.'
What?
'Lovely to see you, Emma-'
'You can't go!' I say in panic. But Dad's already opening his wallet and placing a ?20 note on
the table, while Mum stands up and puts on her white jacket.
'Just listen to him,' she whispers, bending down to give me a kiss.
'Bye, Emma,' says Dad, and squeezes my hand awkwardly. And within the space of about
thirty seconds, they're gone.
I cannot believe they have done this to me.
'So,' says Jack, as the door pings shut.
Determinedly I shift my chair round, so I can't see him.
'Emma, please.'
Even more determinedly I shift my chair round again, until I'm staring straight at the wall.
That'll show him.
The only thing is, now I can't reach my cappuccino.
'Here.' I look round to see Jack has moved his chair right up next to mine, and is holding out
my cup to me.
'Leave me alone!' I say angrily, leaping to my feet. 'We have nothing to talk about. Nothing.'
I grab my bag and stalk out of the coffee shop, into the busy street. A moment later, I feel a
hand on my shoulder.
'We could at least discuss what happened…'
'Discuss what?' I wheel round. 'How you used me? How you betrayed me?'
'OK, Emma. I appreciate I embarrassed you. But… is it really such a big deal?'
'Such a big deal?' I cry in disbelief, nearly knocking over a lady with a shopping trolley. 'You
came into my life. You fed me this huge amazing romance. You made me fall in lo-' I halt
myself abruptly, panting slightly. 'You said you were gripped by me. You made me… care
for you… and I believed every single word!' My voice is starting to wobble treacherously. 'I
believed it all, Jack. But all the way along, you had an ulterior motive. You were just using
me for your stupid research. All the time, you were just… using me.'
Jack stares at me.
'No,' he says. 'No, wait. You have this wrong.' He grabs my arm. 'That's not the way it was. I
didn't set out to use you.'
How does he have the nerve to say that?
'Of course you did!' I say, wrenching my arm out of his grasp, jabbing the button at a
pedestrian crossing. 'Of course you did! Don't deny it was me you were talking about in that
interview. Don't deny you had me in mind.' I feel a fresh spasm of humiliation. 'Every detail
was me. Every bloody detail!'
'OK.' Jack is clasping his head. 'OK. Listen. I don't deny I had you in mind. I don't deny you
filtered into… But that doesn't mean…' He looks up. 'I have you on my mind most of the
time. That's the truth, I have you on my mind.'
The pedestrian crossing starts bleeping, telling us to cross. This is my cue to storm off and
him to come running after me — but neither of us moves. I want to storm off, but somehow my
body isn't doing it. Somehow my body wants to hear more.
'Emma, when Pete and I started the Panther Corporation, you know how we worked?' Jack's
dark eyes are burning into mine. 'You know how we made our decisions?'
I give a minuscule, tell-me-if-you-like shrug.
'Gut instinct. Would we buy this? Would we like this? Would we go for this? That's what we
asked each other. Every day, over and over.' He hesitates. 'During the past few weeks, I've
been immersed in this new women's line. And all I've found myself asking myself is… would
Emma like it? Would Emma drink it? Would Emma buy it?' Jack closes his eyes for a
moment, then opens them. 'Yes, you got info my thoughts. Yes, you fed into my work. Emma,
my life and my business have always gotten confused. That's the way I've always been. But
that doesn't mean my life isn't real.' He hesitates. 'It doesn't mean that what we had… we
have… is any less real.'
He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets.
'Emma, I didn't lie to you. I didn't feed you anything. I was gripped by you the minute I met
you on that plane. The minute you looked up at me and said, "I don't even know if I've got a G
spot!" I was hooked. Not because of business… because of you. Because of who you are.
Every single tiny detail.' The flicker of a smile passes over his face. 'From the way you pick
out your favourite horoscope every morning to the way you wrote the letter from Ernest P.
Leopold. To your exercise plan on the wall. All of it.'
His gaze is fixed on mine, and my throat feels tight, and my head is all confused. And for an
instant I feel myself wavering.
Just for an instant.
'That's all very well,' I say, my voice shaking. 'But you embarrassed me. You humiliated me!'
I turn on my heel and start striding across the road again.
'I didn't mean to say so much,' says Jack, following me. 'I didn't mean to say anything. Believe
me, Emma, I regret it as much as you do. The minute we stopped, I asked them to cut out that
part. They promised me they would. I was…' He shakes his head. 'I don't know, goaded, I got
carried away…'
'You got carried away?' I feel a renewed surge of outrage. 'Jack, you exposed every single
detail about me!'
'I know, and I'm sorry…'
'You told the world about my underwear… and my sex life… and my Barbie bedcover and
you didn't tell them it was ironic…'
'Emma, I'm sorry-'
'You told them how much I weigh!' My voice rises to a shriek. 'And you got it wrong!'
'Emma, really, I'm sorry-'
'Sorry isn't good enough!' I wheel round furiously round to face him. 'You ruined my life!'
'I ruined your life?' He gives me a strange look. 'Is your life ruined? Is it such a disaster for
people to know the truth about you?'
'I…I…' For a moment I flounder. 'You don't know what it was like for me,' I say, on firmer
ground. 'Everyone was laughing at me. Everyone was teasing me, in the whole office. Artemis
was teasing me-'
'I'll fire her,' Jack cuts me off firmly.
I'm so shocked, I give a half-giggle, then turn it into a cough.
'And Nick was teasing me-'
'I'll fire him too.' Jack thinks for a moment. 'How about this: anyone who teased you, I'll fire.'
This time I can't help giggling out loud.
'You won't have a company left.'
'So be it. That'll teach me. That'll teach me to be so thoughtless.'
For a moment we stare at each other in the sunshine. My heart's beating quickly. I'm not quite
sure what to think.
'Would you like to buy some lucky heather?' A woman in a pink sweatshirt suddenly thrusts a
foil-wrapped sprig in my face, and I shake my head irritably.
'Lucky heather, sir?'
'I'll take the whole basket,' says Jack. 'I think I need it.' He reaches into his wallet, gives the
woman two ?50 notes, and takes the basket from her. All the time, his eyes are fixed on mine.
'Emma, I want to make this up to you,' he says, as the woman hurries away. 'Could we have
lunch? A drink? A… a smoothie?' His face crinkles into a tiny smile, but I don't smile back.
I'm too confused to smile. I can feel part of me starting to unbend; I can feel part of me
starting to believe him. Wanting to forgive him. But my mind is still jumbled up. Things are
still wrong somewhere.
'I don't know,' I say, rubbing my nose.
'Things were going so well, before I had to go and fuck it up.'
'Were they?' I say.
'Weren't they?' Jack hesitates, gazing at me over the heather. 'I kind of thought they were.'
My mind is buzzing. There are things I need to say. There are things I need to get into the
open. A thought crystallizes in my head.
'Jack… what were you doing in Scotland? When we first met.'
At once, Jack's expression changes. His face closes up and he looks away.
'Emma, I'm afraid I can't tell you that.'
'Why not?' I say, trying to sound light.
'It's… complicated.'
'OK, then.' I think for a moment. 'Where did you go rushing off to that night with Sven? When
you had to cut our date short.'
Jack sighs.
'Emma-'
'How about the night you had all those calls? What were those about?'
This time, Jack doesn't even bother answering.
'I see.' I push my hair back, trying to stay calm. 'Jack, did it ever occur to you that in all our
time together, you hardly told me anything about yourself?'
'I… guess I'm a private person,' says Jack. 'Is it such a big deal?'
'It's quite a big deal to me. I shared everything with you. Like you said. All my thoughts, all
my worries, everything. And you shared nothing with me.'
'That's not true-' He steps forward, still holding the cumbersome basket, and several sprigs
of heather fall to the ground.
'Practically nothing, then.' I close my eyes briefly, trying to sort my thoughts. 'Jack,
relationships are all about trust and equality. If one person shares, then the other person
should share, too. I mean, you didn't even tell me you were going to be on television.'
'It was just a dumb interview, for Chrissakes!' A girl with six shopping bags knocks yet more
heather out of Jack's basket, and in frustration he dumps it on a passing motorcycle courier's
pannier. 'Emma, you're over-reacting.'
'I told you all my secrets,' I say stubbornly. 'You didn't tell me any of yours.'
Jack gives a sigh.
'With all due respect, Emma, I think it's a little different-'
'What?' I stare at him in shock. 'Why… why should it be any different?'
'You have to understand. I have things in my life which are very sensitive… complicated…
very important…'
'And I don't?' My voice bursts from me like a rocket. 'You think my secrets are less important
than yours? You think I'm less hurt by you blurting them out on television?' I'm shaking all
over, with fury, with disappointment. 'I suppose that's because you're so huge and important
and I'm — what am I, again, Jack?' I can feel my eyes glittering with tears. 'A nothing-special
girl? An "ordinary, nothing-special girl"?'
Jack winces, and I can see I've hit home. He closes his eyes and for a long time I think he isn't
going to speak.
'I didn't mean to use those words,' he says, rubbing his forehead. 'The minute I said them, I
wished I could take them back. I was… I was trying to evoke something very different from
that… a kind of image He looks up. 'Emma, you have to know I didn't mean-'
'I'm going to ask you again!' I say, my heart pounding. 'What were you doing in Scotland?'
There's silence. As I meet Jack's eyes, I know he's not going to tell me. He knows this is
important to me and he's still not going to tell me.
'Fine,' I say, my voice lurching slightly. 'That's fine. I'm obviously not as important as you.
I'm just some amusing girl who provides you with entertainment on flights and gives you
ideas for your business.'
'Emma-'
'The thing is, Jack, that's not a real relationship. A real relationship is two-way. A real
relationship is based on equality. And trust.' I swallow the lump in my throat. 'So why don't
you just go and be with someone on your level, who you can share your precious secrets
with? Because you obviously can't share them with me.'
I turn sharply before he can say anything else, and stalk away, two tears rolling down my
cheeks, trampling the lucky heather underfoot.