A shrill ring from my mobile interrupts me. Thank God. Whoever this is, I love them. I hastily
pull it out and press green.
'Emma, you're going to love me for ever!' come Jemima's piercing tones.
'What?' I stare at the phone.
'I've sorted everything out for you!' she says triumphantly. 'I know, I'm a total star, you don't
know what you'd do without me-'
'What?' I feel a twinge of alarm. 'Jemima, what are you talking about?'
'Getting your revenge on Jack Harper, silly! Since you were just sitting there like a total wimp,
I've taken matters into my own hands.'
For moment I can't quite move.
'Er, Jack… excuse me a minute.' I shoot him a bright smile. 'I just need to… take this call.'
With trembling legs I hurry to the corner of the courtyard, well away from earshot.
'Jemima, you promised you wouldn't do anything!' I hiss. 'You swore on your Miu Miu
ponyskin bag, remember?'
'I haven't got a Miu Miu ponyskin bag!' she crows triumphantly. 'I've got a Fendi ponyskin
bag!'
She's mad. She's completely mad.
'Jemima, what have you done?' I manage. 'Tell me what you've done.'
My heart is thudding in apprehension. Please don't say she's scraped his car. Please.
'An eye for an eye, Emma! That man totally betrayed you, and we're going to do the same to
him. Now, I'm sitting here with a very nice chap called Mick. He's a journalist, he writes for
the Daily World …'
My blood runs cold.
'A tabloid journalist?' I manage at last. 'Jemima, are you insane?'
'Don't be so narrow-minded and suburban,' retorts Jemima reprovingly. 'Emma, tabloid
journalists are our friends. They're just like private detectives… but for free! Mick's done
loads of work for Mummy before. He's marvellous at tracking things down. And he's very
interested in finding out Jack Harper's little secret. I've told him all we know, but he'd like to
have a word with you.'
I feel quite faint. This cannot be happening.
'Jemima, listen to me,' I say in quick, low tones, as though trying to persuade a lunatic down
off the roof. 'I don't want to find out Jack's secret, OK? I just want to forget it. You have to
stop this guy.'
'I won't!' she says like a petulant six-year-old. 'Emma, don't be so pathetic! You can't just let
men walk all over you and do nothing in return. You have to show them. Mummy always
says-' There's the sudden screeching of tyres. 'Oops! Tiny prang. I'll call you back.'
The phone goes dead.
I am numb with horror.
Frantically I jab her number into my phone, but it clicks straight on to messages.
'Jemima,' I say as soon as it beeps. 'Jemima, you have to stop this! You have to-' I stop
abruptly as Jack appears in front of me, with a warm smile.
'It's about to start,' he says, and gives me a curious look. 'Everything all right?'
'Fine,' I say in a strangled voice, and put my phone away. 'Everything's… fine.'
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
pull it out and press green.
'Emma, you're going to love me for ever!' come Jemima's piercing tones.
'What?' I stare at the phone.
'I've sorted everything out for you!' she says triumphantly. 'I know, I'm a total star, you don't
know what you'd do without me-'
'What?' I feel a twinge of alarm. 'Jemima, what are you talking about?'
'Getting your revenge on Jack Harper, silly! Since you were just sitting there like a total wimp,
I've taken matters into my own hands.'
For moment I can't quite move.
'Er, Jack… excuse me a minute.' I shoot him a bright smile. 'I just need to… take this call.'
With trembling legs I hurry to the corner of the courtyard, well away from earshot.
'Jemima, you promised you wouldn't do anything!' I hiss. 'You swore on your Miu Miu
ponyskin bag, remember?'
'I haven't got a Miu Miu ponyskin bag!' she crows triumphantly. 'I've got a Fendi ponyskin
bag!'
She's mad. She's completely mad.
'Jemima, what have you done?' I manage. 'Tell me what you've done.'
My heart is thudding in apprehension. Please don't say she's scraped his car. Please.
'An eye for an eye, Emma! That man totally betrayed you, and we're going to do the same to
him. Now, I'm sitting here with a very nice chap called Mick. He's a journalist, he writes for
the Daily World …'
My blood runs cold.
'A tabloid journalist?' I manage at last. 'Jemima, are you insane?'
'Don't be so narrow-minded and suburban,' retorts Jemima reprovingly. 'Emma, tabloid
journalists are our friends. They're just like private detectives… but for free! Mick's done
loads of work for Mummy before. He's marvellous at tracking things down. And he's very
interested in finding out Jack Harper's little secret. I've told him all we know, but he'd like to
have a word with you.'
I feel quite faint. This cannot be happening.
'Jemima, listen to me,' I say in quick, low tones, as though trying to persuade a lunatic down
off the roof. 'I don't want to find out Jack's secret, OK? I just want to forget it. You have to
stop this guy.'
'I won't!' she says like a petulant six-year-old. 'Emma, don't be so pathetic! You can't just let
men walk all over you and do nothing in return. You have to show them. Mummy always
says-' There's the sudden screeching of tyres. 'Oops! Tiny prang. I'll call you back.'
The phone goes dead.
I am numb with horror.
Frantically I jab her number into my phone, but it clicks straight on to messages.
'Jemima,' I say as soon as it beeps. 'Jemima, you have to stop this! You have to-' I stop
abruptly as Jack appears in front of me, with a warm smile.
'It's about to start,' he says, and gives me a curious look. 'Everything all right?'
'Fine,' I say in a strangled voice, and put my phone away. 'Everything's… fine.'
TWENTY-FIVE
As I walk into the auditorium I'm almost lightheaded with panic.
What have I done? What have I done?
I have given away Jack's most precious secret in the world to a morally warped, revengewreaking,
Prada-wearing nutcase.
OK. Just calm down, I tell myself for the zillionth time. She doesn't actually know anything.
This journalist probably won't find out anything. I mean, what facts does he actually have?
But what if he does find out? What if he somehow stumbles on the truth? And Jack discovers
it was me who pointed them in the right direction?
I feel ill at the thought. My stomach is curdling. Why did I ever mention Scotland to Jemima?
Why?
New resolution: I am never giving away a secret again. Never, ever, ever. Even if it doesn't
seem important. Even if I am feeling angry.
In fact… I am never talking again, full stop. All talking ever seems to do is get me into
trouble. If I hadn't opened my mouth on that stupid plane in the first place, I wouldn't be in
this mess now.
I will become a mute. A silent enigma. When people ask me questions I will simply nod, or
scribble cryptic notes on pieces of paper. People will take them away and puzzle over them,
searching them for hidden meanings-
'Is this Lissy?' says Jack, pointing to a name in the programme, and I jump in fright. I follow
his gaze, then give a silent nod, my mouth clamped shut.
'Do you know anyone else in the show?' he asks.
I give a mute 'who knows?' shrug.
'So… how long has Lissy been practising?'
I hesitate, then hold up three fingers.
'Three?' Jack peers at me uncertainly. 'Three what?'
I make a little gesture with my hands which is supposed to indicate 'months'. Then I make it
again. Jack looks totally baffled.
'Emma, is something wrong?'
I feel in my pocket for a pen — but I haven't got one.
OK, forget not talking.
'About three months,' I say out loud.
'Right.' Jack nods, and turns back to the programme. His face is calm and unsuspecting, and I
can feel guilty nerves rising through me again.
Maybe I should just tell him.
No. I can't. I can't. How would I put it? 'By the way, Jack. You know that really important
secret you asked me to keep? Well, guess what…'
Containment is what I need. Like in those military films where they bump off the person who
knows too much. But how do I contain Jemima? I've launched some crazed human Exocet
missile, fizzing around London, bent on causing as much devastation as she can, and now I
want to call her back, but the button doesn't work any more.
OK. Just think rationally. There's no need to panic. Nothing's going to happen tonight. I'll just
keep trying her mobile and as soon as I get through I'll explain in words of one syllable that
she has to call this guy off and if she doesn't I will break her legs.
A low, insistent drumbeat starts playing over the loudspeakers, and I give a start of fright. I'm
so distracted, I'd actually forgotten what we were here for. The auditorium is becoming
completely dark, and around us the audience falls silent with anticipation. The beating
increases in volume, but nothing happens on stage; it's still pitch black.
The drumming becomes even louder, and I'm starting to feel tense. This is all a bit spooky.
When are they going to start dancing? When are they going to open the curtains? When are
they going to-
Pow! Suddenly there's a gasp as a dazzling light fills the auditorium, nearly blinding me.
Thumping music fills the air, and a single figure appears on stage in a black, glittering
costume, twirling and leaping. Gosh, whoever it is, they're amazing. I'm blinking dazedly
against the bright light, trying to see. I can hardly tell if it's a man or a woman or a-
Oh my God. It's Lissy.
I am pinioned to my seat by shock. Everything else has been swept away from my mind. I
cannot keep my eyes off Lissy.
I had no idea she could do this. No idea! I mean, we did a bit of ballet together. And a bit of
tap. But we never… I never… How can I have known someone for over twenty years and
have no idea they could dance?
She just did this amazing slow, sinewy dance with a guy in a mask who I guess is Jean-Paul,
and now she's leaping and spinning around with this ribbon thing, and the whole audience is
staring at her, agog, and she looks so completely radiant. I haven't seen her look so happy for
months. I'm so proud of her.
To my horror, tears start to prick my eyes. And now my nose is starting to run. I don't even
have a tissue. This is so embarrassing. I'm going to have to sniff, like a mother at a Nativity
play. Next I'll be standing up and running to the front with my camcorder, going, 'Hello
darling, wave to Daddy!'
OK. I need to get a hold of myself, otherwise it'll be like the time I took my little goddaughter
Amy to see the Disney cartoon Tarzan, and when the lights went up, she was fast
asleep and I was in floods, being gawped at by a load of stony-eyed four-year-olds. (Just in
my defence, it was pretty romantic. And Tarzan was pretty sexy.)
I feel something nudging my hand. I look up, and Jack's offering me a hanky. As I take it
from him, his fingers curl briefly round mine.
When the performance comes to an end, I'm on a total high. Lissy takes a star bow, and both
Jack and I applaud madly, grinning at each other.
'Don't tell anyone I cried,' I say, above the sound of applause.
'I won't,' says Jack, and gives me a rueful smile. 'I promise.'
The curtain comes down for the last time, and people start getting out of their seats, reaching
for jackets and bags. And now we're coming back down to normality again, I feel my
exhilaration seeping away and anxiety returning. I have to try to contact Jemima again.
At the exit, people are streaming across the courtyard to a lit-up room on the other side.
'Lissy said I should meet her at the party,' I say to Jack. 'So er… why don't you go on? I just
need to make a quick call.'
'Are you OK?' says Jack, giving me a curious look. 'You seem jumpy.'
'I'm fine!' I say. 'Just excited!' I give him as convincing a beam as I can manage, then wait
until he's safely out of earshot. Immediately I dial Jemima's number. Straight on to messages.
I dial it again. Messages again.
I want to scream with frustration. Where is she? What's she doing? How can I contain her if I
don't know where she is?
I stand perfectly still, trying to ignore my thrusting panic, trying to work out what to do.
OK. I'll just have to go to the party and act normally, keep trying her on the phone and if all
else fails, wait until I see her later. There's nothing else I can do. It'll be fine. It'll be fine.
The party is huge and bright and noisy. All the dancers are there, still in costume, and all the
audience, and a fair number of people who seem to have come along just for the ride. Waiters
are carrying drinks around and the noise of chatter is tremendous. As I walk in, I can't see
anyone I know. I take a glass of wine and start edging into the crowd, overhearing
conversations all around.
'… wonderful costumes…'
'… find time for rehearsals?'
'… judge was totally intransigent…'
Suddenly I spot Lissy, looking flushed and shiny and surrounded by a load of good-looking
lawyer-type guys, one of whom is blatantly staring at her legs.
'Lissy!' I cry. She turns around and I give her a huge hug. 'I had no idea you could dance like
that! You were amazing!'
'Oh no. I wasn't,' she says at once, and pulls a typical Lissy-face. 'I completely messed up-'
'Stop!' I interrupt. 'Lissy, it was utterly fantastic. You were fantastic.'
'But I was completely crap in the-'
'Don't say you were crap!' I practically yell. 'You were fantastic. Say it. Say it, Lissy.'
'Well… OK.' Her face reluctantly creases into a smile. 'OK. I was… fantastic!' She gives an
elated laugh. 'Emma, I've never felt so good in my life! And guess what, we're already
planning to go on tour next year.'
'But…' I stare at her. 'You said you never wanted to do this again, ever, and if you mentioned
it again, I had to stop you.'
'Oh, that was just stage fright,' she says with an airy wave of her hand. Then she lowers her
voice. 'I saw Jack, by the way.' She gives me an avid look. 'What's going on?'
My heart gives a huge thump. Should I tell her about Jemima?
No. She'll only get all hassled. And anyway, there's nothing either of us can do right now.
'Jack came here to talk to me.' I hesitate. 'To… tell me his secret.'
'You're joking!' breathes Lissy, hand to her mouth. 'So — what is it?'
'I can't tell you.'
'You can't tell me?' Lissy stares at me in incredulity. 'After all that, you're not even going to
tell me?'
'Lissy, I really can't.' I pull an agonized face. 'It's… complicated.'
God, I sound just like Jack.
'Well, all right,' says Lissy a bit grumpily. 'I suppose I can live without knowing. So… are
you two together again?'
'I dunno,' I say, flushing. 'Maybe.'
'Lissy! That was fabulous!' A couple of girls in suits appear at her side. I give her a smile and
move away slightly as she greets them.
Jack is nowhere to be seen. Should I try Jemima again?
Surreptitiously I start getting out my phone, then hastily put it away again as I hear a voice
behind me calling 'Emma!'
I look round, and give a huge start of surprise. Connor's standing there in a suit, holding a
glass of wine, his hair all shiny and blond under the spotlights. He has a new tie on, I notice
instantly. Big yellow polka dots on blue. I don't like it.
'Connor! What are you doing here?' I say in astonishment.
'Lissy sent me a flyer,' he replies, a little defensively. 'I've always been fond of Lissy. I
thought I'd come along. And I'm glad I've run into you,' he adds awkwardly. 'I'd like to talk to
you, if I may.'
He draws me towards the door, away from the main crowd, and I follow, a tad nervously. I
haven't had a proper chat with Connor since Jack was on television. Which could possibly be
because every time I've glimpsed him, I've quickly hurried the other way.
'Yes?' I say, turning to face him. 'What did you want to talk about?'
'Emma.' Connor clears his throat as though he's about to start a formal speech. 'I get the
feeling that you weren't always… totally honest with me in our relationship.'
This could be the understatement of the year.
'You're right,' I admit, shamefacedly. 'Oh God, Connor, I'm really, really sorry about
everything that happened-' He lifts a hand with a look of dignity.
'It doesn't matter. That's water under the bridge. But I'd be grateful if you were totally honest
with me now.'
'Absolutely,' I say, nodding earnestly. 'Of course.'
'I've recently… started a new relationship,' he says, a little stiffly.
'Wow!' I say in surprise. 'Good for you! Connor, I'm really pleased. What's her name?'
'Her name's Francesca.'
'And where did you-'
'I wanted to ask you about sex,' Connor says, cutting me off in a rush of embarrassment.
'Oh! Right.' I feel a twinge of dismay, which I conceal by taking a sip of wine. 'Of course!'
'Were you honest with me in that… area?'
'Er… what do you mean?' I say lightly, playing for time.
'Were you honest with me in bed?' His face is growing pillar-box red. 'Or were you faking it?'
Oh no. Is that what he thinks?
'Connor, I never ever faked an orgasm with you,' I say, lowering my voice. 'Hand on heart. I
never did.'
'Well… OK.' He rubs his nose awkwardly. 'But did you fake anything else?'
I look at him uncertainly. 'I'm not sure I know what you-'
'Were there any -' he clears his throat
'— any particular techniques I used which you only pretended to enjoy?'.
Oh God. Please don't ask me that question.
'You know, I really… can't remember!' I hedge. 'Actually, I ought to be going…'
'Emma, tell me!' he says, with sudden passion. 'I'm starting a new relationship. It's only fair
that I should be able to… to learn from past mistakes.'
I gaze back at his shiny face and suddenly feel a huge pang of guilt. He's right. I should be
honest. I should finally be honest with him.
'OK,' I say at last, and move closer to him. 'You remember that one thing you used to do with
your tongue?' I lower my voice still further. 'That… slidey thing? Well, sometimes that kind
of made me want to… laugh. So if I had one tip with your new girlfriend, it would be don't
do…'
I tail off at his expression.
Fuck. He's already done.it.
'Francesca said…' Connor says in a voice as stiff as a board. 'Francesca told me that really
turned her on.'
'Well, I'm sure it did!' I backtrack madly. 'Women are all different. Our bodies are all different
… everybody likes… different things.'
Connor is staring me in consternation.
'She said she loved jazz, too.'
'Well, I expect she does! Loads of people do like jazz.'
'She said she loved the way I could quote Woody Allen line for line.' He rubs his flushed face.
'Was she lying?'
'No, I'm sure she wasn't…' I tail off helplessly.
'Emma…' He stares at me bewilderedly. 'Do all women have secrets?'
Oh no. Have I ruined Connor's trust in all of womankind for ever?
'No!' I exclaim. 'Of course they don't! Honestly, Connor, I'm sure it's only me.'
My words wither on my lips as I glimpse a flash of familiar-looking blond hair at the entrance
to the hall. My heart stops.
That can't be-
That's not-
'Connor, I have to go,' I say, and start hurrying towards the entrance.
'She told me she's size ten!' Connor calls helplessly after me. 'What does that mean? What size
should I really buy?'
'Twelve!' I shoot back over my shoulder.
It is. It's Jemima. Standing in the foyer. What's she doing here?
The door opens again and I experience such a shock, I feel faint. She's got a guy with her. In
jeans, with cropped hair and squirrelly eyes. He's got a camera slung over his shoulder and is
looking around interestedly.
No.
She can't have done.
'Emma,' comes a voice in my ear.
'Jack!' I wheel round, to see him smiling down at me, his dark eyes full of affection.
'You OK?' he says, and gently touches my nose.
'Fine!' I say a little shrilly. 'I'm great!'
I have to manage this situation. I have to.
'Jack — could you get me some water?' I hear myself saying. 'I'll just stay here. I'm feeling a
bit dizzy.' Jack looks alarmed.
'You know, I thought there was something wrong. Let me take you home. I'll call the car.'
'No. It's… it's fine. I want to stay. Just get me some water. Please,' I add as an afterthought.
As soon as he's gone I tear into the foyer, almost tripping up in my haste.
'Emma!' Jemima looks up brightly. 'Excellent! I was just about to look for you. Now, this is
Mick, and he wants to ask you some questions. We thought we'd use this little room here.' She
heads into a small, empty office which leads off from the foyer.
'No!' I say, grabbing her arm. 'Jemima, you have to go. Now. Go!'
'I'm not going anywhere!' Jemima jerks her arm out of my grasp and rolls her eyes at Mick,
who's closing the door of the office behind me. 'I told you she was being all hissy about it.'
'Mick Collins,' Mick thrusts a business card into my hand. 'Delighted to meet you, Emma.
Now, there's no need to get worried, is there?' He gives me a soothing smile, as though he's
completely used to dealing with hysterical women telling him to go. Which he probably is.
'Let's just sit down quietly, have a nice chat…'
He's chewing gum as he speaks, and as I smell the spearmint wafting towards me, I almost
want to throw up.
'Look, there's been a misunderstanding,' I say, forcing myself to sound polite. 'I'm afraid
there's no story.'
'Well, let's see about that, shall we?' says Mick with a friendly smile. 'You tell me the facts…'
'No! I mean, there's nothing.' I turn to Jemima. 'I told you I didn't want you to do anything.
You promised me!'
'Emma, you are such a wimp.' She gives Mick an exasperated look. 'Do you see why I've been
forced to take action? I told you what a bastard Jack Harper was to her. He needs to learn his
lesson.'
'Absolutely right,' agrees Mick and puts his head on one side as though measuring me up.
'Very attractive,' he says to Jemima. 'You know, we could think about an accompanying
interview feature. My romp with top boss. You could make some serious money,' he adds to
me.
'No!' I say in horror.
'Emma, stop being so coy!' snaps Jemima. 'You want to do it really. This could be a whole
new career for you, you realize.'
'I don't want a new career!'
'Well then you should! Do you know how much Monica Lewinsky makes a year?'
'You're sick,' I say in disbelief. 'You're a totally sick, warped-'
'Emma, I'm just acting in your best interests.'
'You're not!' I cry, feeling my face flame red. 'I… I might be getting back together with Jack!'
There's a thirty-second silence. I stare at her, holding my breath. Then it's as if the killer robot
jerks into action again, shooting yet more rays.
'Even more reason to do it!' says Jemima. 'This'll keep him on his toes. This'll show him who's
boss. Go on, Mick.'
'Interview with Emma Corrigan. Tuesday, 15th July, 9.40 p.m.' I look up, and stiffen in horror.
Mick has produced a small tape recorder and is holding it towards me.
'You first met Jack Harper on a plane. Can you confirm where this was flying from and to?'
He gives me a smile. 'Just speak naturally, like you would to a mate on the phone.'
'Stop it!' I yell. 'Just leave! Leave!'
'Emma, grow up,' says Jemima impatiently. 'Mick's going to find out what this secret is
whether you help him or not, so you might as well be-' She stops abruptly as the door handle
rattles, then turns.
The room seems to swim around me.
Please don't say — please-
As the door slowly opens, I can't breathe. I can't move.
I have never felt so frightened in my entire life.
'Emma?' says Jack, coming in, holding two glasses of water in one hand. 'Are you feeling
OK? I got you both still and sparkling, because I wasn't quite…'
He tails off, his eyes running confusedly over Jemima and Mick. With a flicker of
bewilderment, he takes in Mick's card, still in my hand. Then his gaze falls on the turning tape
recorder and something slides out of his face.
'I think I'll just make myself scarce,' murmurs Mick, raising his eyebrows at Jemima. He slips
the tape recording into his pocket, picks up his rucksack and sidles out of the room. Nobody
speaks for a few moments. All I can hear is the throbbing in my head.
'Who was that?' says Jack at last. 'A journalist?'
All the light has gone from his eyes. He looks as though someone just stamped on his garden.
'I… Jack…' I say huskily. 'It's not… it's not…'
'Why…' He rubs his brow, as though trying to make sense of the situation. 'Why were you
talking to a journalist?'
'Why do you think she was talking to a journalist?' chimes in Jemima proudly.
'What?' Jack's gaze swivels to her with dislike.
'You think you're such a bigshot millionaire! You think you can use little people. You think
you can give away someone's private secrets and completely humiliate them and get away
with it. Well, you can't!'
She takes a few steps towards him, folding her arms and lifting her chin with satisfaction.
'Emma's been waiting for a chance to get her revenge on you, and now she's found it! That
was a journalist, if you want to know. And he's on your case. And when you find your little
Scottish secret plastered all over the papers, then maybe you'll know what it feel like to be
betrayed! And maybe you'll be sorry. Tell him, Emma! Tell him!'
But I'm paralysed.
The minute she said the word Scottish I saw Jack's face change. It kind of snapped. He almost
seemed winded with shock. He looked straight at me and I could see the growing disbelief in
his eyes.
'You might think you know Emma, but you don't,' Jemima is continuing delightedly, like a cat
tearing apart its prey. 'You underestimated her, Jack Harper. You underestimated what she's
capable of.'
Shut up! I'm screaming internally. It's not true! Jack, I would never, I would never …
But nothing in my body will move. I can't even swallow. I'm pinioned, staring helplessly at
him with a face I know is covered with guilt.
Jack opens his mouth, then closes it again. Then he turns on his heel, pushes the door open
and walks out.
For a moment there's silence in the tiny room.
'Well!' says Jemima, smacking her hands triumphantly, 'That showed him!'
It's as though she breaks the spell. Suddenly I can move again. I can draw breath.
'You…' I'm almost shaking too much to speak. 'You stupid… stupid… thoughtless…
bitch!'
The door bursts open and Lissy appears, wide-eyed.
'What the hell happened here?' she demands. 'I just saw Jack storming out. He looked
absolutely like thunder!'
'She brought a journalist here!' I say in anguish, gesturing at Jemima. 'A bloody tabloid
journalist. And Jack found us all closeted here, and he thinks… God know what he thinks…'
'You stupid cow!' Lissy slaps Jemima across the face. 'What were you thinking.'
'Ow! I was helping Emma get vengeance on her enemy.'
'He's not my enemy, you stupid…' I'm on the verge of tears. 'Lissy… what am I going to do?
What?'
'Go,' she says, and looks at me with anxious eyes. 'You can still catch him. Go.'
I pelt out of the door and through the courtyard, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my lungs
burning. When I reach the road I look frantically left and right. Then I spot him, down the
road.
'Jack, wait.'
He's striding along with his mobile phone to his ear, and at my voice he turns round with a
taut face.
'So that's why you were so interested in Scotland.'
'No!' I say, aghast. 'No! Listen, Jack, they don't know. They don't know anything, I promise. I
didn't tell them about-' I stop myself. 'All Jemima knows is that you were there. Nothing
more. She was bluffing. I haven't said anything.'
Jack doesn't answer. He gives me a long look, then starts striding again.
'It was Jemima who called that guy, not me!' I cry desperately, running after him. 'I was trying
to stop her… Jack, you know me! You know I would never do this to you. Yes, I told Jemima
about you being in Scotland. I was hurt, and I was angry, and it… came out. And that was a
mistake. But… but you made a mistake too, and I forgave you.'
He's not even looking at me. He's not even giving me a chance. His silver car pulls up at the
pavement, and he opens the passenger door.
I feel a stab of panic.
'Jack, this wasn't me,' I say frantically. 'It wasn't. You have to believe me. That's not why I
asked about Scotland! I didn't want to… to sell your secret!' Tears are streaming down my
face, and I brush them away roughly. 'I didn't even want to know such a big secret. I just
wanted to know your little secrets! Your little stupid secrets! I just wanted to know you…
like you know me.'
But he doesn't look round. The car door closes with a heavy clunk, and the car moves away
down the road. And I'm left on the pavement, all alone.
What have I done? What have I done?
I have given away Jack's most precious secret in the world to a morally warped, revengewreaking,
Prada-wearing nutcase.
OK. Just calm down, I tell myself for the zillionth time. She doesn't actually know anything.
This journalist probably won't find out anything. I mean, what facts does he actually have?
But what if he does find out? What if he somehow stumbles on the truth? And Jack discovers
it was me who pointed them in the right direction?
I feel ill at the thought. My stomach is curdling. Why did I ever mention Scotland to Jemima?
Why?
New resolution: I am never giving away a secret again. Never, ever, ever. Even if it doesn't
seem important. Even if I am feeling angry.
In fact… I am never talking again, full stop. All talking ever seems to do is get me into
trouble. If I hadn't opened my mouth on that stupid plane in the first place, I wouldn't be in
this mess now.
I will become a mute. A silent enigma. When people ask me questions I will simply nod, or
scribble cryptic notes on pieces of paper. People will take them away and puzzle over them,
searching them for hidden meanings-
'Is this Lissy?' says Jack, pointing to a name in the programme, and I jump in fright. I follow
his gaze, then give a silent nod, my mouth clamped shut.
'Do you know anyone else in the show?' he asks.
I give a mute 'who knows?' shrug.
'So… how long has Lissy been practising?'
I hesitate, then hold up three fingers.
'Three?' Jack peers at me uncertainly. 'Three what?'
I make a little gesture with my hands which is supposed to indicate 'months'. Then I make it
again. Jack looks totally baffled.
'Emma, is something wrong?'
I feel in my pocket for a pen — but I haven't got one.
OK, forget not talking.
'About three months,' I say out loud.
'Right.' Jack nods, and turns back to the programme. His face is calm and unsuspecting, and I
can feel guilty nerves rising through me again.
Maybe I should just tell him.
No. I can't. I can't. How would I put it? 'By the way, Jack. You know that really important
secret you asked me to keep? Well, guess what…'
Containment is what I need. Like in those military films where they bump off the person who
knows too much. But how do I contain Jemima? I've launched some crazed human Exocet
missile, fizzing around London, bent on causing as much devastation as she can, and now I
want to call her back, but the button doesn't work any more.
OK. Just think rationally. There's no need to panic. Nothing's going to happen tonight. I'll just
keep trying her mobile and as soon as I get through I'll explain in words of one syllable that
she has to call this guy off and if she doesn't I will break her legs.
A low, insistent drumbeat starts playing over the loudspeakers, and I give a start of fright. I'm
so distracted, I'd actually forgotten what we were here for. The auditorium is becoming
completely dark, and around us the audience falls silent with anticipation. The beating
increases in volume, but nothing happens on stage; it's still pitch black.
The drumming becomes even louder, and I'm starting to feel tense. This is all a bit spooky.
When are they going to start dancing? When are they going to open the curtains? When are
they going to-
Pow! Suddenly there's a gasp as a dazzling light fills the auditorium, nearly blinding me.
Thumping music fills the air, and a single figure appears on stage in a black, glittering
costume, twirling and leaping. Gosh, whoever it is, they're amazing. I'm blinking dazedly
against the bright light, trying to see. I can hardly tell if it's a man or a woman or a-
Oh my God. It's Lissy.
I am pinioned to my seat by shock. Everything else has been swept away from my mind. I
cannot keep my eyes off Lissy.
I had no idea she could do this. No idea! I mean, we did a bit of ballet together. And a bit of
tap. But we never… I never… How can I have known someone for over twenty years and
have no idea they could dance?
She just did this amazing slow, sinewy dance with a guy in a mask who I guess is Jean-Paul,
and now she's leaping and spinning around with this ribbon thing, and the whole audience is
staring at her, agog, and she looks so completely radiant. I haven't seen her look so happy for
months. I'm so proud of her.
To my horror, tears start to prick my eyes. And now my nose is starting to run. I don't even
have a tissue. This is so embarrassing. I'm going to have to sniff, like a mother at a Nativity
play. Next I'll be standing up and running to the front with my camcorder, going, 'Hello
darling, wave to Daddy!'
OK. I need to get a hold of myself, otherwise it'll be like the time I took my little goddaughter
Amy to see the Disney cartoon Tarzan, and when the lights went up, she was fast
asleep and I was in floods, being gawped at by a load of stony-eyed four-year-olds. (Just in
my defence, it was pretty romantic. And Tarzan was pretty sexy.)
I feel something nudging my hand. I look up, and Jack's offering me a hanky. As I take it
from him, his fingers curl briefly round mine.
When the performance comes to an end, I'm on a total high. Lissy takes a star bow, and both
Jack and I applaud madly, grinning at each other.
'Don't tell anyone I cried,' I say, above the sound of applause.
'I won't,' says Jack, and gives me a rueful smile. 'I promise.'
The curtain comes down for the last time, and people start getting out of their seats, reaching
for jackets and bags. And now we're coming back down to normality again, I feel my
exhilaration seeping away and anxiety returning. I have to try to contact Jemima again.
At the exit, people are streaming across the courtyard to a lit-up room on the other side.
'Lissy said I should meet her at the party,' I say to Jack. 'So er… why don't you go on? I just
need to make a quick call.'
'Are you OK?' says Jack, giving me a curious look. 'You seem jumpy.'
'I'm fine!' I say. 'Just excited!' I give him as convincing a beam as I can manage, then wait
until he's safely out of earshot. Immediately I dial Jemima's number. Straight on to messages.
I dial it again. Messages again.
I want to scream with frustration. Where is she? What's she doing? How can I contain her if I
don't know where she is?
I stand perfectly still, trying to ignore my thrusting panic, trying to work out what to do.
OK. I'll just have to go to the party and act normally, keep trying her on the phone and if all
else fails, wait until I see her later. There's nothing else I can do. It'll be fine. It'll be fine.
The party is huge and bright and noisy. All the dancers are there, still in costume, and all the
audience, and a fair number of people who seem to have come along just for the ride. Waiters
are carrying drinks around and the noise of chatter is tremendous. As I walk in, I can't see
anyone I know. I take a glass of wine and start edging into the crowd, overhearing
conversations all around.
'… wonderful costumes…'
'… find time for rehearsals?'
'… judge was totally intransigent…'
Suddenly I spot Lissy, looking flushed and shiny and surrounded by a load of good-looking
lawyer-type guys, one of whom is blatantly staring at her legs.
'Lissy!' I cry. She turns around and I give her a huge hug. 'I had no idea you could dance like
that! You were amazing!'
'Oh no. I wasn't,' she says at once, and pulls a typical Lissy-face. 'I completely messed up-'
'Stop!' I interrupt. 'Lissy, it was utterly fantastic. You were fantastic.'
'But I was completely crap in the-'
'Don't say you were crap!' I practically yell. 'You were fantastic. Say it. Say it, Lissy.'
'Well… OK.' Her face reluctantly creases into a smile. 'OK. I was… fantastic!' She gives an
elated laugh. 'Emma, I've never felt so good in my life! And guess what, we're already
planning to go on tour next year.'
'But…' I stare at her. 'You said you never wanted to do this again, ever, and if you mentioned
it again, I had to stop you.'
'Oh, that was just stage fright,' she says with an airy wave of her hand. Then she lowers her
voice. 'I saw Jack, by the way.' She gives me an avid look. 'What's going on?'
My heart gives a huge thump. Should I tell her about Jemima?
No. She'll only get all hassled. And anyway, there's nothing either of us can do right now.
'Jack came here to talk to me.' I hesitate. 'To… tell me his secret.'
'You're joking!' breathes Lissy, hand to her mouth. 'So — what is it?'
'I can't tell you.'
'You can't tell me?' Lissy stares at me in incredulity. 'After all that, you're not even going to
tell me?'
'Lissy, I really can't.' I pull an agonized face. 'It's… complicated.'
God, I sound just like Jack.
'Well, all right,' says Lissy a bit grumpily. 'I suppose I can live without knowing. So… are
you two together again?'
'I dunno,' I say, flushing. 'Maybe.'
'Lissy! That was fabulous!' A couple of girls in suits appear at her side. I give her a smile and
move away slightly as she greets them.
Jack is nowhere to be seen. Should I try Jemima again?
Surreptitiously I start getting out my phone, then hastily put it away again as I hear a voice
behind me calling 'Emma!'
I look round, and give a huge start of surprise. Connor's standing there in a suit, holding a
glass of wine, his hair all shiny and blond under the spotlights. He has a new tie on, I notice
instantly. Big yellow polka dots on blue. I don't like it.
'Connor! What are you doing here?' I say in astonishment.
'Lissy sent me a flyer,' he replies, a little defensively. 'I've always been fond of Lissy. I
thought I'd come along. And I'm glad I've run into you,' he adds awkwardly. 'I'd like to talk to
you, if I may.'
He draws me towards the door, away from the main crowd, and I follow, a tad nervously. I
haven't had a proper chat with Connor since Jack was on television. Which could possibly be
because every time I've glimpsed him, I've quickly hurried the other way.
'Yes?' I say, turning to face him. 'What did you want to talk about?'
'Emma.' Connor clears his throat as though he's about to start a formal speech. 'I get the
feeling that you weren't always… totally honest with me in our relationship.'
This could be the understatement of the year.
'You're right,' I admit, shamefacedly. 'Oh God, Connor, I'm really, really sorry about
everything that happened-' He lifts a hand with a look of dignity.
'It doesn't matter. That's water under the bridge. But I'd be grateful if you were totally honest
with me now.'
'Absolutely,' I say, nodding earnestly. 'Of course.'
'I've recently… started a new relationship,' he says, a little stiffly.
'Wow!' I say in surprise. 'Good for you! Connor, I'm really pleased. What's her name?'
'Her name's Francesca.'
'And where did you-'
'I wanted to ask you about sex,' Connor says, cutting me off in a rush of embarrassment.
'Oh! Right.' I feel a twinge of dismay, which I conceal by taking a sip of wine. 'Of course!'
'Were you honest with me in that… area?'
'Er… what do you mean?' I say lightly, playing for time.
'Were you honest with me in bed?' His face is growing pillar-box red. 'Or were you faking it?'
Oh no. Is that what he thinks?
'Connor, I never ever faked an orgasm with you,' I say, lowering my voice. 'Hand on heart. I
never did.'
'Well… OK.' He rubs his nose awkwardly. 'But did you fake anything else?'
I look at him uncertainly. 'I'm not sure I know what you-'
'Were there any -' he clears his throat
'— any particular techniques I used which you only pretended to enjoy?'.
Oh God. Please don't ask me that question.
'You know, I really… can't remember!' I hedge. 'Actually, I ought to be going…'
'Emma, tell me!' he says, with sudden passion. 'I'm starting a new relationship. It's only fair
that I should be able to… to learn from past mistakes.'
I gaze back at his shiny face and suddenly feel a huge pang of guilt. He's right. I should be
honest. I should finally be honest with him.
'OK,' I say at last, and move closer to him. 'You remember that one thing you used to do with
your tongue?' I lower my voice still further. 'That… slidey thing? Well, sometimes that kind
of made me want to… laugh. So if I had one tip with your new girlfriend, it would be don't
do…'
I tail off at his expression.
Fuck. He's already done.it.
'Francesca said…' Connor says in a voice as stiff as a board. 'Francesca told me that really
turned her on.'
'Well, I'm sure it did!' I backtrack madly. 'Women are all different. Our bodies are all different
… everybody likes… different things.'
Connor is staring me in consternation.
'She said she loved jazz, too.'
'Well, I expect she does! Loads of people do like jazz.'
'She said she loved the way I could quote Woody Allen line for line.' He rubs his flushed face.
'Was she lying?'
'No, I'm sure she wasn't…' I tail off helplessly.
'Emma…' He stares at me bewilderedly. 'Do all women have secrets?'
Oh no. Have I ruined Connor's trust in all of womankind for ever?
'No!' I exclaim. 'Of course they don't! Honestly, Connor, I'm sure it's only me.'
My words wither on my lips as I glimpse a flash of familiar-looking blond hair at the entrance
to the hall. My heart stops.
That can't be-
That's not-
'Connor, I have to go,' I say, and start hurrying towards the entrance.
'She told me she's size ten!' Connor calls helplessly after me. 'What does that mean? What size
should I really buy?'
'Twelve!' I shoot back over my shoulder.
It is. It's Jemima. Standing in the foyer. What's she doing here?
The door opens again and I experience such a shock, I feel faint. She's got a guy with her. In
jeans, with cropped hair and squirrelly eyes. He's got a camera slung over his shoulder and is
looking around interestedly.
No.
She can't have done.
'Emma,' comes a voice in my ear.
'Jack!' I wheel round, to see him smiling down at me, his dark eyes full of affection.
'You OK?' he says, and gently touches my nose.
'Fine!' I say a little shrilly. 'I'm great!'
I have to manage this situation. I have to.
'Jack — could you get me some water?' I hear myself saying. 'I'll just stay here. I'm feeling a
bit dizzy.' Jack looks alarmed.
'You know, I thought there was something wrong. Let me take you home. I'll call the car.'
'No. It's… it's fine. I want to stay. Just get me some water. Please,' I add as an afterthought.
As soon as he's gone I tear into the foyer, almost tripping up in my haste.
'Emma!' Jemima looks up brightly. 'Excellent! I was just about to look for you. Now, this is
Mick, and he wants to ask you some questions. We thought we'd use this little room here.' She
heads into a small, empty office which leads off from the foyer.
'No!' I say, grabbing her arm. 'Jemima, you have to go. Now. Go!'
'I'm not going anywhere!' Jemima jerks her arm out of my grasp and rolls her eyes at Mick,
who's closing the door of the office behind me. 'I told you she was being all hissy about it.'
'Mick Collins,' Mick thrusts a business card into my hand. 'Delighted to meet you, Emma.
Now, there's no need to get worried, is there?' He gives me a soothing smile, as though he's
completely used to dealing with hysterical women telling him to go. Which he probably is.
'Let's just sit down quietly, have a nice chat…'
He's chewing gum as he speaks, and as I smell the spearmint wafting towards me, I almost
want to throw up.
'Look, there's been a misunderstanding,' I say, forcing myself to sound polite. 'I'm afraid
there's no story.'
'Well, let's see about that, shall we?' says Mick with a friendly smile. 'You tell me the facts…'
'No! I mean, there's nothing.' I turn to Jemima. 'I told you I didn't want you to do anything.
You promised me!'
'Emma, you are such a wimp.' She gives Mick an exasperated look. 'Do you see why I've been
forced to take action? I told you what a bastard Jack Harper was to her. He needs to learn his
lesson.'
'Absolutely right,' agrees Mick and puts his head on one side as though measuring me up.
'Very attractive,' he says to Jemima. 'You know, we could think about an accompanying
interview feature. My romp with top boss. You could make some serious money,' he adds to
me.
'No!' I say in horror.
'Emma, stop being so coy!' snaps Jemima. 'You want to do it really. This could be a whole
new career for you, you realize.'
'I don't want a new career!'
'Well then you should! Do you know how much Monica Lewinsky makes a year?'
'You're sick,' I say in disbelief. 'You're a totally sick, warped-'
'Emma, I'm just acting in your best interests.'
'You're not!' I cry, feeling my face flame red. 'I… I might be getting back together with Jack!'
There's a thirty-second silence. I stare at her, holding my breath. Then it's as if the killer robot
jerks into action again, shooting yet more rays.
'Even more reason to do it!' says Jemima. 'This'll keep him on his toes. This'll show him who's
boss. Go on, Mick.'
'Interview with Emma Corrigan. Tuesday, 15th July, 9.40 p.m.' I look up, and stiffen in horror.
Mick has produced a small tape recorder and is holding it towards me.
'You first met Jack Harper on a plane. Can you confirm where this was flying from and to?'
He gives me a smile. 'Just speak naturally, like you would to a mate on the phone.'
'Stop it!' I yell. 'Just leave! Leave!'
'Emma, grow up,' says Jemima impatiently. 'Mick's going to find out what this secret is
whether you help him or not, so you might as well be-' She stops abruptly as the door handle
rattles, then turns.
The room seems to swim around me.
Please don't say — please-
As the door slowly opens, I can't breathe. I can't move.
I have never felt so frightened in my entire life.
'Emma?' says Jack, coming in, holding two glasses of water in one hand. 'Are you feeling
OK? I got you both still and sparkling, because I wasn't quite…'
He tails off, his eyes running confusedly over Jemima and Mick. With a flicker of
bewilderment, he takes in Mick's card, still in my hand. Then his gaze falls on the turning tape
recorder and something slides out of his face.
'I think I'll just make myself scarce,' murmurs Mick, raising his eyebrows at Jemima. He slips
the tape recording into his pocket, picks up his rucksack and sidles out of the room. Nobody
speaks for a few moments. All I can hear is the throbbing in my head.
'Who was that?' says Jack at last. 'A journalist?'
All the light has gone from his eyes. He looks as though someone just stamped on his garden.
'I… Jack…' I say huskily. 'It's not… it's not…'
'Why…' He rubs his brow, as though trying to make sense of the situation. 'Why were you
talking to a journalist?'
'Why do you think she was talking to a journalist?' chimes in Jemima proudly.
'What?' Jack's gaze swivels to her with dislike.
'You think you're such a bigshot millionaire! You think you can use little people. You think
you can give away someone's private secrets and completely humiliate them and get away
with it. Well, you can't!'
She takes a few steps towards him, folding her arms and lifting her chin with satisfaction.
'Emma's been waiting for a chance to get her revenge on you, and now she's found it! That
was a journalist, if you want to know. And he's on your case. And when you find your little
Scottish secret plastered all over the papers, then maybe you'll know what it feel like to be
betrayed! And maybe you'll be sorry. Tell him, Emma! Tell him!'
But I'm paralysed.
The minute she said the word Scottish I saw Jack's face change. It kind of snapped. He almost
seemed winded with shock. He looked straight at me and I could see the growing disbelief in
his eyes.
'You might think you know Emma, but you don't,' Jemima is continuing delightedly, like a cat
tearing apart its prey. 'You underestimated her, Jack Harper. You underestimated what she's
capable of.'
Shut up! I'm screaming internally. It's not true! Jack, I would never, I would never …
But nothing in my body will move. I can't even swallow. I'm pinioned, staring helplessly at
him with a face I know is covered with guilt.
Jack opens his mouth, then closes it again. Then he turns on his heel, pushes the door open
and walks out.
For a moment there's silence in the tiny room.
'Well!' says Jemima, smacking her hands triumphantly, 'That showed him!'
It's as though she breaks the spell. Suddenly I can move again. I can draw breath.
'You…' I'm almost shaking too much to speak. 'You stupid… stupid… thoughtless…
bitch!'
The door bursts open and Lissy appears, wide-eyed.
'What the hell happened here?' she demands. 'I just saw Jack storming out. He looked
absolutely like thunder!'
'She brought a journalist here!' I say in anguish, gesturing at Jemima. 'A bloody tabloid
journalist. And Jack found us all closeted here, and he thinks… God know what he thinks…'
'You stupid cow!' Lissy slaps Jemima across the face. 'What were you thinking.'
'Ow! I was helping Emma get vengeance on her enemy.'
'He's not my enemy, you stupid…' I'm on the verge of tears. 'Lissy… what am I going to do?
What?'
'Go,' she says, and looks at me with anxious eyes. 'You can still catch him. Go.'
I pelt out of the door and through the courtyard, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my lungs
burning. When I reach the road I look frantically left and right. Then I spot him, down the
road.
'Jack, wait.'
He's striding along with his mobile phone to his ear, and at my voice he turns round with a
taut face.
'So that's why you were so interested in Scotland.'
'No!' I say, aghast. 'No! Listen, Jack, they don't know. They don't know anything, I promise. I
didn't tell them about-' I stop myself. 'All Jemima knows is that you were there. Nothing
more. She was bluffing. I haven't said anything.'
Jack doesn't answer. He gives me a long look, then starts striding again.
'It was Jemima who called that guy, not me!' I cry desperately, running after him. 'I was trying
to stop her… Jack, you know me! You know I would never do this to you. Yes, I told Jemima
about you being in Scotland. I was hurt, and I was angry, and it… came out. And that was a
mistake. But… but you made a mistake too, and I forgave you.'
He's not even looking at me. He's not even giving me a chance. His silver car pulls up at the
pavement, and he opens the passenger door.
I feel a stab of panic.
'Jack, this wasn't me,' I say frantically. 'It wasn't. You have to believe me. That's not why I
asked about Scotland! I didn't want to… to sell your secret!' Tears are streaming down my
face, and I brush them away roughly. 'I didn't even want to know such a big secret. I just
wanted to know your little secrets! Your little stupid secrets! I just wanted to know you…
like you know me.'
But he doesn't look round. The car door closes with a heavy clunk, and the car moves away
down the road. And I'm left on the pavement, all alone.
TWENTY-SIX
For a while I can't move. I stand there, dazed, with the breeze blowing on my face, staring at
the point at the end of the road where Jack's car disappeared. I can still hear his voice in my
mind. I can still see his face. The way he looked at me as though he didn't know me, after all.
A spasm of pain runs through my body and I close my eyes, almost unable to bear it. If I
could just turn back time… if I'd been more forceful… if I'd marched Jemima and her friend
off the premises… if I'd spoken up more quickly when Jack appeared…
But I didn't. And it's too late.
A group of party guests comes out of the courtyard onto the pavement, laughing and
discussing taxis.
'Are you all right?' says one curiously to me, and I give a start.
'Yes,' I say. 'Thanks.' I look one more time at where Jack's car disappeared, then force myself
to turn around and make my way slowly back up to the party.
I find Lissy and Jemima still in the little office, Jemima cowering in terror as Lissy lays into
her.
'… selfish immature little bitch! You make me sick, you know that?'
I once heard someone say Lissy was a Rottweiler in court, and I could never understand it.
But now, as I watch her striding up and down, her eyes blazing in fury, I'm actually pretty
scared myself.
'Emma, make her stop!' pleads Jemima. 'Make her stop shouting at me.'
'So… what happened?' Lissy looks at me, her face alight with hope. Mutely, I shake my head.
'Is he-'
'He's gone.' I swallow. 'I don't really want to talk about it.'
'Oh, Emma.' She bites her lip.
'Don't,' I say in a wobbly voice. 'I'll cry.' I lean against the wall and take a couple of deep
breaths, trying to get back to normal. 'Where's her friend?' I say at last, and jerk my thumb at
Jemima.
'He got thrown out,' says Lissy with satisfaction. 'He was trying to take a picture of Justice
Hugh Morris in his tights, and a bunch of lawyers surrounded him and bundled him out.'
'Jemima, listen to me.' I force myself to meet her unrepentant blue gaze. 'You cannot let him
find out any more. You cannot.'
'It's OK,' she says sulkily. 'I've already spoken to him. Lissy made me. He won't pursue it.'
'How do you know?'
'He won't do anything that would piss Mummy off. He has a pretty lucrative arrangement with
her.'
I shoot Lissy a 'can we trust her?' look, and she gives a doubtful shrug.
'Jemima, this is a warning.' I walk to the door, then turn round with a stern face. 'If anything
of this gets out — anything at all — I will make it public that you snore.'
'I don't snore!' says Jemima tartly.
'Yes you do,' says Lissy. 'When you've had too much to drink you snore really loudly. And
we'll tell everyone you got your Donna Karan coat from a discount warehouse shop.'
Jemima gasps in horror.
'I didn't!' she says, colour suffusing her cheeks.
'You did. I saw the carrier bag,' I chime in. 'And we'll make it public that you once asked for a
serviette, not a napkin.'
Jemima claps a hand over her mouth.
'… and your pearls are cultured, not real…'
'… and you never really cook the food at your dinner parties…'
'… and that photo of you meeting Prince William is faked…'
'… and we'll tell every single man you ever date from now on that all you're after is a rock on
your finger!' I finish, and glance gratefully at Lissy.
'OK!' says Jemima, practically in tears. 'OK! I promise I'll forget all about it. I promise. Just
please don't mention the discount warehouse shop. Please. Can I go now?' She looks
imploringly at Lissy.
'Yes, you can go,' says Lissy contemptuously, and Jemima scuttles out of the room. As the
door closes, I stare at Lissy.
'Is that photo of Jemima and Prince William really faked?'
'Yes! Didn't I tell you? I once did some stuff for her on her computer, and I opened the file by
mistake — and there it was. She just pasted her head onto some other girl's body!'
I can't help giving a giggle.
'That girl is unbelievable.'
I sink into a chair, feeling suddenly weak, and for a while there's silence. In the distance
there's a roar of laughter from the party, and somebody walks past the door of the office,
talking about the trouble with the judiciary system as it stands …
'Wouldn't he even listen?' says Lissy at last.
'No. He just left.'
'Isn't that a bit extreme? I mean, he gave away all your secrets. You only gave away one of
his-'
'You don't understand,' I stare at the drab brown office carpet. 'What Jack told me, it's not just
anything. It's something really precious to him. He came all the way here to tell me. To show
me that he trusted me with it.' I swallow hard. 'And the next moment he finds me spilling it to
a journalist.'
'But you weren't!' says Lissy loyally. 'Emma, this wasn't your fault!'
'It was!' Tears are welling up in my eyes. 'If I'd just kept my mouth closed, if I'd never told
Jemima anything in the first place…'
'She would have got him anyway,' says Lissy. 'He'd be suing you for a scraped car instead. Or
damaged genitals.'
I give a shaky laugh.
The door bursts open, and the feathered guy I saw backstage looks in. 'Lissy! There you are.
They're serving food. It looks rather good, actually.'
'OK,' she says. 'Thanks, Colin. I'll be along in a minute.'
He leaves and Lissy turns to me.
'Do you want something to eat?'
'I'm not really hungry. But you go,' I add quickly. 'You must be starving after your
performance.'
'I am rather ravenous,' she admits. Then she gives me an anxious look. 'But what will you do?'
'I'll… just go home,' I say, and try to smile as cheerfully as I can. 'Don't worry, Lissy, I'll be
fine.'
And I am planning to go home. But when I get outside I find I can't bring myself to. I'm
wound up with tension like a metal coil. I can't face going into the party and having to make
small talk — but I can't face the four silent walls of my bedroom either. Not quite yet.
Instead, I head across the gravel, towards the empty auditorium. The door is unlocked and I
walk straight in. I make my way through the darkness to a seat in the middle, and wearily sit
down on the cushiony purple plush.
And as I stare at the silent blackness of the empty stage, two fat tears make their way out of
my eyes and trickle slowly down my face. I cannot believe I've fucked up so monumentally. I
can't believe Jack really thinks I… that he thinks I would…
I keep seeing the shock on his face. I keep reliving that trapped powerlessness, that
desperation to speak; to explain myself.
If I could just replay it…
Suddenly there's a creaking sound. The door is slowly opening.
I peer uncertainly through the gloom as a figure comes into the auditorium and stops. In spite
of myself, my heart starts to thud with unbearable hope.
It's Jack. It has to be Jack. He's come to find me.
There's a long, agonizing silence. I'm taut with apprehension. Why won't he say anything?
Why won't he speak?
Is he punishing me? Is he expecting me to apologize again? Oh God, this is torture. Just say
something, I plead silently. Just say something.
'Oh Francesca…'
'Connor…'
What? I peer again, more sharply, and feel a crash of disappointment. I am such a moron. It's
not Jack. It's not one figure, it's two. It's Connor and what must be his new girlfriend — and
they're snogging.
Miserably, I shrink right down in my seat, trying to block my ears. But it's no good, I can hear
everything.
'Do you like this?' I hear Connor murmuring.
'Mmm…'
'Do you really like it?'
'Of course I do! Stop quizzing me!'
'Sorry,' says Connor, and there's silence, apart from the odd 'Mmmm'.
'Do you like this?' his voice suddenly comes again.
'I already told you I did.'
'Francesca, be honest, OK?' Connor's voice rises in agitation. 'Because if that means no,
then-'
'It doesn't mean no! Connor, what's your problem?'
'My problem is, I don't believe you.'
'You don't believe me?' She sounds furious. 'Why the hell don't you believe me?'
Suddenly I'm filled with remorse. This is all my fault. Not only have I wrecked my own
relationship, now I've wrecked theirs too. I have to do something. I have to try to build
bridges.
I clear my throat. 'Er… excuse me?'
'Who the fuck's that?' says Francesca sharply. 'Is someone there?'
'It's me. Emma. Connor's ex-girlfriend.'
A row of lights goes on, and I see a girl with red hair staring at me belligerently, with her
hand on the light switch.
'What the hell are you doing? Spying on us?'
'No!' I say. 'Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I couldn't help overhearing…' I swallow.
'The thing is, Connor isn't being difficult. He just wants you to be honest. He wants to know
what you want.' I summon up my most understanding, womanly expression. 'Francesca… tell
him what you want.'
Francesca stares at me incredulously, then looks at Connor.
'I want her to piss off.' She points at me.
'Oh,' I say, taken aback. 'Er, OK. Sorry.'
'And switch the lights off when you go,' adds Francesca, leading Connor up the aisle towards
the back of the auditorium.
Are they going to have sex?
OK, I really do not want to be around for this.
Hastily I pick up my bag and hurry along the row of seats towards the exit. I push my way
through the double doors into the foyer, flicking the light switch as I pass, then step out into
the courtyard. I close the door behind me, and look up.
And then I freeze.
I don't believe it. It's Jack.
It's Jack, coming towards me, striding fast across the courtyard, determination on his face. I
haven't got time to think, or prepare.
My heart really is racing. I want to speak or cry or… do something, but I can't.
He reaches me with a crunch of gravel, takes me by the shoulders, and gives me a long,
intense look.
'I'm afraid of the dark.'
'What?' I falter.
'I'm afraid of the dark. Always have been. I keep a baseball bat under the bed, just in case.'
I stare at him in utter bewilderment.
'Jack-'
'I've never liked caviar.' He casts around. 'I… I'm embarrassed by my French accent.'
'Jack, what are you-'
'I got the scar on my wrist by cracking open a bottle of beer when I was fourteen. When I was
a kid I used to stick gum under my Aunt Francine's dining table. I lost my virginity to a girl
named Lisa Greenwood in her uncle's barn, and afterwards I asked if I could keep her bra to
show my friends.'
I can't help giving a snuffle of laughter, but Jack carries on regardless, his gaze fixed on mine.
'I've never worn any of the ties my mother has given me for Christmas. I've always wanted to
be an inch or two taller than I am. I… I don't know what co-dependent means. I have a
recurring dream in which I'm Superman, falling from the sky. I sometimes sit in board
meetings and look around and think "Who the hell are these guys?"'
He draws breath and gazes at me. His eyes are darker than I've ever seen them.
'I met a girl on a plane. And… my whole life changed as a result.'
Something hot is welling up inside me. My throat is tight, my whole head aching. I'm trying
so hard not to cry, but my face is contorting all by itself.
'Jack,' I swallow desperately. 'I didn't… I really didn't…'
'I know,' he cuts me off with a nod. 'I know you didn't.'
'I would never-'
'I know you wouldn't,' he says gently. 'I know you wouldn't.'
And now I can't help it, tears start flooding out of my eyes in sheer relief. He knows. It's OK.
'So…' I wipe my face, trying to gain control of myself. 'So does this… does this mean…
that we I can't bring myself to say the words.
There's a long, unbearable silence.
If he says no, I don't know what I'll do.
'Well, you might want to hold back on your decision,' says Jack at last, and gives me a
deadpan look. 'Because I have a lot more to tell you. And it isn't all pretty.'
I give a shaky laugh.
'You don't have to tell me anything.'
'Oh, I do,' says Jack firmly. 'I think I do. Shall we walk?' He gestures to the courtyard.
'Because this could take some time.'
'OK,' I say, my voice still wobbling a bit. Jack holds out an arm, and after a pause, I take it.
'So… where was I?' he says, as we step down into the courtyard. 'Oh, OK. Now this you
really can't tell anybody.' He leans close and lowers his voice. 'I don't actually like Panther
Cola. I prefer Pepsi.'
'No!'I say, shocked.
'In fact, sometimes I decant Pepsi into a Panther can-'
'No!' I give a snort of laughter.
'It's true. I told you it wasn't pretty…'
Slowly we start to walk around the edge of the dark, empty courtyard together. The only
sound is the crunching of our feet on the gravel, and the breeze in the trees and Jack's dry
voice, talking. Telling me everything.
the point at the end of the road where Jack's car disappeared. I can still hear his voice in my
mind. I can still see his face. The way he looked at me as though he didn't know me, after all.
A spasm of pain runs through my body and I close my eyes, almost unable to bear it. If I
could just turn back time… if I'd been more forceful… if I'd marched Jemima and her friend
off the premises… if I'd spoken up more quickly when Jack appeared…
But I didn't. And it's too late.
A group of party guests comes out of the courtyard onto the pavement, laughing and
discussing taxis.
'Are you all right?' says one curiously to me, and I give a start.
'Yes,' I say. 'Thanks.' I look one more time at where Jack's car disappeared, then force myself
to turn around and make my way slowly back up to the party.
I find Lissy and Jemima still in the little office, Jemima cowering in terror as Lissy lays into
her.
'… selfish immature little bitch! You make me sick, you know that?'
I once heard someone say Lissy was a Rottweiler in court, and I could never understand it.
But now, as I watch her striding up and down, her eyes blazing in fury, I'm actually pretty
scared myself.
'Emma, make her stop!' pleads Jemima. 'Make her stop shouting at me.'
'So… what happened?' Lissy looks at me, her face alight with hope. Mutely, I shake my head.
'Is he-'
'He's gone.' I swallow. 'I don't really want to talk about it.'
'Oh, Emma.' She bites her lip.
'Don't,' I say in a wobbly voice. 'I'll cry.' I lean against the wall and take a couple of deep
breaths, trying to get back to normal. 'Where's her friend?' I say at last, and jerk my thumb at
Jemima.
'He got thrown out,' says Lissy with satisfaction. 'He was trying to take a picture of Justice
Hugh Morris in his tights, and a bunch of lawyers surrounded him and bundled him out.'
'Jemima, listen to me.' I force myself to meet her unrepentant blue gaze. 'You cannot let him
find out any more. You cannot.'
'It's OK,' she says sulkily. 'I've already spoken to him. Lissy made me. He won't pursue it.'
'How do you know?'
'He won't do anything that would piss Mummy off. He has a pretty lucrative arrangement with
her.'
I shoot Lissy a 'can we trust her?' look, and she gives a doubtful shrug.
'Jemima, this is a warning.' I walk to the door, then turn round with a stern face. 'If anything
of this gets out — anything at all — I will make it public that you snore.'
'I don't snore!' says Jemima tartly.
'Yes you do,' says Lissy. 'When you've had too much to drink you snore really loudly. And
we'll tell everyone you got your Donna Karan coat from a discount warehouse shop.'
Jemima gasps in horror.
'I didn't!' she says, colour suffusing her cheeks.
'You did. I saw the carrier bag,' I chime in. 'And we'll make it public that you once asked for a
serviette, not a napkin.'
Jemima claps a hand over her mouth.
'… and your pearls are cultured, not real…'
'… and you never really cook the food at your dinner parties…'
'… and that photo of you meeting Prince William is faked…'
'… and we'll tell every single man you ever date from now on that all you're after is a rock on
your finger!' I finish, and glance gratefully at Lissy.
'OK!' says Jemima, practically in tears. 'OK! I promise I'll forget all about it. I promise. Just
please don't mention the discount warehouse shop. Please. Can I go now?' She looks
imploringly at Lissy.
'Yes, you can go,' says Lissy contemptuously, and Jemima scuttles out of the room. As the
door closes, I stare at Lissy.
'Is that photo of Jemima and Prince William really faked?'
'Yes! Didn't I tell you? I once did some stuff for her on her computer, and I opened the file by
mistake — and there it was. She just pasted her head onto some other girl's body!'
I can't help giving a giggle.
'That girl is unbelievable.'
I sink into a chair, feeling suddenly weak, and for a while there's silence. In the distance
there's a roar of laughter from the party, and somebody walks past the door of the office,
talking about the trouble with the judiciary system as it stands …
'Wouldn't he even listen?' says Lissy at last.
'No. He just left.'
'Isn't that a bit extreme? I mean, he gave away all your secrets. You only gave away one of
his-'
'You don't understand,' I stare at the drab brown office carpet. 'What Jack told me, it's not just
anything. It's something really precious to him. He came all the way here to tell me. To show
me that he trusted me with it.' I swallow hard. 'And the next moment he finds me spilling it to
a journalist.'
'But you weren't!' says Lissy loyally. 'Emma, this wasn't your fault!'
'It was!' Tears are welling up in my eyes. 'If I'd just kept my mouth closed, if I'd never told
Jemima anything in the first place…'
'She would have got him anyway,' says Lissy. 'He'd be suing you for a scraped car instead. Or
damaged genitals.'
I give a shaky laugh.
The door bursts open, and the feathered guy I saw backstage looks in. 'Lissy! There you are.
They're serving food. It looks rather good, actually.'
'OK,' she says. 'Thanks, Colin. I'll be along in a minute.'
He leaves and Lissy turns to me.
'Do you want something to eat?'
'I'm not really hungry. But you go,' I add quickly. 'You must be starving after your
performance.'
'I am rather ravenous,' she admits. Then she gives me an anxious look. 'But what will you do?'
'I'll… just go home,' I say, and try to smile as cheerfully as I can. 'Don't worry, Lissy, I'll be
fine.'
And I am planning to go home. But when I get outside I find I can't bring myself to. I'm
wound up with tension like a metal coil. I can't face going into the party and having to make
small talk — but I can't face the four silent walls of my bedroom either. Not quite yet.
Instead, I head across the gravel, towards the empty auditorium. The door is unlocked and I
walk straight in. I make my way through the darkness to a seat in the middle, and wearily sit
down on the cushiony purple plush.
And as I stare at the silent blackness of the empty stage, two fat tears make their way out of
my eyes and trickle slowly down my face. I cannot believe I've fucked up so monumentally. I
can't believe Jack really thinks I… that he thinks I would…
I keep seeing the shock on his face. I keep reliving that trapped powerlessness, that
desperation to speak; to explain myself.
If I could just replay it…
Suddenly there's a creaking sound. The door is slowly opening.
I peer uncertainly through the gloom as a figure comes into the auditorium and stops. In spite
of myself, my heart starts to thud with unbearable hope.
It's Jack. It has to be Jack. He's come to find me.
There's a long, agonizing silence. I'm taut with apprehension. Why won't he say anything?
Why won't he speak?
Is he punishing me? Is he expecting me to apologize again? Oh God, this is torture. Just say
something, I plead silently. Just say something.
'Oh Francesca…'
'Connor…'
What? I peer again, more sharply, and feel a crash of disappointment. I am such a moron. It's
not Jack. It's not one figure, it's two. It's Connor and what must be his new girlfriend — and
they're snogging.
Miserably, I shrink right down in my seat, trying to block my ears. But it's no good, I can hear
everything.
'Do you like this?' I hear Connor murmuring.
'Mmm…'
'Do you really like it?'
'Of course I do! Stop quizzing me!'
'Sorry,' says Connor, and there's silence, apart from the odd 'Mmmm'.
'Do you like this?' his voice suddenly comes again.
'I already told you I did.'
'Francesca, be honest, OK?' Connor's voice rises in agitation. 'Because if that means no,
then-'
'It doesn't mean no! Connor, what's your problem?'
'My problem is, I don't believe you.'
'You don't believe me?' She sounds furious. 'Why the hell don't you believe me?'
Suddenly I'm filled with remorse. This is all my fault. Not only have I wrecked my own
relationship, now I've wrecked theirs too. I have to do something. I have to try to build
bridges.
I clear my throat. 'Er… excuse me?'
'Who the fuck's that?' says Francesca sharply. 'Is someone there?'
'It's me. Emma. Connor's ex-girlfriend.'
A row of lights goes on, and I see a girl with red hair staring at me belligerently, with her
hand on the light switch.
'What the hell are you doing? Spying on us?'
'No!' I say. 'Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I couldn't help overhearing…' I swallow.
'The thing is, Connor isn't being difficult. He just wants you to be honest. He wants to know
what you want.' I summon up my most understanding, womanly expression. 'Francesca… tell
him what you want.'
Francesca stares at me incredulously, then looks at Connor.
'I want her to piss off.' She points at me.
'Oh,' I say, taken aback. 'Er, OK. Sorry.'
'And switch the lights off when you go,' adds Francesca, leading Connor up the aisle towards
the back of the auditorium.
Are they going to have sex?
OK, I really do not want to be around for this.
Hastily I pick up my bag and hurry along the row of seats towards the exit. I push my way
through the double doors into the foyer, flicking the light switch as I pass, then step out into
the courtyard. I close the door behind me, and look up.
And then I freeze.
I don't believe it. It's Jack.
It's Jack, coming towards me, striding fast across the courtyard, determination on his face. I
haven't got time to think, or prepare.
My heart really is racing. I want to speak or cry or… do something, but I can't.
He reaches me with a crunch of gravel, takes me by the shoulders, and gives me a long,
intense look.
'I'm afraid of the dark.'
'What?' I falter.
'I'm afraid of the dark. Always have been. I keep a baseball bat under the bed, just in case.'
I stare at him in utter bewilderment.
'Jack-'
'I've never liked caviar.' He casts around. 'I… I'm embarrassed by my French accent.'
'Jack, what are you-'
'I got the scar on my wrist by cracking open a bottle of beer when I was fourteen. When I was
a kid I used to stick gum under my Aunt Francine's dining table. I lost my virginity to a girl
named Lisa Greenwood in her uncle's barn, and afterwards I asked if I could keep her bra to
show my friends.'
I can't help giving a snuffle of laughter, but Jack carries on regardless, his gaze fixed on mine.
'I've never worn any of the ties my mother has given me for Christmas. I've always wanted to
be an inch or two taller than I am. I… I don't know what co-dependent means. I have a
recurring dream in which I'm Superman, falling from the sky. I sometimes sit in board
meetings and look around and think "Who the hell are these guys?"'
He draws breath and gazes at me. His eyes are darker than I've ever seen them.
'I met a girl on a plane. And… my whole life changed as a result.'
Something hot is welling up inside me. My throat is tight, my whole head aching. I'm trying
so hard not to cry, but my face is contorting all by itself.
'Jack,' I swallow desperately. 'I didn't… I really didn't…'
'I know,' he cuts me off with a nod. 'I know you didn't.'
'I would never-'
'I know you wouldn't,' he says gently. 'I know you wouldn't.'
And now I can't help it, tears start flooding out of my eyes in sheer relief. He knows. It's OK.
'So…' I wipe my face, trying to gain control of myself. 'So does this… does this mean…
that we I can't bring myself to say the words.
There's a long, unbearable silence.
If he says no, I don't know what I'll do.
'Well, you might want to hold back on your decision,' says Jack at last, and gives me a
deadpan look. 'Because I have a lot more to tell you. And it isn't all pretty.'
I give a shaky laugh.
'You don't have to tell me anything.'
'Oh, I do,' says Jack firmly. 'I think I do. Shall we walk?' He gestures to the courtyard.
'Because this could take some time.'
'OK,' I say, my voice still wobbling a bit. Jack holds out an arm, and after a pause, I take it.
'So… where was I?' he says, as we step down into the courtyard. 'Oh, OK. Now this you
really can't tell anybody.' He leans close and lowers his voice. 'I don't actually like Panther
Cola. I prefer Pepsi.'
'No!'I say, shocked.
'In fact, sometimes I decant Pepsi into a Panther can-'
'No!' I give a snort of laughter.
'It's true. I told you it wasn't pretty…'
Slowly we start to walk around the edge of the dark, empty courtyard together. The only
sound is the crunching of our feet on the gravel, and the breeze in the trees and Jack's dry
voice, talking. Telling me everything.
TWENTY-SEVEN
It's amazing what a different person I am these days. It's as if I've been transformed. I'm a new
Emma. Far more open than I used to be. Far more honest. Because what I've really learned is,
if you can't be honest with your friends and colleagues and loved ones, then what is life all
about?
The only secrets I have nowadays are tiny little essential ones. And I hardly have any of those.
I could probably count them on the fingers of one hand. I mean, just off the top of my head:
1. I'm really not sure about Mum's new highlights.
2. That Greek-style cake Lissy made for my birthday was the most disgusting thing I've ever
tasted.
3. I borrowed Jemima's Ralph Lauren swimsuit to go on holiday with Mum and Dad, and I
bust one of the straps.
4. The other day when I was navigating in the car, I nearly said 'What's this big river all round
London?' Then I realized it was the M25.
5. I had this really weird dream last week, about Lissy and Sven.
6. I've secretly starting feeding Artemis's spider plant 'Rebuild' plant food.
7. I'm sure Sammy the goldfish has changed again. Where did that extra fin come from?
8. I know I have to stop giving out my 'Emma Corrigan, Marketing Executive' card to
complete strangers, but I just can't help it.
9. I don't know what advanced pro-ceramides are. (I don't even know what backward proceramides
are.)
10. Last night, when Jack said 'What are you thinking about?' and I said 'Oh nothing…' that
wasn't quite true. I was actually planning the names of all our children.
But the thing is, it's completely normal to have the odd little secret from your boyfriend.
Everyone knows that.
Emma. Far more open than I used to be. Far more honest. Because what I've really learned is,
if you can't be honest with your friends and colleagues and loved ones, then what is life all
about?
The only secrets I have nowadays are tiny little essential ones. And I hardly have any of those.
I could probably count them on the fingers of one hand. I mean, just off the top of my head:
1. I'm really not sure about Mum's new highlights.
2. That Greek-style cake Lissy made for my birthday was the most disgusting thing I've ever
tasted.
3. I borrowed Jemima's Ralph Lauren swimsuit to go on holiday with Mum and Dad, and I
bust one of the straps.
4. The other day when I was navigating in the car, I nearly said 'What's this big river all round
London?' Then I realized it was the M25.
5. I had this really weird dream last week, about Lissy and Sven.
6. I've secretly starting feeding Artemis's spider plant 'Rebuild' plant food.
7. I'm sure Sammy the goldfish has changed again. Where did that extra fin come from?
8. I know I have to stop giving out my 'Emma Corrigan, Marketing Executive' card to
complete strangers, but I just can't help it.
9. I don't know what advanced pro-ceramides are. (I don't even know what backward proceramides
are.)
10. Last night, when Jack said 'What are you thinking about?' and I said 'Oh nothing…' that
wasn't quite true. I was actually planning the names of all our children.
But the thing is, it's completely normal to have the odd little secret from your boyfriend.
Everyone knows that.