I can't quite believe I'm getting into this car. Me. Emma Corrigan. I feel like a princess. I feel
like a movie star.
I sit down on the plushy seat, trying not to think how different this is from any car I've ever
been in, ever.
'Are you OK?' says Jack.
'Yes! I'm fine!' My voice is a nervous squeak.
'Emma,' says Jack. 'We're going to have fun. I promise. Did you have your pre-date sweet
sherry?'
How did he know-
Oh yes. I told him on the plane.
'Yes, I did actually,' I admit.
'Would you like some more?' He opens the bar and I see a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream
sitting on a silver platter.
'Did you get that especially for me?' I say in disbelief.
'No, it's my favourite tipple.' His expression is so deadpan, I can't help laughing. 'I'll join you,'
he says, as he hands me a glass. 'I've never tasted this before.' He pours himself a deep
measure, takes a sip, and splutters. 'Are you serious?'
'It's yummy! It tastes like Christmas!'
'It tastes like…' He shakes his head. 'I don't even want to tell you what it tastes like. I'll stick
to whisky if you don't mind.'
'OK,' I say with a shrug. 'But you're missing out.' I take another sip and grin happily at him.
I'm completely relaxed already.
This is going to be the perfect date.
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
like a movie star.
I sit down on the plushy seat, trying not to think how different this is from any car I've ever
been in, ever.
'Are you OK?' says Jack.
'Yes! I'm fine!' My voice is a nervous squeak.
'Emma,' says Jack. 'We're going to have fun. I promise. Did you have your pre-date sweet
sherry?'
How did he know-
Oh yes. I told him on the plane.
'Yes, I did actually,' I admit.
'Would you like some more?' He opens the bar and I see a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream
sitting on a silver platter.
'Did you get that especially for me?' I say in disbelief.
'No, it's my favourite tipple.' His expression is so deadpan, I can't help laughing. 'I'll join you,'
he says, as he hands me a glass. 'I've never tasted this before.' He pours himself a deep
measure, takes a sip, and splutters. 'Are you serious?'
'It's yummy! It tastes like Christmas!'
'It tastes like…' He shakes his head. 'I don't even want to tell you what it tastes like. I'll stick
to whisky if you don't mind.'
'OK,' I say with a shrug. 'But you're missing out.' I take another sip and grin happily at him.
I'm completely relaxed already.
This is going to be the perfect date.
THIRTEEN
We arrive at a restaurant in Mayfair which I've never been to before. In fact I'm not even sure
I've been to Mayfair before. It's so completely posh, why ever would I?
'It's a kind of private place,' Jack murmurs as we walk through a pillared courtyard. 'Not many
people know about it.'
'Mr Harper. Miss Corrigan,' says a man in a Nehru suit, appearing out of nowhere. 'Please
come this way.'
Wow! They know my name!
We glide past more pillars into an ornate room in which about three other couples are seated.
There's a couple to our right, and as we walk past, a middle-aged woman with platinum hair
and a gold jacket catches my eye.
'Well, hello!' she says. 'Rachel!'
'What?' I look around, bewildered. Is she looking at me?
She gets up from her seat and, lurching slightly, comes and gives me a kiss. 'How are you,
darling? We haven't seen you for ages!'
OK, you can smell the alcohol from five yards away. And as I glance over at her dinner
partner, he looks just as bad.
'I think you've made a mistake,' I say politely. 'I'm not Rachel.'
'Oh!' The woman stares at me for a moment. Then she glances at Jack and her face snaps in
understanding. 'Oh! Oh, I see. Of course you're not.' She gives me a little wink.
'No!' I say in horror. 'You don't understand. I'm really not Rachel. I'm Emma.'
'Emma. Of course!' She nods conspiratorially. 'Well, have a wonderful dinner! And call me
some time.'
As she stumbles back to her chair, Jack gives me a quizzical look.
'Is there something you want to tell me?'
'Yes,' I say. 'That woman is extremely drunk.' As I meet his gaze, I can't help giving a tiny
giggle, and his mouth twitches.
'So, shall we sit down? Or do you have any more long-lost friends you'd like to greet?'
I look around the room consideringly.
'No, I think that's probably it.'
'If you're sure. Take your time. You're sure that elderly gentleman over there isn't your
grandfather?'
'I don't think so…'
'Also, you should know that pseudonyms are fine by me,' Jack adds. 'I myself often go by the
name of Egbert.'
I give a snort of laughter and hastily stifle it. This is a posh restaurant. People are already
looking at us.
We're shown to a table in the corner, by the fire. A waiter helps me into my chair and fluffs a
napkin over my knee, while another pours out some water, and yet another offers me a bread
roll. Exactly the same is happening on Jack's side of the table. We have six people dancing
attendance on us! I want to catch Jack's eye and laugh, but he looks unconcerned, as if this is
perfectly normal.
Perhaps it is normal for him, it strikes me. Oh God. Perhaps he has a butler who makes him
tea and irons his newspaper every day.
But what if he does? I mustn't let any of this faze me.
'So,' I say, as all the waiting staff melt away. 'What shall we have to drink?' I've already eyed
up the drink which that woman in gold has got. It's pink and has slices of watermelon
decorating the glass, and looks absolutely delicious.
'Already taken care of,' says Jack with a smile, as one of the waiters brings over a bottle of
champagne, pops it open and starts pouring. 'I remember you telling me on the plane, your
perfect date would start off with a bottle of champagne appearing at your table as if by magic.'
'Oh,' I say, quelling a tiny feeling of disappointment. 'Er… yes! So I did.'
'Cheers,' says Jack, and lightly clinks my glass.
'Cheers.' I take a sip, and it's delicious champagne. It really is. All dry and delicious.
I wonder what the watermelon drink tastes like.
Stop it. Champagne is perfect. Jack's right, this is the perfect start to a date.
'The first time I ever had champagne was when I was six years old-' I begin.
'At your Aunt Sue's,' says Jack with a smile. 'You took all your clothes off and threw them in
the pond.'
'Oh right,' I say, halted mid-track. 'Yes, I've told you, haven't I?'
So I won't bore him with that anecdote again. I sip my champagne and quickly try to think of
something else to say. Something that he doesn't already know.
Is there anything?
'I've chosen a very special meal, which I think you'll like,' says Jack, with a smile. 'All preordered,
just for you.'
'Gosh!' I say, taken aback. 'How… wonderful.'
A meal specially pre-ordered for me! Wow. That's incredible.
Except… choosing your food is half the fun of eating out, isn't it? It's almost my favourite bit.
Anyway. It doesn't matter. It'll be perfect. It is perfect.
OK. Let's start a conversation.
'So what do you like doing in your spare time?' I ask, and Jack gives a shrug.
'I hang out. I watch baseball. I fix my cars…'
'You have a collection of vintage cars! That's right. Wow. I really… um…'
'You hate vintage cars.' He smiles. 'I remember.'
Damn. I was hoping he might have forgotten.
'I don't hate the cars themselves,' I say quickly. 'I hate the people who… who…'
Shit. That didn't quite come out right. I take a quick gulp of champagne, but it goes down the
wrong way and I start coughing. Oh God, I'm really spluttering. My eyes are weeping.
And now the other six people in the room have all turned to stare.
'Are you OK?' says Jack in alarm. 'Have some water. You like Evian, right?'
'Er… yes. Thanks.'
Oh, bloody hell. I hate to admit that Jemima could be right about anything. But it would have
been a lot easier if I could just have said brightly, 'Oh, I adore vintage cars!'
Anyway. Never mind.
As I'm gulping my water, a plate of roasted peppers somehow materializes in front of me.
'Wow!' I say in delight. 'I love roasted peppers.'
'I remembered.' Jack looks rather proud of himself. 'You said on the plane that your favourite
food was roasted peppers.'
'Did I?' I stare at him, a bit surprised.
Gosh. I don't remember that. I mean, I like roasted peppers, but I wouldn't have said-
'So I called the restaurant and had them make it specially for you. I can't eat peppers,' Jack
adds, as a plate of scallops appears in front of him, 'otherwise I would join you.'
I gape at his plate. Oh my God. Those scallops look amazing. I adore scallops.
'Bon appetit!' says Jack cheerfully.
'Er… yes! Bon appetit.'
I take a bite of roasted pepper. It's delicious. And it was very thoughtful of him to remember.
But I can't help eyeing up his scallops. They're making my mouth water. And look at that
green sauce! God, I bet they're succulent and perfectly cooked…
'Would you like a bite?' says Jack, following my gaze.
'No!' I say, jumping. 'No thanks. These peppers are absolutely — perfect!' I beam at him and
take another huge bite.
Suddenly Jack claps a hand on his pocket.
'My mobile,' he says…'Emma, would you mind if I took this? It could be something important.'
'Of course not,' I say. 'Go ahead.'
When he's gone, I just can't help it. I reach over, and spear one of his scallops. I close my eyes
as I chew it, letting the flavour flood through my taste buds. That is just divine. That is the
best food I've ever tasted in my life. I'm just wondering whether I could get away with eating
a second one if I shifted the others around his plate a bit, when I smell a whiff of gin. The
woman in the golden jacket is right by my ear.
'Tell me quickly!' she says. 'What's going on?'
'We're… having dinner,'
'I can see that!' she says impatiently. 'But what about Jeremy? Does he have any idea?'
Oh God.
'Look,' I say helplessly. 'I'm not who you think I am-'
'I can see that! I would never have thought you had this in you.' The woman squeezes my arm.
'Well, good for you. Have some fun, that's what I say! You took your wedding band off,' she
adds, glancing at my left hand. 'Smart girl… oops! He's coming! I'd better go!'
She lurches away again, as Jack sits back down in his place, and I lean forward, already half
giggling. Jack is going to love this.
'Guess what!' I say. 'I have a husband called Jeremy! My friend over there just came over and
told me. So what do you reckon? Has Jeremy been having a dalliance too?'
There's silence, and Jack looks up, a strained expression on his face.
'I'm sorry?' he says.
He wasn't listening to a word I was saying.
I can't say the whole thing again. I'll just feel stupid. In fact, I already feel stupid. 'It doesn't
matter,' I say, and force a smile.
There's another silence and I cast around for something to say. 'So, um, I have a confession to
make,' I say, gesturing to his plate. 'I pinched one of your scallops.'
I wait for him to pretend to be shocked, or angry. Or anything.
'That's OK,' he says abstractedly, and begins to fork the rest of them into his mouth.
I don't understand. What's happened? Where's the banter gone? He's completely changed.
By the time we've finished our tarragon chicken with rocket salad and chips, my entire body
is tensed up with misery. This date is a disaster. A complete disaster. I've made every effort
possible to chat, and joke and be funny. But Jack's taken two more calls, and the rest of the
time he's been broody and distracted, and to be honest I might as well not be there.
I feel like crying with disappointment. I just don't understand it. It was going so well. We
were getting on so fantastically. What went wrong?
'I'll just go and freshen up,' I say, as our main-course plates are removed, and Jack simply
nods.
The Ladies is more like a palace than a loo, with gold mirrors, plushy chairs and a woman in
uniform to give you a towel. For a moment I feel a bit shy about phoning Lissy in front of her,
but she must have seen it all before, mustn't she?
'Hi,' I say, as Lissy picks up. 'It's me.'
'Emma! How's it going?'
'It's awful,' I say dolefully.
'What do you mean?' she says in horror. 'How can it be awful? What's happened?'
'That's the worst thing.' I slump into a chair. 'It all started off brilliantly. We were laughing
and joking, and the restaurant's amazing, and he'd ordered this special menu just for me, all
full of my favourite things…'
I swallow hard. Now I put it like that, it does all sound pretty perfect.
'It sounds wonderful,' says Lissy in astonishment. 'So how come-'
'So then he had this call on his mobile.' I blow my nose. 'And ever since, he's barely said a
word to me. He keeps disappearing off to take calls, and I'm left on my own, and when he
comes back the conversation's all strained and stilted, and he's obviously only half paying
attention.'
'Maybe he's worried about something, but he doesn't want to burden you with it,' says Lissy
after a pause.
'That's true,' I say slowly. 'He does look pretty hassled.'
'Maybe something awful has happened but he doesn't want to ruin the mood. Just try talking
to him. Share his worries!'
'OK,' I say, feeling more cheerful. 'OK, I'll try that. Thanks, Lissy.'
I walk back to the table feeling slightly more positive. A waiter materializes to help me with
my chair, and as I sit down, I give Jack the warmest, most sympathetic look I can muster.
'Jack, is everything OK?'
He frowns.
'Why do you say that?'
'Well, you keep disappearing off. I just wondered if there was anything… you wanted to talk
about.'
'It's fine,' he says curtly. 'Thanks.' His tone is very much 'subject closed' but I'm not going to
give up that easily.
'Have you had some bad news?'
'No.'
'Is it… a business thing?' I persist. 'Or… or is it some kind of personal…'
Jack looks up, a sudden flash of anger in his face.
'I said, it's nothing. Quit it.'
Great. That puts me in my place, doesn't it?
'Would you both care for dessert?' A waiter's voice interrupts me, and I give him a strained
smile.
'Actually, I don't think so.'
I've had enough of this evening. I just want to get it over and go home.
'Very well.' The waiter smiles at me. 'Any coffee?'
'She does want dessert,' says Jack, over my head.
What? What did he just say? The waiter looks at me hesitantly.
'No I don't!' I say firmly.
'Come on, Emma,' says Jack, and now his warm, teasing tone is back. 'You don't have to
pretend with me. You told me on the plane, this is what you always say. You say you don't
want a dessert, when really, you do.'
'Well, this time, I really don't.'
'It's specially created for you.' Jack leans forward. 'Haagen-Dazs, meringue, Bailey's sauce on
the side…'
Suddenly I feel completely patronized. How does he know what I want? Maybe I just want
fruit. Maybe I want nothing. He has no idea about me. None at all.
'I'm not hungry.' I push my chair back.
'Emma, I know you. You want it, really-'
'You don't know me!' I cry angrily, before I can stop myself. 'Jack, you may know a few
random facts about me. But that doesn't mean you know me!'
'What?' Jack stares at me.
'If you knew me,' I say in a trembling voice, 'you would have realized that when I go out to
dinner with someone, I like them to listen to what I'm saying. I like them to treat me with a bit
of respect, and not tell me to "quit it" when all I'm doing is trying to make conversation…'
Jack is staring at me in astonishment.
'Emma, are you OK?'
'No. I'm not OK! You've practically ignored me all evening.'
'That's not fair.'
'You have! You've been on autopilot. Ever since your mobile phone started going…'
'Look.' Jack rubs his face. 'A few things are going on in my life at the moment, they're very
important-'
'Fine. Well, let them go on without me.'
Tears are stinging my eyes as I stand up and reach for my bag. I so wanted this to be a perfect
evening. I had such high hopes. I can't believe it's gone so wrong.
'That's right! You tell him!' the woman in gold supportively calls from across the room. 'You
know, this girl's got a lovely husband of her own,' she exclaims to Jack. 'She doesn't need
you!'
'Thank you for dinner,' I say, staring fixedly at the tablecloth, as one of the waiters magically
appears at my side with my coat.
'Emma,' says Jack, getting to his feet in disbelief. 'You're not seriously going.'
'l am.'
'Give it another chance. Please. Stay and have some coffee. I promise I'll talk-'
'I don't want any coffee,' I say, as the waiter helps me on with my coat.
'Mint tea, then. Chocolates! I ordered you a box of Godiva truffles…' His tone is entreating,
and just for an instant I waver. I love Godiva truffles.
But no, I've made up my mind.
'I don't care,' I gulp. 'I'm going. Thank you very much,' I add to the waiter. 'How did you
know I wanted my coat?'
'We make it our business to know,' says the waiter discreetly.
'You see?' I say to Jack. 'They know me.'
There's an instant in which we stare at each other.
'Fine,' says Jack at last, and gives a resigned shrug. 'Fine. Daniel will take you home. He
should be waiting outside in the car.'
'I'm not going home in your car!' I say in horror. 'I'll make my own way, thanks.'
'Emma. Don't be stupid.'
'Goodbye. And thanks very much,' I add to the waiter. 'You were all very attentive and nice to
me.'
I hurry out of the restaurant to discover it's started to rain. And I don't have an umbrella.
Well, I don't care. I'm going anyway. I stride along the streets, skidding slightly on the wet
pavement, feeling raindrops mingling with tears on my face. I have no idea where I am. I
don't even know where the nearest tube is, or where…
Hang on. There's a bus stop. I look down the numbers and see one that goes to Islington.
Well, fine. I'll take the bus home. And then I'll have a nice cup of hot chocolate. And maybe
some icecream in front of the telly.
It's one of those bus shelters with a roof and little seats, and I sit down, thanking God my hair
won't get any wetter. I'm just staring blankly at a car advertisement, wondering what that
Haagen-Dazs pudding tasted like and whether the meringue was the stiff white kind or that
gorgeous chewy, caramel kind, when a big silver car purrs up at the pavement.
I don't believe it.
'Please,' says Jack, getting out. 'Let me take you home.'
'No,' I say, without turning my head.
'You can't stay here in the rain.'
'Yes I can. Some of us live in the real world, you know.'
I turn away and pretend to be studying a poster about AIDS. The next moment Jack has
arrived in the bus shelter. He sits down in the little seat next to mine and for a while we're
both silent.
'I know I was terrible company this evening,' he says eventually. 'And I'm sorry. I'm also sorry
I can't tell you anything about it. But my life is… complicated. And some bits of it are very
delicate. Do you understand?'
No, I want to say. No, I don't understand, when I've told you every single little thing about me.
'I suppose,' I say, with a tiny shrug.
The rain is beating down even harder, thundering on the roof of the shelter and creeping into
my — Jemima's — silver sandals. God, I hope it won't stain them.
'I'm sorry the evening was a disappointment to you,' says Jack, lifting his voice above the
noise.
'It wasn't,' I say, suddenly feeling bad. 'I just… I had such high hopes! I wanted to get to
know you a bit, and I wanted to have fun… and for us to laugh… and I wanted one of those
pink cocktails, not champagne…'
Shit. Shit. That slipped out before I could stop it.
'But… you like champagne!' says Jack, looking stunned. 'You told me. Your perfect date
would start off with champagne.'
I can't quite meet his eye.
'Yes, well. I didn't know about the pink cocktails then, did I?'
Jack throws back his head and laughs.
'Fair point. Very fair point. And I didn't even give you a choice, did I?' He shakes his head
ruefully. 'You were probably sitting there thinking, damn this guy, can't he tell I want a pink
cocktail?'
'No!' I say at once, but my cheeks are turning crimson, and Jack is looking at me with such a
comical expression that I want to hug him.
'Oh Emma. I'm sorry.' He shakes his head. 'I wanted to get to know you too. And I wanted to
have fun, too. It sounds like we both wanted the same things. And it's my fault we didn't get
them.'
'It's not your fault,' I mumble awkwardly.
'This is not the way I planned for things to go.' He looks at me seriously. 'Will you give me
another chance?'
A big red double-decker bus rumbles up to the bus stop, and we both look up.
'I've got to go,' I say, standing up. 'This is my bus.'
'Emma, don't be silly. Come in the car.'
'No. I'm going on the bus!'
The automatic doors open, and I step onto the bus. I show my travelcard to the driver and he
nods.
'You're seriously considering riding on this thing?' says Jack, stepping on behind me. He peers
dubiously at the usual motley collection of night bus riders. 'Is this safe?'
'You sound like my grandpa! Of course it's safe. It goes to the end of my road.'
'Hurry up!' says the driver impatiently to Jack. 'If you haven't got the money, get off.'
'I have American Express,' says Jack, feeling in his pocket.
'You can't pay a bus fare with American Express!' I say, rolling my eyes. 'Don't you know
anything? And anyway.' I stare at my travelcard for a few seconds. 'I think I'd rather be on my
own, if you don't mind.'
'I see,' says Jack in a different voice. 'I guess I'd better get off,' he says to the driver. Then he
looks at me. 'You haven't answered me. Can we try again? Tomorrow night. And this time
we'll do whatever you want. You call the shots.'
'OK.' I'm trying to give a noncommittal shrug, but as I meet his eye I find myself smiling, too.
'Eight o'clock again?'
'Eight o'clock. And leave the car behind,' I add firmly. 'We'll do things my way.'
'Great! I look forward to it. Goodnight, Emma.'
'Goodnight.'
As he turns to get off, I climb up the stairs to the top deck of the bus. I head for the front seat,
the place I always used to sit when I was a child, and stare out at the dark, rainy, London night.
If I stare for long enough, the street lights become blurred like a kaleidoscope. Like fairyland.
Swooshing round my mind are images of the woman in gold, the pink cocktail, Jack's face as
I said I was leaving, the waiter bringing me my coat, Jack's car arriving at the bus stop… I
can't quite work out what I think. All I can do is sit there, staring out, aware of familiar,
comforting sounds around me. The old-fashioned grind and roar of the bus engine. The noise
of the doors swishing open and shut. The sharp ring of the request bell. People thumping up
the stairs and thumping back down again.
I can feel the bus lurch as we turn corners, but I'm barely aware of where we're going. Until
after a while, familiar sights outside start to impinge on my consciousness, and I realize we're
nearly at my street. I gather myself, reach for my bag, and totter along to the top of the stairs.
Suddenly the bus makes a sharp swing left, and I grab for a seat handle, trying to steady
myself. Why are we turning left? I look out of the window, thinking I'll be really pissed off if
I end up having to walk, and blink in astonishment.
Surely we're not-
Surely this can't be-
But we are. I peer down through the window, dumbfounded. We're in my tiny little road.
And now we've stopped outside my house.
I hurry down the stairs, nearly breaking my ankle, and stare at the driver.
'Number 41 Ellerwood Road,' he says with a flourish.
No. This can't be happening.
Bewildered, I look around the bus, and a couple of drunk teenagers stare blankly back.
'What's going on?' I look at the driver. 'Did he pay you?'
'Five hundred quid,' says the driver, and winks at me. 'Whoever he is, love, I'd hold onto him.'
Five hundred quid? Oh my God.
'Thanks,' I say dazedly. 'I mean, thanks for the ride.'
Feeling as though I'm in a dream, I get off the bus and head for the front door. But Lissy has
already got there and is opening it.
'Is that a bus?' she says, staring. 'What's it doing here?'
'It's my bus,' I say. 'It took me home.'
I wave to the driver, who waves back, and the bus rumbles off into the night.
'I don't believe it!' says Lissy slowly, gazing as it disappears round the corner. She turns to
look at me. 'So… it was OK in the end?'
'Yes,' I say. 'Yes. It was… OK.'
I've been to Mayfair before. It's so completely posh, why ever would I?
'It's a kind of private place,' Jack murmurs as we walk through a pillared courtyard. 'Not many
people know about it.'
'Mr Harper. Miss Corrigan,' says a man in a Nehru suit, appearing out of nowhere. 'Please
come this way.'
Wow! They know my name!
We glide past more pillars into an ornate room in which about three other couples are seated.
There's a couple to our right, and as we walk past, a middle-aged woman with platinum hair
and a gold jacket catches my eye.
'Well, hello!' she says. 'Rachel!'
'What?' I look around, bewildered. Is she looking at me?
She gets up from her seat and, lurching slightly, comes and gives me a kiss. 'How are you,
darling? We haven't seen you for ages!'
OK, you can smell the alcohol from five yards away. And as I glance over at her dinner
partner, he looks just as bad.
'I think you've made a mistake,' I say politely. 'I'm not Rachel.'
'Oh!' The woman stares at me for a moment. Then she glances at Jack and her face snaps in
understanding. 'Oh! Oh, I see. Of course you're not.' She gives me a little wink.
'No!' I say in horror. 'You don't understand. I'm really not Rachel. I'm Emma.'
'Emma. Of course!' She nods conspiratorially. 'Well, have a wonderful dinner! And call me
some time.'
As she stumbles back to her chair, Jack gives me a quizzical look.
'Is there something you want to tell me?'
'Yes,' I say. 'That woman is extremely drunk.' As I meet his gaze, I can't help giving a tiny
giggle, and his mouth twitches.
'So, shall we sit down? Or do you have any more long-lost friends you'd like to greet?'
I look around the room consideringly.
'No, I think that's probably it.'
'If you're sure. Take your time. You're sure that elderly gentleman over there isn't your
grandfather?'
'I don't think so…'
'Also, you should know that pseudonyms are fine by me,' Jack adds. 'I myself often go by the
name of Egbert.'
I give a snort of laughter and hastily stifle it. This is a posh restaurant. People are already
looking at us.
We're shown to a table in the corner, by the fire. A waiter helps me into my chair and fluffs a
napkin over my knee, while another pours out some water, and yet another offers me a bread
roll. Exactly the same is happening on Jack's side of the table. We have six people dancing
attendance on us! I want to catch Jack's eye and laugh, but he looks unconcerned, as if this is
perfectly normal.
Perhaps it is normal for him, it strikes me. Oh God. Perhaps he has a butler who makes him
tea and irons his newspaper every day.
But what if he does? I mustn't let any of this faze me.
'So,' I say, as all the waiting staff melt away. 'What shall we have to drink?' I've already eyed
up the drink which that woman in gold has got. It's pink and has slices of watermelon
decorating the glass, and looks absolutely delicious.
'Already taken care of,' says Jack with a smile, as one of the waiters brings over a bottle of
champagne, pops it open and starts pouring. 'I remember you telling me on the plane, your
perfect date would start off with a bottle of champagne appearing at your table as if by magic.'
'Oh,' I say, quelling a tiny feeling of disappointment. 'Er… yes! So I did.'
'Cheers,' says Jack, and lightly clinks my glass.
'Cheers.' I take a sip, and it's delicious champagne. It really is. All dry and delicious.
I wonder what the watermelon drink tastes like.
Stop it. Champagne is perfect. Jack's right, this is the perfect start to a date.
'The first time I ever had champagne was when I was six years old-' I begin.
'At your Aunt Sue's,' says Jack with a smile. 'You took all your clothes off and threw them in
the pond.'
'Oh right,' I say, halted mid-track. 'Yes, I've told you, haven't I?'
So I won't bore him with that anecdote again. I sip my champagne and quickly try to think of
something else to say. Something that he doesn't already know.
Is there anything?
'I've chosen a very special meal, which I think you'll like,' says Jack, with a smile. 'All preordered,
just for you.'
'Gosh!' I say, taken aback. 'How… wonderful.'
A meal specially pre-ordered for me! Wow. That's incredible.
Except… choosing your food is half the fun of eating out, isn't it? It's almost my favourite bit.
Anyway. It doesn't matter. It'll be perfect. It is perfect.
OK. Let's start a conversation.
'So what do you like doing in your spare time?' I ask, and Jack gives a shrug.
'I hang out. I watch baseball. I fix my cars…'
'You have a collection of vintage cars! That's right. Wow. I really… um…'
'You hate vintage cars.' He smiles. 'I remember.'
Damn. I was hoping he might have forgotten.
'I don't hate the cars themselves,' I say quickly. 'I hate the people who… who…'
Shit. That didn't quite come out right. I take a quick gulp of champagne, but it goes down the
wrong way and I start coughing. Oh God, I'm really spluttering. My eyes are weeping.
And now the other six people in the room have all turned to stare.
'Are you OK?' says Jack in alarm. 'Have some water. You like Evian, right?'
'Er… yes. Thanks.'
Oh, bloody hell. I hate to admit that Jemima could be right about anything. But it would have
been a lot easier if I could just have said brightly, 'Oh, I adore vintage cars!'
Anyway. Never mind.
As I'm gulping my water, a plate of roasted peppers somehow materializes in front of me.
'Wow!' I say in delight. 'I love roasted peppers.'
'I remembered.' Jack looks rather proud of himself. 'You said on the plane that your favourite
food was roasted peppers.'
'Did I?' I stare at him, a bit surprised.
Gosh. I don't remember that. I mean, I like roasted peppers, but I wouldn't have said-
'So I called the restaurant and had them make it specially for you. I can't eat peppers,' Jack
adds, as a plate of scallops appears in front of him, 'otherwise I would join you.'
I gape at his plate. Oh my God. Those scallops look amazing. I adore scallops.
'Bon appetit!' says Jack cheerfully.
'Er… yes! Bon appetit.'
I take a bite of roasted pepper. It's delicious. And it was very thoughtful of him to remember.
But I can't help eyeing up his scallops. They're making my mouth water. And look at that
green sauce! God, I bet they're succulent and perfectly cooked…
'Would you like a bite?' says Jack, following my gaze.
'No!' I say, jumping. 'No thanks. These peppers are absolutely — perfect!' I beam at him and
take another huge bite.
Suddenly Jack claps a hand on his pocket.
'My mobile,' he says…'Emma, would you mind if I took this? It could be something important.'
'Of course not,' I say. 'Go ahead.'
When he's gone, I just can't help it. I reach over, and spear one of his scallops. I close my eyes
as I chew it, letting the flavour flood through my taste buds. That is just divine. That is the
best food I've ever tasted in my life. I'm just wondering whether I could get away with eating
a second one if I shifted the others around his plate a bit, when I smell a whiff of gin. The
woman in the golden jacket is right by my ear.
'Tell me quickly!' she says. 'What's going on?'
'We're… having dinner,'
'I can see that!' she says impatiently. 'But what about Jeremy? Does he have any idea?'
Oh God.
'Look,' I say helplessly. 'I'm not who you think I am-'
'I can see that! I would never have thought you had this in you.' The woman squeezes my arm.
'Well, good for you. Have some fun, that's what I say! You took your wedding band off,' she
adds, glancing at my left hand. 'Smart girl… oops! He's coming! I'd better go!'
She lurches away again, as Jack sits back down in his place, and I lean forward, already half
giggling. Jack is going to love this.
'Guess what!' I say. 'I have a husband called Jeremy! My friend over there just came over and
told me. So what do you reckon? Has Jeremy been having a dalliance too?'
There's silence, and Jack looks up, a strained expression on his face.
'I'm sorry?' he says.
He wasn't listening to a word I was saying.
I can't say the whole thing again. I'll just feel stupid. In fact, I already feel stupid. 'It doesn't
matter,' I say, and force a smile.
There's another silence and I cast around for something to say. 'So, um, I have a confession to
make,' I say, gesturing to his plate. 'I pinched one of your scallops.'
I wait for him to pretend to be shocked, or angry. Or anything.
'That's OK,' he says abstractedly, and begins to fork the rest of them into his mouth.
I don't understand. What's happened? Where's the banter gone? He's completely changed.
* * *
By the time we've finished our tarragon chicken with rocket salad and chips, my entire body
is tensed up with misery. This date is a disaster. A complete disaster. I've made every effort
possible to chat, and joke and be funny. But Jack's taken two more calls, and the rest of the
time he's been broody and distracted, and to be honest I might as well not be there.
I feel like crying with disappointment. I just don't understand it. It was going so well. We
were getting on so fantastically. What went wrong?
'I'll just go and freshen up,' I say, as our main-course plates are removed, and Jack simply
nods.
The Ladies is more like a palace than a loo, with gold mirrors, plushy chairs and a woman in
uniform to give you a towel. For a moment I feel a bit shy about phoning Lissy in front of her,
but she must have seen it all before, mustn't she?
'Hi,' I say, as Lissy picks up. 'It's me.'
'Emma! How's it going?'
'It's awful,' I say dolefully.
'What do you mean?' she says in horror. 'How can it be awful? What's happened?'
'That's the worst thing.' I slump into a chair. 'It all started off brilliantly. We were laughing
and joking, and the restaurant's amazing, and he'd ordered this special menu just for me, all
full of my favourite things…'
I swallow hard. Now I put it like that, it does all sound pretty perfect.
'It sounds wonderful,' says Lissy in astonishment. 'So how come-'
'So then he had this call on his mobile.' I blow my nose. 'And ever since, he's barely said a
word to me. He keeps disappearing off to take calls, and I'm left on my own, and when he
comes back the conversation's all strained and stilted, and he's obviously only half paying
attention.'
'Maybe he's worried about something, but he doesn't want to burden you with it,' says Lissy
after a pause.
'That's true,' I say slowly. 'He does look pretty hassled.'
'Maybe something awful has happened but he doesn't want to ruin the mood. Just try talking
to him. Share his worries!'
'OK,' I say, feeling more cheerful. 'OK, I'll try that. Thanks, Lissy.'
I walk back to the table feeling slightly more positive. A waiter materializes to help me with
my chair, and as I sit down, I give Jack the warmest, most sympathetic look I can muster.
'Jack, is everything OK?'
He frowns.
'Why do you say that?'
'Well, you keep disappearing off. I just wondered if there was anything… you wanted to talk
about.'
'It's fine,' he says curtly. 'Thanks.' His tone is very much 'subject closed' but I'm not going to
give up that easily.
'Have you had some bad news?'
'No.'
'Is it… a business thing?' I persist. 'Or… or is it some kind of personal…'
Jack looks up, a sudden flash of anger in his face.
'I said, it's nothing. Quit it.'
Great. That puts me in my place, doesn't it?
'Would you both care for dessert?' A waiter's voice interrupts me, and I give him a strained
smile.
'Actually, I don't think so.'
I've had enough of this evening. I just want to get it over and go home.
'Very well.' The waiter smiles at me. 'Any coffee?'
'She does want dessert,' says Jack, over my head.
What? What did he just say? The waiter looks at me hesitantly.
'No I don't!' I say firmly.
'Come on, Emma,' says Jack, and now his warm, teasing tone is back. 'You don't have to
pretend with me. You told me on the plane, this is what you always say. You say you don't
want a dessert, when really, you do.'
'Well, this time, I really don't.'
'It's specially created for you.' Jack leans forward. 'Haagen-Dazs, meringue, Bailey's sauce on
the side…'
Suddenly I feel completely patronized. How does he know what I want? Maybe I just want
fruit. Maybe I want nothing. He has no idea about me. None at all.
'I'm not hungry.' I push my chair back.
'Emma, I know you. You want it, really-'
'You don't know me!' I cry angrily, before I can stop myself. 'Jack, you may know a few
random facts about me. But that doesn't mean you know me!'
'What?' Jack stares at me.
'If you knew me,' I say in a trembling voice, 'you would have realized that when I go out to
dinner with someone, I like them to listen to what I'm saying. I like them to treat me with a bit
of respect, and not tell me to "quit it" when all I'm doing is trying to make conversation…'
Jack is staring at me in astonishment.
'Emma, are you OK?'
'No. I'm not OK! You've practically ignored me all evening.'
'That's not fair.'
'You have! You've been on autopilot. Ever since your mobile phone started going…'
'Look.' Jack rubs his face. 'A few things are going on in my life at the moment, they're very
important-'
'Fine. Well, let them go on without me.'
Tears are stinging my eyes as I stand up and reach for my bag. I so wanted this to be a perfect
evening. I had such high hopes. I can't believe it's gone so wrong.
'That's right! You tell him!' the woman in gold supportively calls from across the room. 'You
know, this girl's got a lovely husband of her own,' she exclaims to Jack. 'She doesn't need
you!'
'Thank you for dinner,' I say, staring fixedly at the tablecloth, as one of the waiters magically
appears at my side with my coat.
'Emma,' says Jack, getting to his feet in disbelief. 'You're not seriously going.'
'l am.'
'Give it another chance. Please. Stay and have some coffee. I promise I'll talk-'
'I don't want any coffee,' I say, as the waiter helps me on with my coat.
'Mint tea, then. Chocolates! I ordered you a box of Godiva truffles…' His tone is entreating,
and just for an instant I waver. I love Godiva truffles.
But no, I've made up my mind.
'I don't care,' I gulp. 'I'm going. Thank you very much,' I add to the waiter. 'How did you
know I wanted my coat?'
'We make it our business to know,' says the waiter discreetly.
'You see?' I say to Jack. 'They know me.'
There's an instant in which we stare at each other.
'Fine,' says Jack at last, and gives a resigned shrug. 'Fine. Daniel will take you home. He
should be waiting outside in the car.'
'I'm not going home in your car!' I say in horror. 'I'll make my own way, thanks.'
'Emma. Don't be stupid.'
'Goodbye. And thanks very much,' I add to the waiter. 'You were all very attentive and nice to
me.'
I hurry out of the restaurant to discover it's started to rain. And I don't have an umbrella.
Well, I don't care. I'm going anyway. I stride along the streets, skidding slightly on the wet
pavement, feeling raindrops mingling with tears on my face. I have no idea where I am. I
don't even know where the nearest tube is, or where…
Hang on. There's a bus stop. I look down the numbers and see one that goes to Islington.
Well, fine. I'll take the bus home. And then I'll have a nice cup of hot chocolate. And maybe
some icecream in front of the telly.
It's one of those bus shelters with a roof and little seats, and I sit down, thanking God my hair
won't get any wetter. I'm just staring blankly at a car advertisement, wondering what that
Haagen-Dazs pudding tasted like and whether the meringue was the stiff white kind or that
gorgeous chewy, caramel kind, when a big silver car purrs up at the pavement.
I don't believe it.
'Please,' says Jack, getting out. 'Let me take you home.'
'No,' I say, without turning my head.
'You can't stay here in the rain.'
'Yes I can. Some of us live in the real world, you know.'
I turn away and pretend to be studying a poster about AIDS. The next moment Jack has
arrived in the bus shelter. He sits down in the little seat next to mine and for a while we're
both silent.
'I know I was terrible company this evening,' he says eventually. 'And I'm sorry. I'm also sorry
I can't tell you anything about it. But my life is… complicated. And some bits of it are very
delicate. Do you understand?'
No, I want to say. No, I don't understand, when I've told you every single little thing about me.
'I suppose,' I say, with a tiny shrug.
The rain is beating down even harder, thundering on the roof of the shelter and creeping into
my — Jemima's — silver sandals. God, I hope it won't stain them.
'I'm sorry the evening was a disappointment to you,' says Jack, lifting his voice above the
noise.
'It wasn't,' I say, suddenly feeling bad. 'I just… I had such high hopes! I wanted to get to
know you a bit, and I wanted to have fun… and for us to laugh… and I wanted one of those
pink cocktails, not champagne…'
Shit. Shit. That slipped out before I could stop it.
'But… you like champagne!' says Jack, looking stunned. 'You told me. Your perfect date
would start off with champagne.'
I can't quite meet his eye.
'Yes, well. I didn't know about the pink cocktails then, did I?'
Jack throws back his head and laughs.
'Fair point. Very fair point. And I didn't even give you a choice, did I?' He shakes his head
ruefully. 'You were probably sitting there thinking, damn this guy, can't he tell I want a pink
cocktail?'
'No!' I say at once, but my cheeks are turning crimson, and Jack is looking at me with such a
comical expression that I want to hug him.
'Oh Emma. I'm sorry.' He shakes his head. 'I wanted to get to know you too. And I wanted to
have fun, too. It sounds like we both wanted the same things. And it's my fault we didn't get
them.'
'It's not your fault,' I mumble awkwardly.
'This is not the way I planned for things to go.' He looks at me seriously. 'Will you give me
another chance?'
A big red double-decker bus rumbles up to the bus stop, and we both look up.
'I've got to go,' I say, standing up. 'This is my bus.'
'Emma, don't be silly. Come in the car.'
'No. I'm going on the bus!'
The automatic doors open, and I step onto the bus. I show my travelcard to the driver and he
nods.
'You're seriously considering riding on this thing?' says Jack, stepping on behind me. He peers
dubiously at the usual motley collection of night bus riders. 'Is this safe?'
'You sound like my grandpa! Of course it's safe. It goes to the end of my road.'
'Hurry up!' says the driver impatiently to Jack. 'If you haven't got the money, get off.'
'I have American Express,' says Jack, feeling in his pocket.
'You can't pay a bus fare with American Express!' I say, rolling my eyes. 'Don't you know
anything? And anyway.' I stare at my travelcard for a few seconds. 'I think I'd rather be on my
own, if you don't mind.'
'I see,' says Jack in a different voice. 'I guess I'd better get off,' he says to the driver. Then he
looks at me. 'You haven't answered me. Can we try again? Tomorrow night. And this time
we'll do whatever you want. You call the shots.'
'OK.' I'm trying to give a noncommittal shrug, but as I meet his eye I find myself smiling, too.
'Eight o'clock again?'
'Eight o'clock. And leave the car behind,' I add firmly. 'We'll do things my way.'
'Great! I look forward to it. Goodnight, Emma.'
'Goodnight.'
As he turns to get off, I climb up the stairs to the top deck of the bus. I head for the front seat,
the place I always used to sit when I was a child, and stare out at the dark, rainy, London night.
If I stare for long enough, the street lights become blurred like a kaleidoscope. Like fairyland.
Swooshing round my mind are images of the woman in gold, the pink cocktail, Jack's face as
I said I was leaving, the waiter bringing me my coat, Jack's car arriving at the bus stop… I
can't quite work out what I think. All I can do is sit there, staring out, aware of familiar,
comforting sounds around me. The old-fashioned grind and roar of the bus engine. The noise
of the doors swishing open and shut. The sharp ring of the request bell. People thumping up
the stairs and thumping back down again.
I can feel the bus lurch as we turn corners, but I'm barely aware of where we're going. Until
after a while, familiar sights outside start to impinge on my consciousness, and I realize we're
nearly at my street. I gather myself, reach for my bag, and totter along to the top of the stairs.
Suddenly the bus makes a sharp swing left, and I grab for a seat handle, trying to steady
myself. Why are we turning left? I look out of the window, thinking I'll be really pissed off if
I end up having to walk, and blink in astonishment.
Surely we're not-
Surely this can't be-
But we are. I peer down through the window, dumbfounded. We're in my tiny little road.
And now we've stopped outside my house.
I hurry down the stairs, nearly breaking my ankle, and stare at the driver.
'Number 41 Ellerwood Road,' he says with a flourish.
No. This can't be happening.
Bewildered, I look around the bus, and a couple of drunk teenagers stare blankly back.
'What's going on?' I look at the driver. 'Did he pay you?'
'Five hundred quid,' says the driver, and winks at me. 'Whoever he is, love, I'd hold onto him.'
Five hundred quid? Oh my God.
'Thanks,' I say dazedly. 'I mean, thanks for the ride.'
Feeling as though I'm in a dream, I get off the bus and head for the front door. But Lissy has
already got there and is opening it.
'Is that a bus?' she says, staring. 'What's it doing here?'
'It's my bus,' I say. 'It took me home.'
I wave to the driver, who waves back, and the bus rumbles off into the night.
'I don't believe it!' says Lissy slowly, gazing as it disappears round the corner. She turns to
look at me. 'So… it was OK in the end?'
'Yes,' I say. 'Yes. It was… OK.'
FOURTEEN
OK. Don't tell anyone. Do not tell anyone.
Do not tell anyone that you were on a date with Jack Harper last night.
I mean, not that I'm exactly planning to tell anyone. But as I arrive at work the next day I feel
almost convinced I'm going to blurt it out by mistake.
Or someone's going to guess. I mean, surely it must be obvious from my face. From my
clothes, From the way I'm walking. I feel as though everything I do screams 'Hey, guess what
I did last night?'
'Hiya,' says Caroline as I make myself a cup of coffee. 'How are you?'
'I'm fine, thanks!' I say, giving a guilty jump. 'I just had a quiet evening in last night. Just…
really quiet! With my flatmate. We watched three videos, Pretty Woman, Notting Hill and
Four Weddings. Just the two of us. No-one else.'
'Right,' says Caroline, looking a bit bemused. 'Lovely!'
Oh God. I'm losing it. Everyone knows this is how criminals get caught. They add too many
details and trip themselves up.
Right, no more babbling. Stick to one-word answers.
'Hi,' says Artemis as I sit down at my desk.
'Hi,' I say, forcing myself not to add anything else. Not even about which kind of pizza Lissy
and I ordered, even though I've got a whole story ready about how the pizza company thought
we said green pepper instead of pepperoni, ha ha, what a mix-up.
I'm supposed to be doing some filing this morning, but instead I find myself taking out a piece
of paper and starting a list of possible date venues where I can take Jack tonight.
1. Pub. No. Far too boring.
2. Movie. No. Too much sitting, not talking to each other.
3. Ice skating. I have no idea why I put that, since I can't even skate. Except it was in Splash.
God, I've run out of ideas already. How crap is this? I stare at the sheet blankly, half-tuning
into the idle conversation which is going on around me.
'… really working on some secret project, or is that just a rumour?'
'… company in a new direction, apparently, but no-one knows exactly what he's…'
'… is this Sven guy anyway? I mean, what function does he have?'
'He's with Jack, isn't he?' says Amy, who works in Finance but fancies Nick, so is always
finding excuses to come into our office. 'He's Jack's lover.'
'What?' I say, suddenly sitting up, and snapping the end of my pencil. Luckily everyone's too
busy gossiping to notice.
Jack gay? Jack gay?
That's why he didn't kiss me goodnight. He only wants me to be a friend. He'll introduce me
to Sven and I'll have to pretend to be all cool with it, like I knew all along-
'Is Jack Harper gay?' Caroline is saying in astonishment.
'I just assumed he was,' says Amy with a shrug. 'He looks gay, don't you think?'
'Not really,' says Caroline, screwing up her face. 'Not groomed enough.'
'I don't think he looks gay!' I say, trying to sound light-hearted and just kind of vaguely
interested.
'He's not gay,' chimes in Artemis authoritatively. 'I read a old profile of him in Newsweek, and
he was dating the female president of Origin Software. And it said before that he went out
with some supermodel.'
A huge surge of relief floods through me.
I knew he wasn't gay. Obviously I knew he wasn't gay-
Honestly, do these people have nothing better to do than engage in stupid mindless
speculation about people they don't know?
'So is Jack seeing anyone at the moment?'
'Who knows?'
'He's pretty sexy, don't you think?' says Caroline with a wicked grin. 'I wouldn't mind.'
'Yeah right,' says Nick. 'You probably wouldn't mind his private jet, either.'
'Apparently, he hasn't had a relationship since Pete Laidler died,' says Artemis crisply. 'So I
doubt you've got much of a chance.'
'Bad luck, Caroline,' says Nick, with a laugh.
I feel really uncomfortable, listening to this. Maybe I should leave the room until they've
stopped. But then, maybe that would draw attention to myself.
Just for an instant, I find myself imagining what would happen if I stood up and said,
'Actually I had dinner with Jack Harper last night.' They'd all stare at me, dumbfounded, and
maybe somebody would gasp, and…
Oh, who am I kidding? They wouldn't even believe me, would they? They'd say I was
suffering from delusions.
'Hi, Connor,' comes Caroline's voice, interrupting my thoughts.
Connor? My head jerks up in slight dismay. And there he is, with no warning, approaching
my desk with a wounded look on his face.
What's he doing here?
Has he found out about me and Jack?
My heart starts to thump hard and I nervously push my hair back. I've spotted him a couple of
times around the building, but this is our first moment face to face, since we broke up.
'Hi,' he says.
'Hi,' I reply awkwardly, and there's silence.
Suddenly I notice my unfinished list of date ideas lying prominently on my desk. Shit. As
casually as possible I reach for it, screw it up and nonchalantly drop it in the bin.
All the gossip about Sven and Jack has petered out. I know everyone in the office is listening
to us, even if they're pretending to be doing something else. It's like we're the in-house soap
opera or something.
And I know which character I am. I'm the heartless bitch who chucked her lovely, decent man
for no good reason.
Oh God. The thing is, I do feel guilty, I really do. Every time I see Connor, or even think
about him, I get a horrible tight feeling in my chest. But does he have to have such an
expression of injured dignity on his face? A kind of you've-mortally-wounded-me-but-I'msuch-
a-good-person-I-forgive-you look.
I can feel my guilt ebbing away and annoyance starting to ebb in.
'I only came up,' says Connor at last, 'because I'd put us down to do a stint on the Pimm's stall
together at the Corporate Family Day. Obviously when I did so, I thought we'd be-', He
breaks off, looking more wounded than ever. 'Anyway. But I don't mind going through with it.
If you don't.'
I'm not going to be the one to say I can't bear to stand next to him for half an hour.
'I don't mind!' I say.
'Fine.'
'Fine.'
There's another awkward pause.
'I found your blue shirt, by the way,' I say, with a tiny shrug. 'I'll bring it in.'
'Thanks. I think I've got some stuff of yours, too…'
'Hey,' says Nick, coming over towards us with a wicked, eyes gleaming, let's-shit-stir
expression. 'I saw you with someone last night.'
My heart gives a huge, terrified bound. Fuck! Fuck fuck OK… OK… It's OK. He's not
looking at me. He's looking at Connor.
Who the hell'was Connor with?
'That was just a friend,' says Connor stiffly.
'Are you sure?' says Nick. 'You looked pretty friendly to me.'
'Shut up, Nick,' says Connor, looking pained. 'It's far too early to be thinking of… moving on.
Isn't it, Emma?'
'Er… yes.' I swallow several times. 'Absolutely. Definitely.'
Oh God.
Anyway. Never mind. I'm not going to worry about Connor. I have an important date to think
about. And thank goodness, by the end of the day I have at last come up with the perfect
venue. In fact I'm amazed I didn't think of it before! There is one tiny little hitch — but I'll
easily overcome it.
Sure enough, it only takes me about half an hour to persuade Lissy that when they said 'The
key shall in no circumstances be transferred to any non-member' in the rules, they didn't really
mean it. At last she reaches into her bag and hands it to me, an anxious expression on her face.
'Don't lose it!'
'I won't! Thanks, Liss.' I give her a hug. 'Honestly, I'll do the same for you when I'm a
member of an exclusive club.'
'You remember the password, don't you?'
'Yes. Alexander.'
'Where are you going?' says Jemima, coming into my room all dressed up to go out. She gives
me a critical look. 'Nice top. Where's it from?'
'Oxfam. I mean, Whistles.'
I've decided tonight I'm not even going to try to borrow anything from Jemima. I'm going to
wear all my own clothes, and if Jack doesn't like it, he can lump it.
'I was meaning to ask,' Jemima says, narrowing her eyes. 'You two didn't go into my room last
night, did you?'
'No,' says Lissy innocently. 'Why, did it look like we had?'
Jemima was out until three, and by the time she got back, everything was back in place.
Sellotape and everything. We couldn't have been more careful.
'No,' admits Jemima reluctantly. 'Nothing was out of place. But I just got a feeling. As though
someone had been in there.'
'Did you leave the window open?' says Lissy. 'Because I read this article recently, about how
monkeys are being sent into houses to steal things.'
'Monkeys?' Jemima stares at her.
'Apparently. The thieves train them.'
Jemima looks perplexedly from Lissy to me, and I force myself to keep a straight face.
'Anyway,' I say quickly, to change the subject. 'You might like to know that you were wrong
about Jack. I'm going out with him again tonight. It wasn't a disastrous date at all!'
There's no need to add the small detail that we had a big row and I stormed out and he had to
follow me to the bus stop. Because the point is, we're having a second date.
'I wasn't wrong,' says Jemima. 'You just wait. I predict doom.'
I pull a face at her behind her back as she leaves, and start putting on my mascara 'What's the
time?' I say, frowning as I blob a bit on my eyelid.
'Ten to eight,' says Lissy. 'How are you going to get there?'
'Cab.'
Suddenly the buzzer goes, and we both look up.
'He's early,' says Lissy. 'That's a bit weird.'
'He can't be early!' We hurry into the sitting room, and Lissy gets to the window first.
'Oh my God,' she says, looking down to the street below. 'It's Connor.'
'Connor?' I stare at her in horror. 'Connor's here?'
'He's holding a box of stuff. Shall I buzz him up?'
'No! Pretend we're not in!'
'Too late,' says Lissy, and pulls a face. 'Sorry. He's seen me.'
The buzzer sounds again, and we look at each other helplessly.
'OK,' I say at last. 'I'm going down.'
Shit shit shit…
I pelt downstairs and breathlessly open the door. And there, standing on the doorstep, is
Connor, wearing the same martyred expression he had at the office.
'Hi,' he says. 'Here are the things I was telling you about. I thought you might need them.'
'Er, thanks,' I say, grabbing the box, which seems to contain one bottle of L'Oreal shampoo
and some jumper I've never seen in my life. 'I haven't quite sorted out your stuff yet, so I'll
bring it to the office, shall I?'
I dump the box on the stairs, and quickly turn back before Connor thinks I'm inviting him in.
'So, um, thanks,' I say. 'It was really good of you to stop by.'
'No problem,' says Connor. He gives a heavy sigh. 'Emma… I was thinking perhaps we could
use this as an opportunity to talk. Maybe we could have a drink, or supper even.'
'Gosh,' I say brightly. 'I'd love that. I really would. But to be honest, now isn't a completely
brilliant time.'
'Are you going out?' His face falls.
'Um, yes. With Lissy.' I glance surreptitiously at my watch. It's six minutes to eight. 'So
anyway, I'll see you soon. You know, around the office…'
'Why are you so flustered?' Connor is staring at me.
'I'm not flustered!' I say, and lean casually against the doorframe.
'What's wrong?' His eyes narrow suspiciously, and he looks past me into the hall. 'Is
something going on?'
'Connor,' I put a reassuring hand on his arm. 'Nothing's going on. You're imagining things.'
At that moment, Lissy appears behind me at the door.
'Um, Emma, there's a very urgent phone call for you,' she says in a really stilted voice. 'You'd
better come straight away… oh, hello Connor!'
Unfortunately Lissy is the worst liar in the world.
'You're trying to get rid of me!' says Connor, looking from Lissy to me in bewilderment.
'No we're not!' says Lissy, flushing bright red.
'Hang on,' says Connor suddenly, staring at my outfit. 'Hang on a minute. I don't… are you
going on a… date?'
My mind works quickly. If I deny it, we'll probably get into some huge argument. But if I
admit the truth, maybe he'll stalk off in a huff.
'You're right,' I say. 'I've got a date.'
There's a shocked silence.
'I don't believe this,' says Connor, shaking his head, and to my dismay, sinks heavily down
onto the garden wall. I glance at my watch. Three minutes to eight. Shit!
'Connor…'
'You told me there wasn't anyone else! You promised, Emma!'
'There wasn't! But… there is now. And he'll be here soon… Connor, you really don't want to
get into this.' I grab his arm and try to lift him up, but he weighs about twelve stone. 'Connor,
please. Don't make this more painful for everyone.'
'I suppose you're right.' At last Connor gets to his feet. 'I'll go.'
He walks to the gate, his back hunched in defeat, and I feel a pang of guilt, mixed with an
urgent desire for him to hurry. Then, to my horror, he turns back.
'So, who is it?'
'It's… it's someone you don't know,' I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. 'Look, we'll
have lunch soon and have a good talk. Or something, I promise.'
'OK,' says Connor, looking more wounded than ever. 'Fine. I get the message.'
I watch, unable to breathe, as he shuts the gate behind him and walks slowly along the street.
Keep walking, keep walking… don't stop…
As he finally rounds the corner, Jack's silver car appears at the other end of the street.
'Oh my God,' says Lissy, staring at it.
'Don't!' I sink onto the stone wall. 'Lissy, I can't cope with this.'
I feel shaky. I think I need a drink. And I've only got mascara on one set of eyelashes, I
abruptly realize.
The silver car pulls up in front of the house, and out gets the same uniformed driver as before.
He opens the passenger door, and Jack steps out.
'Hi!' he says, looking taken aback to see me. 'Am I late?'
'No! I was just… um… sitting here. You know. Taking in the view.' I gesture across the road,
where I notice for the first time that a man with a huge belly is changing the wheel on his
caravan. 'Anyway!' I say, hastily standing up, 'Actually, I'm not quite ready. Do you want to
come up for a minute?'
'Sure,' says Jack with a smile. 'That would be nice.'
'And send your car away,' I add. 'You weren't supposed to have it!'
'You weren't supposed to be sitting outside your house and catch me out,' retorts Jack with a
grin. 'OK, Daniel, that's it for the night.' He nods to the driver. 'I'm in this lady's hands from
now on.'
'This is Lissy, my flatmate,' I say as the driver gets back into the car. 'Lissy, Jack.'
'Hi,' says Lissy with a self-conscious grin, as they shake hands.
As we make our way up the stairs to our flat, I'm suddenly aware of how narrow they are, and
how the cream paint on the walls is all scuffed, and the carpet smells of cabbage. Jack
probably lives in some enormous grand mansion. He probably has a marble staircase or
something.
But so what? We can't all have marble.
Anyway, it's probably awful. All cold and clattery. You probably trip on it all the time, and it
probably chips really easily-
'Emma, if you want to get ready, I'll fix Jack a drink,' says Lissy, with a smile that says: He's
nice!
'Thanks,' I say, shooting back an 'isn't he?' look. I hurry into my room and hurriedly start
applying mascara to my other eye.
A few moments later there's a little knock at my door.
'Hi!' I say, expecting Lissy. But in comes Jack, holding out a glass of sweet sherry.
'Oh, thanks!' I say gratefully. 'I could do with a drink.'
'I won't come in,' he says politely.
'No, it's fine. Sit down!'
I gesture to the bed, but it's covered with clothes. And my dressing table stool is piled high
with magazines. Damn, I should have tidied up a bit.
'I'll stand,' says Jack with a little smile. He takes a sip of what looks like whisky, and looks
around my room in fascination. 'So this is your room. Your world.'
'Yes.' I flush slightly, unscrewing my lip-gloss. 'It's a bit messy-'
'It's very nice. Very homey.' I can see him taking in the shoes piled in the corner, the fish
mobile hanging from my light, the mirror with necklaces strung over the side, and a new skirt
hanging on the wardrobe door.
'Cancer Research?' he says puzzledly, looking at the label. 'What does that-'
'It's a shop,' I say, a little defiantly. 'A second-hand shop.'
'Ah.' He nods in tactful comprehension. 'Nice bedcover,' he adds, smiling.
'It's ironic,' I say hastily. 'It's an ironic statement.'
God, how embarrassing. I should have changed it.
Now Jack's staring incredulously at my open dressing-table drawer, crammed with makeup.
'How many lipsticks do you have?'
'Er, a few…' I say, hastily closing it.
Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to let Jack come in here. He's picking up my Perfectil
vitamins, and examining them. I mean, what's so interesting about vitamins? Now he's looking
at Katie's crochet belt.
'What's this? A snake?'
'It's a belt,' I say, screwing up my face as I put in an earring. 'I know. It's hideous. I can't stand
crochet.'
Where's my other earring? Where?
Oh, OK, here it is. Now what's Jack doing?
I turn to see him looking in fascination at my exercise chart, which I put up in January after
I'd spent the entire Christmas eating Quality Street.
'"Monday, 7 a.m.",' he reads aloud. '"Brisk jog round block. Forty sit-ups. Lunch time: yoga
class. Evening: Pilates tape. Sixty sit-ups."' He takes a sip of whisky. 'Very impressive. You
Do not tell anyone that you were on a date with Jack Harper last night.
I mean, not that I'm exactly planning to tell anyone. But as I arrive at work the next day I feel
almost convinced I'm going to blurt it out by mistake.
Or someone's going to guess. I mean, surely it must be obvious from my face. From my
clothes, From the way I'm walking. I feel as though everything I do screams 'Hey, guess what
I did last night?'
'Hiya,' says Caroline as I make myself a cup of coffee. 'How are you?'
'I'm fine, thanks!' I say, giving a guilty jump. 'I just had a quiet evening in last night. Just…
really quiet! With my flatmate. We watched three videos, Pretty Woman, Notting Hill and
Four Weddings. Just the two of us. No-one else.'
'Right,' says Caroline, looking a bit bemused. 'Lovely!'
Oh God. I'm losing it. Everyone knows this is how criminals get caught. They add too many
details and trip themselves up.
Right, no more babbling. Stick to one-word answers.
'Hi,' says Artemis as I sit down at my desk.
'Hi,' I say, forcing myself not to add anything else. Not even about which kind of pizza Lissy
and I ordered, even though I've got a whole story ready about how the pizza company thought
we said green pepper instead of pepperoni, ha ha, what a mix-up.
I'm supposed to be doing some filing this morning, but instead I find myself taking out a piece
of paper and starting a list of possible date venues where I can take Jack tonight.
1. Pub. No. Far too boring.
2. Movie. No. Too much sitting, not talking to each other.
3. Ice skating. I have no idea why I put that, since I can't even skate. Except it was in Splash.
4.
God, I've run out of ideas already. How crap is this? I stare at the sheet blankly, half-tuning
into the idle conversation which is going on around me.
'… really working on some secret project, or is that just a rumour?'
'… company in a new direction, apparently, but no-one knows exactly what he's…'
'… is this Sven guy anyway? I mean, what function does he have?'
'He's with Jack, isn't he?' says Amy, who works in Finance but fancies Nick, so is always
finding excuses to come into our office. 'He's Jack's lover.'
'What?' I say, suddenly sitting up, and snapping the end of my pencil. Luckily everyone's too
busy gossiping to notice.
Jack gay? Jack gay?
That's why he didn't kiss me goodnight. He only wants me to be a friend. He'll introduce me
to Sven and I'll have to pretend to be all cool with it, like I knew all along-
'Is Jack Harper gay?' Caroline is saying in astonishment.
'I just assumed he was,' says Amy with a shrug. 'He looks gay, don't you think?'
'Not really,' says Caroline, screwing up her face. 'Not groomed enough.'
'I don't think he looks gay!' I say, trying to sound light-hearted and just kind of vaguely
interested.
'He's not gay,' chimes in Artemis authoritatively. 'I read a old profile of him in Newsweek, and
he was dating the female president of Origin Software. And it said before that he went out
with some supermodel.'
A huge surge of relief floods through me.
I knew he wasn't gay. Obviously I knew he wasn't gay-
Honestly, do these people have nothing better to do than engage in stupid mindless
speculation about people they don't know?
'So is Jack seeing anyone at the moment?'
'Who knows?'
'He's pretty sexy, don't you think?' says Caroline with a wicked grin. 'I wouldn't mind.'
'Yeah right,' says Nick. 'You probably wouldn't mind his private jet, either.'
'Apparently, he hasn't had a relationship since Pete Laidler died,' says Artemis crisply. 'So I
doubt you've got much of a chance.'
'Bad luck, Caroline,' says Nick, with a laugh.
I feel really uncomfortable, listening to this. Maybe I should leave the room until they've
stopped. But then, maybe that would draw attention to myself.
Just for an instant, I find myself imagining what would happen if I stood up and said,
'Actually I had dinner with Jack Harper last night.' They'd all stare at me, dumbfounded, and
maybe somebody would gasp, and…
Oh, who am I kidding? They wouldn't even believe me, would they? They'd say I was
suffering from delusions.
'Hi, Connor,' comes Caroline's voice, interrupting my thoughts.
Connor? My head jerks up in slight dismay. And there he is, with no warning, approaching
my desk with a wounded look on his face.
What's he doing here?
Has he found out about me and Jack?
My heart starts to thump hard and I nervously push my hair back. I've spotted him a couple of
times around the building, but this is our first moment face to face, since we broke up.
'Hi,' he says.
'Hi,' I reply awkwardly, and there's silence.
Suddenly I notice my unfinished list of date ideas lying prominently on my desk. Shit. As
casually as possible I reach for it, screw it up and nonchalantly drop it in the bin.
All the gossip about Sven and Jack has petered out. I know everyone in the office is listening
to us, even if they're pretending to be doing something else. It's like we're the in-house soap
opera or something.
And I know which character I am. I'm the heartless bitch who chucked her lovely, decent man
for no good reason.
Oh God. The thing is, I do feel guilty, I really do. Every time I see Connor, or even think
about him, I get a horrible tight feeling in my chest. But does he have to have such an
expression of injured dignity on his face? A kind of you've-mortally-wounded-me-but-I'msuch-
a-good-person-I-forgive-you look.
I can feel my guilt ebbing away and annoyance starting to ebb in.
'I only came up,' says Connor at last, 'because I'd put us down to do a stint on the Pimm's stall
together at the Corporate Family Day. Obviously when I did so, I thought we'd be-', He
breaks off, looking more wounded than ever. 'Anyway. But I don't mind going through with it.
If you don't.'
I'm not going to be the one to say I can't bear to stand next to him for half an hour.
'I don't mind!' I say.
'Fine.'
'Fine.'
There's another awkward pause.
'I found your blue shirt, by the way,' I say, with a tiny shrug. 'I'll bring it in.'
'Thanks. I think I've got some stuff of yours, too…'
'Hey,' says Nick, coming over towards us with a wicked, eyes gleaming, let's-shit-stir
expression. 'I saw you with someone last night.'
My heart gives a huge, terrified bound. Fuck! Fuck fuck OK… OK… It's OK. He's not
looking at me. He's looking at Connor.
Who the hell'was Connor with?
'That was just a friend,' says Connor stiffly.
'Are you sure?' says Nick. 'You looked pretty friendly to me.'
'Shut up, Nick,' says Connor, looking pained. 'It's far too early to be thinking of… moving on.
Isn't it, Emma?'
'Er… yes.' I swallow several times. 'Absolutely. Definitely.'
Oh God.
Anyway. Never mind. I'm not going to worry about Connor. I have an important date to think
about. And thank goodness, by the end of the day I have at last come up with the perfect
venue. In fact I'm amazed I didn't think of it before! There is one tiny little hitch — but I'll
easily overcome it.
Sure enough, it only takes me about half an hour to persuade Lissy that when they said 'The
key shall in no circumstances be transferred to any non-member' in the rules, they didn't really
mean it. At last she reaches into her bag and hands it to me, an anxious expression on her face.
'Don't lose it!'
'I won't! Thanks, Liss.' I give her a hug. 'Honestly, I'll do the same for you when I'm a
member of an exclusive club.'
'You remember the password, don't you?'
'Yes. Alexander.'
'Where are you going?' says Jemima, coming into my room all dressed up to go out. She gives
me a critical look. 'Nice top. Where's it from?'
'Oxfam. I mean, Whistles.'
I've decided tonight I'm not even going to try to borrow anything from Jemima. I'm going to
wear all my own clothes, and if Jack doesn't like it, he can lump it.
'I was meaning to ask,' Jemima says, narrowing her eyes. 'You two didn't go into my room last
night, did you?'
'No,' says Lissy innocently. 'Why, did it look like we had?'
Jemima was out until three, and by the time she got back, everything was back in place.
Sellotape and everything. We couldn't have been more careful.
'No,' admits Jemima reluctantly. 'Nothing was out of place. But I just got a feeling. As though
someone had been in there.'
'Did you leave the window open?' says Lissy. 'Because I read this article recently, about how
monkeys are being sent into houses to steal things.'
'Monkeys?' Jemima stares at her.
'Apparently. The thieves train them.'
Jemima looks perplexedly from Lissy to me, and I force myself to keep a straight face.
'Anyway,' I say quickly, to change the subject. 'You might like to know that you were wrong
about Jack. I'm going out with him again tonight. It wasn't a disastrous date at all!'
There's no need to add the small detail that we had a big row and I stormed out and he had to
follow me to the bus stop. Because the point is, we're having a second date.
'I wasn't wrong,' says Jemima. 'You just wait. I predict doom.'
I pull a face at her behind her back as she leaves, and start putting on my mascara 'What's the
time?' I say, frowning as I blob a bit on my eyelid.
'Ten to eight,' says Lissy. 'How are you going to get there?'
'Cab.'
Suddenly the buzzer goes, and we both look up.
'He's early,' says Lissy. 'That's a bit weird.'
'He can't be early!' We hurry into the sitting room, and Lissy gets to the window first.
'Oh my God,' she says, looking down to the street below. 'It's Connor.'
'Connor?' I stare at her in horror. 'Connor's here?'
'He's holding a box of stuff. Shall I buzz him up?'
'No! Pretend we're not in!'
'Too late,' says Lissy, and pulls a face. 'Sorry. He's seen me.'
The buzzer sounds again, and we look at each other helplessly.
'OK,' I say at last. 'I'm going down.'
Shit shit shit…
I pelt downstairs and breathlessly open the door. And there, standing on the doorstep, is
Connor, wearing the same martyred expression he had at the office.
'Hi,' he says. 'Here are the things I was telling you about. I thought you might need them.'
'Er, thanks,' I say, grabbing the box, which seems to contain one bottle of L'Oreal shampoo
and some jumper I've never seen in my life. 'I haven't quite sorted out your stuff yet, so I'll
bring it to the office, shall I?'
I dump the box on the stairs, and quickly turn back before Connor thinks I'm inviting him in.
'So, um, thanks,' I say. 'It was really good of you to stop by.'
'No problem,' says Connor. He gives a heavy sigh. 'Emma… I was thinking perhaps we could
use this as an opportunity to talk. Maybe we could have a drink, or supper even.'
'Gosh,' I say brightly. 'I'd love that. I really would. But to be honest, now isn't a completely
brilliant time.'
'Are you going out?' His face falls.
'Um, yes. With Lissy.' I glance surreptitiously at my watch. It's six minutes to eight. 'So
anyway, I'll see you soon. You know, around the office…'
'Why are you so flustered?' Connor is staring at me.
'I'm not flustered!' I say, and lean casually against the doorframe.
'What's wrong?' His eyes narrow suspiciously, and he looks past me into the hall. 'Is
something going on?'
'Connor,' I put a reassuring hand on his arm. 'Nothing's going on. You're imagining things.'
At that moment, Lissy appears behind me at the door.
'Um, Emma, there's a very urgent phone call for you,' she says in a really stilted voice. 'You'd
better come straight away… oh, hello Connor!'
Unfortunately Lissy is the worst liar in the world.
'You're trying to get rid of me!' says Connor, looking from Lissy to me in bewilderment.
'No we're not!' says Lissy, flushing bright red.
'Hang on,' says Connor suddenly, staring at my outfit. 'Hang on a minute. I don't… are you
going on a… date?'
My mind works quickly. If I deny it, we'll probably get into some huge argument. But if I
admit the truth, maybe he'll stalk off in a huff.
'You're right,' I say. 'I've got a date.'
There's a shocked silence.
'I don't believe this,' says Connor, shaking his head, and to my dismay, sinks heavily down
onto the garden wall. I glance at my watch. Three minutes to eight. Shit!
'Connor…'
'You told me there wasn't anyone else! You promised, Emma!'
'There wasn't! But… there is now. And he'll be here soon… Connor, you really don't want to
get into this.' I grab his arm and try to lift him up, but he weighs about twelve stone. 'Connor,
please. Don't make this more painful for everyone.'
'I suppose you're right.' At last Connor gets to his feet. 'I'll go.'
He walks to the gate, his back hunched in defeat, and I feel a pang of guilt, mixed with an
urgent desire for him to hurry. Then, to my horror, he turns back.
'So, who is it?'
'It's… it's someone you don't know,' I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. 'Look, we'll
have lunch soon and have a good talk. Or something, I promise.'
'OK,' says Connor, looking more wounded than ever. 'Fine. I get the message.'
I watch, unable to breathe, as he shuts the gate behind him and walks slowly along the street.
Keep walking, keep walking… don't stop…
As he finally rounds the corner, Jack's silver car appears at the other end of the street.
'Oh my God,' says Lissy, staring at it.
'Don't!' I sink onto the stone wall. 'Lissy, I can't cope with this.'
I feel shaky. I think I need a drink. And I've only got mascara on one set of eyelashes, I
abruptly realize.
The silver car pulls up in front of the house, and out gets the same uniformed driver as before.
He opens the passenger door, and Jack steps out.
'Hi!' he says, looking taken aback to see me. 'Am I late?'
'No! I was just… um… sitting here. You know. Taking in the view.' I gesture across the road,
where I notice for the first time that a man with a huge belly is changing the wheel on his
caravan. 'Anyway!' I say, hastily standing up, 'Actually, I'm not quite ready. Do you want to
come up for a minute?'
'Sure,' says Jack with a smile. 'That would be nice.'
'And send your car away,' I add. 'You weren't supposed to have it!'
'You weren't supposed to be sitting outside your house and catch me out,' retorts Jack with a
grin. 'OK, Daniel, that's it for the night.' He nods to the driver. 'I'm in this lady's hands from
now on.'
'This is Lissy, my flatmate,' I say as the driver gets back into the car. 'Lissy, Jack.'
'Hi,' says Lissy with a self-conscious grin, as they shake hands.
As we make our way up the stairs to our flat, I'm suddenly aware of how narrow they are, and
how the cream paint on the walls is all scuffed, and the carpet smells of cabbage. Jack
probably lives in some enormous grand mansion. He probably has a marble staircase or
something.
But so what? We can't all have marble.
Anyway, it's probably awful. All cold and clattery. You probably trip on it all the time, and it
probably chips really easily-
'Emma, if you want to get ready, I'll fix Jack a drink,' says Lissy, with a smile that says: He's
nice!
'Thanks,' I say, shooting back an 'isn't he?' look. I hurry into my room and hurriedly start
applying mascara to my other eye.
A few moments later there's a little knock at my door.
'Hi!' I say, expecting Lissy. But in comes Jack, holding out a glass of sweet sherry.
'Oh, thanks!' I say gratefully. 'I could do with a drink.'
'I won't come in,' he says politely.
'No, it's fine. Sit down!'
I gesture to the bed, but it's covered with clothes. And my dressing table stool is piled high
with magazines. Damn, I should have tidied up a bit.
'I'll stand,' says Jack with a little smile. He takes a sip of what looks like whisky, and looks
around my room in fascination. 'So this is your room. Your world.'
'Yes.' I flush slightly, unscrewing my lip-gloss. 'It's a bit messy-'
'It's very nice. Very homey.' I can see him taking in the shoes piled in the corner, the fish
mobile hanging from my light, the mirror with necklaces strung over the side, and a new skirt
hanging on the wardrobe door.
'Cancer Research?' he says puzzledly, looking at the label. 'What does that-'
'It's a shop,' I say, a little defiantly. 'A second-hand shop.'
'Ah.' He nods in tactful comprehension. 'Nice bedcover,' he adds, smiling.
'It's ironic,' I say hastily. 'It's an ironic statement.'
God, how embarrassing. I should have changed it.
Now Jack's staring incredulously at my open dressing-table drawer, crammed with makeup.
'How many lipsticks do you have?'
'Er, a few…' I say, hastily closing it.
Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to let Jack come in here. He's picking up my Perfectil
vitamins, and examining them. I mean, what's so interesting about vitamins? Now he's looking
at Katie's crochet belt.
'What's this? A snake?'
'It's a belt,' I say, screwing up my face as I put in an earring. 'I know. It's hideous. I can't stand
crochet.'
Where's my other earring? Where?
Oh, OK, here it is. Now what's Jack doing?
I turn to see him looking in fascination at my exercise chart, which I put up in January after
I'd spent the entire Christmas eating Quality Street.
'"Monday, 7 a.m.",' he reads aloud. '"Brisk jog round block. Forty sit-ups. Lunch time: yoga
class. Evening: Pilates tape. Sixty sit-ups."' He takes a sip of whisky. 'Very impressive. You