do all this?'
'Well,' I say after a pause. 'I don't exactly manage every single … I mean, it was quite an
ambitious… you know… er… Anyway!' I quickly spritz myself with perfume. 'Let's go!'
I have to get him out of here quickly before he does something like spot a Tampax and ask me
what it is. I mean, honestly! Why on earth is he so interested in everything?
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
'Well,' I say after a pause. 'I don't exactly manage every single … I mean, it was quite an
ambitious… you know… er… Anyway!' I quickly spritz myself with perfume. 'Let's go!'
I have to get him out of here quickly before he does something like spot a Tampax and ask me
what it is. I mean, honestly! Why on earth is he so interested in everything?
FIFTEEN
As we head out into the balmy evening, I feel light and happy with anticipation. Already
there's a completely different atmosphere from yesterday night. No scary cars; no posh
restaurants. It feels more casual. More fun.
'So,' says Jack, as we walk up to the main road. 'An evening out, Emma-style.'
'Absolutely!' I stick out my hand and hail a taxi, and give the name of the road in Clerkenwell
off which the little alley runs.
'We're allowed to go by taxi, are we?' says Jack mildly as we get in. 'We don't have to wait for
a bus?'
'As a very special treat,' I say with mock severity.
'So, are we eating? Drinking? Dancing?' says Jack, as we move off down the street.
'Wait and see!' I beam at him. 'I just thought we could have a really laid-back, spontaneous
evening.'
'I guess I over-planned last night,' says Jack after a pause.
'No, it was lovely!' I say kindly. 'But sometimes you can put too much thought into things.
You know, sometimes it's better just to go with the flow and see what happens.'
'You're right.' Jack smiles. 'Well, I look forward to going with the flow.'
As we whiz along Upper Street, I feel quite proud of myself. It just shows I'm a true Londoner.
I can take my guests to little places off the beaten track. I can find spots which aren't just the
obvious venues to go. I mean, not that Jack's restaurant wasn't amazing. But how much cooler
will this be? A secret club! And I mean, who knows, Madonna might be there this evening!
After about twenty minutes we get to Clerkenwell. I insist on paying the taxi fare, and lead
Jack down the alley.
'Very interesting,' says Jack, looking around. 'So where are we heading?'
'Just wait,' I say enigmatically. I head for the door, press the buzzer and take Lissy's key out of
my pocket with a little frisson of excitement.
He is going to be so impressed. He is going to be so impressed!
'Hello?' comes a voice.
'Hello,' I say casually. 'I'd like to speak to Alexander, please.'
'Who?' says the voice.
'Alexander,' I repeat, and give a knowing smile. Obviously they have to double-check.
'Ees no Alexander here.'
'You don't understand. Al-ex-and-er,' I enunciate clearly.
'Ees no Alexander.'
Maybe I got the wrong door, it suddenly occurs to me. I mean, I remember it as being this one
— but maybe it was this other one with the frosted glass. Yes. That one looks quite familiar,
actually.
'Tiny hitch,' I smile at Jack, and press the new bell.
There's silence. I wait a few minutes, then try again, and again. There's no reply. OK. So…
it's not this one either.
Fuck.
I am a moron. Why didn't I check the address? I was just so sure I'd remember where it was.
'Is there a problem?' says Jack.
'No!' I say at once, and smile brightly. 'I'm just trying to recall exactly…'
I look up and down the street, trying not to panic. Which one was it? Am I going to have to
ring every single doorbell in the street? I take a few steps along the pavement, trying to trigger
my memory. And then, through an arch, I spy another alley, almost identical to this one.
I feel a huge thud of horror. Am I in the right alley, even? I dart forward and peer into the
other alley. It looks exactly the same. Rows of nondescript doors and blanked-out windows.
My heart starts to beat more quickly. What am I going to do? I can't try every single doorbell
in every bloody alley in the vicinity. It never once occurred to me that this might happen. Not
once. I never even thought to-
OK, I'm being stupid. I'll call Lissy! She'll tell me. I pull out my mobile and dial home, but
immediately it clicks onto answerphone.
'Hi, Lissy, it's me,' I say, trying to sound light and casual. 'A tiny little hitch has happened,
which is that I can't remember exactly which door the club is behind. Or actually… which
alley it's in either. So if you get this, could you give me a call? Thanks!'
I look up to see Jack watching me.
'Everything OK?'
'Just a slight glitch,' I say, and give a relaxed little laugh. 'There's this secret club along here
somewhere, but I can't quite remember where.'
'Never mind,' says Jack nicely. 'These things happen.'
I jab the number for home again, but it's engaged. Quickly I dial Lissy's mobile number, but
it's switched off.
Oh fuck. Fuck. We can't stand here in the street all night.
'Emma,' says Jack cautiously. 'Would you like me to make a reservation at-'
'No!' I jump as though stung. Jack's not going to reserve anything. I've said I'll organize this
evening, and I will. 'No thanks. It's OK.' I make a snap decision. 'Change of plan. We'll go to
Antonio's instead.'
'I could call the car…' begins Jack.
'We don't need the car!' I stride purposefully towards the main road and thank God, a taxi's
coming along with its light on. I flag it down, open the door for Jack and say to the driver,
'Hi, Antonio's on Sanderstead Road in Clapham, please.'
Hurrah. I have been grown-up and decisive and saved the situation.
'Where's Antonio's?' says Jack, as the taxi begins to speed away.
'It's a bit out of the way, in south London. But it's really nice. Lissy and I used to go there
when we lived in Wandsworth. It's got huge pine tables, and gorgeous food, and sofas and
stuff. And they never chivvy you.'
'It sounds perfect.' Jack smiles, and I smile proudly back.
OK, it should not take this long to get from Clerkenwell to Clapham. We should have got
there ages ago. I mean, it's only down the road!
After about half an hour, I lean forward and say to the driver yet again, 'Is there a problem?'
'Traffic, love.' He gives an easy shrug. 'What can you do?'
You can find a clever traffic-avoiding back route like taxi drivers are supposed to! I want to
yell furiously. But instead I say politely, 'So… how long do you think it'll be before we get
there?'
'Who knows?'
I sink back on my seat, feeling my stomach churning with frustration.
We should have gone somewhere in Clerkenwell. Or Covent Garden. I am such a moron…
'Emma, don't worry,' says Jack. 'I'm sure it'll be great when we get there.'
'I hope so,' I say with a weak smile.
I can't make small talk. I'm using every ounce of concentration in willing the taxi to go faster.
I stare out of the window, giving an inward cheer every time the postcodes on the street signs
get closer to where we want to be. SW3… SW11… SW4!
At last! We're in Clapham. Nearly there…
Shit. Another bloody red traffic light. I almost can't keep still on my seat And the driver's just
sitting there, like it doesn't matter.
OK, it's green! Go! Go now!
But he's pulling off in this leisurely way, as though we've got all day… he's chuntering down
the street… now he's giving way to another driver! What is he doing?
OK. Calm down, Emma. Here's the street. We're finally here.
'So this is it!' I say, trying to sound relaxed as we get out of the taxi. 'Sorry it took a while.'
'No problem,' says Jack. 'This place looks great!'
As I hand the fare to the taxi driver, I have to admit I'm pretty pleased we came. Antonio's
looks absolutely amazing! There are fairy lights decorating the familiar green facade, and
helium balloons tied to the canopy, and music and laughter spilling out of the open door. I can
even hear people singing inside.
'It's not normally quite this buzzing!' I say with a laugh, and head for the door. I can already
see Antonio standing just inside.
'Hi!' I say as I push the door open. 'Antonio!'
'Emma!' says Antonio, who's standing by the door holding a glass of wine. His cheeks are
flushed and he's beaming even more widely than usual. 'Bellissima!' He kisses me on each
cheek, and I feel a flood of warm relief. I was right to come here. I know the management.
They'll make sure we have a wonderful time.
'This is Jack,' I say, grinning at him.
'Jack! Wonderful to meet you!' Antonio kisses Jack on each cheek too, and I giggle.
'So, could we have a table for two?'
'Ah…' He pulls a face of regret. 'Sweetheart, we're closed!'
'What?' I stare back at him, baffled. 'But… but you're not closed. People are here!' I look
around at all the merry faces.
'It's a private party!' He raises his glass to someone across the room and shouts something in
Italian. 'My nephew's wedding. You ever meet him? Guido. He served here a few summers
ago.'
'I… I'm not sure.'
'He met a lovely girl at the law school. You know, he's qualified now. You ever need legal
advice…'
'Thanks. Well… congratulations.'
'I hope the party goes well,' says Jack, and squeezes my arm briefly. 'Never mind, Emma, you
couldn't have known.'
'Darling, I'm sorry!' says Antonio, seeing my face. 'Another night, I'll give you the best table
we have. You call in advance, you let me know…'
'I'll do that,' I manage a smile. 'Thanks, Antonio.'
I can't even look at Jack. I dragged him all the way down to bloody Clapham for this.
I have to redeem this situation. Quickly.
'We'll go to the pub,' I say as soon as we're outside on the pavement. 'I mean, what's wrong
with just sitting down with a nice drink?'
'Sounds good,' says Jack mildly, and follows me as I hurry down the street to a sign reading
The Nag's Head, and push the door open. I've never been in this pub before, but surely it's
bound to be fairly-
OK. Maybe not.
This has to be the grimmest pub I've ever seen in my life. Threadbare carpet, no music, and
with no signs of life except a single man with a paunch.
I cannot have a date with Jack in here. I just can't.
'Right!' I say, swinging the door shut again, 'Let's think again.' I quickly look up and down the
street, but apart from Antonio's everything is shut except for a couple of grotty takeaway
places and a minicab firm. 'Well… let's just grab a taxi and head back to town!' I say, with a
kind of shrill brightness. 'It won't take too long.'
I stride to the edge of the pavement and stick out my hand.
During the next three minutes not a single car passes by. Not just no taxis. No vehicles at all.
'Kind of quiet,' observes Jack at last.
'Well, this is really a residential area. Antonio's is a bit of a one-off.'
Outwardly, I'm still quite calm. But inside I'm starting to panic. What are we going to do?
Should we try to walk to Clapham High Street? But it's bloody miles away.
I glance at my watch and see with a dart of shock that it's 9.15. We've spent over an hour
faffing about and we haven't even had a drink. And it's all my fault. I can't even organize one
simple evening without it going catastrophically wrong.
Suddenly I want to burst into tears. I want to sink down on the pavement and bury my head in
my hands and sob.
'How about pizza?' says Jack, and my head jerks up in sudden hope.
'Why? Do you know a pizza place round-'
'I see pizza for sale.' He nods at one of the grotty takeaway places. 'And I see a bench.' He
gestures to the other side of the road, where there's a tiny railed garden with paving and trees
and a wooden bench. 'You get the pizza.' He smiles at me. 'I'll save the bench.'
I have never felt so mortified in my entire life. Ever.
Jack Harper takes me to the grandest, poshest restaurant in the world. And I take him to a park
bench in Clapham.
'Here's your pizza,' I say, carrying the hot boxes over to where he's sitting. 'I got margarita,
ham and mushroom and pepperoni.'
I can't quite believe this is going to be our supper. I mean, they aren't even nice pizzas. They
aren't even gourmet, roasted-artichoke type of pizzas. They're just cheap slabs of dough pastry
with melted, congealed cheese, and a few dodgy toppings.
'Perfect,' says Jack with a smile. He takes a large bite, then reaches into his inside pocket.
'Now, this was supposed to be your going home present, but since we're here…'
I gape as he produces a small, stainless steel cocktail shaker and two matching cups. He
unscrews the top of the shaker and to my astonishment, pours a pink, transparent liquid into
each cup.
Is that…
'I don't believe it!' I gaze at him, wide-eyed.
'Well, come on. I couldn't let you wonder all your life what it tasted like, could I?' He hands
me a cup and raises his towards me. 'Your good health.'
'Cheers.' I take a sip of the cocktail… and oh my God it's yummy. Sharp and sweet, with a
kick of vodka.
'Good?'
'Delicious!' I say, and take another sip.
He's being so nice to me. He's pretending he's having a good time. But what does he think
inside? He must despise me. He must think I'm a complete and utter dizzy cow.
'Emma, are you OK?'
'Not really,' I say in a thick voice. 'Jack, I'm so sorry. I really am. I honestly had it all planned.
We were going to go to this really cool club where celebrities go, and it was going to be really
good fun…'
'Emma.' Jack puts his drink down and looks at me. 'I wanted to spend this evening with you.
And that's what we're doing.'
'Yes. But-'
'That's what we're doing,' he repeats firmly.
Slowly he leans towards me and my heart starts to pound. Oh my God. Oh my God. He's
going to kiss me. He's going to-
'Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrrgh!'
I leap up off the bench in total panic. A spider is running up my leg. A big black spider. 'Get it
off!' I say, frantically.'Get it off!'
With one brisk swipe, Jack brushes the spider off onto the grass, and I subside back on the
bench, my heart racing.
And of course, the mood's completely ruined. Great. Just marvellous. Jack tries to kiss me and
I shriek in horror. I'm really doing splendidly tonight.
Why was I so pathetic? I think furiously. Why did I scream? I should have just gritted my
teeth!
Not literally gritted my teeth, obviously. But I should have been cool. In fact, I should have
been so swept away that I didn't even notice the spider.
'I don't suppose you're afraid of spiders,' I say to Jack, giving an awkward laugh. 'I don't
suppose you're afraid of anything.'
Jack gives a noncommittal little smile in return.
'Are you afraid of anything?' I persist.
'Real men don't get afraid,' he says jokily.
In spite of myself, I feel a tiny prickle of discontent. Jack's not the best person in the world at
talking about himself.
'So, where did you get this scar?' I ask, gesturing to his wrist.
'It's a long, boring story.' He smiles. 'You don't want to hear it.'
I do! my mind immediately says. I do want to hear it. But I just smile, and take another sip of
my drink.
Now he's just staring ahead into the distance, as if I'm not even there.
Did he forget about kissing me?
Should I kiss him? No. No.
'Pete loved spiders,' he says suddenly. 'Kept them as pets. Huge, furry ones. And snakes.'
'Really?' I pull a face.
'Crazy. He was a crazy fucking guy.' He exhales sharply.
'You… still miss him,' I say hesitantly.
'Yes. I still miss him.'
There's another silence. In the distance I can hear a group of people leaving Antonio's,
shouting to each other in Italian.
'Did he leave any family?' I say cautiously, and immediately Jack's face closes up.
'Some,' he says.
'Do you see them still?'
'Occasionally.' He exhales sharply, then turns and smiles. 'You have tomato sauce on your
chin.' As he reaches up to wipe it away, he meets my eyes. Slowly, he's bending towards me.
Oh my God. This is it, this is really it. This is-'
'Jack.'
We both leap in shock, and I drop my cocktail on the ground. I turn round, and stare in utter
disbelief. Sven is standing at the gate of the tiny garden.
What the bloody fuck is Sven doing here?
'Great timing,' murmurs Jack. 'Hi, Sven.'
'But… but what's he doing here?' I stare at Jack. 'How did he know where we were?'
'He called while you were getting the pizza.' Jack sighs and rubs his face. 'I didn't know he'd
get here this quickly. Emma… something's come up. I need to have a quick word with him. I
promise it won't take long. OK?'
'OK,' I say with a little shrug. After all, what else can I say? But inside, my whole body is
pulsing in frustration, bordering on anger. Trying to keep calm, I reach for the cocktail shaker,
pour the remains of the pink cocktail into my cup and take a deep swig.
Jack and Sven are standing by the gate having an animated conversation in low voices. I take
a sip of cocktail and casually shift along the bench so I can hear better.
'… what to do from here…'
'… plan B… back up to Glasgow…'
'… urgent…'
I look up and find myself meeting Sven's eye. Quickly I look away again, pretending to be
studying the ground. Their voices descend even lower, and I can't hear a word. Then Jack
breaks off and comes towards me.
'Emma… I'm really sorry about this. But I'm going to have to go.'
'Go?' I stare at him in dismay. 'What, now?'
'I'm going to have to go away for a few days. I'm sorry.' He sits down beside me on the bench.
'But… it's pretty important.'
'Oh. Oh, right.'
'Sven's ordered a car for you to take you home.'
Great, I think savagely. Thanks a lot, Sven.
'That was really… thoughtful of him,' I say, and trace a pattern in the dirt with my shoe.
'Emma, I really have to go,' says Jack, seeing my face. 'But I'll see you when I get back, OK?
At the Corporate Family Day. And we'll… take it from there.'
'OK.' I try to smile. 'That would be great.'
'I had a good time tonight.'
'So did I,' I say, staring down at the bench. 'I had a really good time.'
'We'll have a good time again.' Gently he lifts my chin until I'm looking straight at him, 'I
promise, Emma.'
He leans forward and this time there's no hesitation. His mouth lands on mine, sweet and firm.
He's kissing me. Jack Harper is kissing me on a park bench.
His mouth is opening mine, his stubble is rough against my face. His arm creeps around me
and pulls me towards him, and my breath catches in my throat. I find myself reaching under
his jacket, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt, wanting to rip it off. Oh God, I want
this. I want more.
Suddenly he pulls away, and I feel as if I've been wrenched out of a dream.
'Emma, I have to go.'
My mouth is prickly wet. I can still feel his skin on mine. My entire body is throbbing. This
can't be the end. It can't.
'Don't go,' I hear myself saying thickly. 'Half an hour.'
What am I suggesting? That we do it under a bush?
Frankly, yes. Anywhere would do. I have never in my life been so desperate for a man.
'I don't want to go.' His dark eyes are almost opaque. 'But I have to.' He takes my hand, and I
cling onto his, trying to prolong contact for as long as possible.
'So… I'll… I'll see you.' I can barely talk properly.
'I can't wait.'
'Neither can I.'
'Jack.' We both look up to see Sven at the gate.
'OK,' calls Jack. We stand up and I discreetly look away from Jack's slightly strange posture.
I could ride along in the car and-
No. No. Rewind. I did not think that.
When we reach the road, I see two silver cars waiting by the pavement. Sven is standing by
one, and the other is obviously for me. Bloody hell. I feel like I've suddenly become part of
the royal family or something.
As the driver opens the door for me, Jack touches my hand briefly. I want to grab him for a
final snog, but somehow I manage to control myself.
'Bye,' he murmurs.
'Bye,' I murmur back.
Then I get into the car, the door closes with an expensive clunk, and we purr away.
there's a completely different atmosphere from yesterday night. No scary cars; no posh
restaurants. It feels more casual. More fun.
'So,' says Jack, as we walk up to the main road. 'An evening out, Emma-style.'
'Absolutely!' I stick out my hand and hail a taxi, and give the name of the road in Clerkenwell
off which the little alley runs.
'We're allowed to go by taxi, are we?' says Jack mildly as we get in. 'We don't have to wait for
a bus?'
'As a very special treat,' I say with mock severity.
'So, are we eating? Drinking? Dancing?' says Jack, as we move off down the street.
'Wait and see!' I beam at him. 'I just thought we could have a really laid-back, spontaneous
evening.'
'I guess I over-planned last night,' says Jack after a pause.
'No, it was lovely!' I say kindly. 'But sometimes you can put too much thought into things.
You know, sometimes it's better just to go with the flow and see what happens.'
'You're right.' Jack smiles. 'Well, I look forward to going with the flow.'
As we whiz along Upper Street, I feel quite proud of myself. It just shows I'm a true Londoner.
I can take my guests to little places off the beaten track. I can find spots which aren't just the
obvious venues to go. I mean, not that Jack's restaurant wasn't amazing. But how much cooler
will this be? A secret club! And I mean, who knows, Madonna might be there this evening!
After about twenty minutes we get to Clerkenwell. I insist on paying the taxi fare, and lead
Jack down the alley.
'Very interesting,' says Jack, looking around. 'So where are we heading?'
'Just wait,' I say enigmatically. I head for the door, press the buzzer and take Lissy's key out of
my pocket with a little frisson of excitement.
He is going to be so impressed. He is going to be so impressed!
'Hello?' comes a voice.
'Hello,' I say casually. 'I'd like to speak to Alexander, please.'
'Who?' says the voice.
'Alexander,' I repeat, and give a knowing smile. Obviously they have to double-check.
'Ees no Alexander here.'
'You don't understand. Al-ex-and-er,' I enunciate clearly.
'Ees no Alexander.'
Maybe I got the wrong door, it suddenly occurs to me. I mean, I remember it as being this one
— but maybe it was this other one with the frosted glass. Yes. That one looks quite familiar,
actually.
'Tiny hitch,' I smile at Jack, and press the new bell.
There's silence. I wait a few minutes, then try again, and again. There's no reply. OK. So…
it's not this one either.
Fuck.
I am a moron. Why didn't I check the address? I was just so sure I'd remember where it was.
'Is there a problem?' says Jack.
'No!' I say at once, and smile brightly. 'I'm just trying to recall exactly…'
I look up and down the street, trying not to panic. Which one was it? Am I going to have to
ring every single doorbell in the street? I take a few steps along the pavement, trying to trigger
my memory. And then, through an arch, I spy another alley, almost identical to this one.
I feel a huge thud of horror. Am I in the right alley, even? I dart forward and peer into the
other alley. It looks exactly the same. Rows of nondescript doors and blanked-out windows.
My heart starts to beat more quickly. What am I going to do? I can't try every single doorbell
in every bloody alley in the vicinity. It never once occurred to me that this might happen. Not
once. I never even thought to-
OK, I'm being stupid. I'll call Lissy! She'll tell me. I pull out my mobile and dial home, but
immediately it clicks onto answerphone.
'Hi, Lissy, it's me,' I say, trying to sound light and casual. 'A tiny little hitch has happened,
which is that I can't remember exactly which door the club is behind. Or actually… which
alley it's in either. So if you get this, could you give me a call? Thanks!'
I look up to see Jack watching me.
'Everything OK?'
'Just a slight glitch,' I say, and give a relaxed little laugh. 'There's this secret club along here
somewhere, but I can't quite remember where.'
'Never mind,' says Jack nicely. 'These things happen.'
I jab the number for home again, but it's engaged. Quickly I dial Lissy's mobile number, but
it's switched off.
Oh fuck. Fuck. We can't stand here in the street all night.
'Emma,' says Jack cautiously. 'Would you like me to make a reservation at-'
'No!' I jump as though stung. Jack's not going to reserve anything. I've said I'll organize this
evening, and I will. 'No thanks. It's OK.' I make a snap decision. 'Change of plan. We'll go to
Antonio's instead.'
'I could call the car…' begins Jack.
'We don't need the car!' I stride purposefully towards the main road and thank God, a taxi's
coming along with its light on. I flag it down, open the door for Jack and say to the driver,
'Hi, Antonio's on Sanderstead Road in Clapham, please.'
Hurrah. I have been grown-up and decisive and saved the situation.
'Where's Antonio's?' says Jack, as the taxi begins to speed away.
'It's a bit out of the way, in south London. But it's really nice. Lissy and I used to go there
when we lived in Wandsworth. It's got huge pine tables, and gorgeous food, and sofas and
stuff. And they never chivvy you.'
'It sounds perfect.' Jack smiles, and I smile proudly back.
OK, it should not take this long to get from Clerkenwell to Clapham. We should have got
there ages ago. I mean, it's only down the road!
After about half an hour, I lean forward and say to the driver yet again, 'Is there a problem?'
'Traffic, love.' He gives an easy shrug. 'What can you do?'
You can find a clever traffic-avoiding back route like taxi drivers are supposed to! I want to
yell furiously. But instead I say politely, 'So… how long do you think it'll be before we get
there?'
'Who knows?'
I sink back on my seat, feeling my stomach churning with frustration.
We should have gone somewhere in Clerkenwell. Or Covent Garden. I am such a moron…
'Emma, don't worry,' says Jack. 'I'm sure it'll be great when we get there.'
'I hope so,' I say with a weak smile.
I can't make small talk. I'm using every ounce of concentration in willing the taxi to go faster.
I stare out of the window, giving an inward cheer every time the postcodes on the street signs
get closer to where we want to be. SW3… SW11… SW4!
At last! We're in Clapham. Nearly there…
Shit. Another bloody red traffic light. I almost can't keep still on my seat And the driver's just
sitting there, like it doesn't matter.
OK, it's green! Go! Go now!
But he's pulling off in this leisurely way, as though we've got all day… he's chuntering down
the street… now he's giving way to another driver! What is he doing?
OK. Calm down, Emma. Here's the street. We're finally here.
'So this is it!' I say, trying to sound relaxed as we get out of the taxi. 'Sorry it took a while.'
'No problem,' says Jack. 'This place looks great!'
As I hand the fare to the taxi driver, I have to admit I'm pretty pleased we came. Antonio's
looks absolutely amazing! There are fairy lights decorating the familiar green facade, and
helium balloons tied to the canopy, and music and laughter spilling out of the open door. I can
even hear people singing inside.
'It's not normally quite this buzzing!' I say with a laugh, and head for the door. I can already
see Antonio standing just inside.
'Hi!' I say as I push the door open. 'Antonio!'
'Emma!' says Antonio, who's standing by the door holding a glass of wine. His cheeks are
flushed and he's beaming even more widely than usual. 'Bellissima!' He kisses me on each
cheek, and I feel a flood of warm relief. I was right to come here. I know the management.
They'll make sure we have a wonderful time.
'This is Jack,' I say, grinning at him.
'Jack! Wonderful to meet you!' Antonio kisses Jack on each cheek too, and I giggle.
'So, could we have a table for two?'
'Ah…' He pulls a face of regret. 'Sweetheart, we're closed!'
'What?' I stare back at him, baffled. 'But… but you're not closed. People are here!' I look
around at all the merry faces.
'It's a private party!' He raises his glass to someone across the room and shouts something in
Italian. 'My nephew's wedding. You ever meet him? Guido. He served here a few summers
ago.'
'I… I'm not sure.'
'He met a lovely girl at the law school. You know, he's qualified now. You ever need legal
advice…'
'Thanks. Well… congratulations.'
'I hope the party goes well,' says Jack, and squeezes my arm briefly. 'Never mind, Emma, you
couldn't have known.'
'Darling, I'm sorry!' says Antonio, seeing my face. 'Another night, I'll give you the best table
we have. You call in advance, you let me know…'
'I'll do that,' I manage a smile. 'Thanks, Antonio.'
I can't even look at Jack. I dragged him all the way down to bloody Clapham for this.
I have to redeem this situation. Quickly.
'We'll go to the pub,' I say as soon as we're outside on the pavement. 'I mean, what's wrong
with just sitting down with a nice drink?'
'Sounds good,' says Jack mildly, and follows me as I hurry down the street to a sign reading
The Nag's Head, and push the door open. I've never been in this pub before, but surely it's
bound to be fairly-
OK. Maybe not.
This has to be the grimmest pub I've ever seen in my life. Threadbare carpet, no music, and
with no signs of life except a single man with a paunch.
I cannot have a date with Jack in here. I just can't.
'Right!' I say, swinging the door shut again, 'Let's think again.' I quickly look up and down the
street, but apart from Antonio's everything is shut except for a couple of grotty takeaway
places and a minicab firm. 'Well… let's just grab a taxi and head back to town!' I say, with a
kind of shrill brightness. 'It won't take too long.'
I stride to the edge of the pavement and stick out my hand.
During the next three minutes not a single car passes by. Not just no taxis. No vehicles at all.
'Kind of quiet,' observes Jack at last.
'Well, this is really a residential area. Antonio's is a bit of a one-off.'
Outwardly, I'm still quite calm. But inside I'm starting to panic. What are we going to do?
Should we try to walk to Clapham High Street? But it's bloody miles away.
I glance at my watch and see with a dart of shock that it's 9.15. We've spent over an hour
faffing about and we haven't even had a drink. And it's all my fault. I can't even organize one
simple evening without it going catastrophically wrong.
Suddenly I want to burst into tears. I want to sink down on the pavement and bury my head in
my hands and sob.
'How about pizza?' says Jack, and my head jerks up in sudden hope.
'Why? Do you know a pizza place round-'
'I see pizza for sale.' He nods at one of the grotty takeaway places. 'And I see a bench.' He
gestures to the other side of the road, where there's a tiny railed garden with paving and trees
and a wooden bench. 'You get the pizza.' He smiles at me. 'I'll save the bench.'
I have never felt so mortified in my entire life. Ever.
Jack Harper takes me to the grandest, poshest restaurant in the world. And I take him to a park
bench in Clapham.
'Here's your pizza,' I say, carrying the hot boxes over to where he's sitting. 'I got margarita,
ham and mushroom and pepperoni.'
I can't quite believe this is going to be our supper. I mean, they aren't even nice pizzas. They
aren't even gourmet, roasted-artichoke type of pizzas. They're just cheap slabs of dough pastry
with melted, congealed cheese, and a few dodgy toppings.
'Perfect,' says Jack with a smile. He takes a large bite, then reaches into his inside pocket.
'Now, this was supposed to be your going home present, but since we're here…'
I gape as he produces a small, stainless steel cocktail shaker and two matching cups. He
unscrews the top of the shaker and to my astonishment, pours a pink, transparent liquid into
each cup.
Is that…
'I don't believe it!' I gaze at him, wide-eyed.
'Well, come on. I couldn't let you wonder all your life what it tasted like, could I?' He hands
me a cup and raises his towards me. 'Your good health.'
'Cheers.' I take a sip of the cocktail… and oh my God it's yummy. Sharp and sweet, with a
kick of vodka.
'Good?'
'Delicious!' I say, and take another sip.
He's being so nice to me. He's pretending he's having a good time. But what does he think
inside? He must despise me. He must think I'm a complete and utter dizzy cow.
'Emma, are you OK?'
'Not really,' I say in a thick voice. 'Jack, I'm so sorry. I really am. I honestly had it all planned.
We were going to go to this really cool club where celebrities go, and it was going to be really
good fun…'
'Emma.' Jack puts his drink down and looks at me. 'I wanted to spend this evening with you.
And that's what we're doing.'
'Yes. But-'
'That's what we're doing,' he repeats firmly.
Slowly he leans towards me and my heart starts to pound. Oh my God. Oh my God. He's
going to kiss me. He's going to-
'Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrrgh!'
I leap up off the bench in total panic. A spider is running up my leg. A big black spider. 'Get it
off!' I say, frantically.'Get it off!'
With one brisk swipe, Jack brushes the spider off onto the grass, and I subside back on the
bench, my heart racing.
And of course, the mood's completely ruined. Great. Just marvellous. Jack tries to kiss me and
I shriek in horror. I'm really doing splendidly tonight.
Why was I so pathetic? I think furiously. Why did I scream? I should have just gritted my
teeth!
Not literally gritted my teeth, obviously. But I should have been cool. In fact, I should have
been so swept away that I didn't even notice the spider.
'I don't suppose you're afraid of spiders,' I say to Jack, giving an awkward laugh. 'I don't
suppose you're afraid of anything.'
Jack gives a noncommittal little smile in return.
'Are you afraid of anything?' I persist.
'Real men don't get afraid,' he says jokily.
In spite of myself, I feel a tiny prickle of discontent. Jack's not the best person in the world at
talking about himself.
'So, where did you get this scar?' I ask, gesturing to his wrist.
'It's a long, boring story.' He smiles. 'You don't want to hear it.'
I do! my mind immediately says. I do want to hear it. But I just smile, and take another sip of
my drink.
Now he's just staring ahead into the distance, as if I'm not even there.
Did he forget about kissing me?
Should I kiss him? No. No.
'Pete loved spiders,' he says suddenly. 'Kept them as pets. Huge, furry ones. And snakes.'
'Really?' I pull a face.
'Crazy. He was a crazy fucking guy.' He exhales sharply.
'You… still miss him,' I say hesitantly.
'Yes. I still miss him.'
There's another silence. In the distance I can hear a group of people leaving Antonio's,
shouting to each other in Italian.
'Did he leave any family?' I say cautiously, and immediately Jack's face closes up.
'Some,' he says.
'Do you see them still?'
'Occasionally.' He exhales sharply, then turns and smiles. 'You have tomato sauce on your
chin.' As he reaches up to wipe it away, he meets my eyes. Slowly, he's bending towards me.
Oh my God. This is it, this is really it. This is-'
'Jack.'
We both leap in shock, and I drop my cocktail on the ground. I turn round, and stare in utter
disbelief. Sven is standing at the gate of the tiny garden.
What the bloody fuck is Sven doing here?
'Great timing,' murmurs Jack. 'Hi, Sven.'
'But… but what's he doing here?' I stare at Jack. 'How did he know where we were?'
'He called while you were getting the pizza.' Jack sighs and rubs his face. 'I didn't know he'd
get here this quickly. Emma… something's come up. I need to have a quick word with him. I
promise it won't take long. OK?'
'OK,' I say with a little shrug. After all, what else can I say? But inside, my whole body is
pulsing in frustration, bordering on anger. Trying to keep calm, I reach for the cocktail shaker,
pour the remains of the pink cocktail into my cup and take a deep swig.
Jack and Sven are standing by the gate having an animated conversation in low voices. I take
a sip of cocktail and casually shift along the bench so I can hear better.
'… what to do from here…'
'… plan B… back up to Glasgow…'
'… urgent…'
I look up and find myself meeting Sven's eye. Quickly I look away again, pretending to be
studying the ground. Their voices descend even lower, and I can't hear a word. Then Jack
breaks off and comes towards me.
'Emma… I'm really sorry about this. But I'm going to have to go.'
'Go?' I stare at him in dismay. 'What, now?'
'I'm going to have to go away for a few days. I'm sorry.' He sits down beside me on the bench.
'But… it's pretty important.'
'Oh. Oh, right.'
'Sven's ordered a car for you to take you home.'
Great, I think savagely. Thanks a lot, Sven.
'That was really… thoughtful of him,' I say, and trace a pattern in the dirt with my shoe.
'Emma, I really have to go,' says Jack, seeing my face. 'But I'll see you when I get back, OK?
At the Corporate Family Day. And we'll… take it from there.'
'OK.' I try to smile. 'That would be great.'
'I had a good time tonight.'
'So did I,' I say, staring down at the bench. 'I had a really good time.'
'We'll have a good time again.' Gently he lifts my chin until I'm looking straight at him, 'I
promise, Emma.'
He leans forward and this time there's no hesitation. His mouth lands on mine, sweet and firm.
He's kissing me. Jack Harper is kissing me on a park bench.
His mouth is opening mine, his stubble is rough against my face. His arm creeps around me
and pulls me towards him, and my breath catches in my throat. I find myself reaching under
his jacket, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt, wanting to rip it off. Oh God, I want
this. I want more.
Suddenly he pulls away, and I feel as if I've been wrenched out of a dream.
'Emma, I have to go.'
My mouth is prickly wet. I can still feel his skin on mine. My entire body is throbbing. This
can't be the end. It can't.
'Don't go,' I hear myself saying thickly. 'Half an hour.'
What am I suggesting? That we do it under a bush?
Frankly, yes. Anywhere would do. I have never in my life been so desperate for a man.
'I don't want to go.' His dark eyes are almost opaque. 'But I have to.' He takes my hand, and I
cling onto his, trying to prolong contact for as long as possible.
'So… I'll… I'll see you.' I can barely talk properly.
'I can't wait.'
'Neither can I.'
'Jack.' We both look up to see Sven at the gate.
'OK,' calls Jack. We stand up and I discreetly look away from Jack's slightly strange posture.
I could ride along in the car and-
No. No. Rewind. I did not think that.
When we reach the road, I see two silver cars waiting by the pavement. Sven is standing by
one, and the other is obviously for me. Bloody hell. I feel like I've suddenly become part of
the royal family or something.
As the driver opens the door for me, Jack touches my hand briefly. I want to grab him for a
final snog, but somehow I manage to control myself.
'Bye,' he murmurs.
'Bye,' I murmur back.
Then I get into the car, the door closes with an expensive clunk, and we purr away.
SIXTEEN
We'll take it from there. That could mean…
Or it could mean…
Oh God. Every time I think about it, my stomach gives an excited little fizz. I can't
concentrate at work. I can't think about anything else.
The Corporate Family Day is a company event, I keep reminding myself. Not a date. It'll be a
strictly work occasion, and there probably won't be any opportunity at all for Jack and me to
do more than say hello in a formal, boss-employee manner. Possibly shake hands. Nothing
more.
But… you never know what might happen next.
We'll take it from there.
Oh God. Oh God.
On Saturday morning I get up extra early, exfoliate all over, Immac under my arms, rub in my
most expensive body cream and paint my toenails.
Just because it's always a good thing to be well groomed. No other reason.
I choose my Gossard lacy bra and matching knickers, and my most flattering bias cut summer
dress.
Then, with a slight blush, I pop some condoms into my bag. Simply because it's always good
to be prepared. This is a lesson I learned when I was eleven years old at Brownies, and it's
always stayed with me. OK, maybe Brown Owl was talking about spare hankies and sewing
kits rather than condoms, but the principle is the same, surely?
I look in the mirror, give my lips a final coat of gloss and spray Allure all over me. OK.
Ready for sex.
I mean, for Jack.
I mean… Oh God. Whatever.
The family day is happening at Panther House, which is the Panther Corporation's country
house in Hertfordshire. They use it for training and conferences and creative brainstorming
days, none of which I ever get invited to. So I've never been here before, and as I get out of
the taxi, I have to admit I'm pretty impressed. It's a really nice big old mansion, with lots of
windows and pillars at the front. Probably dating from the… older period.
'Fabulous Georgian architecture,' says someone as they crunch past on the gravel drive.
Georgian. That's what I meant.
I follow the sounds of music and walk round the house to find the event in full swing on the
vast lawn. Brightly coloured bunting is festooning the back of the house, tents are dotting the
grass, a band is playing on a little bandstand and children are shrieking on a bouncy castle.
'Emma!' I look up to see Cyril advancing towards me, dressed as a joker with a red and yellow
pointy hat. 'Where's your costume?'
'Costume!' I try to look surprised. 'Gosh! Um… I didn't realize we had to have one.'
This is not entirely true. Yesterday evening at about five o'clock, Cyril sent round an urgent
email to everyone in the company, reading: A REMINDER: AT THE CFD, COSTUMES ARE
But honestly. How are you supposed to produce a costume with five minutes' warning? And
no way was I going to come here today in some hideous nylon outfit from the party shop.
Plus let's face it, what can they do about it now?
'Sorry,' I say vaguely, looking around for Jack. 'Still, never mind…'
'You people! It was on the memo, it was in the newsletter…' He takes hold of my shoulder as
I try to walk away. 'Well, you'll have to take one of the spare ones.'
'What?' I look at him blankly. 'What spare ones?'
'I had a feeling this might happen,' says Cyril with a slight note of triumph, 'so I made
advance provisions.'
A cold feeling starts to creep over me. He can't mean-
He can't possibly mean-
'We've got plenty to choose from,' he's saying.
No. No way. I have to escape. Now.
I give a desperate wriggle, but his hand is like a clamp on my shoulder. He chivvies me into a
tent, where two middle-aged ladies are standing beside a rack of… oh my God. The most
revolting, lurid man-made-fibre costumes I've ever seen. Worse than the party shop. Where
did he get these from?
'No,' I say in panic. 'Really. I'd rather stay as I am.'
'Everybody has to wear a costume,' says Cyril firmly. 'It was in the memo!'
'But… but this is a costume!' I quickly gesture to my dress. 'I forgot to say. It's um… a
twenties summer garden-party costume, very authentic…'
'Emma, this is a fun day,' snaps Cyril. 'And part of that fun derives from seeing our fellow
employees and family in amusing outfits. Which reminds me, where is your family?'
'Oh.' I pull the regretful face I've been practising all week. 'They… actually, they couldn't
make it.'
Which could be because I didn't tell them anything about it.
'You did tell them about it?' He eyes me suspiciously. 'You sent them the leaflet?'
'Yes!' I cross my fingers behind my back. 'Of course I told them. They would have loved to be
here!'
'Well. You'll have to mingle with other families and colleagues. Here we are. Snow White.'
He shoves a horrendous nylon dress with puffy sleeves towards me.
'I don't want to be Snow White-' I begin, then break off as I see Moira from Accounts
miserably being pushed into a big shaggy gorilla costume. 'OK.' I grab the dress. 'I'll be Snow
White.'
I almost want to cry. My beautiful flattering dress is lying in a calico bag, ready for collection
at the end of the day. And I am wearing an outfit which makes me look like a six-year-old. A
six-year-old with zero taste and colour-blindness.
As I emerge disconsolately from the tent, the band is briskly playing the 'Oom-pa-pa' song
from Oliver, and someone is making an incomprehensible, crackly announcement over the
loudspeaker. I look around, squinting against the sun, trying to work out who everyone is
behind their disguises. I spot Paul walking along on the grass, dressed as a pirate, with three
small children hanging off his legs.
'Uncle Paul! Uncle Paul!' one is shrieking. 'Do your scary face again!'
'I want a lolly!' yells another. 'Uncle Paul, I want a lolleeee!'
'Hi, Paul,' I say miserably. 'Are you having a good time?'
'Whoever invented Corporate Family Days should be shot,' he says without a flicker of
humour. 'Get the hell off my foot!' he snaps at one of the children, and they all shriek with
delighted laughter.
'Mummy, I don't need to spend a penny,' mutters Artemis, as she walks by dressed as a
mermaid, in the company of a commanding woman in a huge hat.
'Artemis, there's no need to be so touchy!' booms the woman.
This is so weird. People with their families are completely different. Thank God mine aren't
here.
I wonder where Jack is. Maybe he's in the house. Maybe I should-
'Emma!' I look up, and see Katie heading towards me. She's dressed in a totally bizarre carrot
costume, holding the arm of an elderly man with grey hair. Who must be her father, I suppose.
Which is a bit weird, because I thought she said she was coming with-
'Emma, this is Phillip!' she says radiantly. 'Phillip, meet my friend Emma. She's the one who
brought us together!'
Wh— what?
No. I don't believe it.
This is her new man? This is Phillip? But he has to be at least seventy!
In a total blur, I shake his hand, which is dry and papery, just like Grandpa's, and manage to
make a bit of small talk about the weather. But all the time, I'm in total shock.
Don't get me wrong. I am not ageist. I am not anything-ist. I think people are all the same,
whether they're black or white, male or female, young or-
But he's an old man! He's old!
'Isn't he lovely?' says Katie fondly, as he goes off to get some drinks. 'He's so thoughtful.
Nothing's too much trouble. I've never been out with a man like him before!'
'I can believe that,' I say, my voice a little strangled. 'What exactly is the age gap between you
two?'
'I'm not sure,' says Katie in surprise. 'I've never asked. Why?'
Her face is shiny and happy and totally oblivious. Has she not noticed how old he is?
'No reason!' I clear my throat. 'So… er… remind me. Where exactly did you meet Phillip
again?'
'You know, silly!' says Katie, mock-chidingly. 'You suggested I should try somewhere
different for lunch, remember? Well, I found this really unusual place, tucked away in a little
street. In fact, I really recommend it.'
'Is it… a restaurant? A cafe?'
'Not exactly,' she says thoughtfully. 'I've never been anywhere like it before. You go in and
someone gives you a tray, and you collect your lunch and then eat it, sitting at all these tables.
And it only costs two pounds! And afterwards they have free entertainment! Like sometimes
it's bingo or whist… sometimes it's a singsong round the piano. One time they had this
brilliant tea dance! I've made loads of new friends.'
I stare at her for a few silent seconds.
'Katie,' I say at last. 'This place. It couldn't possibly be — a day care centre for the elderly?'
'Oh!' she says, looking taken aback. 'Erm…'
'Try and think. Is everyone who goes there on the… old side?'
'Gosh,' she says slowly, and screws up her brow. 'Now you mention it, I suppose everyone is
kind of quite… mature. But honestly Emma, you should come along.' Her face brightens. 'We
have a real laugh!'
'You're still going there?' I stare at her.
'I go every day,' she says in surprise. I'm on the social committee.'
'Hello again!' says Phillip cheerily, reappearing with three glasses. He beams at Katie and
gives her a kiss on the cheek, and she beams back. And suddenly I feel quite heart-warmed.
OK, it's weird. But they do seem to make a really sweet couple.
'The man behind the stall seemed rather stressed out, poor chap,' says Phillip, as I take my
first delicious sip of Pimm's, closing my eyes to savour it.
Mmm. There is absolutely nothing nicer on a summer's day than a nice cold glass of-
Hang on a minute. My eyes open. Pimm's.
Shit. I promised to do the Pimm's stall with Connor, didn't I? I glance at my watch and realize
I'm already ten minutes late. Oh, bloody hell. No wonder he's stressed out.
I hastily apologize to Phillip and Katie, then hurry as fast as I can to the stall, which is in the
corner of the garden. There I find Connor manfully coping with a huge queue all on his own.
He's dressed as Henry VIII, with puffy sleeves and breeches, and has a huge red beard stuck
to his face. He must be absolutely boiling.
'Sorry,' I mutter, sliding in beside him. 'I had to get into my costume. What do I have to do?'
'Pour out glasses of Pimm's,' says Connor curtly. 'One pound fifty each. Do you think you can
manage?'
'Yes!' I say, a bit nettled. 'Of course I can manage!'
For the next few minutes we're too busy serving Pimm's to talk. Then the queue melts away,
and we're left on our own again.
Connor isn't even looking at me, and he's clanking glasses around so ferociously I'm afraid he
might break one. Why is he in such a bad mood?
'Connor, look, I'm sorry I'm late.'
'That's all right,' he says stiffly, and starts chopping a bundle of mint as though he wants to
kill it. 'So, did you have a nice time the other evening?'
That's what this is all about.
'Yes, I did, thanks,' I say after a pause.
'With your new mystery man.'
'Yes,' I say, and surreptitiously scan the crowded lawn, searching for Jack.
'It's someone at work, isn't it?' Connor suddenly says, and my stomach gives a small plunge.
'Why do you say that?' I say lightly.
'That's why you won't tell me who it is.'
'It's not that! It's just… look, Connor, can't you just respect my privacy?'
'I think I have a right to know who I've been dumped for.' He shoots me a reproachful look.
'No you don't!' I retort, then realize that sounds a bit mean. 'I just don't think it's very helpful
to discuss it.'
'Well, I'll work it out.' His jaw sets grimly. 'It won't take me long.'
'Connor, please. I really don't think-'
'Emma, I'm not stupid.' He gives me an appraising look. 'I know you a lot better than you
think I do.'
I feel a flicker of uncertainty. Maybe I've und,erestimated Connor all this time. Maybe he
does know me. Oh God. What if he guesses?
I start to slice up a lemon, constantly scanning the crowd. Where is Jack, anyway?
'I've got it,' says Connor suddenly, and I look up to see him staring at me triumphantly. 'It's
Paul, isn't it?'
'What?' I gape back at him, wanting to laugh. 'No, it's not Paul! Why on earth should you
think it was Paul?'
'You keep looking at him.' He gestures to where Paul is standing nearby, moodily swigging a
bottle of beer. 'Every two minutes!'
'I'm not looking at him,' I say hurriedly. 'I'm just looking at… I'm just taking in the
atmosphere.'
'So why is he hanging around here?'
'He's not! Honestly, Connor, take it from me, I'm not going out with Paul.'
'You think I'm a fool, don't you?' says Connor with a flash of anger.
'I don't think you're a fool! I just… I think this is a pointless exercise. You're never going
to-'
'Is it Nick?' His eyes narrow. 'You and he have always had a bit of a spark going.'
'No!' I say impatiently. 'It's not Nick.'
Honestly. Clandestine affairs are hard enough as it is, without your ex-boyfriend subjecting
you to the third degree. I should never have agreed to do this stupid Pimm's stall.
'Oh my God,' Connor says in a lowered voice. 'Look.'
I look up, and my stomach gives an enormous lurch. Jack is walking over the grass towards us,
dressed as a cowboy, with leather chaps and a checked shirt and a proper cowboy hat.
He looks so completely and utterly sexy, I feel quite faint.
'He's coming this way!' hisses Connor. 'Quick! Tidy up that lemon peel. Hello, sir,' he says in
a louder voice. 'Would you like a glass of Pimm's?'
'Thank you very much, Connor,' says Jack with a smile. Then he looks at me. 'Hello, Emma.
Enjoying the day?'
'Hello,' I say, my voice about six notches higher than usual. 'Yes, it's… lovely!' With
trembling hands I pour out a glass of Pimm's and give it to him.
'Emma! You forgot the mint!' says Connor.
'It doesn't matter about the mint,' says Jack, his eyes fixed on mine.
'You can have some mint if you want it,' I say, gazing back.
'It looks fine just the way it is.' His eyes give a tiny flash, and he takes a deep gulp of Pimm's.
This is so unreal. We can't keep our eyes off each other. Surely it's completely obvious to
everyone else what's going on? Surely Connor must realize? Quickly I look away and pretend
to be busying myself with the ice.
'So, Emma,' says Jack casually. 'Just to talk work briefly. That extra typing assignment I asked
you about. The Leopold file.'
'Er yes?' I say, flusteredly dropping an ice-cube onto the counter.
'Perhaps we could have a quick word about it before I go?' He meets my eyes. 'I have a suite
of rooms up at the house.'
'Right,' I say, my heart pounding. 'OK.'
'Say… one o'clock?'
'One o'clock it is.'
He saunters off, holding his glass of Pimm's, and I stand staring after him, dripping an icecube
onto the grass.
A suite of rooms. That can only mean one thing.
Jack and I are going to have sex.
And suddenly, with no warning, I feel really, really nervous.
'I've been so stupid!' exclaims Connor, abruptly putting down his knife. 'I've been so blind.'
He turns to face me, his eyes burning blue. 'Emma, I know who your new man is.'
I feel a huge spasm of fear.
'No you don't,' I say quickly. 'Connor, you don't know who it is. Actually, it's not anyone from
work. I just made that up. It's this guy who lives over in west London, you've never met him,
his name is… um… Gary, he works as a postman.'
'Don't lie to me! I know exactly who it is.' He folds his arms and gives me a long, penetrating
look. 'It's Tristan from Design, isn't it?'
As soon as our stint on the stall is up, I escape from Connor and go and sit under a tree with a
glass of Pimm's, glancing at my watch every two minutes. I can't quite believe how nervous I
am about this. Maybe Jack knows loads of tricks. Maybe he'll expect me to be really
sophisticated. Maybe he'll expect all kinds of amazing manoeuvres that I've never even heard
of.
I mean… I don't think I'm bad at sex.
You know. Generally speaking. All things considered.
But what sort of standard are we talking about here? I feel like I've been competing in tiny
little local shows and suddenly I'm taking on the Olympics. Jack Harper is an international
multimillionaire. He must have dated models and… and gymnasts… women with enormous
perky breasts… kinky stuff involving muscles I don't even think I possess.
How am I ever going to match up? How? I'm starting to feel sick. This was a bad, bad idea.
I'm never going to be as good as the president of Origin Software, am I? I can just imagine her,
with her long legs and $400 underwear and honed, tanned body… maybe a whip in her hand
… maybe her bisexual glamour model friend at the ready to spice things up…
OK, just stop. This is getting ridiculous. I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll be fine. It'll be like doing a
ballet exam — once you get into it, you forget to be nervous. My old ballet teacher always used
to say to us, 'As long as you keep your legs nicely turned out and a smile on your face, you'll
do splendidly.'
Which I guess kind of applies here, too.
I glance at my watch and feel a fresh spasm of fright. It's one o'clock. On the dot.
Time to go and have sex. I stand up, and do a few surreptitious limbering-up exercises, just in
case. Then I take a deep breath and, with a thumping heart, begin to walk towards the house.
I've just reached the edge of the lawn when a shrill voice hits my ears.
'There she is! Emma! Cooee!'
That sounded just like my mum. Weird. I stop briefly, and turn round, but I can't see anyone.
It must be a hallucination. It must be subconscious guilt trying to throw me, or something.
'Emma, turn round! Over here!'
Hang on. That sounded like Kerry.
I peer bewilderedly at the crowded scene, my eyes squinting in the sunshine. I can't see
anything. I'm looking all around, but I can't see-
And then suddenly, like a Magic Eye, they spring into view. Kerry, Nev, and my mum and
dad. Walking towards me. All in costume. Mum is wearing a Japanese kimono and holding a
picnic basket. Dad is dressed as Robin Hood and holding two fold-up chairs. Nev is in a
Superman costume and holding a bottle of wine. And Kerry is wearing an entire Marilyn
Monroe outfit, including platinum blond wig and high-heeled shoes, and complacently
soaking up the stares.
What's going on?
What are they doing here?
I didn't tell them about the Corporate Family Day. I know I didn't. I'm positive I didn't.
'Hi, Emma!' says Kerry as she gets near. 'Like the outfit?' She gives a little shimmy and pats
her blond wig.
'Who are you supposed to be, darling?' says Mum, looking in puzzlement at my nylon dress.
'Is it Heidi?'
'I…' I rub my face. 'Mum… What are you doing here? I never — I mean, I forgot to tell you.'
'I know you did,' says Kerry. 'But your friend Artemis told me all about it the other day, when
I phoned.'
I stare at her, unable to speak.
I will kill Artemis. I will murder her.
'So what time's the fancy dress contest?' says Kerry, winking at two teenage boys who are
gawping at her. 'We haven't missed it, have we?'
'There… there isn't a contest,' I say, finding my voice.
'Really?' Kerry looks put out.
I don't believe her. This is why she's come here, isn't it? To win a stupid competition.
'You came all this way just for a fancy dress contest?' I can't resist saying.
'Of course not!' Kerry quickly regains her usual scornful expression. 'Nev and I are taking
your mum and dad to Hanwood Manor. It's near here. So we thought we'd drop in.'
I feel a sparkle of relief. Thank God. We can have a little chat, then they can be on their way.
'We've brought a picnic,' says Mum. 'Now, let's find a nice spot.'
'Do you think you've got time for a picnic?' I say, trying to sound casual. 'You might get
caught in traffic. In fact, maybe you should head off now, just to be on the safe side…'
'The table's not booked until seven!' says Kerry, giving me an odd look. 'How about under that
tree?'
I watch dumbly as Mum shakes out a plaid picnic rug, and Dad sets up the two chairs. I
cannot sit down and have a family picnic when Jack is waiting to have sex with me. I have to
do something, quick. Think.
'Um, the thing is,' I say in sudden inspiration, 'the thing is, actually, I won't be able to stay.
We've all got duties to do.'
'Don't tell me they can't give you half an hour off,' says Dad.
'Emma's the linchpin of the whole organization!' says Kerry with a sarky giggle. 'Can't you
tell?'
'Emma!' Cyril is approaching the picnic rug. 'Your family came after all! And in costume.
Jolly good!' He beams around, his joker's hat tinkling in the breeze. 'Now make sure you all
buy a raffle ticket…'
'Oh, we will,' says Mum. 'And we were wondering…' She smiles at him. 'Could Emma
possibly have some time off her duties to have a picnic with us?'
'Absolutely!' says Cyril. 'You've done your stint on the Pimm's stall, haven't you, Emma? You
can relax now.'
'Lovely!' says Mum. 'Isn't that good news, Emma?'
'That's great!' I manage at last with a fixed smile.
I have no choice. I have no way out of this. With stiff knees I sink down onto the rug and
Or it could mean…
Oh God. Every time I think about it, my stomach gives an excited little fizz. I can't
concentrate at work. I can't think about anything else.
The Corporate Family Day is a company event, I keep reminding myself. Not a date. It'll be a
strictly work occasion, and there probably won't be any opportunity at all for Jack and me to
do more than say hello in a formal, boss-employee manner. Possibly shake hands. Nothing
more.
But… you never know what might happen next.
We'll take it from there.
Oh God. Oh God.
On Saturday morning I get up extra early, exfoliate all over, Immac under my arms, rub in my
most expensive body cream and paint my toenails.
Just because it's always a good thing to be well groomed. No other reason.
I choose my Gossard lacy bra and matching knickers, and my most flattering bias cut summer
dress.
Then, with a slight blush, I pop some condoms into my bag. Simply because it's always good
to be prepared. This is a lesson I learned when I was eleven years old at Brownies, and it's
always stayed with me. OK, maybe Brown Owl was talking about spare hankies and sewing
kits rather than condoms, but the principle is the same, surely?
I look in the mirror, give my lips a final coat of gloss and spray Allure all over me. OK.
Ready for sex.
I mean, for Jack.
I mean… Oh God. Whatever.
The family day is happening at Panther House, which is the Panther Corporation's country
house in Hertfordshire. They use it for training and conferences and creative brainstorming
days, none of which I ever get invited to. So I've never been here before, and as I get out of
the taxi, I have to admit I'm pretty impressed. It's a really nice big old mansion, with lots of
windows and pillars at the front. Probably dating from the… older period.
'Fabulous Georgian architecture,' says someone as they crunch past on the gravel drive.
Georgian. That's what I meant.
I follow the sounds of music and walk round the house to find the event in full swing on the
vast lawn. Brightly coloured bunting is festooning the back of the house, tents are dotting the
grass, a band is playing on a little bandstand and children are shrieking on a bouncy castle.
'Emma!' I look up to see Cyril advancing towards me, dressed as a joker with a red and yellow
pointy hat. 'Where's your costume?'
'Costume!' I try to look surprised. 'Gosh! Um… I didn't realize we had to have one.'
This is not entirely true. Yesterday evening at about five o'clock, Cyril sent round an urgent
email to everyone in the company, reading: A REMINDER: AT THE CFD, COSTUMES ARE
COMPULSORY FOR ALL PANTHER EMPLOYEES.
But honestly. How are you supposed to produce a costume with five minutes' warning? And
no way was I going to come here today in some hideous nylon outfit from the party shop.
Plus let's face it, what can they do about it now?
'Sorry,' I say vaguely, looking around for Jack. 'Still, never mind…'
'You people! It was on the memo, it was in the newsletter…' He takes hold of my shoulder as
I try to walk away. 'Well, you'll have to take one of the spare ones.'
'What?' I look at him blankly. 'What spare ones?'
'I had a feeling this might happen,' says Cyril with a slight note of triumph, 'so I made
advance provisions.'
A cold feeling starts to creep over me. He can't mean-
He can't possibly mean-
'We've got plenty to choose from,' he's saying.
No. No way. I have to escape. Now.
I give a desperate wriggle, but his hand is like a clamp on my shoulder. He chivvies me into a
tent, where two middle-aged ladies are standing beside a rack of… oh my God. The most
revolting, lurid man-made-fibre costumes I've ever seen. Worse than the party shop. Where
did he get these from?
'No,' I say in panic. 'Really. I'd rather stay as I am.'
'Everybody has to wear a costume,' says Cyril firmly. 'It was in the memo!'
'But… but this is a costume!' I quickly gesture to my dress. 'I forgot to say. It's um… a
twenties summer garden-party costume, very authentic…'
'Emma, this is a fun day,' snaps Cyril. 'And part of that fun derives from seeing our fellow
employees and family in amusing outfits. Which reminds me, where is your family?'
'Oh.' I pull the regretful face I've been practising all week. 'They… actually, they couldn't
make it.'
Which could be because I didn't tell them anything about it.
'You did tell them about it?' He eyes me suspiciously. 'You sent them the leaflet?'
'Yes!' I cross my fingers behind my back. 'Of course I told them. They would have loved to be
here!'
'Well. You'll have to mingle with other families and colleagues. Here we are. Snow White.'
He shoves a horrendous nylon dress with puffy sleeves towards me.
'I don't want to be Snow White-' I begin, then break off as I see Moira from Accounts
miserably being pushed into a big shaggy gorilla costume. 'OK.' I grab the dress. 'I'll be Snow
White.'
I almost want to cry. My beautiful flattering dress is lying in a calico bag, ready for collection
at the end of the day. And I am wearing an outfit which makes me look like a six-year-old. A
six-year-old with zero taste and colour-blindness.
As I emerge disconsolately from the tent, the band is briskly playing the 'Oom-pa-pa' song
from Oliver, and someone is making an incomprehensible, crackly announcement over the
loudspeaker. I look around, squinting against the sun, trying to work out who everyone is
behind their disguises. I spot Paul walking along on the grass, dressed as a pirate, with three
small children hanging off his legs.
'Uncle Paul! Uncle Paul!' one is shrieking. 'Do your scary face again!'
'I want a lolly!' yells another. 'Uncle Paul, I want a lolleeee!'
'Hi, Paul,' I say miserably. 'Are you having a good time?'
'Whoever invented Corporate Family Days should be shot,' he says without a flicker of
humour. 'Get the hell off my foot!' he snaps at one of the children, and they all shriek with
delighted laughter.
'Mummy, I don't need to spend a penny,' mutters Artemis, as she walks by dressed as a
mermaid, in the company of a commanding woman in a huge hat.
'Artemis, there's no need to be so touchy!' booms the woman.
This is so weird. People with their families are completely different. Thank God mine aren't
here.
I wonder where Jack is. Maybe he's in the house. Maybe I should-
'Emma!' I look up, and see Katie heading towards me. She's dressed in a totally bizarre carrot
costume, holding the arm of an elderly man with grey hair. Who must be her father, I suppose.
Which is a bit weird, because I thought she said she was coming with-
'Emma, this is Phillip!' she says radiantly. 'Phillip, meet my friend Emma. She's the one who
brought us together!'
Wh— what?
No. I don't believe it.
This is her new man? This is Phillip? But he has to be at least seventy!
In a total blur, I shake his hand, which is dry and papery, just like Grandpa's, and manage to
make a bit of small talk about the weather. But all the time, I'm in total shock.
Don't get me wrong. I am not ageist. I am not anything-ist. I think people are all the same,
whether they're black or white, male or female, young or-
But he's an old man! He's old!
'Isn't he lovely?' says Katie fondly, as he goes off to get some drinks. 'He's so thoughtful.
Nothing's too much trouble. I've never been out with a man like him before!'
'I can believe that,' I say, my voice a little strangled. 'What exactly is the age gap between you
two?'
'I'm not sure,' says Katie in surprise. 'I've never asked. Why?'
Her face is shiny and happy and totally oblivious. Has she not noticed how old he is?
'No reason!' I clear my throat. 'So… er… remind me. Where exactly did you meet Phillip
again?'
'You know, silly!' says Katie, mock-chidingly. 'You suggested I should try somewhere
different for lunch, remember? Well, I found this really unusual place, tucked away in a little
street. In fact, I really recommend it.'
'Is it… a restaurant? A cafe?'
'Not exactly,' she says thoughtfully. 'I've never been anywhere like it before. You go in and
someone gives you a tray, and you collect your lunch and then eat it, sitting at all these tables.
And it only costs two pounds! And afterwards they have free entertainment! Like sometimes
it's bingo or whist… sometimes it's a singsong round the piano. One time they had this
brilliant tea dance! I've made loads of new friends.'
I stare at her for a few silent seconds.
'Katie,' I say at last. 'This place. It couldn't possibly be — a day care centre for the elderly?'
'Oh!' she says, looking taken aback. 'Erm…'
'Try and think. Is everyone who goes there on the… old side?'
'Gosh,' she says slowly, and screws up her brow. 'Now you mention it, I suppose everyone is
kind of quite… mature. But honestly Emma, you should come along.' Her face brightens. 'We
have a real laugh!'
'You're still going there?' I stare at her.
'I go every day,' she says in surprise. I'm on the social committee.'
'Hello again!' says Phillip cheerily, reappearing with three glasses. He beams at Katie and
gives her a kiss on the cheek, and she beams back. And suddenly I feel quite heart-warmed.
OK, it's weird. But they do seem to make a really sweet couple.
'The man behind the stall seemed rather stressed out, poor chap,' says Phillip, as I take my
first delicious sip of Pimm's, closing my eyes to savour it.
Mmm. There is absolutely nothing nicer on a summer's day than a nice cold glass of-
Hang on a minute. My eyes open. Pimm's.
Shit. I promised to do the Pimm's stall with Connor, didn't I? I glance at my watch and realize
I'm already ten minutes late. Oh, bloody hell. No wonder he's stressed out.
I hastily apologize to Phillip and Katie, then hurry as fast as I can to the stall, which is in the
corner of the garden. There I find Connor manfully coping with a huge queue all on his own.
He's dressed as Henry VIII, with puffy sleeves and breeches, and has a huge red beard stuck
to his face. He must be absolutely boiling.
'Sorry,' I mutter, sliding in beside him. 'I had to get into my costume. What do I have to do?'
'Pour out glasses of Pimm's,' says Connor curtly. 'One pound fifty each. Do you think you can
manage?'
'Yes!' I say, a bit nettled. 'Of course I can manage!'
For the next few minutes we're too busy serving Pimm's to talk. Then the queue melts away,
and we're left on our own again.
Connor isn't even looking at me, and he's clanking glasses around so ferociously I'm afraid he
might break one. Why is he in such a bad mood?
'Connor, look, I'm sorry I'm late.'
'That's all right,' he says stiffly, and starts chopping a bundle of mint as though he wants to
kill it. 'So, did you have a nice time the other evening?'
That's what this is all about.
'Yes, I did, thanks,' I say after a pause.
'With your new mystery man.'
'Yes,' I say, and surreptitiously scan the crowded lawn, searching for Jack.
'It's someone at work, isn't it?' Connor suddenly says, and my stomach gives a small plunge.
'Why do you say that?' I say lightly.
'That's why you won't tell me who it is.'
'It's not that! It's just… look, Connor, can't you just respect my privacy?'
'I think I have a right to know who I've been dumped for.' He shoots me a reproachful look.
'No you don't!' I retort, then realize that sounds a bit mean. 'I just don't think it's very helpful
to discuss it.'
'Well, I'll work it out.' His jaw sets grimly. 'It won't take me long.'
'Connor, please. I really don't think-'
'Emma, I'm not stupid.' He gives me an appraising look. 'I know you a lot better than you
think I do.'
I feel a flicker of uncertainty. Maybe I've und,erestimated Connor all this time. Maybe he
does know me. Oh God. What if he guesses?
I start to slice up a lemon, constantly scanning the crowd. Where is Jack, anyway?
'I've got it,' says Connor suddenly, and I look up to see him staring at me triumphantly. 'It's
Paul, isn't it?'
'What?' I gape back at him, wanting to laugh. 'No, it's not Paul! Why on earth should you
think it was Paul?'
'You keep looking at him.' He gestures to where Paul is standing nearby, moodily swigging a
bottle of beer. 'Every two minutes!'
'I'm not looking at him,' I say hurriedly. 'I'm just looking at… I'm just taking in the
atmosphere.'
'So why is he hanging around here?'
'He's not! Honestly, Connor, take it from me, I'm not going out with Paul.'
'You think I'm a fool, don't you?' says Connor with a flash of anger.
'I don't think you're a fool! I just… I think this is a pointless exercise. You're never going
to-'
'Is it Nick?' His eyes narrow. 'You and he have always had a bit of a spark going.'
'No!' I say impatiently. 'It's not Nick.'
Honestly. Clandestine affairs are hard enough as it is, without your ex-boyfriend subjecting
you to the third degree. I should never have agreed to do this stupid Pimm's stall.
'Oh my God,' Connor says in a lowered voice. 'Look.'
I look up, and my stomach gives an enormous lurch. Jack is walking over the grass towards us,
dressed as a cowboy, with leather chaps and a checked shirt and a proper cowboy hat.
He looks so completely and utterly sexy, I feel quite faint.
'He's coming this way!' hisses Connor. 'Quick! Tidy up that lemon peel. Hello, sir,' he says in
a louder voice. 'Would you like a glass of Pimm's?'
'Thank you very much, Connor,' says Jack with a smile. Then he looks at me. 'Hello, Emma.
Enjoying the day?'
'Hello,' I say, my voice about six notches higher than usual. 'Yes, it's… lovely!' With
trembling hands I pour out a glass of Pimm's and give it to him.
'Emma! You forgot the mint!' says Connor.
'It doesn't matter about the mint,' says Jack, his eyes fixed on mine.
'You can have some mint if you want it,' I say, gazing back.
'It looks fine just the way it is.' His eyes give a tiny flash, and he takes a deep gulp of Pimm's.
This is so unreal. We can't keep our eyes off each other. Surely it's completely obvious to
everyone else what's going on? Surely Connor must realize? Quickly I look away and pretend
to be busying myself with the ice.
'So, Emma,' says Jack casually. 'Just to talk work briefly. That extra typing assignment I asked
you about. The Leopold file.'
'Er yes?' I say, flusteredly dropping an ice-cube onto the counter.
'Perhaps we could have a quick word about it before I go?' He meets my eyes. 'I have a suite
of rooms up at the house.'
'Right,' I say, my heart pounding. 'OK.'
'Say… one o'clock?'
'One o'clock it is.'
He saunters off, holding his glass of Pimm's, and I stand staring after him, dripping an icecube
onto the grass.
A suite of rooms. That can only mean one thing.
Jack and I are going to have sex.
And suddenly, with no warning, I feel really, really nervous.
'I've been so stupid!' exclaims Connor, abruptly putting down his knife. 'I've been so blind.'
He turns to face me, his eyes burning blue. 'Emma, I know who your new man is.'
I feel a huge spasm of fear.
'No you don't,' I say quickly. 'Connor, you don't know who it is. Actually, it's not anyone from
work. I just made that up. It's this guy who lives over in west London, you've never met him,
his name is… um… Gary, he works as a postman.'
'Don't lie to me! I know exactly who it is.' He folds his arms and gives me a long, penetrating
look. 'It's Tristan from Design, isn't it?'
* * *
As soon as our stint on the stall is up, I escape from Connor and go and sit under a tree with a
glass of Pimm's, glancing at my watch every two minutes. I can't quite believe how nervous I
am about this. Maybe Jack knows loads of tricks. Maybe he'll expect me to be really
sophisticated. Maybe he'll expect all kinds of amazing manoeuvres that I've never even heard
of.
I mean… I don't think I'm bad at sex.
You know. Generally speaking. All things considered.
But what sort of standard are we talking about here? I feel like I've been competing in tiny
little local shows and suddenly I'm taking on the Olympics. Jack Harper is an international
multimillionaire. He must have dated models and… and gymnasts… women with enormous
perky breasts… kinky stuff involving muscles I don't even think I possess.
How am I ever going to match up? How? I'm starting to feel sick. This was a bad, bad idea.
I'm never going to be as good as the president of Origin Software, am I? I can just imagine her,
with her long legs and $400 underwear and honed, tanned body… maybe a whip in her hand
… maybe her bisexual glamour model friend at the ready to spice things up…
OK, just stop. This is getting ridiculous. I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll be fine. It'll be like doing a
ballet exam — once you get into it, you forget to be nervous. My old ballet teacher always used
to say to us, 'As long as you keep your legs nicely turned out and a smile on your face, you'll
do splendidly.'
Which I guess kind of applies here, too.
I glance at my watch and feel a fresh spasm of fright. It's one o'clock. On the dot.
Time to go and have sex. I stand up, and do a few surreptitious limbering-up exercises, just in
case. Then I take a deep breath and, with a thumping heart, begin to walk towards the house.
I've just reached the edge of the lawn when a shrill voice hits my ears.
'There she is! Emma! Cooee!'
That sounded just like my mum. Weird. I stop briefly, and turn round, but I can't see anyone.
It must be a hallucination. It must be subconscious guilt trying to throw me, or something.
'Emma, turn round! Over here!'
Hang on. That sounded like Kerry.
I peer bewilderedly at the crowded scene, my eyes squinting in the sunshine. I can't see
anything. I'm looking all around, but I can't see-
And then suddenly, like a Magic Eye, they spring into view. Kerry, Nev, and my mum and
dad. Walking towards me. All in costume. Mum is wearing a Japanese kimono and holding a
picnic basket. Dad is dressed as Robin Hood and holding two fold-up chairs. Nev is in a
Superman costume and holding a bottle of wine. And Kerry is wearing an entire Marilyn
Monroe outfit, including platinum blond wig and high-heeled shoes, and complacently
soaking up the stares.
What's going on?
What are they doing here?
I didn't tell them about the Corporate Family Day. I know I didn't. I'm positive I didn't.
'Hi, Emma!' says Kerry as she gets near. 'Like the outfit?' She gives a little shimmy and pats
her blond wig.
'Who are you supposed to be, darling?' says Mum, looking in puzzlement at my nylon dress.
'Is it Heidi?'
'I…' I rub my face. 'Mum… What are you doing here? I never — I mean, I forgot to tell you.'
'I know you did,' says Kerry. 'But your friend Artemis told me all about it the other day, when
I phoned.'
I stare at her, unable to speak.
I will kill Artemis. I will murder her.
'So what time's the fancy dress contest?' says Kerry, winking at two teenage boys who are
gawping at her. 'We haven't missed it, have we?'
'There… there isn't a contest,' I say, finding my voice.
'Really?' Kerry looks put out.
I don't believe her. This is why she's come here, isn't it? To win a stupid competition.
'You came all this way just for a fancy dress contest?' I can't resist saying.
'Of course not!' Kerry quickly regains her usual scornful expression. 'Nev and I are taking
your mum and dad to Hanwood Manor. It's near here. So we thought we'd drop in.'
I feel a sparkle of relief. Thank God. We can have a little chat, then they can be on their way.
'We've brought a picnic,' says Mum. 'Now, let's find a nice spot.'
'Do you think you've got time for a picnic?' I say, trying to sound casual. 'You might get
caught in traffic. In fact, maybe you should head off now, just to be on the safe side…'
'The table's not booked until seven!' says Kerry, giving me an odd look. 'How about under that
tree?'
I watch dumbly as Mum shakes out a plaid picnic rug, and Dad sets up the two chairs. I
cannot sit down and have a family picnic when Jack is waiting to have sex with me. I have to
do something, quick. Think.
'Um, the thing is,' I say in sudden inspiration, 'the thing is, actually, I won't be able to stay.
We've all got duties to do.'
'Don't tell me they can't give you half an hour off,' says Dad.
'Emma's the linchpin of the whole organization!' says Kerry with a sarky giggle. 'Can't you
tell?'
'Emma!' Cyril is approaching the picnic rug. 'Your family came after all! And in costume.
Jolly good!' He beams around, his joker's hat tinkling in the breeze. 'Now make sure you all
buy a raffle ticket…'
'Oh, we will,' says Mum. 'And we were wondering…' She smiles at him. 'Could Emma
possibly have some time off her duties to have a picnic with us?'
'Absolutely!' says Cyril. 'You've done your stint on the Pimm's stall, haven't you, Emma? You
can relax now.'
'Lovely!' says Mum. 'Isn't that good news, Emma?'
'That's great!' I manage at last with a fixed smile.
I have no choice. I have no way out of this. With stiff knees I sink down onto the rug and