I come out of the kitchen, listen intently for a moment, then tiptoe back toward the front door.
Start again. I’m walking into the flat for the first time. “Hi, Lissy!” I call in a self-conscious voice. “Gosh! I wonder where she is. Maybe I’ll, um, try her bedroom!”
I walk down the corridor, attempting a natural stride, arrive at her door, and knock softly.
There’s no response from inside. The thumping noises have stopped.
As I face the painted wood I feel a sudden apprehension.
Am I really going to do this?
Yes, I am. I just have to know.
I grasp the handle, open the door—and give a scream of terror.
The image is so startling, I can’t make sense of it. Lissy’s naked on the floor. They’re both naked. She and the guy are kind of tangled together in the strangest position I’ve ever, ever … her legs are up in the air, and his are twisted around her, and they’re both scarlet in the face and panting.
“I’m sorry!” I stutter. “God, I’m sorry!”
“Emma, wait!” I hear Lissy shout as I scuttle away to my room, slam the door, and fall onto my bed.
My heart is pounding. I almost feel sick. I’ve never been so shocked in my entire life. I should never have opened that door.
She was telling the truth! They were having sex! But I mean, what kind of weird, contorted sex was that? Bloody hell. I never realized. I never—
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and scream again.
“Emma, calm down!” says Lissy. “It’s me! Jean-Paul’s leaving …”
I can’t look up. I can’t meet her eye. “Lissy, I’m sorry,” I gabble. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. I should never have … Your sex life is your own affair …”
“Emma, we weren’t having sex, you dope!”
“You were! I saw you! You didn’t have any clothes on—”
“We did have clothes on! Emma, look at me!”
“No!” I say in panic. “I don’t want to look at you!”
“Look at me!”
Apprehensively, I raise my head, and gradually my eyes focus on Lissy standing in front of me.
Oh. Oh … right. She’s wearing a flesh-colored leotard.
“Well, what were you doing, if you weren’t having sex?” I say almost accusingly. “And why are you wearing that?”
“We were dancing,” says Lissy, looking embarrassed.
“What?” I am utterly bewildered.
“We were dancing, OK? That’s what we were doing!”
“Dancing? But … why were you dancing?”
This makes no sense at all. Lissy and a French guy called Jean-Paul, dancing in her bedroom? I feel like I’ve landed in the middle of some weird dream.
“I’ve joined this group,” says Lissy after a pause.
“Oh, my God. Not a cult—”
“No, not a cult! It’s just …” She bites her lip. “It’s some lawyers who’ve gotten together and formed a … a dance group.”
A dance group?
For a few moments I can’t quite speak. Now that my shock’s died down, I have this horrible feeling that I might possibly be about to laugh. “You’ve joined a group of … dancing lawyers.”
“Yes.” Lissy nods, looking abashed. “I just … you know, I love the law. I love my job. But I’ve had this unfulfilled feeling for a while, like something was missing, like I wanted to express my creativity in some way.”
An image has popped into my head of a bunch of portly barristers dancing around in their wigs and suddenly—I can’t help it—I give a snort of laughter.
“You see!” cries Lissy. “That’s why I didn’t tell you! I knew you’d laugh!”
“I’m sorry!” I say. “I’m sorry! I’m not laughing. I think it’s really great!” Another hysterical giggle bursts from me. “It’s just … I don’t know. Somehow the idea of dancing lawyers …”
“We’re not all lawyers,” she says defensively. “There are a couple of merchant bankers, too, and a judge … Emma, stop laughing!”
“I’m sorry! Lissy, I’m not laughing at you—honestly!” I take a deep breath and try to clamp my lips together. But all I can see is merchant bankers dressed in tutus, clutching their briefcases, dancing to Swan Lake. A judge leaping across the stage, robes flying.
“It’s not funny!” Lissy’s saying. “It’s just a few like-minded professionals who want to express themselves through dance! What’s wrong with that?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes and trying to regain control of myself. “Nothing’s wrong with it. I think it’s brilliant. So, are you having a show or anything?”
“It’s a week from Friday. That’s why we’ve been doing extra practices—”
“Really?” I stare at her, my laughter melting away. “Weren’t you going to tell me?”
“I … I hadn’t decided,” she says, scuffing her dancing shoe on the floor. “I was embarrassed.”
“Don’t be embarrassed!” I say in dismay. “Lissy, I’m sorry I laughed. I think it’s brilliant. And I’m going to come and watch! I’ll sit right in the front row.”
“Not the front row. You’ll put me off.”
“I’ll sit in the middle, then. Or at the back. Wherever you want me.” I give her a curious look. “Lissy, I never knew you could dance.”
“Oh, I can’t,” she says at once. “I’m crap. It’s just a bit of fun. D’you want a coffee?”
As I follow Lissy into the kitchen, she gives me a raised-eyebrow look. “So, you’ve got a bit of a nerve, accusing me of having sex. Where were you last night?”
“With Jack,” I admit with a dreamy smile. “Having sex. All night.”
“I knew it!”
“Oh, God, Lissy. I’m completely in love with him.”
“In love?” She flicks on the kettle. “Emma, are you sure? You’ve only known him about five minutes.”
“That doesn’t matter! We’re already complete soul mates! There’s no need to pretend with him … or try to be something I’m not … And the sex is amazing … He’s everything I never had with Connor. Everything. And he’s interested in me. You know, he asks me questions all the time, and he seems really genuinely fascinated by the answers!”
I spread my arms with a blissful smile. “You know, Lissy, all my life I had this feeling that something wonderful was about to happen to me. I always just … knew it, deep down inside. And now it has.”
“So, where is he now?” says Lissy, shaking coffee into the filter.
“He’s going away for a bit. He’s going to brainstorm some new concept with a creative team.”
“What?”
“I dunno. He didn’t say. It’ll be really intense and he probably won’t be able to phone me. But he’s going to e-mail every day,” I add happily.
“Biscuit?” says Lissy, opening the tin.
“Oh, er, yes. Thanks.” I take a digestive and give it a thoughtful nibble. “You know, I’ve got this whole new theory about relationships, and it’s so simple. Everyone in the world should be more honest with each other. Everyone should share! Men and women should share, families should share, world leaders should share!”
“Hmm.” Lissy looks at me silently for a few moments. “Emma, did Jack ever tell you why he had to go rushing off in the middle of the night that time?”
“Er, no,” I say in surprise. “But … it’s his business.”
“Did he ever tell you what all those phone calls were about on your first date?”
“Well … no.”
“Has he told anything about himself other than the bare minimum?”
“He’s told me plenty!” I say, feeling defensive. “Lissy, what’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” she says mildly. “I’m just wondering … is it you who are doing all the sharing?”
“What?”
“Is he sharing himself with you?” She pours hot water onto the coffee. “Or are you just sharing yourself wi
th him?”
“We share with each other!” I say, looking away and fiddling with a fridge magnet. “Like … like he told me all about his business partner, and his company.”
“What about himself? As a person?”
“Yes!”
Which is true, I tell myself. Jack’s shared loads about himself with me. I mean, he’s told me …
He’s told me all about …
Well, anyway. He probably just hasn’t been in the mood for talking very much. Is that a crime?
“Have some coffee,” says Lissy, handing me a mug.
“Thanks.” I know I sound grudging, and Lissy sighs.
“Emma, I’m not trying to spoil things. He does seem really lovely—”
“He is! Honestly, Lissy, you don’t know what he’s like. He’s so romantic. Do you know what he said this morning? He said the minute I started talking on that plane, he was gripped.”
“Really?” Lissy gazes at me. “He said that? That is pretty romantic.”
“I told you!” I can’t help beaming at her. “Lissy, he’s perfect!”
Nineteen
For the next week or so, nothing can pierce my happiness. Nothing. I waft into work every day on a cloud, sit all day smiling at my computer terminal, then waft home again. Paul’s sarcastic comments bounce off me like bubbles. I don’t even notice when Artemis introduces me to a visiting advertising team as her personal assistant. They can all say what they like. Because what they don’t know is that when I’m smiling at my computer, it’s because Jack has just sent me another funny little e-mail. What they don’t know is that the guy who employs them all is in love with me. Me. Emma Corrigan. The junior.
“Well, of course, I had several in-depth conversations with Jack Harper on the subject,” I can hear Artemis saying on the phone as I tidy up the proofs cupboard. “Yup. And he felt—as I do—that the concept really needed to be refocused.”
Bullshit! She never had any in-depth conversations with Jack Harper. I’m almost tempted to e-mail him straightaway and tell him how she’s using his name in vain.
Except that would be a bit mean.
And besides, she’s not the only one. Everyone is dropping Jack Harper into their conversations, left, right, and center. It’s like, now that he’s gone, everyone’s suddenly pretending they were his best friend and he thought their idea was perfect.
Except me. I’m just keeping my head down and not mentioning his name at all.
Partly because I know that if I do, I’ll blush bright red or give some huge, goofy smile or something. Partly because I have a horrible feeling that once I start talking about Jack, I won’t be able to stop. But mainly because no one ever brings the subject up with me. After all, what would I know about Jack Harper? I’m only the crappy assistant.
The only thing clouding my life at the moment is that Gloria still hasn’t been replaced, and I’m still doing all her extra tasks, as well as trying to come up with copy for a new series of pamphlets for a tie-in with Endwich Bank. I made a real effort with them—but when I showed Paul my initial ideas, he was more interested in whether I’d ordered a fruit basket for his stupid mother’s birthday.
Actually, his mother isn’t stupid. I think she has a Ph.D. But still, it’s not my job to send her a basket full of pineapples, papaya, and star fruit.
Who eats star fruit, anyway?
“Hey!” says Nick, suddenly looking up from his phone. “Jack Harper’s going to be on television!”
There’s an interested frisson around the office, and I attempt to look as surprised as everyone else. Jack mentioned he was going to be doing a TV interview. I didn’t know it was going to be screened today, though.
“Is a TV crew coming to the office or anything?” says Artemis, smoothing down her hair.
“Dunno—”
“OK, folks,” says Paul, coming out of his office. “Jack Harper has done an interview on Business Watch, and it’s being broadcast at twelve. A television is being set up in the conference room; anyone who would like to can go along and watch there. But we need one person to stay behind and man the phones.” His gaze falls on me.
“What?”
“You can stay and man the phones,” says Paul. “OK?”
I knew it. I’m turning into the bloody departmental secretary.
“No! I mean … I want to watch!” I say in dismay. “Can’t someone else stay behind? Artemis, can’t you stay?”
“I’m not staying!” says Artemis at once. “Honestly, Emma, don’t be so selfish. It won’t be at all interesting for you.”
“Yes, it will!”
“No, it won’t.” She rolls her eyes.
“It will! He’s … he’s my boss, too!”
“Yes, well,” says Artemis with a sarcastic smirk, “I think there’s a slight difference. You’ve barely even spoken to Jack Harper!”
“I have!” I say before I can stop myself. “I have! I—” I break off, my cheeks turning pink. “I … once went to a meeting he was at.”
“And served him a cup of tea?” Artemis meets Nick’s eyes with a little smirk.
I’m furious. Blood is pounding through my ears. I wish just once I could think of something really scathing and clever to put Artemis down.
“Enough, Artemis,” says Paul. “Emma, you’re the most junior. You’re staying here, and that’s settled.”
By five to twelve the office is completely empty. Apart from me, a fly, and a whirring fax machine. Disconsolately I reach into my desk drawer and take out an Aero. And a Flake for good measure. I’m just unwrapping the Aero and taking a big bite when the phone rings.
“OK,” comes Lissy’s voice down the line. “I’ve set the video.”
“Thanks, Liss,” I say through a mouthful of chocolate. “You’re a star.”
“I can’t believe you’re not allowed to watch!”
“I know. It’s completely unfair.” I slump deeper in my chair and take another bite of Aero.
“Well, never mind. We’ll watch it again tonight. Jemima’s going to put the video on in her room, too, so we should definitely catch it.”
“What’s Jemima doing at home?” I say in surprise.
“She’s taken a sickie so she can do a home spa day. Oh, and your dad rang,” she adds cautiously.
“Really?” I feel a flicker of apprehension. “What did he say?”
“He wondered if you were ill, as you haven’t called him back.”
“Oh.” I twist the telephone cord, feeling guilty.
I haven’t talked to Mum or Dad since the debacle at the corporate family day. I just can’t bring myself to. It was all too painful and embarrassing, and for all I know, they’ve completely taken Kerry’s side.
So when Dad rang here on the following Monday, I said I was really busy and I’d call him back … and I never did. And the same thing at home.
I know I’ll have to talk to them sometime. But not now. Not while I’m so happy.
“He’d seen the trailer for the interview,” says Lissy. “He recognized Jack and just wondered if you knew about it. And he said …” She pauses. “He really wanted to talk to you about a few things.”
“Oh.” I gaze at my notepad, where I’ve doodled a huge spiral over a telephone number I was supposed to be keeping.
“Anyway, he and your mum are going to be watching it,” says Lissy. “And your grandpa.”
Great. Just great. The entire world is watching Jack on television. The entire world except me.
When I’ve put the phone down, I go and get myself an orange juice and a coffee from the new machine, which actually does make a very nice café au lait. I come back and look around the quiet office, then go and pour the orange juice into Artemis’s spider plant. And some photocopier toner for good measure.
Then I feel a bit mean. It’s not the plant’s fault, after all.
“Sorry,” I say out loud, and touch one of its leaves. “It’s just your owner is a real cow. But then, you probably knew that.”
“Talking to your mystery man?” comes a sarcastic voice from behind me, and I turn around to see Connor standing in the doorway.
“Connor!” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on my way to watch the TV interview. But I just wanted a quick word.” He takes a few steps into the office and fixes me with an accusing frown. “So. You lied to me.”
Oh, shit. Has Connor guessed? Did he see something at the corporate family day?
“Er, what do you mean?” I say nervously.
“I’ve just had a little chat with Tristan from Design!” Connor’s voice swells with indignation. “He’s gay! You’re not going out with him at all, are you?”
He cannot be serious. Connor didn’t seriously think I was going out with Tristan from Design, did he? I mean, Tristan could not look more gay if he wore leopard skin hot pants and walked around humming Barbra Streisand hits.
“No,” I say, managing to keep a straight face. “I’m not going out with Tristan.”
“Well!” says Connor, nodding as though he’s scored a hundred points and doesn’t quite know what to do with them. “Well. I just don’t see why you feel it necessary to lie to me. That’s all. I just would have thought we could be a little honest with each other.”
“Connor … it’s just … It’s complicated. OK? And anyway, I didn’t lie to you—”
“Fine. Whatever.” He gives me his most wounded-martyr look and starts walking away.
“Wait!” I say suddenly. “Hang on a minute! Connor, could you do me a real favor?” I wait until he turns, then pull a wheedling face. “Could you possibly man the phones here while I quickly go and watch Jack Harper’s interview?”
I know Connor isn’t my number one fan at the moment. But I don’t exactly have a lot of choice.
“Could I do what?” says Connor, obviously astonished at such a request.
“Could you man the phones! Just for half an hour. I’d be so incredibly grateful.”
“I can’t believe you’re even asking me that!” says Connor, incredulous. “You know how important Jack Harper is to me! Emma, I really don’t know what you’ve turned into.”