Can You Keep a Secret? (29 page)

'Look, Jemima, can I just … I'm sorry … I have to go,' I say feebly, and put the phone down.

No more phones. Get bag. Go.

As I zip up my bag with trembling hands, a couple of people who have followed me into the office are picking up some of the ringing phones.

'Emma, your grandad's on the line,' says Artemis, putting her hand over the receiver. 'Something about the night bus and he'll never trust you again?'

'You have a call from Harvey's Bristol Cream publicity department,' chimes in Caroline. 'They want to know where they can send you a free case of sweet sherry?'

'How did they get my name? How? Has the word spread already? Are the women on reception
telling
everybody?'

'Emma, I have your dad here,' says Nick. 'He says he needs to talk to you urgently …'

'I can't,' I say numbly. 'I can't talk to anybody. I have to … I have to …'

I grab my jacket and almost run out of the office and down the corridor to the stairs. Everywhere, people are making their way back to their offices after watching the interview, and they all stare at me as I hurry by.

'Emma!' As I'm nearing the stairs, a woman named Fiona, whom I barely know, grabs me by the arm. She weighs about 300 pounds and is always campaigning for bigger chairs and wider doorways. 'Never be ashamed of your body. Rejoice in it! The earth mother has given it to you! If you want to come to our workshop on Saturday …'

I tear my arm away in horror, and start clattering down the marble stairs. But as I reach the next floor, someone else grabs my arm.

'Hey, can you tell me which charity shops you go to?' It's a girl I don't even recognize. 'Because you always look really well dressed to me …'

'I adore Barbie dolls too!' Carol Finch from Accounts is suddenly in my path. 'Shall we start a club together, Emma?'

'I … I really have to go.'

I back away, then start running down the stairs. But people keep accosting me from all directions.

'I didn't realize I was a lesbian till I was thirty-three …'

'A lot of people are confused about religion. This is a leaflet about our Bible study group …'

'Leave me alone!' I yell in anguish. 'Everyone just leave me alone!'

I sprint for the entrance, the voices following me, echoing on the marble floor. As I'm frantically pushing against the heavy glass doors, Dave the security guard saunters up, and stares right at my breasts.

'They look all right to me, love,' he says encouragingly.

I finally get the door open, run outside and down the road, not looking right or left. At last I come to a halt, sink down on a bench and bury my head in my hands.

My body is still reverberating with shock.

I can barely form a coherent thought.

I have never been so completely and utterly embarrassed in all my life.

TWENTY

'Are you OK? Emma?'

I've been sitting on the bench for about five minutes, staring down at the pavement, my mind a whirl of confusion. Now there's a voice in my ear, above the everyday street sounds of people walking by and buses grinding and cars hooting. It's a man's voice. I open my eyes, blink in the sunlight and stare dazedly at a pair of green eyes that seem familiar.

Then suddenly I realize. It's Aidan from the smoothie bar.

'Is everything all right?' he's saying. 'Are you OK?'

For a few moments I can't quite reply. All my emotions have been scattered on the floor like a dropped tea tray, and I'm not sure which one to pick up first.

'I think that would have to be a no,' I say at last. 'I'm not OK. I'm not OK at all.'

'Oh.' He looks alarmed. 'Well … is there anything I can—'

'Would you be OK if all your secrets had been revealed on television by a man you trusted?' I say shakily. 'Would you be OK if you'd just been mortified in front of all your friends and colleagues and family?'

There's a bemused silence.

'
Would you
?'

'Er … probably not?' he hazards hurriedly.

'Exactly! I mean, how would you feel if someone revealed in public that you … you wore women's underwear?'

He turns pale with shock.

'I don't wear women's underwear!'

'I know you don't wear women's underwear!' I expostulate. 'Or rather, I don't
know
that you don't, but just assuming for a moment that you did. How would you like it if someone just
told
everyone in a so-called business interview on television?'

Aidan stares at me, as though his mind is suddenly putting two and two together.

'Wait a moment. That interview with Jack Harper. Is that what you're talking about? We had it on in the smoothie bar.'

'Oh great!' I throw my hands in the air. 'Just great! Because you know, it would be a shame if anyone in the entire universe had missed it.'

'So, that's
you
? Who reads fifteen horoscopes a day and lies about her …' He breaks off at my expression. 'Sorry. Sorry. You must be feeling very hurt.'

'Yes. I am. I'm feeling hurt. And angry. And embarrassed.'

And I'm confused, I add silently. I'm so confused and shocked and bewildered I feel as though I can barely keep my balance on this bench. In the space of a few minutes, my entire world has turned upside down.

I thought Jack loved me. I thought he—

I thought he and I—

A searing pain suddenly hits me, and I bury my head in my hands.

'So, how did he know so much about you?' Aidan's saying tentatively. 'Are you and he … an item?'

'We met on a plane.' I look up, trying to keep control of myself. 'And … I spent the entire journey telling him everything about myself. And then we went on a few dates, and I thought …' My voice is starting to jump about. 'I honestly thought it might be … you know.' I feel my cheeks flame crimson. 'The real thing. But the truth is, he was never interested in me, was he? Not really. He just wanted to find out what an ordinary girl-on-the-street was like. For his stupid target market. For his stupid new women's line.'

As the realization hits me properly for the first time, a tear rolls down my cheek, swiftly followed by another one.

Jack used me.

That's why he asked me out to dinner. That's why he was so fascinated by me. That's why he found everything I said so interesting. That's why he was gripped.

It wasn't love. It was business.

Suddenly, without meaning to, I give a sob.

'I'm sorry,' I gulp. 'I'm sorry. I just … it's just been such a shock.'

'Don't worry,' says Aidan sympathetically. 'It's a completely natural reaction.' He shakes his head. 'I don't know much about big business, but it seems to me these guys don't get to the top without trampling over a few people on the way. They'd have to be pretty ruthless to be so successful.' He pauses, watching as I try, only half successfully, to stop my tears. 'Emma, can I offer a word of advice?'

'What?' I look up, wiping my eyes.

'Take it out in your kick-boxing. Use the aggression.
Use
the hurt.'

I stare at him in disbelief. Was he not
listening
?

'Aidan, I don't
do
kick-boxing!' I hear myself crying shrilly. 'I don't kick-box, OK? I never have!'

'You don't?' He looks confused. 'But you said—'

'I was lying!'

There's a short pause.

'Right,' says Aidan at last. 'Well … no worries! You could go for something with lower impact. T'ai Chi, maybe …' He gazes at me uncertainly. 'Listen, do you want a drink? Something to calm you down? I could make you a mango-banana blend with camomile flowers, throw in some soothing nutmeg.'

'No thanks.' I blow my nose, take a deep breath, then reach for my bag. 'I think I'll go home, actually.'

'Will you be OK?'

'I'll be fine.' I force a smile. 'I'm fine.'

But of course that's a lie too. I'm not fine at all. As I sit on the tube going home, tears pour down my face, one by one, landing in big wet drips on my skirt. People are staring at me, but I don't care. Why should I care? I've already suffered the worst embarrassment possible; a few extra people gawping is neither here nor there.

I feel so stupid. So
stupid
.

Of course we weren't soulmates. Of course he wasn't genuinely interested in me. Of course he never loved me.

A fresh pain rushes through me and I scrabble for a tissue.

'Don't worry, darling!' says a large lady sitting to my left, wearing a voluminous print dress covered with pineapples. 'He's not worth it! Now you just go home, wash your face, have a nice cup of tea …'

'How do you know she's crying over a man?' chimes in a woman in a dark suit aggressively. 'That is such a cliched, counter-feminist perspective. She could be crying over anything! A piece of music, a line of poetry, world famine, the political situation in the Middle East.' She looks at me expectantly.

'Actually, I was crying over a man,' I admit.

The tube stops, and the woman in the dark suit rolls her eyes at us and gets out. The pineapple lady rolls her eyes back.

'World famine!' she says scornfully, and I can't help giving a half-giggle. 'Now, don't you worry, love.' She gives me a comforting pat on the shoulder as I dab at my eyes. 'Have a nice cup of tea, and a few nice chocolate digestives, and have a nice chat with your mum. You've still got your mum, haven't you?'

'Actually, we're not really speaking at the moment,' I confess.

'Well then, your dad?'

Tacitly, I shake my head.

'Well … how about your best friend? You must have a best friend!' The pineapple lady gives me a comforting smile.

'Yes, I have got a best friend,' I gulp. 'But she's just been informed on national television that I've been having secret lesbian fantasies about her.'

The pineapple lady stares at me silently for a few moments.

'Have a nice cup of tea,' she says at last, with less conviction. 'And … good luck, dear.'

I make my way slowly back from the tube station to our street. As I reach the corner I stop, blow my nose, and take a few deep breaths. The pain in my chest has receded slightly, and in its place I'm feeling thumping, jumping nerves.

How am I going to face Lissy after what Jack said on television? How?

I've known Lissy a long time. And I've had plenty of embarrassing moments in front of her. But none of them comes anywhere near this.

This is worse than the time when I threw up in her parents' bathroom. This is worse than the time she saw me kissing my reflection in the mirror and saying 'ooh, baby' in a sexy voice. This is even worse than the time she caught me writing a Valentine to our maths teacher, Mr Blake.

I am hoping against hope that she might have suddenly decided to go out for the day or something. But as I open the front door of the flat, there she is, coming out of the kitchen into the hall. And as she looks at me, I can already see it in her face. She's completely freaked out.

So that's it. Not only has Jack betrayed me. He's ruined my best friendship, too. Things will never be the same between me and Lissy again. It's just like
When Harry Met Sally
. Sex has got in the way of our relationship, and now we can't be friends any more because we want to sleep together.

No. Scratch that. We don't want to sleep together. We want to – No, the point is we
don't
want to—

Anyway. Whatever. It's not good.

'Oh!' she says, staring at the floor. 'Gosh! Um … hi, Emma!'

'Hi!' I reply in a strangled voice. 'I thought I'd come home. The office was just too … too awful …'

I tail off, and there's the most excruciating, prickling silence for a few moments.

'So … I guess you saw it,' I say at last.

'Yes, I saw it,' says Lissy, still staring at the floor, 'And I …' She clears her throat. 'I just wanted to say that … that if you want me to move out, then I will.'

A lump comes to my throat. I knew it. After twenty-one years, our friendship is over. One tiny secret comes out – and that's the end of everything.

'It's OK,' I say, trying not to burst into tears. 'I'll move out.'

'No!' says Lissy awkwardly. '
I'll
move out. This isn't your fault, Emma. It's been me who's been … leading you on.'

'What?' I stare at her. 'Lissy, you haven't been leading me on!'

'Yes I have.' She looks stricken. 'I feel terrible. I just never realized you had … those kind of feelings.'

'I don't!'

'But I can see it all now! I've been walking around half-dressed, no wonder you were frustrated!'

'I wasn't frustrated,' I say quickly. 'Lissy, I'm not a lesbian.'

'Bisexual, then. Or "multi-oriented". Whatever term you want to use.'

'I'm not bisexual, either! Or multi-whatever it was.'

'Emma, please!' Lissy grabs my hand. 'Don't be ashamed of your sexuality. And I promise, I'll support you a hundred per cent, whatever choice you decide to make—'

'Lissy, I'm not bisexual!' I cry. 'I don't need support! I just had one dream, OK? It wasn't a fantasy, it was just a weird dream, which I didn't intend to have, and it doesn't mean I'm a lesbian, and it doesn't mean I fancy you, and it doesn't mean anything.'

'Oh.' There's silence. Lissy looks taken aback. 'Oh, right. I thought it was a … a … you know.' She clears her throat. 'That you wanted to …'

'No! I just had a dream. Just one, stupid dream.'

'Oh. Right.'

There's a long pause, during which Lissy looks intently at her fingernails, and I study the buckle of my watch.

'So, did we actually …' says Lissy at last.

Oh God.

'Kind of,' I admit.

'And … was I any good?'

'What?' I gape at her.

'In the dream.' She looks straight at me, her cheeks bright pink. 'Was I any good?'

'Lissy …' I say, pulling an agonized face.

'I was crap, wasn't I? I was crap! I knew it.'

'No, of course you weren't crap!' I exclaim. 'You were … you were really …'

I cannot believe I'm seriously having a conversation about my best friend's sexual prowess as a dream lesbian.

'Look, can we just leave the subject? My day has been embarrassing enough already.'