Can You Keep a Secret? (39 page)

I can't help giving a giggle.

'That girl is unbelievable.'

I sink into a chair, feeling suddenly weak, and for a while there's silence. In the distance there's a roar of laughter from the party, and somebody walks past the door of the office, talking about the trouble with the judiciary system as it
stands
…

'Wouldn't he even listen?' says Lissy at last.

'No. He just left.'

'Isn't that a bit extreme? I mean, he gave away
all
your secrets. You only gave away one of his—'

'You don't understand,' I stare at the drab brown office carpet. 'What Jack told me, it's not just anything. It's something really precious to him. He came all the way here to tell me. To show me that he trusted me with it.' I swallow hard. 'And the next moment he finds me spilling it to a journalist.'

'But you weren't!' says Lissy loyally. 'Emma, this wasn't your fault!'

'It was!' Tears are welling up in my eyes. 'If I'd just kept my mouth closed, if I'd never told Jemima anything in the first place …'

'She would have got him anyway,' says Lissy. 'He'd be suing you for a scraped car instead. Or damaged genitals.'

I give a shaky laugh.

The door bursts open, and the feathered guy I saw backstage looks in. 'Lissy! There you are. They're serving food. It looks rather good, actually.'

'OK,' she says. 'Thanks, Colin. I'll be along in a minute.'

He leaves and Lissy turns to me.

'Do you want something to eat?'

'I'm not really hungry. But you go,' I add quickly. 'You must be starving after your performance.'

'I am rather ravenous,' she admits. Then she gives me an anxious look. 'But what will you do?'

'I'll … just go home,' I say, and try to smile as cheerfully as I can. 'Don't worry, Lissy, I'll be fine.'

And I am planning to go home. But when I get outside I find I can't bring myself to. I'm wound up with tension like a metal coil. I can't face going into the party and having to make small talk – but I can't face the four silent walls of my bedroom either. Not quite yet.

Instead, I head across the gravel, towards the empty auditorium. The door is unlocked and I walk straight in. I make my way through the darkness to a seat in the middle, and wearily sit down on the cushiony purple plush.

And as I stare at the silent blackness of the empty stage, two fat tears make their way out of my eyes and trickle slowly down my face. I cannot believe I've fucked up so monumentally. I can't believe Jack really thinks I … that he thinks I would …

I keep seeing the shock on his face. I keep reliving that trapped powerlessness, that desperation to speak; to explain myself.

If I could just replay it …

Suddenly there's a creaking sound. The door is slowly opening.

I peer uncertainly through the gloom as a figure comes into the auditorium and stops. In spite of myself, my heart starts to thud with unbearable hope.

It's Jack. It has to be Jack. He's come to find me.

There's a long, agonizing silence. I'm taut with apprehension. Why won't he say anything? Why won't he speak?

Is he punishing me? Is he expecting me to apologize again? Oh God, this is torture. Just say something, I plead silently. Just say
something
.

'Oh Francesca …'

'Connor …'

What? I peer again, more sharply, and feel a crash of disappointment. I am such a moron. It's not Jack. It's not one figure, it's two. It's Connor and what must be his new girlfriend – and they're snogging.

Miserably, I shrink right down in my seat, trying to block my ears. But it's no good, I can hear everything.

'Do you like this?' I hear Connor murmuring.

'Mmm …'

'Do you really like it?'

'Of course I do! Stop quizzing me!'

'Sorry,' says Connor, and there's silence, apart from the odd 'Mmmm'.

'Do you like
this
?' his voice suddenly comes again.

'I already told you I did.'

'Francesca, be honest, OK?' Connor's voice rises in agitation. 'Because if that means no, then—'

'It doesn't mean no! Connor, what's your problem?'

'My problem is, I don't believe you.'

'You don't
believe
me?' She sounds furious. 'Why the hell don't you believe me?'

Suddenly I'm filled with remorse. This is all my fault. Not only have I wrecked my own relationship, now I've wrecked theirs too. I have to do something. I have to try to build bridges.

I clear my throat. 'Er … excuse me?'

'Who the fuck's that?' says Francesca sharply. 'Is someone there?'

'It's me. Emma. Connor's ex-girlfriend.'

A row of lights goes on, and I see a girl with red hair staring at me belligerently, with her hand on the light switch.

'What the hell are you doing?
Spying
on us?'

'No!' I say. 'Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to … I couldn't help overhearing …' I swallow. 'The thing is, Connor isn't being difficult. He just wants you to be honest. He wants to know what you want.' I summon up my most understanding, womanly expression. 'Francesca … tell him what you want.'

Francesca stares at me incredulously, then looks at Connor.

'I want her to piss off.' She points at me.

'Oh,' I say, taken aback. 'Er, OK. Sorry.'

'And switch the lights off when you go,' adds Francesca, leading Connor up the aisle towards the back of the auditorium.

Are they going to have
sex
?

OK, I really do not want to be around for this.

Hastily I pick up my bag and hurry along the row of seats towards the exit. I push my way through the double doors into the foyer, flicking the light switch as I pass, then step out into the courtyard. I close the door behind me, and look up.

And then I freeze.

I don't believe it. It's Jack.

It's Jack, coming towards me, striding fast across the courtyard, determination on his face. I haven't got time to think, or prepare.

My heart really is racing. I want to speak or cry or … do
something
, but I can't.

He reaches me with a crunch of gravel, takes me by the shoulders, and gives me a long, intense look.

'I'm afraid of the dark.'

'What?' I falter.

'I'm afraid of the dark. Always have been. I keep a baseball bat under the bed, just in case.'

I stare at him in utter bewilderment.

'Jack—'

'I've never liked caviar.' He casts around. 'I … I'm embarrassed by my French accent.'

'Jack, what are you—'

'I got the scar on my wrist by cracking open a bottle of beer when I was fourteen. When I was a kid I used to stick gum under my Aunt Francine's dining table. I lost my virginity to a girl named Lisa Greenwood in her uncle's barn, and afterwards I asked if I could keep her bra to show my friends.'

I can't help giving a snuffle of laughter, but Jack carries on regardless, his gaze fixed on mine.

'I've never worn any of the ties my mother has given me for Christmas. I've always wanted to be an inch or two taller than I am. I … I don't know what co-dependent means. I have a recurring dream in which I'm Superman, falling from the sky. I sometimes sit in board meetings and look around and think "Who the hell
are
these guys?"'

He draws breath and gazes at me. His eyes are darker than I've ever seen them.

'I met a girl on a plane. And … my whole life changed as a result.'

Something hot is welling up inside me. My throat is tight, my whole head aching. I'm trying so hard not to cry, but my face is contorting all by itself.

'Jack,' I swallow desperately. 'I didn't … I really didn't …'

'I know,' he cuts me off with a nod. 'I know you didn't.'

'I would never—'

'I know you wouldn't,' he says gently. 'I know you wouldn't.'

And now I can't help it, tears start flooding out of my eyes in sheer relief. He knows. It's OK.

'So …' I wipe my face, trying to gain control of myself. 'So does this … does this mean … that we I can't bring myself to say the words.

There's a long, unbearable silence.

If he says no, I don't know what I'll do.

'Well, you might want to hold back on your decision,' says Jack at last, and gives me a deadpan look. 'Because I have a lot more to tell you. And it isn't all pretty.'

I give a shaky laugh.

'You don't have to tell me anything.'

'Oh, I do,' says Jack firmly. 'I think I do. Shall we walk?' He gestures to the courtyard. 'Because this could take some time.'

'OK,' I say, my voice still wobbling a bit. Jack holds out an arm, and after a pause, I take it.

'So … where was I?' he says, as we step down into the courtyard. 'Oh, OK. Now this you really
can't
tell anybody.' He leans close and lowers his voice. 'I don't actually like Panther Cola. I prefer Pepsi.'

'No!'I say, shocked.

'In fact, sometimes I decant Pepsi
into
a Panther can—'

'No!' I give a snort of laughter.

'It's true. I told you it wasn't pretty …'

Slowly we start to walk around the edge of the dark, empty courtyard together. The only sound is the crunching of our feet on the gravel, and the breeze in the trees and Jack's dry voice, talking. Telling me everything.

TWENTY-SEVEN

It's amazing what a different person I am these days. It's as if I've been transformed. I'm a new Emma. Far more open than I used to be. Far more honest. Because what I've really learned is, if you can't be honest with your friends and colleagues and loved ones, then what is life all about?

The only secrets I have nowadays are tiny little essential ones. And I hardly have any of those. I could probably count them on the fingers of one hand. I mean, just off the top of my head:

1. I'm really not sure about Mum's new highlights.

2. That Greek-style cake Lissy made for my birthday was the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted.

3. I borrowed Jemima's Ralph Lauren swimsuit to go on holiday with Mum and Dad, and I bust one of the straps.

4. The other day when I was navigating in the car, I nearly said 'What's this big river all round London?' Then I realized it was the M25.

5. I had this really weird dream last week, about Lissy and Sven.

6. I've secretly starting feeding Artemis's spider plant 'Rebuild' plant food.

7. I'm
sure
Sammy the goldfish has changed again. Where did that extra fin come from?

8. I know I have to stop giving out my 'Emma Corrigan, Marketing Executive' card to complete strangers, but I just can't help it.

9. I don't know what advanced pro-ceramides are. (I don't even know what backward pro-ceramides are.)

10. Last night, when Jack said 'What are you thinking about?' and I said 'Oh nothing …' that wasn't quite true. I was actually planning the names of all our children.

But the thing is, it's completely normal to have the odd little secret from your boyfriend. Everyone knows that.

THE END