Can You Keep a Secret? (15 page)

'It's my new hobby. Have you not heard of it? You listen to your friends leaving messages and laugh at them. Most amusing. Now Emma, I was meaning to ring you. I saw a very alarming piece on the news yesterday, about muggings in central London.'

Not this again.

'Grandpa—'

'Promise me you don't take London transport, Emma.'

'I er … promise,' I say, crossing my fingers. 'Grandpa, I have to go, really. But I'll call again soon. Love you.'

'Love you too, darling girl.'

As I put the phone down I feel a tiny glow of satisfaction. That's one thing done.

But what about Connor?

'I'll just have to go and fish it out of the archives,' Caroline is saying across the office, and my head pops up.

The archive room. Of course. Of course! No-one goes to the archive room unless they absolutely have to. It's way down in the basement, and it's all dark with no windows and loads of old books and magazines, and you end up grovelling on the floor to get what you want.

It's perfect.

'I'll go,' I say, trying to sound nonchalant. 'If you like. What do you have to find?'

'Would you?' says Caroline gratefully. 'Thanks, Emma. It's an old ad in some defunct magazine. This is the reference …' She hands me a piece of paper and I take it, feeling a thrill of excitement. As she walks away, I demurely pick up my phone and dial Connor's number.

'Hey Connor,' I say in a low, husky voice. 'Meet me in the archive room. I've got something I want to show you.'

'What?'

'Just … be there,' I say, feeling like Sharon Stone.

Ha! Office shag here I come!

I hurry down the corridor as quickly as I can, but as I pass Admin I'm accosted by Wendy Smith, who wants to know if I'd like to play in the netball team. So I don't actually get to the basement for a few minutes, and when I open the door, Connor is standing there, looking at his watch.

That's rather annoying. I'd planned to be waiting for him. I was going to be sitting on a pile of books which I would have quickly constructed, one leg crossed over the other and my skirt hitched up seductively.

Oh well.

'Hi,' I say, in the same husky voice.

'Hi,' says Connor, with a frown. 'Emma, what is this? I'm really busy this morning.'

'I just wanted to see you. A lot of you.' I push the door shut with an abandoned gesture and trail my finger down his chest, like an aftershave commercial. 'We never make love spontaneously any more.'

'What?' Connor stares at me.

'Come on.' I start unbuttoning his shirt with a sultry expression. 'Let's do it. Right here, right now.'

'Are you
crazy
?' says Connor, pushing my fingers out of the way and hastily rebuttoning his shirt. 'Emma, we're in the office!'

'So what? We're young, we're supposed to be in love …' I trail a hand even further down, and Connor's eyes widen.

'Stop!' he hisses. 'Stop right now! Emma, are you drunk or something?'

'I just want to have sex! Is that too much to ask?'

'Is it too much to ask that we do it in bed like normal people?'

'But we don't
do
it in bed! I mean, hardly ever!'

There's a sharp silence.

'Emma,' says Connor at last. 'This isn't the time or the place—'

'It is! It could be! This is how we get the spark back! Lissy said—'

'You discussed our sex life with Lissy?' Connor looks aghast.

'Obviously I didn't mention
us
,' I say, hastily backtracking. 'We were just talking about … about couples in general, and she said doing it at work can be … sexy! Come on, Connor!' I shimmy close to him and pull one of his hands inside my bra. 'Don't you find this exciting? Just the thought that someone could be walking down the corridor right now …' I come to a halt as I hear a sound.

I think someone
is
walking down the corridor right now.

Oh shit.

'I can hear footsteps!' Connor hisses, and pulls sharply away from me, but his hand stays exactly where it is, inside my bra. He stares at it in horror. 'I'm stuck! My bloody watch. It's snagged on your jumper!' He yanks at it. 'Fuck! I can't move my arm!'

'Pull it!'

'I
am
pulling it!' He looks frantically around. 'Where are some scissors?'

'You're not cutting my jumper,' I say in horror.

'Do you have any other suggestions?' He yanks sharply again, and I give a muffled shriek. 'Ow! Stop it! You'll ruin it!'

'Oh I'll ruin it. And that's our major concern, is it?'

'I've always hated that stupid watch! If you'd just worn the one I gave you—'

I break off. There are definitely footsteps approaching. They're nearly outside the door.

'Fuck!' Connor's looking around distractedly. 'Fucking … fucking …'

'Calm down! We'll just shuffle into the corner,' I hiss. 'Anyway, they might not even come in.'

'This was a great idea, Emma,' he mutters furiously, as we do a hasty, awkward shuffle across the room together. 'Really great.'

'Don't blame me!' I retort. 'I just wanted to get a bit of passion back into our—' I freeze as the door opens.

No. God, no.

I feel lightheaded with shock.

Jack Harper is standing in the doorway, holding a big bundle of old magazines.

Slowly, his eyes run over us, taking in Connor's angry expression, his hand inside my bra, my agonized face.

'Mr Harper,' Connor begins to stutter. 'I'm so very, very sorry. We're … we didn't …' He clears his throat. 'Can I just say how mortified I am … we both are …'

'I'm sure you are,' says Jack. His face is blank and unreadable; his voice as dry as ever. 'Perhaps the pair of you could adjust your dress before returning to your desks?'

The door closes behind him, and we stand motionless, like waxworks.

'Look, can you just get your bloody hand out of my top?' I say at last, suddenly feeling irritated beyond belief with Connor. All my desire for sex has vanished. I feel completely livid with myself. And Connor. And everybody.

TEN

Jack Harper leaves today.

Thank God. Thank God. Because I really couldn't cope with any more of … of
him
. If I can just keep my head down and avoid him until five o'clock and then run out of the door, then everything will be fine. Life will be back to normal and I will stop feeling as if my radar's been skewed by some invisible magnetic force.

I don't know why I'm in such a jumpy, irritable mood. Because although I nearly died of embarrassment yesterday, things are pretty good. First of all, it doesn't look like' Connor and I are going to get the sack for having sex at work, which was my immediate fear. And secondly, my brilliant plan worked. As soon as we got back to our desks, Connor started sending me apologetic emails. And then last night we had sex. Twice. With scented candles.

I think Connor must have read somewhere that girls like scented candles during sex. Maybe in
Cosmo
. Because every time he brings them out, he gives me this 'aren't I considerate?' look, and I have to say 'Oh! Scented candles! How lovely!'

I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't
mind
scented candles. But it's not as if they actually do anything, is it? They just stand there and burn. And then at crucial moments I find myself thinking 'I hope the scented candle doesn't fall over', which is a bit distracting.

Anyway. So we had sex.

And tonight we're going to look at a flat together. It doesn't have a wooden floor or shutters – but it has a Jacuzzi in the bathroom, which is pretty cool. So my life is coming together nicely. I don't know why I'm feeling so pissed off. I don't know what's—

I don't want to move in with Connor
, says a tiny voice in my brain before I can stop it.

No. That can't be right. That cannot possibly be right. Connor is perfect. Everyone knows that.

But I don't want to
—

Shut up. We're the Perfect Couple. We have sex with scented candles. And we go for walks by the river. And we read the papers on Sundays with cups of coffee in pyjamas. That's what perfect couples do.

But
—

Stop it!

I swallow hard. Connor is the one good thing in my life. If I didn't have Connor, what would I have?

The phone rings on my desk, interrupting my thoughts, and I pick it up.

'Hello, Emma?' comes a familiar dry voice. 'This is Jack Harper.'

My heart gives an almighty leap of fright and I nearly spill my coffee. I haven't seen him since the hand-in-bra incident. And I really don't want to.

I should never have answered my phone.

In fact, I should never have come into work today.

'Oh,' I say.'Er … hi!'

'Would you mind coming up to my office for a moment?'

'What … me?' I say nervously.

'Yes, you.'

I clear my throat.

'Should I … bring anything?'

'No, just yourself.'

He rings off, and I stare at my phone for a few moments, feeling a coldness in my spine. I should have known it was too good to be true. He's going to fire me after all. Gross … negligence … negligent grossness.

I mean, it is pretty gross, getting caught with your boyfriend's hand in your top at work.

OK. Well, there's nothing I can do.

I take a deep breath, stand up and make my way up to the eleventh floor. There's a desk outside his door, but no secretary is sitting there, so I go straight up to the door and knock.

'Come in.'

Cautiously I push the door open. The room is huge and bright and panelled, and Jack is sitting at a circular table with six people gathered round on chairs. Six people I've never seen before, I suddenly realize. They're all holding pieces of paper and sipping water, and the atmosphere is a bit tense.

Have they gathered to watch me being fired? Is this some kind of how-to-fire-people training?

'Hello,' I say, trying to keep as composed as possible. But my face is hot and I know I look flustered.

'Hi.' Jack's face crinkles in a smile. 'Emma … relax. There's nothing to worry about. I just wanted to ask you something.'

'Oh, right,' I say, taken aback.

OK, now I'm totally confused. What on earth could he have to ask me?

Jack reaches for a piece of paper and holds it up so I can see it clearly. 'What do you think this is a picture of?' he says.

Oh fucketty fuck.

This is your worst nightmare. This is like when I went for that interview at Laines Bank and they showed me a squiggle and I said I thought it looked like a squiggle.

Everyone is staring at me. I so want to get it right. If only I knew what right was.

I stare at the picture, my heart beating quickly. It's a graphic of two round objects. Kind of irregular in shape. I have absolutely no idea what they're supposed to be. None at all. They look like … they look like …

Suddenly I see it.

'It's nuts! Two walnuts!'

Jack explodes with laughter, and a couple of people give muffled giggles which they hastily stifle.

'Well, I think that proves my point,' says Jack.

'Aren't they walnuts?' I look helplessly around the table.

'They're supposed to be ovaries,' says a man with rimless spectacles tightly.

'
Ovaries?
' I stare at the page. 'Oh, right! Well, yes. Now you say it, I can definitely see a … an ovary-like …'

'Walnuts.' Jack wipes his eyes.

'I've explained, the ovaries are simply
part
of a range of symbolic representations of womanhood," says a thin guy defensively. 'Ovaries to represent fertility, an eye for wisdom, this tree to signify the earth mother …'

'The point is, the images can be used across the entire range of products,' says a woman with black hair, leaning forward. 'The health drink, clothing, a fragrance …'

'The target market responds well to abstract images,' adds Rimless Spectacle Guy. 'The research has shown—'

'Emma.' Jack looks at me again. 'Would
you
buy a drink with ovaries on it?'

'Er …' I clear my throat, aware of a couple of hostile faces pointing my way. 'Well … probably not.'

A few people exchange glances.

'This is so irrelevant,' someone is muttering.

'Jack, three creative teams have been at work at this,' the black-haired woman says earnestly. 'We can't start from scratch. We simply cannot.'

Jack takes a swig of water from an Evian bottle, wipes his mouth and looks at her.

'You know I came up with the slogan "Don't Pause" in two minutes on a bar napkin?'

'Yes, we know,' mutters the guy in rimless spectacles.

'We are not selling a drink with ovaries on it.' He exhales sharply, and runs a hand through his dishevelled hair. Then he pushes his chair back. 'OK, let's take a break. Emma, would you be kind enough to assist me in carrying some of these folders down to Sven's office?'

God, I wonder what all that was about. But I don't quite dare ask. Jack marches me down the corridor, and into a lift and presses the ninth-floor button, without saying anything. After we've descended for about two seconds he presses the emergency button, and we grind to a halt. Then, finally, he looks at me.

'Are you and I the only sane people in this building?'

'Um …'

'What happened to instincts?' His face is incredulous. 'No-one knows a good idea from a terrible one any more. Ovaries.' He shakes his head. 'Fucking
ovaries
!'

I can't help it. He looks so outraged, and the way he says 'ovaries!' suddenly seems the funniest thing in the world, and before I know it, I've started laughing. For an instant Jack looks astounded, and then his face kind of crumples, and suddenly he's laughing too. His nose screws right up when he laughs, just like a baby's and somehow this makes it seem about a million times funnier.

Oh God. I really am laughing now. I'm giving tiny little snorts, and my ribs hurt, and every time I look at him I give another gurgle. My nose is running, and I haven't got a tissue … I'll have to blow my nose on the picture of the ovaries …

'Emma, why are you with that guy?'

'What?' I look up, still laughing, until I realize that Jack's stopped. He's looking at me, with an unreadable expression on his face.