Can You Keep a Secret? (20 page)

'Look.' Jack rubs his face. 'A few things are going on in my life at the moment, they're very important—'

'Fine. Well, let them go on without me.'

Tears are stinging my eyes as I stand up and reach for my bag. I so wanted this to be a perfect evening. I had such high hopes. I can't believe it's gone so wrong.

'That's right! You tell him!' the woman in gold supportively calls from across the room. 'You know, this girl's got a lovely husband of her own,' she exclaims to Jack. 'She doesn't need you!'

'Thank you for dinner,' I say, staring fixedly at the tablecloth, as one of the waiters magically appears at my side with my coat.

'Emma,' says Jack, getting to his feet in disbelief. 'You're not seriously going.'

'l am.'

'Give it another chance. Please. Stay and have some coffee. I promise I'll talk—'

'I don't want any coffee,' I say, as the waiter helps me on with my coat.

'Mint tea, then. Chocolates! I ordered you a box of Godiva truffles …' His tone is entreating, and just for an instant I waver. I love Godiva truffles.

But no, I've made up my mind.

'I don't care,' I gulp. 'I'm going. Thank you very much,' I add to the waiter. 'How did you know I wanted my coat?'

'We make it our business to know,' says the waiter discreetly.

'You see?' I say to Jack. '
They
know me.'

There's an instant in which we stare at each other.

'Fine,' says Jack at last, and gives a resigned shrug. 'Fine. Daniel will take you home. He should be waiting outside in the car.'

'I'm not going home in your car!' I say in horror. 'I'll make my own way, thanks.'

'Emma. Don't be stupid.'

'Goodbye. And thanks very much,' I add to the waiter. 'You were all very attentive and nice to me.'

I hurry out of the restaurant to discover it's started to rain. And I don't have an umbrella.

Well, I don't care. I'm going anyway. I stride along the streets, skidding slightly on the wet pavement, feeling raindrops mingling with tears on my face. I have no idea where I am. I don't even know where the nearest tube is, or where …

Hang on. There's a bus stop. I look down the numbers and see one that goes to Islington.

Well, fine. I'll take the bus home. And then I'll have a nice cup of hot chocolate. And maybe some icecream in front of the telly.

It's one of those bus shelters with a roof and little seats, and I sit down, thanking God my hair won't get any wetter. I'm just staring blankly at a car advertisement, wondering what that Häagen-Dazs pudding tasted like and whether the meringue was the stiff white kind or that gorgeous chewy, caramel kind, when a big silver car purrs up at the pavement.

I don't believe it.

'Please,' says Jack, getting out. 'Let me take you home.'

'No,' I say, without turning my head.

'You can't stay here in the rain.'

'Yes I can. Some of us live in the real world, you know.'

I turn away and pretend to be studying a poster about AIDS. The next moment Jack has arrived in the bus shelter. He sits down in the little seat next to mine and for a while we're both silent.

'I know I was terrible company this evening,' he says eventually. 'And I'm sorry. I'm also sorry I can't tell you anything about it. But my life is … complicated. And some bits of it are very delicate. Do you understand?'

No, I want to say. No, I don't understand, when I've told you every single little thing about me.

'I suppose,' I say, with a tiny shrug.

The rain is beating down even harder, thundering on the roof of the shelter and creeping into my – Jemima's – silver sandals. God, I hope it won't stain them.

'I'm sorry the evening was a disappointment to you,' says Jack, lifting his voice above the noise.

'It wasn't,' I say, suddenly feeling bad. 'I just … I had such high hopes! I wanted to get to know you a bit, and I wanted to have fun … and for us to laugh … and I wanted one of those pink cocktails, not champagne …'

Shit.
Shit
. That slipped out before I could stop it.

'But … you like champagne!' says Jack, looking stunned. 'You told me. Your perfect date would start off with champagne.'

I can't quite meet his eye.

'Yes, well. I didn't know about the pink cocktails then, did I?'

Jack throws back his head and laughs.

'Fair point. Very fair point. And I didn't even give you a choice, did I?' He shakes his head ruefully. 'You were probably sitting there thinking, damn this guy, can't he tell I want a pink cocktail?'

'No!' I say at once, but my cheeks are turning crimson, and Jack is looking at me with such a comical expression that I want to hug him.

'Oh Emma. I'm sorry.' He shakes his head. 'I wanted to get to know you too. And I wanted to have fun, too. It sounds like we both wanted the same things. And it's my fault we didn't get them.'

'It's not
your
fault,' I mumble awkwardly.

'This is not the way I planned for things to go.' He looks at me seriously. 'Will you give me another chance?'

A big red double-decker bus rumbles up to the bus stop, and we both look up.

'I've got to go,' I say, standing up. 'This is my bus.'

'Emma, don't be silly. Come in the car.'

'No. I'm going on the bus!'

The automatic doors open, and I step onto the bus. I show my travelcard to the driver and he nods.

'You're seriously considering riding on this thing?' says Jack, stepping on behind me. He peers dubiously at the usual motley collection of night bus riders. 'Is this
safe
?'

'You sound like my grandpa! Of course it's safe. It goes to the end of my road.'

'Hurry up!' says the driver impatiently to Jack. 'If you haven't got the money, get off.'

'I have American Express,' says Jack, feeling in his pocket.

'You can't pay a bus fare with American Express!' I say, rolling my eyes. 'Don't you know anything? And anyway.' I stare at my travelcard for a few seconds. 'I think I'd rather be on my own, if you don't mind.'

'I see,' says Jack in a different voice. 'I guess I'd better get off,' he says to the driver. Then he looks at me. 'You haven't answered me. Can we try again? Tomorrow night. And this time we'll do whatever you want. You call the shots.'

'OK.' I'm trying to give a noncommittal shrug, but as I meet his eye I find myself smiling, too.

'Eight o'clock again?'

'Eight o'clock. And leave the car behind,' I add firmly. 'We'll do things my way.'

'Great! I look forward to it. Goodnight, Emma.'

'Goodnight.'

As he turns to get off, I climb up the stairs to the top deck of the bus. I head for the front seat, the place I always used to sit when I was a child, and stare out at the dark, rainy, London night. If I stare for long enough, the street lights become blurred like a kaleidoscope. Like fairyland.

Swooshing round my mind are images of the woman in gold, the pink cocktail, Jack's face as I said I was leaving, the waiter bringing me my coat, Jack's car arriving at the bus stop … I can't quite work out what I think. All I can do is sit there, staring out, aware of familiar, comforting sounds around me. The old-fashioned grind and roar of the bus engine. The noise of the doors swishing open and shut. The sharp ring of the request bell. People thumping up the stairs and thumping back down again.

I can feel the bus lurch as we turn corners, but I'm barely aware of where we're going. Until after a while, familiar sights outside start to impinge on my consciousness, and I realize we're nearly at my street. I gather myself, reach for my bag, and totter along to the top of the stairs.

Suddenly the bus makes a sharp swing left, and I grab for a seat handle, trying to steady myself. Why are we turning left? I look out of the window, thinking I'll be really pissed off if I end up having to walk, and blink in astonishment.

Surely we're not—

Surely this can't be—

But we are. I peer down through the window, dumbfounded. We're in my tiny little road.

And now we've stopped outside my house.

I hurry down the stairs, nearly breaking my ankle, and stare at the driver.

'Number 41 Ellerwood Road,' he says with a flourish.

No. This can't be happening.

Bewildered, I look around the bus, and a couple of drunk teenagers stare blankly back.

'What's going on?' I look at the driver. 'Did he pay you?'

'Five hundred quid,' says the driver, and winks at me. 'Whoever he is, love, I'd hold onto him.'

Five hundred quid? Oh my God.

'Thanks,' I say dazedly. 'I mean, thanks for the ride.'

Feeling as though I'm in a dream, I get off the bus and head for the front door. But Lissy has already got there and is opening it.

'Is that a
bus
?' she says, staring. 'What's it doing here?'

'It's my bus,' I say. 'It took me home.'

I wave to the driver, who waves back, and the bus rumbles off into the night.

'I don't believe it!' says Lissy slowly, gazing as it disappears round the corner. She turns to look at me. 'So … it was OK in the end?'

'Yes,' I say. 'Yes. It was … OK.'

FOURTEEN

OK. Don't tell anyone. Do
not
tell anyone.

Do not tell anyone that you were on a date with Jack Harper last night.

I mean, not that I'm exactly planning to tell anyone. But as I arrive at work the next day I feel almost convinced I'm going to blurt it out by mistake.

Or someone's going to guess. I mean, surely it must be obvious from my face. From my clothes, From the way I'm walking. I feel as though everything I do screams 'Hey, guess what I did last night?'

'Hiya,' says Caroline as I make myself a cup of coffee. 'How are you?'

'I'm fine, thanks!' I say, giving a guilty jump. 'I just had a quiet evening in last night. Just … really quiet! With my flatmate. We watched three videos,
Pretty Woman, Notting Hill
and
Four Weddings
. Just the two of us. No-one else.'

'Right,' says Caroline, looking a bit bemused. 'Lovely!'

Oh God. I'm losing it. Everyone knows this is how criminals get caught. They add too many details and trip themselves up.

Right, no more babbling. Stick to one-word answers.

'Hi,' says Artemis as I sit down at my desk.

'Hi,' I say, forcing myself not to add anything else. Not even about which kind of pizza Lissy and I ordered, even though I've got a whole story ready about how the pizza company thought we said green pepper instead of pepperoni, ha ha, what a mix-up.

I'm supposed to be doing some filing this morning, but instead I find myself taking out a piece of paper and starting a list of possible date venues where I can take Jack tonight.

1. Pub. No. Far too boring.

2. Movie. No. Too much sitting, not talking to each other.

3. Ice skating. I have no idea why I put that, since I can't even skate. Except it was in
Splash
.

4.

God, I've run out of ideas already. How crap is this? I stare at the sheet blankly, half-tuning into the idle conversation which is going on around me.

'… really working on some secret project, or is that just a rumour?'

'… company in a new direction, apparently, but no-one knows exactly what he's …'

'…
is
this Sven guy anyway? I mean, what function does he have?'

'He's with Jack, isn't he?' says Amy, who works in Finance but fancies Nick, so is always finding excuses to come into our office. 'He's Jack's lover.'

'
What?
' I say, suddenly sitting up, and snapping the end of my pencil. Luckily everyone's too busy gossiping to notice.

Jack gay? Jack gay?

That's why he didn't kiss me goodnight. He only wants me to be a friend. He'll introduce me to Sven and I'll have to pretend to be all cool with it, like I knew all along—

'Is Jack Harper gay?' Caroline is saying in astonishment.

'I just assumed he was,' says Amy with a shrug. 'He looks gay, don't you think?'

'Not really,' says Caroline, screwing up her face. 'Not groomed enough.'

'I don't think he looks gay!' I say, trying to sound light-hearted and just kind of vaguely interested.

'He's not gay,' chimes in Artemis authoritatively. 'I read a old profile of him in
Newsweek
, and he was dating the female president of Origin Software. And it said before that he went out with some supermodel.'

A huge surge of relief floods through me.

I knew he wasn't gay. Obviously I knew he wasn't gay-

Honestly, do these people have nothing better to do than engage in stupid mindless speculation about people they don't know?

'So is Jack seeing anyone at the moment?'

'Who knows?'

'He's pretty sexy, don't you think?' says Caroline with a wicked grin. 'I wouldn't mind.'

'Yeah right,' says Nick. 'You probably wouldn't mind his private jet, either.'

'Apparently, he hasn't had a relationship since Pete Laidler died,' says Artemis crisply. 'So I doubt you've got much of a chance.'

'Bad luck, Caroline,' says Nick, with a laugh.

I feel really uncomfortable, listening to this. Maybe I should leave the room until they've stopped. But then, maybe that would draw attention to myself.

Just for an instant, I find myself imagining what would happen if I stood up and said, 'Actually I had dinner with Jack Harper last night.' They'd all stare at me, dumbfounded, and maybe somebody would gasp, and …

Oh, who am I kidding? They wouldn't even believe me, would they? They'd say I was suffering from delusions.

'Hi, Connor,' comes Caroline's voice, interrupting my thoughts.

Connor? My head jerks up in slight dismay. And there he is, with no warning, approaching my desk with a wounded look on his face.

What's he doing here?

Has he found out about me and Jack?

My heart starts to thump hard and I nervously push my hair back. I've spotted him a couple of times around the building, but this is our first moment face to face, since we broke up.

'Hi,' he says.

'Hi,' I reply awkwardly, and there's silence.