Can You Keep a Secret? (26 page)

'Emma!' says Kerry, with a little laugh, and tries to reach for my hand. 'Silly girl! I had no idea! If I'd known it was important …'

If she'd known it was important? How could she not know it was important?

I jerk my hand away and stare back at Kerry. I can feel all the old hurt and humiliation building up inside me, rising up like hot water inside a pipe, until suddenly the pressure is unbearable.

'Yes you did!' I hear myself crying. 'You knew exactly what you were doing! You
knew
how desperate I was! Ever since you've arrived in this family you've tried to squash me down. You tease me about my crap career. You boast about yourself. I spend my entire life feeling small and stupid. Well, fine. You win, Kerry! You're the star and I'm not. You're the success and I'm the failure. But just don't pretend to be my best friend, OK? Because you're not, and you never will be!'

I finish, and look around the gobsmacked picnic rug, breathing hard. I have a horrible feeling I might burst into tears, any moment.

I meet Jack's eye and he gives me a tiny, way-to-go smile. Then I risk a brief glance at Mum and Dad. They're both looking paralysed, as if they don't know what on earth to do.

The thing is, our family just doesn't
do
loud, emotional outbursts.

In fact, I'm not entirely sure what to do next myself.

'So, um … I'll be going, then,' I say, my voice shaking. 'I'll be off. Come on, Jack. We've got work to do.'

With wobbly legs, I turn on my heel and head off, stumbling slightly on the grass. Adrenalin is pumping round my body. I'm so wound up, I barely know what I'm doing.

'That was fantastic, Emma,' comes Jack's voice in my ear. 'You were great! Absolutely … logistical assessment,' he adds more loudly as we pass Cyril.

'I've never spoken like that in my life,' I say. 'I've never … operational management,' I quickly add, as we pass a couple of people from Accounts.

'I guessed as much,' he says, shaking his head. 'Jesus, that cousin of yours … valid assessment of the market.'

'She's a total – spreadsheet,' I say quickly as we pass Connor. 'So … I'll get that typed up for you, Mr Harper.'

Somehow we make it into the house and up the stairs. Jack leads me along a corridor, produces a key and opens a door. And we're in a room. A large, light, cream-coloured room. With a big double bed in it. The door closes, and suddenly all my nerves flood back. This is it. Finally this is it. Jack and me. Alone in a room. With a bed.

Then I catch sight of myself in a gilded mirror, and gasp in dismay. I'd forgotten I was in the stupid Snow White costume. My face is red and blotchy, my eyes are welling up, hair is all over the place, and my bra strap is showing.

This is
so
not how I thought I was looking.

'Emma, I'm really sorry I waded in there.' Jack's looking at me ruefully. 'I was way out of line. I had no right to butt in like that. I just … that cousin of yours got under my skin—'

'No!' I interrupt, turning to face him. 'It was
good
! I've never told Kerry what I thought of her before. Ever! It was … it was …' I tail off, breathing hard.

For a still moment there's silence. Jack's gazing at my flushed face. I'm staring back, my ribcage rising and falling, blood beating in my ears. Then suddenly he bends forward and kisses me.

His mouth is opening mine, and he's already tugging the elastic sleeves of my Snow White costume down off my shoulders, unhooking my bra. I'm fumbling for his shirt buttons. His mouth reaches my nipple and I'm starting to gasp with excitement when he pulls me down onto the sun-warmed carpet.

Oh my God, this is quick. He's ripping off my knickers. His hands are … his fingers are … I'm panting helplessly … We're going so fast I can barely register what's happening. This is nothing like Connor. This is nothing like I've ever – A minute ago I was standing at the door, fully clothed, and now I'm already – he's already —

'Wait,' I manage to say. 'Wait, Jack. I just need to tell you something.'

'What?' Jack looks at me with urgent, aroused eyes. 'What is it?'

'I don't know any tricks,' I whisper, a little gruffly.

'You don't what?' He pulls away slightly and stares at me.

'Tricks! I don't know any tricks,' I say defensively. 'You know, you've probably had sex with zillions of supermodels and gymnasts and they know all sorts of amazing …' I tail off at his expression. 'Nevermind,' I say quickly. 'It doesn't matter. Forget it.'

'I'm intrigued,' says Jack. 'Which particular tricks did you have in mind?'

Why did I ever open my stupid mouth? Why?

'I didn't!' I say, growing hot. 'That's the whole point, I don't
know
any tricks.'

'Neither do I,' says Jack, totally deadpan. 'I don't know one trick.'

I feel a sudden giggle rise inside me.

'Yeah, right.'

'It's true. Not one.' He pauses thoughtfully, running a finger around my shoulder. 'Oh, OK, Maybe one.'

'What?' I say at once.

'Well …' He looks at me for a long moment, then shakes his head. 'No.'

'Tell me!' And now I can't help giggling out loud.

'Show, not tell,' he murmurs against my ear, and pulls me towards him. 'Did nobody ever teach you that?'

EIGHTEEN

I'm in love.

I, Emma Corrigan, am in love.

For the first time ever in my entire life, I'm totally, one hundred per cent in love! I spent all night with Jack at the Panther mansion. I woke up in his arms. We had sex about ninety-five times and it was just … perfect. (And somehow tricks didn't even seem to come into it. Which was a bit of a relief.)

But it's not just the sex. It's everything. It's the way he had a cup of tea waiting for me when I woke up. It's the way he turned on his laptop especially for me to look up all my Internet horoscopes and helped me choose the best one. He knows all the crappy, embarrassing bits about me which I normally try and hide from any man for as long as possible … and he loves me anyway.

So he didn't exactly
say
he loved me. But he said something even better. I still keep rolling it blissfully round my head. We were lying there this morning, both just kind of staring up at the ceiling, when all at once I said, without quite intending to, 'Jack, how come you remembered about Kerry turning me down for work experience?'

'What?'

'How come you remembered about Kerry turning me down?' I swivelled my head slowly to look at him. 'And not just that. Every single thing I told you on that plane. Every little detail. About work, about my family, about Connor … everything. You remember it all. And I just don't get it.'

'What don't you get?' said Jack with a frown.

'I don't get why someone like you would be interested in my stupid, boring little life,' I said, my cheeks prickling with embarrassment.

Jack looked at me silently for a moment.

'Emma, your life is not stupid and boring.'

'It is!'

'It's not.'

'Of course it is! I never do anything exciting, I never do anything clever, I haven't got my own company, or invented anything—'

'You want to know why I remember all your secrets?' interrupted Jack. 'Emma, the minute you started talking on that plane – I was gripped.'

I stared at him in disbelief.

'You were gripped?' I said, to make sure. 'By me?'

'I was gripped,' he repeated gently, and he leant over and kissed me.

Gripped!

Jack Harper was gripped by my life! By me!

And the point is, if I'd never spoken to him on that plane – and if I'd never blurted out all that stuff – then this would never have happened. We would never have found each other. It was fate. I was
meant
to get on that plane. I was
meant
to get upgraded. I was
meant
to spill my secrets.

As I arrive home, I'm glowing all over. A lightbulb has switched on inside me. Suddenly I know what the meaning of life is. Jemima is wrong. Men and women aren't enemies. Men and women are
soulmates
. And if they were just honest, right from the word go, then they'd all realize it. All this being mysterious and aloof is complete rubbish. Everyone should share their secrets straight away!

I'm so inspired, I think I'm going to write a book on relationships. It will be called 'Don't Be Scared To Share', and it will show that men and women should be honest with each other and they'll communicate better, and understand each other, and never have to pretend about anything, ever again. And it could apply to families, too. And politics! Maybe if world leaders all told each other a few personal secrets, then there wouldn't be any more wars! I think I'm really on to something.

I float up the stairs and unlock the door of our flat.

'Lissy!' I call. 'Lissy, I'm in love!'

There isn't any reply, and I feel a twinge of disappointment. I wanted someone to talk to. I wanted someone to tell all about my brilliant new theory of life and—

I hear a thumping sound from her room, and stand completely still in the hallway, transfixed. Oh my God. The mysterious thumping sounds. There's another one. Then two more. What on earth—

And then I see it, through the door of the sitting room. On the floor, next to the sofa. A briefcase. A black leather briefcase. It's him. It's Jean-Paul. He's in there. Right this minute! I take a few steps forward and stare at her door, intrigued.

What are they
doing
?

I just don't believe her story that they're having sex. But what else could it be? What else could it possibly—

OK … Just stop. It's none of my business. If Lissy doesn't want to tell me what she's up to, she doesn't want to tell me. Feeling very mature, I walk into the kitchen and pick up the kettle to make myself a cup of coffee.

Then I put it down again.
Why
doesn't she want to tell me?
Why
does she have a secret from me? We're best friends! I mean it was
she
who said we shouldn't have any secrets.

I can't stand this. Curiosity is niggling at me like a burr. It's unbearable. And this could be my only chance to find out the truth. But how? I can't just walk in there. Can I?

All of a sudden, a little thought occurs to me. Suppose I
hadn't
seen the briefcase? Suppose I'd just walked into the flat perfectly innocently, like I normally do, and happened to go straight to Lissy's door and happened to open it? Nobody could blame me then, could they? It would just be an honest mistake.

I come out of the kitchen, listen intently for a moment, then quickly tiptoe back towards the front door.

Start again. I'm walking into the flat for the first time.

'Hi, Lissy!' I call self-consciously, as though a camera's trained'on me. '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 give the tiniest of knocks.

There's no response from inside. The thumping noises have died down. I stare at the blank wood, feeling 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. They're both naked. She and the guy are tangled together in the strangest position I've ever, ever … her legs are up in the air, and his are twisted round 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 sink 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. 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 give a fresh scream.

'Emma, calm down!' says Lissy. 'It's me! Jean-Paul's gone.'

I can't look up. I can't meet her eye.

'Lissy, I'm sorry,' I gabble, staring at the floor. '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-coloured 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 stare at her in utter bewilderment.

'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 got 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.

An image pops into my head of a bunch of portly barristers dancing around in their wigs and 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!'