Can You Keep A Secret?

'I'll come and pick you up. If you email me your address. Eight o'clock?'

'Eight it is!'

As I leave Jack's office, Sven glances up and raises his eyebrows, but I don't say anything. I head back to the marketing department, trying as hard as I can to keep my face dispa.s.sionate and calm. But excitement is bubbling away in my stomach, and a huge smile keeps licking over my face.

Oh my G.o.d. Oh my G.o.d. I'm going out to dinner with Jack Harper. I just... I can't believe- Oh, who am I kidding? I knew this was going to happen. As soon as I heard he hadn't gone to America. I knew.

TWELVE.

I have never seen Jemima look quite so appalled.

'He knows all your secrets?' She's looking at me as though I've just proudly informed her I'm going out with a ma.s.s-murderer. 'What on earth do you mean?'

'I sat next to him on a plane, and I told him everything about myself.'

I frown at my reflection in the mirror and tweak out another eyebrow hair. It's seven o'clock, I've had my bath, I've blow-dried my hair and now I'm on my makeup.

'And now he's asked her out,' says Lissy, hugging her knees. 'Isn't it romantic?'

'You are joking, aren't you?' says Jemima, looking aghast. 'Tell me this is a joke.'

'Of course I'm not joking! What's the problem?'

'You're going out with a man who knows everything about you.'

'Yes.'

'And you're asking me what's the problem?' Her voice rises incredulously. 'Are you crazy?'

'Of course I'm not crazy!'

'I knew you fancied him,' says Lissy for about the millionth time. 'I knew it. Right from the moment you started talking about him.' She looks at my reflection. 'I'd leave that right eyebrow alone now.'

'Really?' I peer at my face.

'Emma, you don't tell men all about yourself! You have to keep something back! Mummy always told me, you should never let a man see your feelings or the contents of your handbag.'

'Well, too late,' I say, slightly defiantly. 'He's seen it all.'

'Then it's never going to work,' says Jemima. 'He'll never respect you.'

'Yes he will.'

'Emma,' says Jemima, almost pityingly. 'Don't you understand? You've already lost.'

'I haven't lost!'

Sometimes I think Jemima sees men not as people, but as alien robots, who must be conquered by any means possible.

'You're not being very helpful, Jemima,' puts in Lissy. 'Come on. You've been on loads of dates with rich businessmen. You must have some good advice!'

'All right.' Jemima sighs, and puts her bag down. 'It's a hopeless cause, but I'll do my best.' She starts ticking off on her fingers. 'The first thing is to look as well groomed as possible.'

'Why do you think I'm plucking my eyebrows?' I say with a grimace.

'Fine. OK, the next thing is, you can show an interest in his hobbies. What does he like?'

'Dunno. Cars, I think. He has all these vintage cars on his ranch, apparently.'

'Well then!' Jemima brightens. 'That's good. Pretend you like cars, suggest visiting a car show. You could flick through a car magazine on the way there.'

'I can't,' I say, taking a glug from my pre-date relaxer gla.s.s of Harvey's Bristol Cream. 'I told him on the plane that I hate vintage cars.'

'You did what?' Jemima looks as if she wants to hit me. 'You told the man you're dating that you hate his favourite hobby?'

'I didn't know I would be going on a date with him then, did I?' I say defensively, reaching for my foundation. 'And anyway, it's the truth. I hate vintage cars. The people in them always look so smug and pleased with themselves.'

'What's the truth got to do with anything?' Jemima's voice rises in agitation. 'Emma, I'm sorry, I can't help you. This is a disaster. You're completely vulnerable. It's like going into battle in a nightie.'

'Jemima, this is not a battle,' I retort, rolling my eyes. 'And it's not a chess game. It's dinner with a nice man!'

'You're so cynical, Jemima,' chimes in Lissy. 'I think it's really romantic! They're going to have the perfect date, because there won't be any of that awkwardness. He knows what Emma likes. He knows what she's interested in. They're obviously already completely compatible.'

'Well, I wash my hands of it,' says Jemima, still shaking her head. 'What are you going to wear?' Her eyes narrow. 'Where's your outfit?'

'My black dress,' I say innocently. 'And my strappy sandals.' I gesture to the back of the door, where my black dress is hanging up.

Jemima's

'You're not going to borrow anything of mine.'

'No!' I say indignantly. 'Honestly Jemima, I do have my own clothes, you know.'

'Fine. Well. Have a good time.'

Lissy and I wait until her footsteps have tapped down the corridor and the front door has slammed.

'Right!' I say excitedly, but Lissy lifts a hand.

'Wait.'

We both sit completely still for a couple of minutes. Then we hear the sound of the front door being opened very quietly.

'She's trying to catch us out,' hisses Lissy. 'Hi!' she says, raising her voice. 'Is anyone there?'

'Oh hi,' says Jemima, appearing at the door of the room. 'I forgot my lip-gloss.' Her eyes do a quick sweep of the room.

'I don't think you'll find it in here,' says Lissy innocently.

'No. Well.' Her eyes travel suspiciously round the room again. 'OK. Have a nice evening.'

Again her footsteps tap down the corridor, and again the front door slams.

'Right!' says Lissy. 'Let's go.'

We unpeel the Sellotape from Jemima's door, and Lissy makes a little mark where it was. 'Wait!' she says, as I'm about to push the door open. 'There's another one at the bottom.'

'You should have been a spy,' I say, watching her carefully peel it off.

'OK,' she says, her brow furrowed in concentration. 'There have to be some more b.o.o.by traps.'

'There's Sellotape on the wardrobe, too,' I say. 'And... Oh my G.o.d!' I point up. A gla.s.s of water is balanced on top of the wardrobe, ready to drench us if we open the door.

'That cow!' says Lissy as I reach up for it. 'You know, I had to spend all evening fielding calls for her the other night, and she wasn't even grateful.'

She waits until I've put the water down safely, then reaches for the door. 'Ready?'

'Ready.'

Lissy takes a deep breath, then opens the wardrobe door. Immediately, a loud, piercing siren begins to wail. 'Wee-oo wee-oo wee-oo...'

's.h.i.+t!' she says, banging the door shut. 's.h.i.+t! How did she do that?'

'It's still going!' I say agitatedly. 'Make it stop. Make it stop!'

'I don't know how to! You probably need a special code!'

We're both jabbing frantically at the wardrobe, patting it, searching for an off-switch.

'I can't see a b.u.t.ton, or a switch or anything...'

Abruptly the noise stops, and we stare at each other, panting slightly.

'Actually,' says Lissy after a long pause. 'Actually, I think that might have been a car alarm outside.'

'Oh,' I say. 'Oh right. Yes, maybe it was.'

Looking a bit sheepish, Lissy reaches for the door again, and this time it's silent. 'OK,' she says. 'Here goes.'

'Wow,' we breathe as one as she swings the door open.

Jemima's wardrobe is like a treasure chest. It's like a Christmas stocking. It's new, s.h.i.+ny, gorgeous clothes, one after another, all neatly folded and hung on scented hangers, like in a shop. All the shoes in shoe-boxes with Polaroids on the front. All the belts hanging neatly from hooks. All the bags are neatly lined up on a shelf. It's a while since I borrowed anything from Jemima, and every single item seems to have changed since then.

'She must spend about an hour a day keeping this tidy,' I say with a slight sigh, thinking of the jumble of my own wardrobe.

'She does,' says Lissy. 'I've seen her.'

Mind you, Lissy's wardrobe is even worse. It consists of a chair in her room, on which everything is heaped in a great big pile. She says putting stuff away makes her brain ache, and as long as it's clean, what does it matter?

'So!' says Lissy with a grin, and reaches for a white sparkly dress. 'What look would Madam like this evening?'

I don't wear the white sparkly dress. But I do try it on. In fact, we both try on quite a lot of stuff, and then have to put it all back, very carefully. At one point another car alarm goes off outside, and we both jump in terror, then immediately pretend we weren't fazed.

In the end, I go for this amazing new red top of Jemima's with slashed shoulders, over my own black DKNY chiffon trousers (25 from the Notting Hill Housing Trust shop) and Jemima's silver high heels from Prada. And then, although I wasn't intending to, at the last minute I grab a little black Gucci bag.

'You look amazing!' says Lissy as I do a twirl. 'Completely fab!'

'Do I look too smart?'

'Of course not! Come on, you're going out to dinner with a multimillionaire.'

'Don't say that!' I exclaim, feeling nerves clutch my stomach. I look at my watch. It's almost eight o'clock.

Oh G.o.d. Now I really am starting to feel nervous. In the fun of getting ready, I'd almost forgotten what it was all for.

Keep calm, I tell myself. It's just dinner. That's all it is. Nothing special. Nothing out of the-'

'f.u.c.k!' Lissy's looking out of the window in the sitting room. 'f.u.c.k! There's a great big car outside!'

'What? Where?' I hurry to join her, my heart galloping. As I follow her gaze, I almost can't breathe.

An enormous posh car is waiting outside our house. I mean, enormous. It's silver and s.h.i.+ny, and looks incredibly conspicuous in our tiny little street. In fact I can see some people looking curiously out of the house opposite.

And all at once I'm really scared. What am I doing? This is a world I know nothing about. When we were sitting on those plane seats, Jack and I were just two people on an equal level. But look at us now. Look at the world he lives in and look at the world I live in.

'Lissy,' I say in a tiny voice. 'I don't want to go.'

'Yes you do!' says Lissy but I can see, she's just as freaked out as me.

The buzzer goes, and we jump.

I feel like I might throw up.

OK. OK. Here I go.

'Hi,' I say into the intercom. 'I'll... I'll be right down.' I put the phone down and look at Lissy.

'Well,' I say in a trembling voice. 'This is it!'

'Emma.' Lissy grabs my hands. 'Before you go. Don't take any notice of what Jemima said. Just have a lovely time.' She hugs me tightly. 'Call me if you get a chance.'

'I will.'