Can You Keep A Secret?

'Your mother told you this?' says Lissy.

'Yes,' says Jemima. 'It was rather sweet, actually. On my eighteenth birthday she sat me down and said we should have a little chat about men and women-'

Lissy is staring at her incredulously.

'In which she instructed you to rub chilli oil into men's genitals?'

'Only if they treat you badly,' says Jemima in annoyance. 'What is your problem, Lissy? Do you think you should just let men walk all over you and get away with it? Great blow for feminism.'

'I'm not saying that,' says Lissy. 'I just wouldn't get my revenge with... chilli oil!'

'Well, what would you do then, clever clogs?' says Jemima, putting her hands on her hips.

'OK,' says Lissy. 'If I was going to stoop so low as get my revenge, which I never would because personally I think it's a huge mistake...' She pauses for breath. 'I'd do exactly what he did. I'd expose one of his secrets.'

'Actually... that's rather good,' says Jemima grudgingly.

'Humiliate him,' says Lissy, with a tiny air of vindication. 'Embarra.s.s him. See how he likes it.'

They both turn and look at me expectantly.

'But I don't know any of his secrets,' I say.

'You must do!' says Jemima.

'Of course you do!'

'I don't,' I say, feeling a fresh humiliation. 'Lissy, you had it right all along. Our relations.h.i.+p was completely one-sided. I shared all my secrets with him but he didn't share any of his with me. He didn't tell me anything. We weren't soulmates. I was a completely deluded moron.'

'Emma, you weren't a moron,' says Lissy, putting a sympathetic hand on mine. 'You were just trusting.'

'Trusting moron it's the same thing.'

'You must know something!' says Jemima. 'You slept with him, for goodness sake! He must have some secret. Some weak point.'

'An Achilles' heel,' puts in Lissy, and Jemima gives her an odd look.

'It doesn't have to be to do with his feet,' she says, and turns to me, pulling a 'Lissy's lost it' face. 'It could be anything. Anything at all. Think back!'

I close my eyes obediently and cast my mind back. But my mind's swirling a bit, from all that schnapps. Secrets... Jack's secrets... think back...

Scotland. Suddenly a coherent thought pa.s.ses through my mind. I open my eyes, feeling a tingle of exhilaration. I do know one of his secrets. I do!

'What?' says Jemima avidly. 'Have you remembered something?'

'He...' I stop, feeling torn.

I did make a promise to Jack. I did promise.

But then, so what? So b.l.o.o.d.y what? My chest swells in emotion again. Why on earth am I keeping any stupid promise to him? It's not like he kept my secrets to himself, is it?

'He was in Scotland!' I say triumphantly. 'The first time we met after the plane, he asked me to keep it a secret that he was in Scotland.'

'Why did he do that?' says Lissy.

'I dunno.'

'What was he doing in Scotland?' puts in Jemima.

'I dunno.'

There's a pause.

'Hmm,' says Jemima kindly. 'It's not the most embarra.s.sing secret in the world, is it? I mean, plenty of smart people live in Scotland. Haven't you got anything better? Like... does he wear a chest wig?'

'A chest wig!' Lissy gives an explosive snort of laughter. 'Or a toupee!'

'Of course he doesn't wear a chest wig. Or a toupee,' I retort indignantly. Do they honestly think I'd go out with a man who wore a toupee?

'Well then, you'll have to make something up,' says Jemima. 'You know, before the affair with the scientist, Mummy was treated very badly by some politician chap. So she made up a rumour that he was taking bribes from the Communist party, and pa.s.sed it round the House of Commons. She always says, that taught Dennis a lesson!'

'Not... Dennis Llewellyn?' Lissy says.

'Er, yes, I think that was him.'

'The disgraced Home Secretary?' Lissy looks aghast. 'The one who spent his whole life fighting to clear his name and ended up in a mental inst.i.tution?'

'Well, he shouldn't have messed Mummy around, should he?' says Jemima, sticking out her chin. A bleeper goes off in her pocket. 'Time for my footbath!'

As she disappears back into the house, Lissy rolls her eyes.

'She's nuts,' she says. 'Totally nuts. Emma, you are not making anything up about Jack Harper.'

'I won't make anything up!'

TWENTY-ONE.

The next morning I wake up full of sick dread. I feel exactly like a five-year-old who doesn't want to go to school. A five-year-old with a severe hangover, that is.

'I can't go,' I say, as 8.30 arrives. 'I can't face them.'

'Yes you can,' says Lissy rea.s.suringly, doing up my jacket b.u.t.tons. 'It'll be fine. Just keep your chin up.'

'What if they're horrid to me?'

'They won't be horrid to you. They're your friends. Anyway, they'll probably all have forgotten about it by now.'

'They won't! Can't I just stay at home with you?' I grab her hand beseechingly. 'I'll be really good, I promise.'

'Emma, I've explained to you,' says Lissy patiently. 'I've got to go to court today.'

She prises my hand out of hers. 'But I'll be here when you get home. And we'll have something really nice for supper. OK?'

'OK,' I say in a small voice. 'Can we have chocolate ice-cream?'

'Of course we can,' says Lissy, opening the front door of our flat. 'Now, go on. You'll be fine!'

Feeling like a dog being shooed out, I go down the stairs and open the front door. I'm just stepping out of the house when a van pulls up at the side of the road. A man gets out in a blue uniform, holding the biggest bunch of flowers I've ever seen, all tied up with dark green ribbon, and squints at the number on our house.

'h.e.l.lo,' he says. 'I'm looking for an Emma Corrigan.'

'That's me!' I say in surprise.

'Aha!' He smiles, and holds out a pen and clipboard. 'Well, this is your lucky day. If you could just sign here...'

I stare at the bouquet in disbelief. Roses, freesias, amazing big purple flowers... fantastic dark red pompom things... dark green frondy bits... pale green ones which look just like asparagus...

OK, I may not know what they're all called. But I do know one thing. These flowers are expensive.

There's only one person who could have sent them.

'Wait,' I say, without taking the pen. 'I want to check who they're from.'

I grab the card, rip it open, and scan down the long message, not reading any of it until I come to the name at the bottom.

Jack.

I feel a huge dart of emotion. After all he did, Jack thinks he can fob me off with some manky bunch of flowers?

All right, huge, deluxe bunch of flowers.

But that's not the point.

'I don't want them, thank you,' I say, lifting my chin.

'You don't want them?' The delivery man stares at me.

'No. Tell the person who sent them that thanks, but no thanks.'

'What's going on?' comes a breathless voice beside me, and I look up to see Lissy gawping at the bouquet. 'Oh my G.o.d. Are they from Jack?'

'Yes. But I don't want them,' I say. 'Please take them away.'

'Wait!' exclaims Lissy, grabbing the cellophane. 'Let me just smell them.' She buries her face in the blooms and inhales deeply. 'Wow! That's absolutely incredible! Emma, have you smelt them?'

'No!' I say, crossly. 'I don't want to smell them.'

'I've never seen flowers as amazing as this.' She looks at the man. 'So what will happen to them?'

'Dunno.' He shrugs. 'They'll get chucked away, I suppose.'

'Gosh.' She glances at me. 'That seems like an awful waste...'

Hang on. She's not- 'Lissy, I can't accept them!' I exclaim. 'I can't! He'll think I'm saying everything's OK between us.'

'No, you're quite right,' says Lissy reluctantly. 'You have to send them back.' She touches a pink velvety rose petal. 'It is a shame, though...'

'Send what back?' comes a sharp voice behind me. 'You are joking, aren't you?'

Oh, for G.o.d's sake. Now Jemima has arrived in the street, still in her white dressing gown. 'You're not sending those back!' she cries. 'I'm giving a dinner party tomorrow night. They'll be perfect.' She' grabs the label. 'Smythe and Foxe! Do you know how much these must have cost?'

'I don't care how much they cost!' I exclaim. 'They're from Jack! I can't possibly keep them.'

'Why not?'

She is unbelievable.

'Because... because it's a matter of principle. If I keep them, I'm basically saying, "I forgive you." '

'Not necessarily,' retorts Jemima. 'You could be saying "I don't forgive you." Or you could be saying "I can't be bothered to return your stupid flowers, that's how little you mean to me."'

There's silence as we all consider this.

The thing is, they are pretty amazing flowers.

'So do you want them or not?' says the delivery guy.

'I...' Oh G.o.d, now I'm all confused.

'Emma, if you send them back you look weak,' says Jemima firmly. 'You look like you can't bear to have any reminder of him in the house. But if you keep them, then you're saying, "I don't care about you!" You're standing firm! You're being strong. You're being-'

'Oh, G.o.d, OK!' I say, and grab the pen from the delivery guy. 'I'll sign for them. But could you please tell him that this does not mean I forgive him, nor that he isn't a cynical, heartless, despicable user and furthermore, if Jemima wasn't having a dinner party, these would be straight in the bin.' As I finish signing I'm red-faced and breathing hard, and I stamp a full stop so hard it tears the page. 'Can you remember all that?'

The delivery guy looks at me blankly.

'Love, I just work at the depot.'

'I know!' says Lissy suddenly. She grabs the clipboard back and prints WITHOUT PREJUDICE clearly under my name.

'What does that mean?' I say.

'It means "I'll never forgive you, you complete b.a.s.t.a.r.d... but I'll keep the flowers anyway."'