Can You Keep A Secret?

'He's gone.' I swallow. 'I don't really want to talk about it.'

'Oh, Emma.' She bites her lip.

'Don't,' I say in a wobbly voice. 'I'll cry.' I lean against the wall and take a couple of deep breaths, trying to get back to normal. 'Where's her friend?' I say at last, and jerk my thumb at Jemima.

'He got thrown out,' says Lissy with satisfaction. 'He was trying to take a picture of Justice Hugh Morris in his tights, and a bunch of lawyers surrounded him and bundled him out.'

'Jemima, listen to me.' I force myself to meet her unrepentant blue gaze. 'You cannot let him find out any more. You cannot.'

'It's OK,' she says sulkily. 'I've already spoken to him. Lissy made me. He won't pursue it.'

'How do you know?'

'He won't do anything that would p.i.s.s Mummy off. He has a pretty lucrative arrangement with her.'

I shoot Lissy a 'can we trust her?' look, and she gives a doubtful shrug.

'Jemima, this is a warning.' I walk to the door, then turn round with a stern face. 'If anything of this gets out anything at all I will make it public that you snore.'

'I don't snore!' says Jemima tartly.

'Yes you do,' says Lissy. 'When you've had too much to drink you snore really loudly. And we'll tell everyone you got your Donna Karan coat from a discount warehouse shop.'

Jemima gasps in horror.

'I didn't!' she says, colour suffusing her cheeks.

'You did. I saw the carrier bag,' I chime in. 'And we'll make it public that you once asked for a serviette, not a napkin.'

Jemima claps a hand over her mouth.

'... and your pearls are cultured, not real...'

'... and you never really cook the food at your dinner parties...'

'... and that photo of you meeting Prince William is faked...'

'... and we'll tell every single man you ever date from now on that all you're after is a rock on your finger!' I finish, and glance gratefully at Lissy.

'OK!' says Jemima, practically in tears. 'OK! I promise I'll forget all about it. I promise. Just please don't mention the discount warehouse shop. Please. Can I go now?' She looks imploringly at Lissy.

'Yes, you can go,' says Lissy contemptuously, and Jemima scuttles out of the room. As the door closes, I stare at Lissy.

'Is that photo of Jemima and Prince William really faked?'

'Yes! Didn't I tell you? I once did some stuff for her on her computer, and I opened the file by mistake and there it was. She just pasted her head onto some other girl's body!'

I can't help giving a giggle.

'That girl is unbelievable.'

I sink into a chair, feeling suddenly weak, and for a while there's silence. In the distance there's a roar of laughter from the party, and somebody walks past the door of the office, talking about the trouble with the judiciary system as it stands...

'Wouldn't he even listen?' says Lissy at last.

'No. He just left.'

'Isn't that a bit extreme? I mean, he gave away all your secrets. You only gave away one of his-'

'You don't understand,' I stare at the drab brown office carpet. 'What Jack told me, it's not just anything. It's something really precious to him. He came all the way here to tell me. To show me that he trusted me with it.' I swallow hard. 'And the next moment he finds me spilling it to a journalist.'

'But you weren't!' says Lissy loyally. 'Emma, this wasn't your fault!'

'It was!' Tears are welling up in my eyes. 'If I'd just kept my mouth closed, if I'd never told Jemima anything in the first place...'

'She would have got him anyway,' says Lissy. 'He'd be suing you for a sc.r.a.ped car instead. Or damaged genitals.'

I give a shaky laugh.

The door bursts open, and the feathered guy I saw backstage looks in. 'Lissy! There you are. They're serving food. It looks rather good, actually.'

'OK,' she says. 'Thanks, Colin. I'll be along in a minute.'

He leaves and Lissy turns to me.

'Do you want something to eat?'

'I'm not really hungry. But you go,' I add quickly. 'You must be starving after your performance.'

'I am rather ravenous,' she admits. Then she gives me an anxious look. 'But what will you

'I'll... just go home,' I say, and try to smile as cheerfully as I can. 'Don't worry, Lissy, I'll be fine.'

And I am planning to go home. But when I get outside I find I can't bring myself to. I'm wound up with tension like a metal coil. I can't face going into the party and having to make small talk but I can't face the four silent walls of my bedroom either. Not quite yet.

Instead, I head across the gravel, towards the empty auditorium. The door is unlocked and I walk straight in. I make my way through the darkness to a seat in the middle, and wearily sit down on the cus.h.i.+ony purple plush.

And as I stare at the silent blackness of the empty stage, two fat tears make their way out of my eyes and trickle slowly down my face. I cannot believe I've f.u.c.ked up so monumentally. I can't believe Jack really thinks I... that he thinks I would...

I keep seeing the shock on his face. I keep reliving that trapped powerlessness, that desperation to speak; to explain myself.

If I could just replay it...

Suddenly there's a creaking sound. The door is slowly opening.

I peer uncertainly through the gloom as a figure comes into the auditorium and stops. In spite of myself, my heart starts to thud with unbearable hope.

It's Jack. It has to be Jack. He's come to find me.

There's a long, agonizing silence. I'm taut with apprehension. Why won't he say anything? Why won't he speak?

Is he punis.h.i.+ng me? Is he expecting me to apologize again? Oh G.o.d, this is torture. Just say something, I plead silently. Just say something.

'Oh Francesca...'

'Connor...'

What? I peer again, more sharply, and feel a crash of disappointment. I am such a moron. It's not Jack. It's not one figure, it's two. It's Connor and what must be his new girlfriend and they're snogging.

Miserably, I shrink right down in my seat, trying to block my ears. But it's no good, I can hear everything.

'Do you like this?' I hear Connor murmuring.

'Mmm...'

'Do you really like it?'

'Of course I do! Stop quizzing me!'

'Sorry,' says Connor, and there's silence, apart from the odd 'Mmmm'.

'Do you like this?' his voice suddenly comes again.

'I already told you I did.'

'Francesca, be honest, OK?' Connor's voice rises in agitation. 'Because if that means no, then-'

'It doesn't mean no! Connor, what's your problem?'

'My problem is, I don't believe you.'

'You don't believe me?' She sounds furious. 'Why the h.e.l.l don't you believe me?'

Suddenly I'm filled with remorse. This is all my fault. Not only have I wrecked my own relations.h.i.+p, now I've wrecked theirs too. I have to do something. I have to try to build bridges.

I clear my throat. 'Er... excuse me?'

'Who the f.u.c.k's that?' says Francesca sharply. 'Is someone there?'

'It's me. Emma. Connor's ex-girlfriend.'

A row of lights goes on, and I see a girl with red hair staring at me belligerently, with her hand on the light switch.

'What the h.e.l.l are you doing? Spying on us?'

'No!' I say. 'Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I couldn't help overhearing...' I swallow. 'The thing is, Connor isn't being difficult. He just wants you to be honest. He wants to know what you want.' I summon up my most understanding, womanly expression. 'Francesca... tell him what you want.'

Francesca stares at me incredulously, then looks at Connor.

'I want her to p.i.s.s off.' She points at me.

'Oh,' I say, taken aback. 'Er, OK. Sorry.'

'And switch the lights off when you go,' adds Francesca, leading Connor up the aisle towards the back of the auditorium.

Are they going to have s.e.x?

OK, I really do not want to be around for this.

Hastily I pick up my bag and hurry along the row of seats towards the exit. I push my way through the double doors into the foyer, flicking the light switch as I pa.s.s, then step out into the courtyard. I close the door behind me, and look up.

And then I freeze.

I don't believe it. It's Jack.

It's Jack, coming towards me, striding fast across the courtyard, determination on his face. I haven't got time to think, or prepare.

My heart really is racing. I want to speak or cry or... do something, but I can't.

He reaches me with a crunch of gravel, takes me by the shoulders, and gives me a long, intense look.

'I'm afraid of the dark.'

'What?' I falter.

'I'm afraid of the dark. Always have been. I keep a baseball bat under the bed, just in case.'

I stare at him in utter bewilderment.

'Jack-'

'I've never liked caviar.' He casts around. 'I... I'm embarra.s.sed by my French accent.'

'Jack, what are you-'

'I got the scar on my wrist by cracking open a bottle of beer when I was fourteen. When I was a kid I used to stick gum under my Aunt Francine's dining table. I lost my virginity to a girl named Lisa Greenwood in her uncle's barn, and afterwards I asked if I could keep her bra to show my friends.'

I can't help giving a snuffle of laughter, but Jack carries on regardless, his gaze fixed on mine.

'I've never worn any of the ties my mother has given me for Christmas. I've always wanted to be an inch or two taller than I am. I... I don't know what co-dependent means. I have a recurring dream in which I'm Superman, falling from the sky. I sometimes sit in board meetings and look around and think "Who the h.e.l.l are these guys?"'

He draws breath and gazes at me. His eyes are darker than I've ever seen them.

'I met a girl on a plane. And... my whole life changed as a result.'

Something hot is welling up inside me. My throat is tight, my whole head aching. I'm trying so hard not to cry, but my face is contorting all by itself.

'Jack,' I swallow desperately. 'I didn't... I really didn't...'