Can You Keep A Secret?

Not that it will take long. I mean, I'm only going to throw on a pair of jeans. And maybe

quickly wash my hair, which I was going to do anyway.

And maybe do a quick face-mask.

An hour later Lissy appears at the door of my room, dressed in jeans, a tight black corset top

and her Bertie heels which I happen to know always give her a blister.

'What do you think?' she says, in the same casual voice. 'I mean, I haven't really made much

effort-'

'Neither have I,' I say, blowing on my second coat of nail polish. 'I mean, it's just a relaxed

evening out. I'm hardly even bothering with makeup.' I look up and stare at Lissy. 'Are those

false eyelashes?'

'No! I mean… yes. But you weren't supposed to notice. They're called natural look.' She goes

over to the mirror and bats her eyelids at herself worriedly. 'Are they really obvious?'

'No!' I say reassuringly, and reach for my blusher brush. When I look up again, Lissy is

staring at my shoulder.

'What's that?'

'What?' I say i

Yes, it just sticks on. I thought I'd just put it on for fun.' I reach for my halterneck top, tie it on,

and slide my feet into my pointy suede boots. I got them in a Sue Ryder shop a year ago, and

they're a bit scuffed up, but in the dark you can hardly tell.

'Do you think we look too much?' says Lissy as I go and stand next to her in front of the

mirror. 'What if they're all in jeans?'

'We're in jeans!'

'But what if they're in big thick jumpers and we look really stupid?'

Lissy is always completely paranoid about what everyone else will be wearing. When it was

her first chambers Christmas party and she didn't know whether 'black tie' meant long dresses

or just sparkly tops, she made me come and stand outside the door with about six different

outfits in carrier bags, so she could quickly change. (Of course the original dress she'd put on

was fine. I told her it would be.)

'They won't be wearing big thick jumpers,' I say. 'Come on, let's go.'

'We can't!' Lissy looks at her watch. 'It's too early.'

'Yes we can. We can be just having a quick drink on our way to another celebrity party.'

'Oh yes.' Lissy brightens. 'Cool. Let's go!'

It takes us about fifteen minutes by bus to get from Islington to Clerkenwell. Lissy leads me

down an empty road near to Smithfield Market, full of warehouses and empty office buildings.

Then we turn a corner, and then another corner, until we're standing in a small alley.

'Right,' says Lissy, standing under a street lamp and consulting a tiny scrap of paper. 'It's all

hidden away somewhere.'

'Isn't there a sign?'

'No. The whole point is, no-one except members knows where it is. You have to knock on the

right door and ask for Alexander.'

'Who's Alexander?'

'Du

Secret code! This gets cooler and cooler. As Lissy squints at an intercom set in the wall, I

look idly around. This street is completely nondescript. In fact, it's pretty shabby. Just rows of

identical doors and blanked-out windows and barely any sign of life. But just think. Hidden

behind this grim facade is the whole of London celebrity society!

'Hi, is Alexander there?' says Lissy nervously. There's a moment's silence, then as if by magic,

the door clicks open.

Oh my God. This is like Aladdin or something. Looking apprehensively at each other, we

make our way down a lit corridor pulsing with music. We come to a flat, stainless steel door,

and Lissy reaches for her key. As it opens, I quickly tug at my top and casually rearrange my

hair.

'OK,' Lissy mutters. 'Don't look. Don't stare. Just be cool.'

'All right,' I mutter back, and follow Lissy into the club. As she shows her membership card to

a girl at a desk, I stare studiously at her back, and as we walk through into a large, dim room, I

keep my eyes fixed on the beige carpet. I'm not going to gawp at the celebrities. I'm not going

to stare. I'm not going to-

'Lookout!'

Oops. I was so busy gazing at the floor, I blundered right into Lissy.

'Sorry,' I whisper. 'Where shall we sit down?'

I don't dare look around the room for a free seat, in case I see Mado

staring at her. 'Here,' says Lissy, gesturing to a wooden table with an odd little jerk of her

head.

Somehow we manage to sit down, stow our bags and pick up the lists of cocktails, all the time

rigidly staring at each other.

'Have you seen anyone?' I murmur.

'No. Have you?'

'No.' I open the cocktail menu and run my eyes down it. God this is a strain. My eyes are

starting to ache. I want to look around. I want to see the place.

'Lissy,' I hiss. 'I'm going to have a look round.'

'Really?' Lissy stares at me anxiously, as though I'm Steve McQueen a

over the wire. 'Well… OK. But be careful. Be discreet.'

'I will. I'll be fine!'

OK. Here we go. A quick, non-gawping sweep. I lean back in my chair, take a deep breath,

then allow my eyes to skim swiftly round the room, taking in as much detail as quickly as I

can. Low lighting… lots of purple sofas and chairs… a couple of guys in T-shirts… three

girls in jeans and jumpers, God, Lissy's going to freak… a couple whispering to each other

… a guy with a beard reading Private Eye … and that's it.

That can't be it.

This can't be right. Where's Robbie Williams? Where's Jude and Sadie? Where are all the

supermodels?

'Who did you see?' hisses Lissy, still staring at the cocktail menu.

'I'm not sure,' I whisper uncertainly. 'Maybe that guy with the beard is some famous actor?'

Casually, Lissy turns in her seat and gives him a look.

'I don't think so,' she says at last, turning back.

'Well, how about the guy in the grey T-shirt?' I say, gesturing hopefully. 'Is he in a boy band

or something?'

'Mmm… no. I don't think so.'

There's silence as we look at each other.

'Is anyone famous here?' I say at last.

'Celebrities aren't guaranteed!' says Lissy defensively.

'I know! But you'd think-'

'Hi!' A voice interrupts us and we both look round, to see two of the girls in jeans approaching

our table. One of them is smiling at me nervously. 'I hope you don't mind, but my friends and

I were just wondering — aren't you that new one in Hollyoaks?'

Oh, for God's sake.

Anyway. I don't care. We didn't come here to see tacky celebrities taking coke and showing

off. We just came to have a nice quiet drink together.

We order strawberry daiquiris and some luxury mixed nuts (?4.50, for a small bowl. Don't

even ask how much the drinks cost). And I have to admit, I feel a bit more relaxed now I

know there's no-one famous to impress.

'How's your work going?' I ask, as I sip my drink.

'Oh, it's fine,' says Lissy with a vague shrug. 'I saw the Jersey Fraudster today.'

The Jersey Fraudster is this client of Lissy's who keeps being charged with fraud and

appealing and — because Lissy's so brilliant — getting let out. One minute he's wearing

handcuffs, the next he's dressed in hand-made suits and taking her to lunch at the Ritz.

'He tried to buy me a diamond brooch,' says Lissy, rolling her eyes. 'He had this Asprey's

catalogue and he kept saying "That one's rather jolly." And I was like, "Humphrey, you're in

prison! Concentrate!"' She shakes her head, takes a sip of her drink, and looks up. 'So… what

about your man?'

I know at once she means Jack, but I don't want to admit that's where my mind has leapt to, so