Can You Keep A Secret?

is a bit tense.

Have they gathered to watch me being fired? Is this some kind of how-to-fire-people training?

'Hello,' I say, trying to keep as composed as possible. But my face is hot and I know I look

flustered.

'Hi.' Jack's face crinkles in a smile. 'Emma… relax. There's nothing to worry about. I just

wanted to ask you something.'

'Oh, right,' I say, taken aback.

OK, now I'm totally confused. What on earth could he have to ask me?

Jack reaches for a piece of paper and holds it up so I can see it clearly. 'What do you think this

is a picture of?' he says.

Oh fucketty fuck.

This is your worst nightmare. This is like when I went for that interview at Laines Bank and

they showed me a squiggle and I said I thought it looked like a squiggle.

Everyone is staring at me. I so want to get it right. If only I knew what right was.

I stare at the picture, my heart beating quickly. It's a graphic of two round objects. Kind of

irregular in shape. I have absolutely no idea what they're supposed to be. None at all. They

look like… they look like…

Suddenly I see it.

'It's nuts! Two walnuts!'

Jack explodes with laughter, and a couple of people give muffled giggles which they hastily

stifle.

'Well, I think that proves my point,' says Jack.

'Aren't they walnuts?' I look helplessly around the table.

'They're supposed to be ovaries,' says a man with rimless spectacles tightly.

'Ovaries?' I stare at the page. 'Oh, right! Well, yes. Now you say it, I can definitely see a… an

ovary-like…'

'Walnuts.' Jack wipes his eyes.

'I've explained, the ovaries are simply part of a range of symbolic representations of

womanhood," says a thin guy defensively. 'Ovaries to represent fertility, an eye for wisdom,

this tree to signify the earth mother…'

'The point is, the images can be used across the entire range of products,' says a woman with

black hair, leaning forward. 'The health drink, clothing, a fragrance…'

'The target market responds well to abstract images,' adds Rimless Spectacle Guy. 'The

research has shown-'

'Emma.' Jack looks at me again. 'Would you buy a drink with ovaries on it?'

'Er…' I clear my throat, aware of a couple of hostile faces pointing my way. 'Well…

probably not.'

A few people exchange glances.

'This is so irrelevant,' someone is muttering.

'Jack, three creative teams have been at work at this,' the black-haired woman says earnestly.

'We can't start from scratch. We simply ca

Jack takes a swig of water from an Evian bottle, wipes his mouth and looks at her.

'You know I came up with the slogan "Don't Pause" in two minutes on a bar napkin?'

'Yes, we know,' mutters the guy in rimless spectacles.

'We are not selling a drink with ovaries on it.' He exhales sharply, and runs a hand through his

dishevelled hair. Then he pushes his chair back. 'OK, let's take a break. Emma, would you be

kind enough to assist me in carrying some of these folders down to Sven's office?'

God, I wonder what all that was about. But I don't quite dare ask. Jack marches me down the

corridor, and into a lift and presses the ninth-floor button, without saying anything. After

we've descended for about two seconds he presses the emergency button, and we grind to a

halt. Then, finally, he looks at me.

'Are you and I the only sane people in this building?'

'Um…'

'What happened to instincts?' His face is incredulous. 'No-one knows a good idea from a

terrible one any more. Ovaries.' He shakes his head. 'Fucking ovaries!'

I can't help it. He looks so outraged, and the way he says 'ovaries!' suddenly seems the

fu

looks astounded, and then his face kind of crumples, and suddenly he's laughing too. His nose

screws right up when he laughs, just like a baby's and somehow this makes it seem about a

million times fu

Oh God. I really am laughing now. I'm giving tiny little snorts, and my ribs hurt, and every

time I look at him I give another gurgle. My nose is ru

have to blow my nose on the picture of the ovaries…

'Emma, why are you with that guy?'

'What?' I look up, still laughing, until I realize that Jack's stopped. He's looking at me, with an

unreadable expression on his face.

'Why are you with that guy?' he repeats.

My gurgles peter out, and I push my hair back off my face.

'What do you mean?' I say, playing for time.

'Co

I stare at him, feeling wrong-footed.

'Who says?'

'I've got to know Co

nice guy — but you need more than a nice guy.' Jack gives me a long, shrewd look. 'My guess

is, you don't really want to move in with him. But you're afraid of ducking out.'

I feel a swell of indignation. How dare he read my mind and get it so… so wrong. Of course I

want to move in with Co

'Actually, you're quite mistaken,' I say cuttingly. 'I'm looking forward to moving in with him.

In fact… in fact, I was just sitting at my desk, thinking how I can't wait!'

So there.

Jack's shaking his head.

'You need someone with a spark. Who excites you.'

'I told you, I didn't mean what I said on the plane. Co

defiant look. 'I mean… when you saw us last, we were pretty passionate, weren't we?'

'Oh, that.' Jack shrugs. 'I assumed that was a desperate attempt to spice up your love life.'

I stare at him in fury.

'That was not a desperate attempt to spice up my love life!' I almost spit at him. 'That was

simply a… a spontaneous act of passion.'

'Sorry,' says Jack mildly. 'My mistake.'

'Anyway, why do you care?' I fold my arms. 'What does it matter to you whether I'm happy or

not?'

There's a sharp silence, and I find I'm breathing rather quickly. I meet his dark eyes, and

quickly look away again.

'I've asked myself that same question,' says Jack. He shrugs. 'Maybe it's because we

experienced that extraordinary plane ride together. Maybe it's because you're the only person

in this whole company who hasn't put on some kind of phoney act for me.'

I would have put on an act! I feel like retorting. If I'd had a choice!

'I guess what I'm saying is… I feel as if you're a friend,' he says. 'And I care what happens to

my friends.'

'Oh,' I say, and rub my nose.

I'm about to say politely that he feels like a friend, too, when he adds, 'Plus anyone who

recites Woody Allen films line for line has to be a loser.'

I feel a surge of outrage on Co

'You don't know anything about it!' I exclaim. 'You know, I wish I'd never sat next to you on

that stupid plane! You go around, saying all these things to wind me up, behaving as though

you know me better than anyone else-'

'Maybe I do,' he says, his eyes glinting.

'What?'

'Maybe I do know you better than anyone else.'

I stare back at him, feeling a breathless mixture of anger and exhilaration. I suddenly feel like

we're playing te

'You do not know me better than anyone else!' I retort, in the most scathing tones I can muster.

'I know you won't end up with Co

'You don't know that.'

'Yes I do.'

'No you don't.'

'I do.'

He's starting to laugh.

'No you don't! If you want to know, I'll probably end up marrying Co