Can You Keep A Secret?

'What?'

There's a frisson around the room, and people start turning their heads.

'We're going into the women's market?'

'Since when?'

'I knew, actually,' Artemis is saying smugly. 'Quite a few people have known for a while-'

I stare at the screen, instantly recalling those people up in Jack's office. That's what the

ovaries were for. Gosh, this is quite exciting. A new venture!

'Can you give us any further details about that?' the male interviewer is saying. 'Will this be a

soft drink marketed at women?'

'It's very early stages,' says Jack. 'But we're pla

fragrance. We have a strong creative vision.' He smiles at the man. 'We're excited.'

'So, what's your target market this time?' asks the man, consulting his notes. 'Are you aiming

at sportswomen?'

'Not at all,' says Jack. 'We're aiming at… the girl on the street.'

'The "girl on the street"?' The female interviewer sits up, looking slightly affronted. 'What's

that supposed to mean? Who is this girl on the street?'

'She's twenty-something,' says Jack after a pause. 'She works in an office, takes the tube to

work, goes out in the evenings and comes home on the night bus… just an ordinary, nothingspecial

girl.'

'There are thousands of them,' puts in the man with a smile.

'But the Panther brand has always been associated with men,' chips in the woman, looking

sceptical. 'With competition. With masculine values. Do you really think you can make the

switch to the female market?'

'We've done research,' says Jack pleasantly. 'We feel we know our market.'

'Research!' she scoffs. 'Isn't this just another case of men telling women what they want?'

'I don't believe so,' says Jack, still pleasantly, but I can see a slight flicker of a

across his face.

'Plenty of companies have tried to switch markets without success. How do you know you

won't just be another one of them?'

'I'm confident,' says Jack.

God, why is she being so aggressive? I think indignantly. Of course Jack knows what he's

doing!

'You round up a load of women in some focus group and ask them a few questions! How does

that tell you anything?'

'That's only a small part of the picture, I can assure you,' says Jack evenly.

'Oh, come on,' the woman says, leaning back and folding her arms. 'Can a company like

Panther — can a man like you — really tap into the psyche of, as you put it, an ordinary,

nothing-special girl?'

'Yes. I can!' Jack meets her gaze square-on. 'I know this girl.'

'You know her?' The woman raises her eyebrows.

'I know who this girl is,' says Jack. 'I know what her tastes are; what colours she likes. I know

what she eats, I know what she drinks. I know what she wants out of life. She's size twelve

but she'd like to be size ten. She…' he spreads his arms as though searching for inspiration.

'She eats Cheerios for breakfast and dips Flakes in her cappuccinos.'

I look in surprise at my hand, holding a Flake. I was about to dip it into my coffee. And… I

had Cheerios this morning.

'We're surrounded these days by images of perfect, glossy people,' Jack is saying with

animation. 'But this girl is real. She has bad hair days, and good hair days. She wears Gstrings

even though she finds them uncomfortable. She writes out exercise routines, then

ignores them. She pretends to read business journals but hides celebrity magazines inside

them.'

I stare blankly at the television screen.

Just… hang on a minute. This all sounds a bit familiar.

'That's exactly what you do, Emma,' says Artemis. 'I've seen your copy of OK! inside

Marketing Week,' She turns to me with a mocking laugh and her gaze lands on my Flake.

'She loves clothes but she's not a fashion victim,' Jack is saying on screen. 'She'll wear, maybe,

a pair of jeans…'

Artemis stares in disbelief at my Levis.

'… and a flower in her hair…'

Dazedly I lift a hand and touch the fabric rose in my hair.

He can't-

He can't be talking about-

'Oh… my… God,' says Artemis slowly.

'What?' says Caroline, next to her. She follows Artemis's gaze, and her expression changes.

'Oh my God! Emma! It's you!'

'It's not,' I say, but my voice won't quite work properly.

'It is!'

A few people start nudging each other and turning to look at me.

'She reads fifteen horoscopes every day and chooses the one she likes best…' Jack's voice is

saying.

'It is you! It's exactly you!'

'… she scans the back of highbrow books and pretends she's read them…'

'I knew you hadn't read Great Expectations!' says Artemis triumphantly.

'… she adores sweet sherry…'

'Sweet sherry?' says Nick, turning in horror. 'You ca

'It's Emma!' I can hear people saying on the other side of the room. 'It's Emma Corrigan!'

'Emma?' says Katie, looking straight at me in disbelief. 'But… but…'

'It's not Emma!' says Co

side of the room, leaning against the wall. 'Don't be ridiculous! Emma's size eight, for a start.

Not size twelve!'

'Size eight?' says Artemis with a snort of laughter.

'Size eight!' Caroline giggles. 'That's a good one!'

'Aren't you size eight?' Co

'I… I know I did.' I swallow, my face like a furnace. 'But I was… I was…'

'Do you really buy all your clothes from thrift shops and pretend they're new?' says Caroline,

looking up with interest from the screen.

'No!' I say defensively. 'I mean, yes, maybe… sometimes…'

'She weighs 135 pounds, but pretends she weighs 125,' Jack's voice is saying.

What? What?

My entire body contracts in shock.

'I do not!' I yell in outrage at the screen. 'I do not weigh anything like 135 pounds! I weigh…

about… 128… and a half…' I tail off as the entire room turns to stare at me.

'… hates crochet…'

There's an almighty gasp from across the room.

'You hate crochet?' comes Katie's disbelieving voice.

'No!' I say, swivelling in horror. 'That's wrong! I love crochet! You know I love crochet.'

But Katie is stalking furiously out of the room.

'She cries when she hears the Carpenters,' Jack's voice is saying on the screen. 'She loves

Abba but she can't stand jazz…'

Oh no. Oh no oh no…

Co

'You can't stand… jazz?'

It's like one of those dreams where everyone can see your underwear and you want to run but

you can't. I can't tear myself away. All I can do is stare ahead in agony as Jack's voice

continues inexorably.

All my secrets. All my personal, private secrets. Revealed on television. I'm in such a state of

shock, I'm not even taking them all in.

'She wears lucky underwear on first dates… she borrows designer shoes from her flatmate

and passes them off as her own… pretends to kick-box… confused about religion… worries

that her breasts are too small…'

I close my eyes, unable to bear it. My breasts. He mentioned my breasts. On television.

'When she goes out, she can play sophisticated, but on her bed…'

I'm suddenly faint with fear.

No. No. Please not this. Please, please …

'… she has a Barbie bedcover.'

A huge roar of laughter goes round the room, and I bury my face in my hands. I am beyond