Can You Keep A Secret?

'Don't patronize me! This wasn't team-work. It was totally my idea. I put it in for my grandpa!'

Damn. I didn't quite mean to let that slip out.

'First your parents. Now your grandpa,' says Paul, turning to look at me. 'Emma, remind me,

is this Bring Your Entire Family To Work week?'

'No! It's just…' I begin, a little hot under his gaze. 'You said you were going to axe Panther

Bars, so I… I thought I'd give him and his friends some money off, and they could all stock

up. I tried to tell you at that big meeting, my grandfather loves Panther Bars! And so do all his

friends. If you ask me, you should be marketing Panther Bars at them, not teenagers.'

There's silence. Paul looks astonished.

'You know, in Scandinavia, they're coming to the same conclusion,' he says. 'That's what this

new research shows.'

'Oh,' I say. 'Well… there you go.'

'So why does this older generation like Panther Bars so much, Emma? Do you know?' He

sounds genuinely fascinated.

'Yes, of course I know.'

'It's the grey pound,' puts in Nick wisely. 'Demographic shifts in the pensionable population

are accounting for-'

'No it's not!' I say impatiently. 'It's because… because…' Oh God, Grandpa will absolutely

kill me for saying this. 'It's because… they don't pull out their false teeth.'

There's a staggered pause. Then Paul throws back his head and roars with laughter. 'False

teeth,' he says, wiping his eyes. 'That is sheer bloody genius, Emma. False teeth!'

He chuckles again and I stare back at him, feeling the blood beating in my head. I've got the

strangest feeling. Like something's building up inside me, as though I'm about to-

'So can I have a promotion?'

'What?' Paul looks up.

Did I really just say that? Out loud?

'Can I have a promotion?' My voice is trembling slightly, but I hold firm. 'You said if I

created my own opportunities I could have a promotion. That's what you said. Isn't this

creating my own opportunities?'

Paul looks at me for a few moments, blinking, saying nothing.

'You know, Emma Corrigan,' he says at last. 'You are one of the most… one of the most

surprising people I've ever known.'

'Is that a yes?' I persist.

There's silence in the entire office. Everyone's waiting to see what he'll say.

'Oh, for God's sake,' he says, rolling his eyes. 'All right! You can have a promotion. Is that it?'

'No,' I hear myself saying, my heart beating even more furiously. 'There's more. Paul, I broke

your World Cup mug.'

'What?' He looks gobsmacked.

'I'm really sorry. I'll buy you another one.' I look around the silent, gawping office. 'And it

was me who jammed the copier that time. In fact… all the times. And that bottom…' Amid

agog faces, I walk to the pin-board and rip down the photocopied, G-stringed bottom. 'That's

mine, and I don't want it up there any more.' I swivel round. 'And Artemis, about your spider

plant…'

'What?' she says suspiciously.

I stare at her, in her Burberry raincoat and her designer spectacles, and her smug, I'm-betterthan-

you face.

OK, let's not get carried away. 'I… I can't think what's wrong with it.' I smile at her. 'Have a

good meeting.'

For the rest of the day, I am totally exhilarated. Kind of shocked and exhilarated, all at the

same time. I can't believe I'm getting a promotion. I'm actually going to be a Marketing

Executive!

But it's not just that. I don't quite know what's happened to me. I feel like a whole new person.

So what if I broke Paul's mug? Who cares? So what if everyone knows how much I weigh?

Who cares? Goodbye old, crap Emma, who hides her Oxfam bags under her desk. Hello new,

confident Emma, who proudly hangs them on her chair.

I rang Mum and Dad to tell them I was getting promoted, and they were so impressed! They

said at once they'd come up to London and take me out to celebrate. And then I had a really

nice long chat with Mum about Jack. She said some relationships were supposed to last for

ever and some were only supposed to last a few days, and that was just the way life was. Then

she told me all about some chap in Paris who she'd had some amazing forty-eight hour fling

with. She said she'd never experienced physical pleasure like it, and she knew it could never

last, but that made it all the more poignant.

Then she added I needn't mention any of this to Dad.

Gosh. I'm actually quite shocked. I always thought Mum and Dad… at least, I never…

Well. It just goes to show.

But she is right. Some relationships are meant to be short-lived. Jack and I were obviously

never going to get anywhere. And actually, I'm very sorted out about it. In fact, I'm pretty

much over him. My heart only went into spasm once today, when I thought I saw him in the

corridor, and I recovered really quickly.

My whole new life begins today. In fact, I expect I'll meet someone new tonight at Lissy's

dancing show. Some really tall, dashing lawyer. Yes. And he'll come and pick me up from

work in his amazingly fab sports car. And I'll trip happily down the steps, tossing my hair

back, not even looking at Jack, who will be standing at his office window, glowering…

No. No. Jack won't be anywhere. I am over Jack. I have to remember this.

Maybe I'll write it on my hand.

TWENTY-FOUR

Lissy's dancing show is being held in a theatre in Bloomsbury set in a small gravelled

courtyard, and when I arrive I find the entire place crammed with lawyers in expensive suits

using their mobile phones.

'… client unwilling to accept the terms of agreement…'

'… attention to clause four, comma, notwithstanding…'

No-one is making the slightest attempt to go into the auditorium yet, so I head backstage, to

give Lissy the bouquet I've bought for her. (I was originally pla

stage at the end, but it's roses, and I'm a bit worried it might ladder her tights.)

As I walk down the shabby corridors, music is being piped through the sound system and

people keep brushing past me in glittery costumes. A man with blue feathers in his hair is

stretching his leg against the wall and talking to someone in a dressing room at the same time.

'So then I pointed out to that idiot of a prosecuting counsel that the precedent set in 1983 by

Miller v. Davy means…' He suddenly stops. 'Shit. I've forgotten my first steps.' His face

drains of colour. 'I can't remember a fucking thing. I'm not joking! I jete on — then what?' He

looks at me as though expecting me to supply him with an answer.

'Er… a pirouette?' I hazard, and awkwardly hurry on, nearly tripping over a girl doing the

splits. Then I catch sight of Lissy sitting on a stool in one of the dressing rooms. Her face is

heavily made up and her eyes are all huge and glittery, and she's got blue feathers in her hair

too.

'Oh my God, Lissy!' I say, halting in the doorway. 'You look amazing! I completely love

your-'

'I can't do it.'

'What?'

'I can't do it!' she repeats desperately, and pulls her cotton robe around her. 'I can't remember

anything. My mind is blank!'

'Everyone thinks that,' I say reassuringly. 'There was a guy outside saying exactly the same

thing-'

'No. I really can't remember anything.' Lissy stares at me with wild eyes. 'My legs feel like

cotton wool, I can't breathe…' She picks up a blusher brush, looks at it bleakly, then puts it

down. 'Why did I ever agree to do this? Why?'

'Er… because it would be fun?'