Can You Keep A Secret?

'Jim's yo-yo.' Grandpa reaches for the yo-yo, his eyes softening. 'Good old Jim.'

'Who was Jim?' I say, puzzled. I've never even heard of a Jim before. 'Was he a good friend of

yours?'

'We met at the fairground. Spent the afternoon together. I was nine.' Grandpa is turning the

yo-yo over and over in his fingers.

'Did you become friends?'

'Never saw him again.' He shakes his head mistily. 'I've never forgotten it.'

The trouble with Grandpa is, he never forgets anything.

'Well, what about some of these cards?' I pull out a bundle of old Christmas cards.

'I never throw away cards.' Grandpa gives me a long look. 'When you get to my age; when the

people you've known and loved all your life start to pass away… you want to hang onto any

memento. However small.'

'I can understand that,' I say, feeling touched. I reach for the nearest card, open it and my

expression changes. 'Grandpa! This is from Smith's Electrical Maintenance, 1965.'

'Frank Smith was a very good man-' starts Grandpa.

'No!' I put the card firmly on the floor. 'That's going. And nor do you need one from…' I open

the next card. 'Southwestern Gas Supplies. And you don't need twenty old copies of Punch.' I

deposit them on the pile. 'And what are these?' I reach into the box again and pull out an

envelope of photos. 'Are these actually of anything you really want to-'

Something shoots through my heart and I stop, midstream.

I'm looking at a photograph of me and Dad and Mum, sitting on a bench in a park. Mum's

wearing a flowery dress, and Dad's wearing a stupid sunhat, and I'm on his knee, aged about

nine, eating an ice-cream. We all look so happy together.

Wordlessly, I turn to another photo. I've got Dad's hat on and we're all laughing helplessly at

something. Just us three.

Just us. Before Kerry came into our lives.

I still remember the day she arrived. A red suitcase in the hall, and a new voice in the kitchen,

and an unfamiliar smell of perfume in the air. I walked in and there she was, a stranger,

drinking a cup of tea. She was wearing school uniform, but she still looked like a grown-up to

me. She already had an enormous bust, and gold studs in her ears, and streaks in her hair. And

at suppertime, Mum and Dad let her have a glass of wine. Mum kept telling me I had to be

very kind to her, because her mother had died. We all had to be very kind to Kerry. That was

why she got my room.

I leaf through the rest of the pictures, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I remember

this place now. The park we used to go to, with swings and slides. But it was too boring for

Kerry, and I desperately wanted to be like her, so I said it was boring too, and we never went

again.

'Knock knock!' I look up with a start, and Kerry's standing at the door, holding her glass of

wine. 'Lunch is ready!'

'Thanks,' I say. 'We're just coming.'

'Now, Gramps!' Kerry wags her finger reprovingly at Grandpa, and gestures at the packing

cases. 'Haven't you got anywhere with this lot yet?'

'It's difficult,' I hear myself saying defensively. 'There are a lot of memories in here. You can't

just throw them out.'

'If you say so.' Kerry rolls her eyes. 'If it were me, the whole lot'd go in the bin.'

I cannot cherish her. I cannot do it. I want to throw my treacle tart at her.

We've been sitting round the table now for forty minutes and the only voice we've heard is

Kerry's.

'It's all about image,' she's saying now. 'It's all about the right clothes, the right look, the right

walk. When I walk along the street, the message I give the world is 'I am a successful

woman'.'

'Show us!' says Mum admiringly.

'Well.' Kerry gives a false-modest smile. 'Like this.' She pushes her chair back and wipes her

mouth with her napkin.

'You should watch this, Emma,' says Mum. 'Pick up a few tips!'

As we all watch, Kerry starts striding round the room. Her chin is raised, her boobs are

sticking out, her eyes are fixed on the middle distance, and her bottom is jerking from side to

side.

She looks like a cross between an ostrich and one of the androids in Attack of the Clones.

'I should be in heels, of course,' she says, without stopping.

'When Kerry goes into a conference hall, I tell you, heads turn,' says Nev proudly, and takes a

sip of wine. 'People stop what they're doing and stare at her!'

I bet they do.

Oh God. I want to giggle. I mustn't. I mustn't.

'Do you want to have a go, Emma?' says Kerry. 'Copy me?'

'Er… I don't think so,' I say. 'I think I probably… picked up the basics.'

Suddenly I give a tiny snort and turn it into a cough.

'Kerry's trying to help you, Emma!' says Mum. 'You should be grateful! You are good to

Emma, Kerry.'

She beams fondly at Kerry, who simpers back. And I take a swig of wine.

Yeah, right. Kerry really wants to help me.

That's why when I was completely desperate for a job and asked her for work experience at

her company, she said no. I wrote her this long, careful letter, saying I realized it put her in an

awkward situation, but I'd really appreciate any chance, even a couple of days running errands.

And she sent back a standard rejection letter.

I was so totally mortified, I never told anyone. Especially not Mum and Dad.

'You should listen to some of Kerry's business tips, Emma,' Dad is saying sharply. 'Maybe if

you paid more attention you'd do a bit better in life.'

'It's only a walk,' quips Nev with a chortle. 'It's not a miracle cure!'

'Nev!' says Mum half reprovingly.

'Emma knows I'm joking, don't you, Emma?' says Nev easily and fills up his glass with more

wine.

'Of course!' I say, forcing myself to smile gaily.

Just wait till I get promoted.

Just wait. Just wait.

'Emma! Earth to Emma!' Kerry is waving a comical hand in front of my face. 'Wake up,

Dopey! We're doing presents.'

'Oh right,' I say, coming to. 'OK. I'll just go and get mine.'

As Mum opens a camera from Dad and a purse from Grandpa, I start to feel excited. I so hope

Mum likes my present.

'It doesn't look much,' I say as I hand her the pink envelope. 'But you'll see when you open it

…'

'What can it be?' Mum says, looking intrigued. She rips open the envelope, opens the flowered

card, and stares at it. 'Oh, Emma!'

'What is it?' says Dad.

'It's a day at a spa!' says Mum in delight. 'A whole day of pampering.'