Can You Keep A Secret?

'I don't even know which one it is,' says Lissy, with a shrug.

I can't look at Lissy. I'm sure I saw her wearing it the other night.

Jemima's blue eyes are running over me and Lissy like some kind of radar scanners.

'Because I have very slender arms,' she says warningly, 'and I really don't want the sleeves

stretched. And don't think I won't notice, because I will. Ciao.'

The minute she's gone Lissy and I look at each other.

'Shit,' says Lissy. 'I think I left it at work. Oh well, I'll pick it up on Monday.' She shrugs and

goes back to reading the magazine.

OK. So the truth is, we do both occasionally borrow Jemima's clothes. Without asking. But in

our defence, she has so many, she hardly ever notices. Plus according to Lissy, it's a basic

human right that flatmates should be able to borrow each others' clothes. She says it's

practically part of the unwritten British constitution.

'And anyway,' adds Lissy, 'she owes it to me for writing her that letter to the council about all

her parking tickets. You know, she never even said thank you.' She looks up from an article

on Nicole Kidman. 'So what are you doing later on? D'you want to see a film?'

'I can't,' I say reluctantly. 'I've got my mum's birthday lunch.'

'Oh yes, of course.' She pulls a sympathetic face. 'Good luck. I hope it's OK.'

Lissy is the only person in the world who has any idea how I feel about visiting home. And

even she doesn't know it all.

FOUR

But as I sit on the train down, I'm resolved that this time will be better. I was watching a

Cindy Blaine show the other day, all about reuniting long-lost daughters with their mothers,

and it was so moving I soon had tears running down my face. At the end, Cindy gave this

little homily about how it's far too easy to take our families for granted and that they gave us

life and we should cherish them. And suddenly I felt really chastened.

So these are my resolutions for today:

I will not:

Let my family stress me out.

Feel jealous of Kerry, or let Nev wind me up.

Look at my watch, wondering how soon I can leave.

I will:

Stay serene and loving and remember that we are all sacred links in the eternal circle of life.

(I got that from Cindy Blaine, too.)

Mum and Dad used to live in Twickenham, which is where I grew up. But now they've moved

out of London to a village in Hampshire. I arrive at their house just after twelve, to find Mum

in the kitchen with my cousin Kerry. She and her husband Nev have moved out too, to a

village about five minutes' drive from Mum and Dad, so they see each other all the time.

I feel a familiar pang as I see them, standing side by side by the stove. They look more like

mother and daughter than aunt and niece. They've both got the same feather-cut hair -

although Kerry's is highlighted more strongly than Mum's — they're both wearing brightly

coloured tops which show a lot of tanned cleavage, and they're both laughing. On the counter,

I notice a bottle of white wine already half gone.

'Happy birthday!' I say, hugging Mum. As I glimpse a wrapped parcel on the kitchen table, I

feel a little thrill of anticipation. I have got Mum the best birthday present. I can't wait to give

it to her!

'Hiya!' says Kerry, turning round in her apron. Her blue eyes are heavily made-up, and round

her neck she's wearing a diamond cross which I haven't seen before. Every time I see Kerry

she has a new piece of jewellery. 'Great to see you, Emma! We don't see enough of you. Do

we, Aunty Rachel?'

'We certainly don't,' says Mum, giving me a hug.

'Shall I take your coat?' says Kerry, as I put the bottle of champagne I've brought into the

fridge. 'And what about a drink?'

This is how Kerry always talks to me. As though I'm a visitor.

But never mind. I'm not going to stress about it. Sacred links in the eternal circle of life.

'It's OK,' I say, trying to sound pleasant. 'I'll get it.' I open the cupboard where glasses are

always kept, to find myself looking at tins of tomatoes.

'They're over here,' says Kerry, on the other side of the kitchen. 'We moved everything

around! It makes much more sense now.'

'Oh right. Thanks.' I take the glass she gives me and take a sip of wine. 'Can I do anything to

help?'

'I don't think so…' says Kerry, looking critically around the kitchen. 'Everything's pretty

much done. So I said to Elaine,' she adds to Mum, ''Where did you get those shoes?' And she

said M S! I couldn't believe it!'

'Who's Elaine?' I say, trying to join in.

'At the golf club,' says Kerry.

Mum never used to play golf. But when she moved to Hampshire, she and Kerry took it up

together. And now all I hear about is golf matches, golf club dinners, and endless parties with

chums from the golf club.

I did once go along, to see what it was all about. But first of all they have all these stupid rules

about what you can wear, which I didn't know, and some old guy nearly had a heart attack

because I was in jeans. So they had to find me a skirt, and a spare pair of those clumpy shoes

with spikes. And then when we got on to the course I couldn't hit the ball. Not I couldn't hit

the ball well: I literally could not make contact with the ball. So in the end they all exchanged

glances and said I'd better wait in the clubhouse.

'Sorry, Emma, can I just get past you…' Kerry reaches over my shoulder for a serving dish.

'Sorry,' I say, and move aside. 'So, is there really nothing I can do, Mum?'

'You could feed Sammy,' she says, giving me a pot of goldfish food. She frowns anxiously.

'You know, I'm a bit worried about Sammy.'

'Oh,' I say, feeling a spasm of alarm. 'Er… why?'

'He just doesn't seem himself.' She peers at him in his bowl. 'What do you think? Does he look

right to you?'

I follow her gaze and pull a thoughtful face, as though I'm studying Sammy's features.

Oh God. I never thought she would notice. I tried as hard as I could to get a fish that looked

just like Sammy. I mean he's orange, he's got two fins, he swims around… What's the

difference?

'He's probably just a bit depressed,' I say at last. 'He'll get over it.'

Please don't let her take him to the vet or anything, I silently pray. I didn't even check if I got

the right sex. Do goldfishes even have sexes?