Can You Keep A Secret?

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. Connor does excite me!' I give him a

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 Connor's behalf.

'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 tennis. Or dancing.

'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 Connor Martin.'

'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 Connor.'

'Marry Connor?' says Jack, as though this is the funniest joke he's ever heard.

'Yes! Why not? He's tall, and he's handsome, and he's kind and he's very… he's…' I'm

floundering slightly. 'And anyway, this is my personal life. You're my boss, and you only met

me last week, and frankly, this is none of your business!'

Jack's laughter vanishes, and he looks as though I've slapped him. For a few moments he

stares at me, saying nothing. Then he takes a step back and releases the lift button.

'You're right,' he says in a completely different voice. 'Your personal life is none of my

business. I overstepped the mark, and I apologize.'

I feel a spasm of dismay.

'I… I didn't mean-'

'No. You're right.' He stares at the floor for a few moments, then looks up. 'So, I leave for the

States tomorrow. It's been a very pleasant stay, and I'd like to thank you for all your help. Will

I see you at the drinks party tonight?'

'I… I don't know,' I say.

The atmosphere has disintegrated.

This is awful. It's horrible. I want to say something, I want to put it back to the way it was

before, all easy and joking. But I can't find the words.

We reach the ninth floor, and the doors open.

'I think I can manage these from here,' Jack says. 'I really only asked you along for the

company.'

Awkwardly, I transfer the folders to his arms.

'Well, Emma,' he says in the same formal voice. 'In case I don't see you later on… it was nice

knowing you.' He meets my eyes and a glimmer of his old, warm expression returns. 'I really

mean that.'

'You too,' I say, my throat tight.

I don't want him to go. I don't want this to be the end. I feel like suggesting a quick drink. I

feel like clinging to his hand and saying: Don't leave.

God, what's wrong with me?

'Have a good journey,' I manage as he shakes my hand. Then he turns on his heel and walks

off down the corridor.

I open my mouth a couple of times to call after him — but what would I say? There's nothing

to say. By tomorrow morning he'll be on a plane back to his life. And I'll be left here in mine.

I feel leaden for the rest of the day. Everyone else is talking about Jack Harper's leaving party,

but I leave work half an hour early. I go straight home and make myself some hot chocolate,

and I'm sitting on the sofa, staring into space when Connor lets himself into the flat.

I look up as he walks into the room, and immediately I know something's different. Not with

him. He hasn't changed a bit.

But I have. I've changed.

'Hi,' he says, and kisses me lightly on the head. 'Shall we go?'

'Go?'

'To look at the flat on Edith Road. We'll have to hurry if we're going to make it to the party.

Oh, and my mother's given us a house-warming present. It was delivered to work.'

He hands me a cardboard box, I pull out a glass teapot and look at it blankly.

'You can keep the tea-leaves separate from the water. Mum says it really does make a better

cup of tea-'

'Connor,' I hear myself saying. 'I can't do this.'

'It's quite easy. You just have to lift the-'

'No.' I shut my eyes, trying to gather some courage, then open them again. 'I can't do this. I

can't move in with you.'

'What?' Connor stares at me. 'Has something happened?'

'Yes. No.' I swallow. 'I've been having doubts for a while. About us. And recently they've…

they've been confirmed. If we carry on, I'll be a hypocrite. It's not fair to either of us.'

'What?' Connor rubs his face. 'Emma, are you saying you want to… to…'

'I want to break up,' I say, staring at the carpet.

'You're joking.'

'I'm not joking!' I say in sudden anguish. 'I'm not joking, OK?'