Shit shit shit…
I pelt downstairs and breathlessly open the door. And there, standing on the doorstep, is
Connor, wearing the same martyred expression he had at the office.
'Hi,' he says. 'Here are the things I was telling you about. I thought you might need them.'
'Er, thanks,' I say, grabbing the box, which seems to contain one bottle of L'Oreal shampoo
and some jumper I've never seen in my life. 'I haven't quite sorted out your stuff yet, so I'll
bring it to the office, shall I?'
I dump the box on the stairs, and quickly turn back before Connor thinks I'm inviting him in.
'So, um, thanks,' I say. 'It was really good of you to stop by.'
'No problem,' says Connor. He gives a heavy sigh. 'Emma… I was thinking perhaps we could
use this as an opportunity to talk. Maybe we could have a drink, or supper even.'
'Gosh,' I say brightly. 'I'd love that. I really would. But to be honest, now isn't a completely
brilliant time.'
'Are you going out?' His face falls.
'Um, yes. With Lissy.' I glance surreptitiously at my watch. It's six minutes to eight. 'So
anyway, I'll see you soon. You know, around the office…'
'Why are you so flustered?' Connor is staring at me.
'I'm not flustered!' I say, and lean casually against the doorframe.
'What's wrong?' His eyes narrow suspiciously, and he looks past me into the hall. 'Is
something going on?'
'Connor,' I put a reassuring hand on his arm. 'Nothing's going on. You're imagining things.'
At that moment, Lissy appears behind me at the door.
'Um, Emma, there's a very urgent phone call for you,' she says in a really stilted voice. 'You'd
better come straight away… oh, hello Connor!'
Unfortunately Lissy is the worst liar in the world.
'You're trying to get rid of me!' says Connor, looking from Lissy to me in bewilderment.
'No we're not!' says Lissy, flushing bright red.
'Hang on,' says Connor suddenly, staring at my outfit. 'Hang on a minute. I don't… are you
going on a… date?'
My mind works quickly. If I deny it, we'll probably get into some huge argument. But if I
admit the truth, maybe he'll stalk off in a huff.
'You're right,' I say. 'I've got a date.'
There's a shocked silence.
'I don't believe this,' says Connor, shaking his head, and to my dismay, sinks heavily down
onto the garden wall. I glance at my watch. Three minutes to eight. Shit!
'Connor…'
'You told me there wasn't anyone else! You promised, Emma!'
'There wasn't! But… there is now. And he'll be here soon… Connor, you really don't want to
get into this.' I grab his arm and try to lift him up, but he weighs about twelve stone. 'Connor,
please. Don't make this more painful for everyone.'
'I suppose you're right.' At last Connor gets to his feet. 'I'll go.'
He walks to the gate, his back hunched in defeat, and I feel a pang of guilt, mixed with an
urgent desire for him to hurry. Then, to my horror, he turns back.
'So, who is it?'
'It's… it's someone you don't know,' I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. 'Look, we'll
have lunch soon and have a good talk. Or something, I promise.'
'OK,' says Connor, looking more wounded than ever. 'Fine. I get the message.'
I watch, unable to breathe, as he shuts the gate behind him and walks slowly along the street.
Keep walking, keep walking… don't stop…
As he finally rounds the corner, Jack's silver car appears at the other end of the street.
'Oh my God,' says Lissy, staring at it.
'Don't!' I sink onto the stone wall. 'Lissy, I can't cope with this.'
I feel shaky. I think I need a drink. And I've only got mascara on one set of eyelashes, I
abruptly realize.
The silver car pulls up in front of the house, and out gets the same uniformed driver as before.
He opens the passenger door, and Jack steps out.
'Hi!' he says, looking taken aback to see me. 'Am I late?'
'No! I was just… um… sitting here. You know. Taking in the view.' I gesture across the road,
where I notice for the first time that a man with a huge belly is changing the wheel on his
caravan. 'Anyway!' I say, hastily standing up, 'Actually, I'm not quite ready. Do you want to
come up for a minute?'
'Sure,' says Jack with a smile. 'That would be nice.'
'And send your car away,' I add. 'You weren't supposed to have it!'
'You weren't supposed to be sitting outside your house and catch me out,' retorts Jack with a
grin. 'OK, Daniel, that's it for the night.' He nods to the driver. 'I'm in this lady's hands from
now on.'
'This is Lissy, my flatmate,' I say as the driver gets back into the car. 'Lissy, Jack.'
'Hi,' says Lissy with a self-conscious grin, as they shake hands.
As we make our way up the stairs to our flat, I'm suddenly aware of how narrow they are, and
how the cream paint on the walls is all scuffed, and the carpet smells of cabbage. Jack
probably lives in some enormous grand mansion. He probably has a marble staircase or
something.
But so what? We can't all have marble.
Anyway, it's probably awful. All cold and clattery. You probably trip on it all the time, and it
probably chips really easily-
'Emma, if you want to get ready, I'll fix Jack a drink,' says Lissy, with a smile that says: He's
nice!
'Thanks,' I say, shooting back an 'isn't he?' look. I hurry into my room and hurriedly start
applying mascara to my other eye.
A few moments later there's a little knock at my door.
'Hi!' I say, expecting Lissy. But in comes Jack, holding out a glass of sweet sherry.
'Oh, thanks!' I say gratefully. 'I could do with a drink.'
'I won't come in,' he says politely.
'No, it's fine. Sit down!'
I gesture to the bed, but it's covered with clothes. And my dressing table stool is piled high
with magazines. Damn, I should have tidied up a bit.
'I'll stand,' says Jack with a little smile. He takes a sip of what looks like whisky, and looks
around my room in fascination. 'So this is your room. Your world.'
'Yes.' I flush slightly, unscrewing my lip-gloss. 'It's a bit messy-'
'It's very nice. Very homey.' I can see him taking in the shoes piled in the corner, the fish
mobile hanging from my light, the mirror with necklaces strung over the side, and a new skirt
hanging on the wardrobe door.
'Cancer Research?' he says puzzledly, looking at the label. 'What does that-'
'It's a shop,' I say, a little defiantly. 'A second-hand shop.'
'Ah.' He nods in tactful comprehension. 'Nice bedcover,' he adds, smiling.
'It's ironic,' I say hastily. 'It's an ironic statement.'
God, how embarrassing. I should have changed it.
Now Jack's staring incredulously at my open dressing-table drawer, crammed with makeup.
'How many lipsticks do you have?'
