Can You Keep A Secret?

Hurrah. I have been grown-up and decisive and saved the situation.

'Where's Antonio's?' says Jack, as the taxi begins to speed away.

'It's a bit out of the way, in south London. But it's really nice. Lissy and I used to go there

when we lived in Wandsworth. It's got huge pine tables, and gorgeous food, and sofas and

stuff. And they never chivvy you.'

'It sounds perfect.' Jack smiles, and I smile proudly back.

OK, it should not take this long to get from Clerkenwell to Clapham. We should have got

there ages ago. I mean, it's only down the road!

After about half an hour, I lean forward and say to the driver yet again, 'Is there a problem?'

'Traffic, love.' He gives an easy shrug. 'What can you do?'

You can find a clever traffic-avoiding back route like taxi drivers are supposed to! I want to

yell furiously. But instead I say politely, 'So… how long do you think it'll be before we get

there?'

'Who knows?'

I sink back on my seat, feeling my stomach churning with frustration.

We should have gone somewhere in Clerkenwell. Or Covent Garden. I am such a moron…

'Emma, don't worry,' says Jack. 'I'm sure it'll be great when we get there.'

'I hope so,' I say with a weak smile.

I can't make small talk. I'm using every ounce of concentration in willing the taxi to go faster.

I stare out of the window, giving an inward cheer every time the postcodes on the street signs

get closer to where we want to be. SW3… SW11… SW4!

At last! We're in Clapham. Nearly there…

Shit. Another bloody red traffic light. I almost can't keep still on my seat And the driver's just

sitting there, like it doesn't matter.

OK, it's green! Go! Go now!

But he's pulling off in this leisurely way, as though we've got all day… he's chuntering down

the street… now he's giving way to another driver! What is he doing?

OK. Calm down, Emma. Here's the street. We're finally here.

'So this is it!' I say, trying to sound relaxed as we get out of the taxi. 'Sorry it took a while.'

'No problem,' says Jack. 'This place looks great!'

As I hand the fare to the taxi driver, I have to admit I'm pretty pleased we came. Antonio's

looks absolutely amazing! There are fairy lights decorating the familiar green facade, and

helium balloons tied to the canopy, and music and laughter spilling out of the open door. I can

even hear people singing inside.

'It's not normally quite this buzzing!' I say with a laugh, and head for the door. I can already

see Antonio standing just inside.

'Hi!' I say as I push the door open. 'Antonio!'

'Emma!' says Antonio, who's standing by the door holding a glass of wine. His cheeks are

flushed and he's beaming even more widely than usual. 'Bellissima!' He kisses me on each

cheek, and I feel a flood of warm relief. I was right to come here. I know the management.

They'll make sure we have a wonderful time.

'This is Jack,' I say, grinning at him.

'Jack! Wonderful to meet you!' Antonio kisses Jack on each cheek too, and I giggle.

'So, could we have a table for two?'

'Ah…' He pulls a face of regret. 'Sweetheart, we're closed!'

'What?' I stare back at him, baffled. 'But… but you're not closed. People are here!' I look

around at all the merry faces.

'It's a private party!' He raises his glass to someone across the room and shouts something in

Italian. 'My nephew's wedding. You ever meet him? Guido. He served here a few summers

ago.'

'I… I'm not sure.'

'He met a lovely girl at the law school. You know, he's qualified now. You ever need legal

advice…'

'Thanks. Well… congratulations.'

'I hope the party goes well,' says Jack, and squeezes my arm briefly. 'Never mind, Emma, you

couldn't have known.'

'Darling, I'm sorry!' says Antonio, seeing my face. 'Another night, I'll give you the best table

we have. You call in advance, you let me know…'

'I'll do that,' I manage a smile. 'Thanks, Antonio.'

I can't even look at Jack. I dragged him all the way down to bloody Clapham for this.

I have to redeem this situation. Quickly.

'We'll go to the pub,' I say as soon as we're outside on the pavement. 'I mean, what's wrong

with just sitting down with a nice drink?'

'Sounds good,' says Jack mildly, and follows me as I hurry down the street to a sign reading

The Nag's Head, and push the door open. I've never been in this pub before, but surely it's

bound to be fairly-

OK. Maybe not.

This has to be the grimmest pub I've ever seen in my life. Threadbare carpet, no music, and

with no signs of life except a single man with a paunch.

I cannot have a date with Jack in here. I just can't.

'Right!' I say, swinging the door shut again, 'Let's think again.' I quickly look up and down the

street, but apart from Antonio's everything is shut except for a couple of grotty takeaway

places and a minicab firm. 'Well… let's just grab a taxi and head back to town!' I say, with a

kind of shrill brightness. 'It won't take too long.'

I stride to the edge of the pavement and stick out my hand.

During the next three minutes not a single car passes by. Not just no taxis. No vehicles at all.

'Kind of quiet,' observes Jack at last.

'Well, this is really a residential area. Antonio's is a bit of a one-off.'

Outwardly, I'm still quite calm. But inside I'm starting to panic. What are we going to do?

Should we try to walk to Clapham High Street? But it's bloody miles away.

I glance at my watch and see with a dart of shock that it's 9.15. We've spent over an hour

faffing about and we haven't even had a drink. And it's all my fault. I can't even organize one

simple evening without it going catastrophically wrong.

Suddenly I want to burst into tears. I want to sink down on the pavement and bury my head in

my hands and sob.

'How about pizza?' says Jack, and my head jerks up in sudden hope.

'Why? Do you know a pizza place round-'

'I see pizza for sale.' He nods at one of the grotty takeaway places. 'And I see a bench.' He

gestures to the other side of the road, where there's a tiny railed garden with paving and trees

and a wooden bench. 'You get the pizza.' He smiles at me. 'I'll save the bench.'

I have never felt so mortified in my entire life. Ever.

Jack Harper takes me to the grandest, poshest restaurant in the world. And I take him to a park

bench in Clapham.

'Here's your pizza,' I say, carrying the hot boxes over to where he's sitting. 'I got margarita,

ham and mushroom and pepperoni.'

I can't quite believe this is going to be our supper. I mean, they aren't even nice