Can You Keep A Secret?

A bit like one of those dolls? Like Ken. Like a blond Ken.'

And now I'm on the subject of Connor, I'm saying things I've never said to anyone. Things I

never even realized were in my head.

'… gave him this lovely leather watch for Christmas, but he wears this orange digital thing

because it can tell him the temperature in Poland or something stupid…'

'… took me to all these jazz concerts and I pretended to enjoy them to be polite, so now he

thinks I love jazz…'

'… every single Woody Allen film off by heart and says each line before it comes and it

drives me crackers…'

'… just looks at me as though I'm speaking some foreign language…'

'… determined to find my G spot, so we spent the whole weekend doing it in different

positions, and by the end I was just knackered, all I wanted was a pizza and Friends …'

'… he kept saying, what was it like, what was it like? So in the end I just made some stuff up,

I said it was absolutely amazing, and it felt as though my whole body was opening up like a

flower, and he said, what sort of flower, so I said a begonia…'

'… can't expect the initial passion to last. But how do you tell if the passion's faded in a good,

long-term-commitment way or in a crap, we-don't-fancy-each-other-any-more way…'

'… knight in shining armour is not a realistic option. But there's a part of me that wants a huge,

amazing romance. I want passion. I want to be swept off my feet. I want an earthquake, or a

… I don't know, a huge whirlwind… something exciting. Sometimes I feel as if there's this

whole new, thrilling life waiting for me out there, and if I can just-'

'Excuse me, miss?'

'What?' I look up dazedly. 'What is it?' The air hostess with the French plait is smiling down at

me.

'We've landed.' I stare at her.

'We've landed?'

This doesn't make sense. How can we have landed? I look around — and sure enough, the

plane's still. We're on the ground.

I feel like Dorothy. A second ago I was swirling around in Oz, clicking my heels together, and

now I've woken up all flat and quiet and normal again.

'We aren't bumping any more,' I say stupidly.

'We stopped bumping quite a while ago,' says the American man.

'We're… we're not going to die.'

'We're not going to die,' he agrees.

I look at him as though for the first time — and it hits me. I've been blabbering non-stop for an

hour to this complete stranger. God alone knows what I've been saying.

I think I want to get off this plane right now.

'I'm sorry,' I say awkwardly. 'You should have stopped me.'

'That would have been a little difficult.' There's a tiny smile at his lips. 'You were on a bit of a

roll.'

'I'm so embarrassed!' I try to smile, but I can't even look this guy in the eye. I mean, I told him

about my knickers. I told him about my G spot.

'Don't worry about it. We were all stressed out. That was some flight.' He picks up his

knapsack and gets up from his seat — then looks back at me. 'Will you be OK getting back

home?'

'Yes. I'll be fine. Thanks. Enjoy your visit!' I call after him, but I don't think he hears.

Slowly I gather my things together and make my way off the plane. I feel sweaty, my hair's all

over the place, and my head is starting to throb.

The airport seems so bright and still and calm after the intense atmosphere of the plane. The

ground seems so firm. I sit quietly on a plastic chair for a while, trying to get myself together,

but as I stand up at last, I still feel dazed. I walk along in a slight blur, hardly able to believe

I'm here. I'm alive. I honestly never thought I'd make it back on the ground.

'Emma!' I hear someone calling as I come out of Arrivals, but I don't look up. There are loads

of Emmas in this world.

'Emma! Over here!'

I raise my head in disbelief. Is that…

No. It can't be, it can't-

It's Connor.

He looks heart-breakingly handsome. His skin has that Scandinavian tan, and his eyes are

bluer than ever, and he's running towards me. This makes no sense. What's he doing here? As

we reach each other he grabs me and pulls me tight to his chest.

'Thank God,' he says huskily. 'Thank God. Are you OK?'

'Connor, what— what are you doing here?'

'I phoned the airline to ask what time you'd be landing, and they told me the plane had hit

terrible turbulence. I just had to come to the airport.' He gazes down at me. 'Emma, I watched

your plane land. They sent an ambulance straight out to it. Then you didn't appear. I thought

…' He swallows hard. 'I don't know exactly what I thought.'

'I'm fine. I was just… trying to get myself together. Oh God, Connor, it was terrifying.' My

voice is suddenly all shaky, which is ridiculous, because I'm perfectly safe now. 'At one point

I honestly thought I was going to die.'

'When you didn't come through the barrier…' Connor breaks off and stares at me silently for

a few seconds. 'I think I realized for the first time quite how deeply I feel about you.'

'Really?' I falter.

My heart's thumping. I think I might fall over at any moment.

'Emma, I think we should…'

Get married? My heart jumps in fear. Oh my God. He's going to ask me to marry him, right

here in the airport. What am I going to say? I'm not ready to get married. But if I say no he'll

stalk off in a huff. Shit. OK. What I'll say is, Gosh, Connor, I need a little time to…

'… move in together,' he finishes.

I am such a deluded moron. Obviously he wasn't going to ask me to marry him.

'What do you think?' he strokes my hair gently.

'Erm…' I rub my dry face, playing for time, unable to think straight. Move in with Connor. It

kind of makes sense. Is there a reason why not? I feel all confused. Something's tugging at my

brain; trying to send me a message…

And into my head slide some of the things I said on the plane. Something about never having

been properly in love. Something about Connor not really understanding me.

But then… that was just drivel, wasn't it? I mean, I thought I was about to die, for God's sake.

I wasn't exactly at my most lucid.

'Connor, what about your big meeting?' I say, suddenly recalling.

'I cancelled it.'

'You cancelled it?' I stare at him. 'For me?'

I feel really wobbly now. My legs are barely holding me up. I don't know if it's the aftermath

of the plane journey or love.

Oh God, just look at him. He's tall and he's handsome, and he cancelled a big meeting, and he

came to rescue me.

It's love. It has to be love.