TWENTY-THREE

Except of course I can't.

I can't forget about Jack. I can't forget about our argument.

His face keeps appearing in my head when I don't want it to. The way he stared at me in the

sunlight, his face all crinkled up. The way he bought the lucky heather.

I lie in bed, my heart hammering, going over it again and again. Feeling the same smart of

hurt. The same disappointment.

I told him everything about myself. Everything. And he won't even tell me one-

Anyway. Anyway.

I don't care.

I'm not going to think about him any more. He can do what he likes. He can keep his stupid

secrets.

Good luck to him. That's it. He's out of my brain.

Gone for good.

I stare at the darkened ceiling for a few moments.

And what did he mean by that, anyway? Is it such a disaster for people to know the truth

about you?

He can talk. He can so talk. Mr Mystery. Mr Sensitive and Complicated.

I should have said that. I should have said-

No. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about him. It's over.

As I pad into the kitchen the next morning to make a cup of tea, I'm fully resolved. I'm not

even going to think about Jack from now on. Finito. Fin. The End.

'OK. I have three theories.' Lissy arrives breathlessly at the door of the kitchen in her pyjamas,

holding her legal pad.

'What?' I look up blearily.

'Jack's big secret. I have three theories.'

'Only three?' says Jemima, appearing behind her in her white robe, clutching her Smythson

notebook. 'I've got eight!'

'Eight?' Lissy stares at her, affronted.

'I don't want to hear any theories,' I say. 'Look, both of you, this has been really painful for me.

Can't you just respect my feelings and drop it?'

They both look at me blankly for a second, then turn back to each other.

'Eight?' says Lissy again. 'How did you get eight?'

'Easy-peasy. But I'm sure yours are very good too,' says Jemima kindly. 'Why don't you go

first?'

'OK,' says Lissy with a look of annoyance, and clears her throat. 'Number one: He's relocating

the whole of the Panther Corporation to Scotland. He was up there reconnoitring, and didn't

want you spreading rumours. Number two: He's involved in some kind of white-collar fraud

…'

'What?' I stare at her. 'Why do you say that?'

'I looked up the accountants who audited the last Panther Corporation accounts, and they've

been involved in a few big scandals recently. Which doesn't prove anything, but if he's acting

shadily and talking about transfers…' She pulls a face and I stare back, disconcerted.

Jack a fraudster? No. He couldn't be. He couldn't.

Not that I care one way or the other.

'Can I say that both of those sound highly unlikely to me?' says Jemima with raised eyebrows.

'Well, what's your theory, then?' says Lissy crossly.

'Plastic surgery, of course!' she says triumphantly. 'He has a face-lift and he doesn't want

anyone to know, so he recuperates in Scotland. And I know what the B is in Plan B.'

'What?' I say suspiciously.

'Botox!' says Jemima with a flourish. 'That's why he rushed off from your date. To have his

fine lines smoothed. The doctor suddenly had a spare appointment, his friend came to tell

him-'

What planet does Jemima come from?

'Jack would never have Botox!' I say. 'Or a face-lift!'

'You don't know that!' She gives me a telling look. 'Compare a recent photo of Jack with an

old one, and I bet you see a difference-'

'OK, Miss Marple,' says Lissy, rolling her eyes. 'So what are your other seven theories?'

'Let me see…' Jemima turns the page of her notebook. 'OK, this one's rather good He's in the

Mafia.' She pauses for effect. 'His father was shot, and he's planning to murder the heads of all

the other families.'

'Jemima, that's The Godfather,' says Lissy.

'Oh.' She looks put out. 'I thought it seemed a bit familiar.' She crosses it out. 'Well, here's

another one. He has an autistic brother…'

'Rain Man.'

'Oh. Damn.' She pulls a face and looks at her list again. 'So maybe not that after all… or that

…' She start crossing entries out. 'OK. But I do have one more.' She raises her head. 'He's got

another woman.'

I stare at her, feeling a jolt. Another woman. I never even thought of that.

'That was my last theory, too,' says Lissy apologetically. 'Another woman.'

'You both think it's another woman?' I look from face to face. 'But… but why?'

Suddenly I feel really small. And stupid. Has Jack been playing me along? Have I been even

more naive than I originally thought?

'It just seems quite a likely explanation,' says Jemima with a shrug. 'He's having some

clandestine affair with a woman in Scotland. He was paying her a secret visit when he met

you. She keeps phoning him, maybe they were having a row, then she comes to London

unexpectedly, so he has to dash off from your date.'

Lissy glances at my stricken face.

'But maybe he's relocating the company,' she says encouragingly. 'Or a fraudster.'

'Well, I don't care what he's doing,' I say, my face burning. 'It's his business. And he's

welcome to it.'

I get a pint of milk from the fridge and slam it shut, my hands trembling slightly. Sensitive

and complicated. Is that code for 'I'm seeing someone else?'

Well, fine. Let him have another woman. I don't care.

'It's your business too!' says Jemima. 'If you're going to get revenge-'

Oh for God's sake.

'I don't want to get revenge, OK?' I say, turning round to face her. 'It's not healthy. I want to

… heal my wounds and move on.'

'Yes, and shall I tell you another word for revenge?' she retorts, as though pulling a rabbit out

of a hat. 'Closure!'

'Jemima, closure and revenge are not actually the same thing,' says Lissy.

'In my book they are.' She gives me an impressive look. 'Emma, you're my friend, and I'm not

going to let you just sit back and allow yourself to be mistreated by some bastard man. He

deserves to pay. He deserves to be punished!'

I stare at Jemima, feeling a few tiny qualms.

'Jemima, you're not actually going to do anything about this.'

'Of course I am,' she says. 'I'm not going to stand by and see you suffer. It's called the

sisterhood, Emma!'

Oh my God. I have visions of Jemima rooting through Jack's rubbish bins in her pink Gucci

suit. Or scraping his car with a nail file.

'Jemima… don't do anything,' I say in alarm. 'Please. I don't want you to.'

'You think you don't. But you'll thank me later-'

'No I won't! Jemima, you have to promise me you're not going to do anything stupid.'

She tightens her jaw mutinously.

'Promise!'

'OK,' says Jemima at last, rolling her eyes. 'I promise.'

'She's crossing her fingers behind her back,' observes Lissy.

'What?' I stare at Jemima in disbelief. 'Promise properly! Swear on something you really love.'

'Oh God,' says Jemima sulkily. 'All right, you win. I swear on my Miu Miu ponyskin bag, I

won't do anything. But you're making a big mistake, you know.'

She saunters out of the room, and I watch her, a bit uneasily.

'That girl is a total psychopath,' says Lissy, sinking down onto a chair. 'Why did we ever let

her move in here?' She takes a sip of tea. 'Actually, I remember why. It was because her dad

gave us a whole year's rent in advance-' She catches my expression. 'Are you OK?'

'You don't think she'll actually do anything to Jack, do you?'

'Of course not,' says Lissy reassuringly. 'She's all talk. She'll probably bump into one of her

ditzy friends and forget all about it.'

'You're right.' I give myself a little shake. 'You're right.' I pick up my cup and look at it

silently for a few moments. 'Lissy, do you really think Jack's secret is another woman?'

Lissy opens her mouth.

'Anyway, I don't care,' I add defiantly, before she can answer. 'I don't care what it is.'

'Sure,' says Lissy, and gives me a sympathetic smile.

As I arrive at the office, Artemis looks up from her desk with a bright-eyed glance.

'Morning Emma!' She smirks at Catherine. 'Read any intellectual books lately?'

Oh, ha ha-di-ha. So, so funny. Everyone else at work has got bored with teasing me. Only

Artemis still thinks it's completely hilarious.

'Actually, Artemis, I have,' I say brightly, taking off my jacket. 'I read this really good book

recently, it was called "What to do if your colleague is an obnoxious cow who picks her nose

when she thinks no-one's looking."'

There's a guffaw around the office, and Artemis flushes a dark red.

'I don't!' she snaps.

'I never said you did,' I reply innocently, and switch on my computer with a flourish.

'Ready to go to the meeting, Artemis?' says Paul, coming out of his office with his briefcase

and a magazine in his hand. 'And by the way, Nick,' he adds ominously, 'Before I go, would

you mind telling me what on earth possessed you to put a coupon ad for Panther Bars in -' he

consults the front cover

'— Bowling Monthly magazine? I'm assuming it was you, as this is your product?'

My heart gives a little swoop, and I lift my head. Shit. Double shit. I didn't think Paul would

ever find out about that.

Nick shoots me a dirty look and I pull an agonized face back.

'Well,' he begins truculently. 'Yes, Paul. Panther Bars are my product. But as it happens-'

Oh God. I can't let him take the blame.

'Paul,' I say in a trembling voice, half raising my hand. 'Actually, it was-'

'Because I want to tell you,' Paul grins at Nick. 'It was bloody inspired! I've just had the

feedback figures, and bearing in mind the pitiful circulation… they're extraordinary!'

I stare at him in astonishment. The ad worked?

'Really?' says Nick, obviously trying to sound not too amazed. 'I mean — excellent!'

'What the fuck compelled you to advertise a teenage bar to a load of old codgers?'

'Well!' Nick adjusts his cufflinks, not looking anywhere near me. 'Obviously it was a bit of a

gamble. But I simply felt that maybe it was time to… to fly a few kites… experiment with a

new demographic…'

Hang on a minute. What's he saying?

'Well, your experiment paid off.' Paul gives Nick an approving look. 'And very interestingly,

it coincides with some Scandinavian market research we've just had in. If you'd like to see me

later, to discuss it-'

'Sure!' says Nick with a pleased smile. 'What sort of time?'

No! How can he? He is such a bastard.

'Wait!' To my own astonishment, I leap to my feet in outrage. 'Wait a minute! That was my

idea!'

'What?' Paul frowns.

'The Bowling Monthly ad. It was my idea. Wasn't it, Nick?' I look directly at him.

'Maybe we discussed it,' he says, not meeting my eye. 'I don't really remember. But you know,

something you'll have to learn, Emma, is that marketing's all about team-work…'.

'Don't patronize me! This wasn't team-work. It was totally my idea. I put it in for my grandpa!'

Damn. I didn't quite mean to let that slip out.

'First your parents. Now your grandpa,' says Paul, turning to look at me. 'Emma, remind me,

is this Bring Your Entire Family To Work week?'

'No! It's just…' I begin, a little hot under his gaze. 'You said you were going to axe Panther

Bars, so I… I thought I'd give him and his friends some money off, and they could all stock

up. I tried to tell you at that big meeting, my grandfather loves Panther Bars! And so do all his

friends. If you ask me, you should be marketing Panther Bars at them, not teenagers.'

There's silence. Paul looks astonished.

'You know, in Scandinavia, they're coming to the same conclusion,' he says. 'That's what this

new research shows.'

'Oh,' I say. 'Well… there you go.'

'So why does this older generation like Panther Bars so much, Emma? Do you know?' He

sounds genuinely fascinated.

'Yes, of course I know.'

'It's the grey pound,' puts in Nick wisely. 'Demographic shifts in the pensionable population

are accounting for-'

'No it's not!' I say impatiently. 'It's because… because…' Oh God, Grandpa will absolutely

kill me for saying this. 'It's because… they don't pull out their false teeth.'

There's a staggered pause. Then Paul throws back his head and roars with laughter. 'False

teeth,' he says, wiping his eyes. 'That is sheer bloody genius, Emma. False teeth!'

He chuckles again and I stare back at him, feeling the blood beating in my head. I've got the

strangest feeling. Like something's building up inside me, as though I'm about to-

'So can I have a promotion?'

'What?' Paul looks up.

Did I really just say that? Out loud?

'Can I have a promotion?' My voice is trembling slightly, but I hold firm. 'You said if I

created my own opportunities I could have a promotion. That's what you said. Isn't this

creating my own opportunities?'

Paul looks at me for a few moments, blinking, saying nothing.

'You know, Emma Corrigan,' he says at last. 'You are one of the most… one of the most

surprising people I've ever known.'

'Is that a yes?' I persist.

There's silence in the entire office. Everyone's waiting to see what he'll say.

'Oh, for God's sake,' he says, rolling his eyes. 'All right! You can have a promotion. Is that it?'

'No,' I hear myself saying, my heart beating even more furiously. 'There's more. Paul, I broke

your World Cup mug.'

'What?' He looks gobsmacked.

'I'm really sorry. I'll buy you another one.' I look around the silent, gawping office. 'And it

was me who jammed the copier that time. In fact… all the times. And that bottom…' Amid

agog faces, I walk to the pin-board and rip down the photocopied, G-stringed bottom. 'That's

mine, and I don't want it up there any more.' I swivel round. 'And Artemis, about your spider

plant…'

'What?' she says suspiciously.

I stare at her, in her Burberry raincoat and her designer spectacles, and her smug, I'm-betterthan-

you face.

OK, let's not get carried away. 'I… I can't think what's wrong with it.' I smile at her. 'Have a

good meeting.'

For the rest of the day, I am totally exhilarated. Kind of shocked and exhilarated, all at the

same time. I can't believe I'm getting a promotion. I'm actually going to be a Marketing

Executive!

But it's not just that. I don't quite know what's happened to me. I feel like a whole new person.

So what if I broke Paul's mug? Who cares? So what if everyone knows how much I weigh?

Who cares? Goodbye old, crap Emma, who hides her Oxfam bags under her desk. Hello new,

confident Emma, who proudly hangs them on her chair.

I rang Mum and Dad to tell them I was getting promoted, and they were so impressed! They

said at once they'd come up to London and take me out to celebrate. And then I had a really

nice long chat with Mum about Jack. She said some relationships were supposed to last for

ever and some were only supposed to last a few days, and that was just the way life was. Then

she told me all about some chap in Paris who she'd had some amazing forty-eight hour fling

with. She said she'd never experienced physical pleasure like it, and she knew it could never

last, but that made it all the more poignant.