TWENTY-FOUR

Lissy's dancing show is being held in a theatre in Bloomsbury set in a small gravelled

courtyard, and when I arrive I find the entire place crammed with lawyers in expensive suits

using their mobile phones.

'… client unwilling to accept the terms of agreement…'

'… attention to clause four, comma, notwithstanding…'

No-one is making the slightest attempt to go into the auditorium yet, so I head backstage, to

give Lissy the bouquet I've bought for her. (I was originally planning to throw it onto the

stage at the end, but it's roses, and I'm a bit worried it might ladder her tights.)

As I walk down the shabby corridors, music is being piped through the sound system and

people keep brushing past me in glittery costumes. A man with blue feathers in his hair is

stretching his leg against the wall and talking to someone in a dressing room at the same time.

'So then I pointed out to that idiot of a prosecuting counsel that the precedent set in 1983 by

Miller v. Davy means…' He suddenly stops. 'Shit. I've forgotten my first steps.' His face

drains of colour. 'I can't remember a fucking thing. I'm not joking! I jete on — then what?' He

looks at me as though expecting me to supply him with an answer.

'Er… a pirouette?' I hazard, and awkwardly hurry on, nearly tripping over a girl doing the

splits. Then I catch sight of Lissy sitting on a stool in one of the dressing rooms. Her face is

heavily made up and her eyes are all huge and glittery, and she's got blue feathers in her hair

too.

'Oh my God, Lissy!' I say, halting in the doorway. 'You look amazing! I completely love

your-'

'I can't do it.'

'What?'

'I can't do it!' she repeats desperately, and pulls her cotton robe around her. 'I can't remember

anything. My mind is blank!'

'Everyone thinks that,' I say reassuringly. 'There was a guy outside saying exactly the same

thing-'

'No. I really can't remember anything.' Lissy stares at me with wild eyes. 'My legs feel like

cotton wool, I can't breathe…' She picks up a blusher brush, looks at it bleakly, then puts it

down. 'Why did I ever agree to do this? Why?'

'Er… because it would be fun?'

'Fun?' Her voice rises in disbelief. 'You think this is fun? Oh God.' Suddenly her face changes

expression, and she breaks off and rushes through an adjoining door. The next moment I can

hear her retching.

OK, there's something wrong here. I thought dancing was suppose to be good for your health.

She appears at the door again, pale and trembling, and I peer at her anxiously.

'Liss, are you all right?'

'I can't do it,' she says. 'I can't.' She seems to come to a sudden decision. 'OK, I'm going

home.' She starts reaching for her clothes. 'Tell them I was suddenly taken ill, it was an

emergency…'

'You can't go home!' I say in horror, and try to grab the clothes out of her hands. 'Lissy, you'll

be fine! I mean, think about it. How many times have you had to stand up in a big court and

make some really long speech in front of loads of people, and if you get it wrong an innocent

man might go to jail?'

Lissy stares at me as though I'm crazy.

'Yes, but that's easy!'

'Well…' I cast around desperately. 'Well, if you pull out now, you'll always regret it. You'll

always look back and wish you'd gone through with it.'

There's silence. I can practically see Lissy's brain working underneath all the feathers and

stuff.

'You're right,' she says at last, and relinquishes her hold of the clothes. 'OK. I'll do it. But I

don't want you to watch. Just… meet me afterwards. No, don't even do that. Just stay away.

Stay right away.'

'OK,' I say hesitantly. 'I'll go if you really want me to-'

'No!' She swivels round. 'You can't go! I've changed my mind. I need you there!'

'OK,' I say, even more hesitantly, just as a Tannoy in the wall blares out 'This is your fifteen

minute call!'

'I'll go then,' I say. 'Let you warm up.'

'Emma.' Lissy grabs hold of my arm and fixes me with an intense gaze. She's holding me so

tight, she's hurting my flesh. 'Emma, if I ever say I want to do anything like this again, you

have to stop me. Whatever I say. Promise you'll stop me.'

'I promise,' I say hastily. 'I promise.'

Bloody hell. I have never seen Lissy like that before in my life. As I walk back out into the

courtyard, which is now swarming with even more well-dressed people, I'm thudding with

nerves myself. She didn't look capable of standing up, let alone dancing.

Please don't let her mess up. Please.

A horrible image comes to me of Lissy standing like a startled rabbit, unable to remember her

steps. And the audience just staring at her. The thought of it makes my stomach curdle.

OK. I am not going to let that happen. If anything goes wrong I'll cause a distraction. I'll

pretend to have a heart attack. Yes. I'll collapse on the floor, and everyone will look at me for

a few seconds, but the performance won't stop or anything because we're British, and by the

time everyone turns back to the stage again, Lissy will have remembered her steps.

And if they rush me to hospital or anything, I'll just say, 'I had these terrible chest pains!' Noone

will be able to prove that I didn't.

And even if they can prove it, with some special machine, I'll just say-

'Emma.'

'What?' I say absently. And then my heart stops.

Jack is standing ten feet away. He's dressed in his usual uniform of jeans and jersey, and he

stands out a mile amongst all the corporate suited lawyers. As his dark eyes meet mine I feel

all the old hurt rushing back into my chest.

Don't react, I tell myself quickly. Closure. New life.

'What are you doing here?' I ask, with a little I'm-not-actually-interested shrug.

'I found the flyer for this on your desk.' He lifts a piece of paper, not taking his eyes off mine.

'Emma, I really wanted to talk.'

I feel a sudden smarting inside. He thinks he can just pitch up and I'll drop everything to talk

to him? Well, maybe I'm busy. Maybe I've moved on. Did he think of that?

'Actually… I'm here with someone,' I say in polite, slightly pitying tones.

'Really?'

'Yes. I am. So…' I give a little shrug and wait for Jack to walk away. But he doesn't.

'Who?' he says.

OK, he wasn't supposed to ask who. For a moment I'm not entirely sure what to do.

'Er… him,' I say at last, and point at a tall guy in shirt-sleeves, who's standing in the corner of

the courtyard, facing away from us. 'In fact, I'd better join him.'

My head high, I swivel on my heel and start walking towards the shirt-sleeved guy. What I'll

do is just ask him the time, and somehow engage him in conversation until Jack's gone. (And

maybe laugh gaily once or twice to show what a good time we're having.)

I'm within a few feet of him, when the shirt-sleeved guy turns round, talking on a mobile.

'Hi!' I begin brightly, but he doesn't even hear me. He gives me ablank glance, then walks off,

still talking, into the crowd.

I'm left all alone in the corner.

Fuck.

After what seems like several eternities, I turn round, as nonchalantly as I can.

Jack is still standing there, watching.

I stare at him furiously, my whole body pulsing with embarrassment. If he laughs at me-

But he's not laughing.

'Emma…' He walks forward until he's only a couple of feet away, his face frank. 'What you

said. It stayed with me. I should have shared more with you. I shouldn't have shut you out.'

I feel a dart of surprise, followed by wounded pride. So he wants to share with me now, does

he? Well maybe it's too late. Maybe I'm not interested any more.

'You don't need to share anything with me. Your affairs are your affairs, Jack.' I give him a

distancing smile. 'They're nothing to do with me. And I probably wouldn't understand them,

anyway, bearing in mind they're so complicated and I'm such a total thickie…'

I swivel determinedly, and start to walk away, over the gravel.

'I owe you an explanation, at least,' Jack's dry voice follows me.

'You owe me nothing!' I lift my chin proudly. 'It's over, Jack. And we might as well both just

… Aargh! Let go!'

Jack has grabbed my arm, and now he pulls me round to face him.

'I came here tonight for a reason, Emma,' he says gravely. 'I came to tell you what I was doing

in Scotland.'

I feel the most almighty bound of shock, which I hide as best I can.

'I'm not interested in what you were doing in Scotland!' I manage. I wrench my arm away and

start striding away as best I can through the thicket of mobile-phone-gabbing lawyers.

'Emma, I want to tell you.' He's coming after me. 'I really want to tell you.'

'Well, maybe I don't want to know!' I reply defiantly, swivelling round on the gravel with a

scatter of pebbles.

We're facing each other like a pair of duellers. My ribcage is rising and falling quickly.

Of course I want to know.

He knows I want to know.

'Go on then,' I say at last, and give a grudging shrug. 'You can tell me if you like.'

In silence, Jack leads me over to a quiet spot, away from all the crowds. As we walk, my

bravado ebbs away. In fact, I'm a bit apprehensive. Scared, even.

Do I really want to know his secret, after all?

What if it's fraud, like Lissy said? What if he's doing something dodgy and he wants me to

join in?

What if he's had some really embarrassing operation and I start laughing by mistake?

What if it is another woman and he's come to tell me he's getting married or something?

I feel a tiny pang of pain, which I quell. Well, if it is… I'll just act cool, like I knew all along.

In fact I'll pretend I've got another lover, too. Yes. I'll give him a wry smile, and say, 'You

know, Jack, I never assumed we were exclusive-'

'OK.' Jack turns to face me, and I instantaneously decide that if he's committed a murder I will

turn him in, promise or no promise.

'Here it is.' He takes a deep breath. 'I was in Scotland to visit someone.'

My heart plummets.

'A woman,' I say before I can stop myself.

'No, not a woman!' His expression changes, and he stares at me. 'Is that what you thought?

That I was two-timing you?'

'I… didn't know what to think.'

'Emma, I do not have another woman. I was visiting…' He hesitates. 'You could call it…

family.'

My brain gives a huge swivel.

Family?

Oh my God, Jemima was right, I've got involved with a mobster.

OK. Don't panic. I can escape. I can go in the witness protection scheme. My new name can

be Megan.

No, Chloe. Chloe de Souza.

'To be more precise… a child.'

A child? My brain lurches again. He has a child?

'Her name is Alice.' He gives a tiny smile. 'She's four years old.'

He has a wife and a whole family I don't know about, and that's his secret. I knew it, I knew it.

'You…' I lick my dry lips. 'You have a child?'

'No, I don't have a child.' Jack stares at the ground for a few seconds, then looks up. 'Pete had

a child. He had a daughter. Alice is Pete Laidler's child.'

'But… but…' I stare at him in confusion. 'But… I never knew Pete Laidler had a child.'

'Nobody knows.' He gives me a long look. 'That's the whole idea.'

This is so completely and utterly not what I was expecting.

A child. Pete Laidler's secret child.

'But… but how can nobody know about her?' I say stupidly. We've moved even further away

from the crowds and are sitting on a bench under a tree. 'I mean surely they'd see her.'

'Pete was a great guy.' Jack sighs. 'But commitment was never his strong suit. By the time

Marie — that's Alice's mom — found out she was pregnant, they weren't even together any more.

Marie's one of those proud, defensive types. She was determined to do everything on her own.

Pete supported her financially — but he wasn't interested in the child. He didn't even tell

anybody he'd become a father.'

'Even you?' I stare at him. 'You didn't know he had a child?'

'Not until after he died.' His face closes up slightly. 'I loved Pete. But that, I find very hard to

forgive. So a few months after he died, Marie turns up with this baby.' Jack exhales sharply.

'Well. You can imagine how we all felt. Shocked is an understatement. But Marie was

positive she didn't want anyone to know. She wanted to bring Alice up just like a normal kid,

not as Pete Laidler's love child. Not as the heiress to some huge fortune.'

My mind is boggling. A four-year-old getting Pete Laidler's share of the Panther Corporation.

Bloody hell.

'So she gets everything?' I say hesitantly.

'Not everything, no. But a lot. Pete's family have been more than generous. And that's why

Marie's keeping her away from the public eye.' He spreads his hands. 'I know we can't shield

her for ever. It'll come out sooner or later. But when they find out about her, the press will go

nuts. She'll shoot to the top of the rich lists… the other kids will give her a hard time… she

won't be normal any more. Some kids could cope. But Alice… she's not one of them. She has

asthma, she's kind of frail.'

As he's speaking, my mind is filled with memories of the papers after Pete Laidler died. Every

single one had a picture of him on the front page.

'I'm overprotective of this child.' Jack gives a rueful smile. 'I know it. Even Marie tells me I

am. But… she's precious to me.' He stares ahead for a moment. 'She's all we've got left of

Pete.'

I gaze at him, suddenly feeling moved.

'So, is that what the phone calls were about?' I say tentatively. 'Is that why you had to leave

the other night?'

Jack sighs. 'They were both in a road accident a few days ago. It wasn't serious. But… we're

extra-sensitive, after Pete. We just wanted to make sure they got the right treatment.'

'Right,' I give a little wince. 'I can understand that.'

There's silence for a while. My brain is trying to slot all the pieces together. Trying to work it

all out.

'But I don't understand,' I say. 'Why did you make me keep it a secret that you'd been in

Scotland? Nobody would know, surely.'

Jack rolls his eyes ruefully.

'That was my own dumb stupid fault. I'd told some people I was going across to Paris that day,

just as an extra precaution. I took an anonymous flight. I thought no-one would ever know.

Then I walk into the office… and there you are.'

'Your heart sank.'

'Not exactly.' He meets my eyes. 'It didn't quite know which way to go.'

I feel a sudden colour coming to my cheeks and awkwardly clear my throat.

'So… er…' I say, looking away. 'So that's why…'

'All I wanted was to avoid you piping up, "Hey, he wasn't in Paris, he was in Scotland!" and

start some huge intrigue going.' Jack shakes his head. 'You'd be amazed at the ludicrous

theories people will put together when they don't have anything better to do. You know, I've

heard it all. I'm planning to sell the company… I'm gay… I'm in the Mafia…'

'Er… really?' I say, and smooth down a strand of hair. 'Gosh. How stupid of people!'

A couple of girls wander nearby, and we both fall silent for a while.

'Emma, I'm sorry I couldn't tell you this before,' Jack says in a low voice. 'I know you were

hurt. I know it felt like I was shutting you out. But… it's just not something you share

lightly.'

'No!' I say immediately. 'Of course you couldn't have done. I was stupid.'

I scuff my toe awkwardly on the gravel, feeling a bit shamefaced. I should have known it

would be something important. When he said it was complicated and sensitive, he was just

telling the truth.

'Only a handful of people know about this.' Jack meets my eyes gravely. 'A handful of special,

trusted people.'

There's something in his gaze which makes my throat feel a bit tight. I stare back at him,

feeling blood rising in my cheeks.

'Are you going in?' comes a bright voice. We jump, and look up to see a woman in black jeans

approaching. 'The performance is about to start!' she says with a beam.

I feel like she's slapped me awake from a dream.

'I… I have to go and watch Lissy dancing,' I say dazedly.

'Right. Well, I'll leave you then. That was really all I had to say.' Slowly Jack gets to his feet,

then turns back. 'There's one more thing.' He looks at me for a few silent moments. 'Emma, I

realize these last few days can't have been easy for you. You have been the model of

discretion throughout, whereas I… have not. And I just wanted to apologize. Again.'

'That's… that's OK,' I manage.

Jack turns again, and I watch him walking slowly away over the gravel, feeling completely

torn.

He came all the way here to tell me his secret. His big, precious secret.

He didn't have to do that.

Oh God. Oh God…

'Wait!' I hear myself calling out, and Jack immediately turns. 'Would you… would you like

to come too?' And I feel a ripple of pleasure as his face creases into a smile.

As we crunch over the gravel together, I pluck up the courage to speak.

'Jack, I've got something to say too. About… about what you were just saying. I know I said

you ruined my life the other day.'

'I remember,' says Jack wryly.

'Well, I may possibly have been wrong about that.' I clear my throat awkwardly. 'In fact… I

was wrong.' I look at him frankly. 'Jack, you didn't ruin my life.'

'I didn't?' says Jack. 'Do I get another shot?'

In spite of myself, a giggle rises inside me.

'No!'

'No? Is that your final answer?'

As he looks at me there's a bigger question in his eyes, and I feel a little shaft, half hope, half

apprehension. For a long while neither of us says anything. I'm breathing rather fast.

Suddenly Jack's gaze falls with interest on my hand. 'I am over Jack,' he reads aloud.

Fuck.

My entire face flames with colour.

I am never writing anything on my hand again. Ever.

'That's just…' I clear my throat again. 'That was just a doodle… it didn't mean…'

A shrill ring from my mobile interrupts me. Thank God. Whoever this is, I love them. I hastily

pull it out and press green.

'Emma, you're going to love me for ever!' come Jemima's piercing tones.

'What?' I stare at the phone.

'I've sorted everything out for you!' she says triumphantly. 'I know, I'm a total star, you don't

know what you'd do without me-'

'What?' I feel a twinge of alarm. 'Jemima, what are you talking about?'

'Getting your revenge on Jack Harper, silly! Since you were just sitting there like a total wimp,

I've taken matters into my own hands.'

For moment I can't quite move.

'Er, Jack… excuse me a minute.' I shoot him a bright smile. 'I just need to… take this call.'

With trembling legs I hurry to the corner of the courtyard, well away from earshot.

'Jemima, you promised you wouldn't do anything!' I hiss. 'You swore on your Miu Miu

ponyskin bag, remember?'

'I haven't got a Miu Miu ponyskin bag!' she crows triumphantly. 'I've got a Fendi ponyskin

bag!'

She's mad. She's completely mad.

'Jemima, what have you done?' I manage. 'Tell me what you've done.'

My heart is thudding in apprehension. Please don't say she's scraped his car. Please.

'An eye for an eye, Emma! That man totally betrayed you, and we're going to do the same to

him. Now, I'm sitting here with a very nice chap called Mick. He's a journalist, he writes for

the Daily World …'

My blood runs cold.

'A tabloid journalist?' I manage at last. 'Jemima, are you insane?'

'Don't be so narrow-minded and suburban,' retorts Jemima reprovingly. 'Emma, tabloid

journalists are our friends. They're just like private detectives… but for free! Mick's done

loads of work for Mummy before. He's marvellous at tracking things down. And he's very

interested in finding out Jack Harper's little secret. I've told him all we know, but he'd like to

have a word with you.'

I feel quite faint. This cannot be happening.

'Jemima, listen to me,' I say in quick, low tones, as though trying to persuade a lunatic down

off the roof. 'I don't want to find out Jack's secret, OK? I just want to forget it. You have to

stop this guy.'

'I won't!' she says like a petulant six-year-old. 'Emma, don't be so pathetic! You can't just let

men walk all over you and do nothing in return. You have to show them. Mummy always

says-' There's the sudden screeching of tyres. 'Oops! Tiny prang. I'll call you back.'

The phone goes dead.

I am numb with horror.

Frantically I jab her number into my phone, but it clicks straight on to messages.

'Jemima,' I say as soon as it beeps. 'Jemima, you have to stop this! You have to-' I stop

abruptly as Jack appears in front of me, with a warm smile.

'It's about to start,' he says, and gives me a curious look. 'Everything all right?'

'Fine,' I say in a strangled voice, and put my phone away. 'Everything's… fine.'

TWENTY-FIVE

As I walk into the auditorium I'm almost lightheaded with panic.

What have I done? What have I done?

I have given away Jack's most precious secret in the world to a morally warped, revengewreaking,

Prada-wearing nutcase.

OK. Just calm down, I tell myself for the zillionth time. She doesn't actually know anything.

This journalist probably won't find out anything. I mean, what facts does he actually have?

But what if he does find out? What if he somehow stumbles on the truth? And Jack discovers

it was me who pointed them in the right direction?

I feel ill at the thought. My stomach is curdling. Why did I ever mention Scotland to Jemima?

Why?

New resolution: I am never giving away a secret again. Never, ever, ever. Even if it doesn't

seem important. Even if I am feeling angry.

In fact… I am never talking again, full stop. All talking ever seems to do is get me into

trouble. If I hadn't opened my mouth on that stupid plane in the first place, I wouldn't be in

this mess now.

I will become a mute. A silent enigma. When people ask me questions I will simply nod, or

scribble cryptic notes on pieces of paper. People will take them away and puzzle over them,

searching them for hidden meanings-

'Is this Lissy?' says Jack, pointing to a name in the programme, and I jump in fright. I follow

his gaze, then give a silent nod, my mouth clamped shut.

'Do you know anyone else in the show?' he asks.

I give a mute 'who knows?' shrug.

'So… how long has Lissy been practising?'

I hesitate, then hold up three fingers.

'Three?' Jack peers at me uncertainly. 'Three what?'

I make a little gesture with my hands which is supposed to indicate 'months'. Then I make it

again. Jack looks totally baffled.

'Emma, is something wrong?'

I feel in my pocket for a pen — but I haven't got one.

OK, forget not talking.

'About three months,' I say out loud.

'Right.' Jack nods, and turns back to the programme. His face is calm and unsuspecting, and I

can feel guilty nerves rising through me again.

Maybe I should just tell him.

No. I can't. I can't. How would I put it? 'By the way, Jack. You know that really important

secret you asked me to keep? Well, guess what…'

Containment is what I need. Like in those military films where they bump off the person who

knows too much. But how do I contain Jemima? I've launched some crazed human Exocet

missile, fizzing around London, bent on causing as much devastation as she can, and now I

want to call her back, but the button doesn't work any more.

OK. Just think rationally. There's no need to panic. Nothing's going to happen tonight. I'll just

keep trying her mobile and as soon as I get through I'll explain in words of one syllable that

she has to call this guy off and if she doesn't I will break her legs.

A low, insistent drumbeat starts playing over the loudspeakers, and I give a start of fright. I'm

so distracted, I'd actually forgotten what we were here for. The auditorium is becoming

completely dark, and around us the audience falls silent with anticipation. The beating

increases in volume, but nothing happens on stage; it's still pitch black.

The drumming becomes even louder, and I'm starting to feel tense. This is all a bit spooky.

When are they going to start dancing? When are they going to open the curtains? When are

they going to-

Pow! Suddenly there's a gasp as a dazzling light fills the auditorium, nearly blinding me.

Thumping music fills the air, and a single figure appears on stage in a black, glittering

costume, twirling and leaping. Gosh, whoever it is, they're amazing. I'm blinking dazedly

against the bright light, trying to see. I can hardly tell if it's a man or a woman or a-

Oh my God. It's Lissy.

I am pinioned to my seat by shock. Everything else has been swept away from my mind. I

cannot keep my eyes off Lissy.

I had no idea she could do this. No idea! I mean, we did a bit of ballet together. And a bit of

tap. But we never… I never… How can I have known someone for over twenty years and

have no idea they could dance?

She just did this amazing slow, sinewy dance with a guy in a mask who I guess is Jean-Paul,

and now she's leaping and spinning around with this ribbon thing, and the whole audience is

staring at her, agog, and she looks so completely radiant. I haven't seen her look so happy for

months. I'm so proud of her.

To my horror, tears start to prick my eyes. And now my nose is starting to run. I don't even

have a tissue. This is so embarrassing. I'm going to have to sniff, like a mother at a Nativity

play. Next I'll be standing up and running to the front with my camcorder, going, 'Hello

darling, wave to Daddy!'

OK. I need to get a hold of myself, otherwise it'll be like the time I took my little goddaughter

Amy to see the Disney cartoon Tarzan, and when the lights went up, she was fast

asleep and I was in floods, being gawped at by a load of stony-eyed four-year-olds. (Just in

my defence, it was pretty romantic. And Tarzan was pretty sexy.)

I feel something nudging my hand. I look up, and Jack's offering me a hanky. As I take it

from him, his fingers curl briefly round mine.

When the performance comes to an end, I'm on a total high. Lissy takes a star bow, and both

Jack and I applaud madly, grinning at each other.

'Don't tell anyone I cried,' I say, above the sound of applause.

'I won't,' says Jack, and gives me a rueful smile. 'I promise.'

The curtain comes down for the last time, and people start getting out of their seats, reaching

for jackets and bags. And now we're coming back down to normality again, I feel my

exhilaration seeping away and anxiety returning. I have to try to contact Jemima again.

At the exit, people are streaming across the courtyard to a lit-up room on the other side.

'Lissy said I should meet her at the party,' I say to Jack. 'So er… why don't you go on? I just

need to make a quick call.'

'Are you OK?' says Jack, giving me a curious look. 'You seem jumpy.'

'I'm fine!' I say. 'Just excited!' I give him as convincing a beam as I can manage, then wait

until he's safely out of earshot. Immediately I dial Jemima's number. Straight on to messages.