TEN

Jack Harper leaves today.

Thank God. Thank God. Because I really couldn't cope with any more of… of him. If I can

just keep my head down and avoid him until five o'clock and then run out of the door, then

everything will be fine. Life will be back to normal and I will stop feeling as if my radar's

been skewed by some invisible magnetic force.

I don't know why I'm in such a jumpy, irritable mood. Because although I nearly died of

embarrassment yesterday, things are pretty good. First of all, it doesn't look like' Connor and I

are going to get the sack for having sex at work, which was my immediate fear. And secondly,

my brilliant plan worked. As soon as we got back to our desks, Connor started sending me

apologetic emails. And then last night we had sex. Twice. With scented candles.

I think Connor must have read somewhere that girls like scented candles during sex. Maybe in

Cosmo. Because every time he brings them out, he gives me this 'aren't I considerate?' look,

and I have to say 'Oh! Scented candles! How lovely!'

I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't mind scented candles. But it's not as if they actually do

anything, is it? They just stand there and burn. And then at crucial moments I find myself

thinking 'I hope the scented candle doesn't fall over', which is a bit distracting.

Anyway. So we had sex.

And tonight we're going to look at a flat together. It doesn't have a wooden floor or shutters -

but it has a Jacuzzi in the bathroom, which is pretty cool. So my life is coming together nicely.

I don't know why I'm feeling so pissed off. I don't know what's-

I don't want to move in with Connor, says a tiny voice in my brain before I can stop it.

No. That can't be right. That cannot possibly be right. Connor is perfect. Everyone knows that.

But I don't want to—

Shut up. We're the Perfect Couple. We have sex with scented candles. And we go for walks

by the river. And we read the papers on Sundays with cups of coffee in pyjamas. That's what

perfect couples do.

But—

Stop it!

I swallow hard. Connor is the one good thing in my life. If I didn't have Connor, what would I

have?

The phone rings on my desk, interrupting my thoughts, and I pick it up.

'Hello, Emma?' comes a familiar dry voice. 'This is Jack Harper.'

My heart gives an almighty leap of fright and I nearly spill my coffee. I haven't seen him

since the hand-in-bra incident. And I really don't want to.

I should never have answered my phone.

In fact, I should never have come into work today.

'Oh,' I say.'Er… hi!'

'Would you mind coming up to my office for a moment?'

'What… me?' I say nervously.

'Yes, you.'

I clear my throat.

'Should I… bring anything?'

'No, just yourself.'

He rings off, and I stare at my phone for a few moments, feeling a coldness in my spine. I

should have known it was too good to be true. He's going to fire me after all. Gross…

negligence… negligent grossness.

I mean, it is pretty gross, getting caught with your boyfriend's hand in your top at work.

OK. Well, there's nothing I can do.

I take a deep breath, stand up and make my way up to the eleventh floor. There's a desk

outside his door, but no secretary is sitting there, so I go straight up to the door and knock.

'Come in.'

Cautiously I push the door open. The room is huge and bright and panelled, and Jack is sitting

at a circular table with six people gathered round on chairs. Six people I've never seen before,

I suddenly realize. They're all holding pieces of paper and sipping water, and the atmosphere

is a bit tense.

Have they gathered to watch me being fired? Is this some kind of how-to-fire-people training?

'Hello,' I say, trying to keep as composed as possible. But my face is hot and I know I look

flustered.

'Hi.' Jack's face crinkles in a smile. 'Emma… relax. There's nothing to worry about. I just

wanted to ask you something.'

'Oh, right,' I say, taken aback.

OK, now I'm totally confused. What on earth could he have to ask me?

Jack reaches for a piece of paper and holds it up so I can see it clearly. 'What do you think this

is a picture of?' he says.

Oh fucketty fuck.

This is your worst nightmare. This is like when I went for that interview at Laines Bank and

they showed me a squiggle and I said I thought it looked like a squiggle.

Everyone is staring at me. I so want to get it right. If only I knew what right was.

I stare at the picture, my heart beating quickly. It's a graphic of two round objects. Kind of

irregular in shape. I have absolutely no idea what they're supposed to be. None at all. They

look like… they look like…

Suddenly I see it.

'It's nuts! Two walnuts!'

Jack explodes with laughter, and a couple of people give muffled giggles which they hastily

stifle.

'Well, I think that proves my point,' says Jack.

'Aren't they walnuts?' I look helplessly around the table.

'They're supposed to be ovaries,' says a man with rimless spectacles tightly.

'Ovaries?' I stare at the page. 'Oh, right! Well, yes. Now you say it, I can definitely see a… an

ovary-like…'

'Walnuts.' Jack wipes his eyes.

'I've explained, the ovaries are simply part of a range of symbolic representations of

womanhood," says a thin guy defensively. 'Ovaries to represent fertility, an eye for wisdom,

this tree to signify the earth mother…'

'The point is, the images can be used across the entire range of products,' says a woman with

black hair, leaning forward. 'The health drink, clothing, a fragrance…'

'The target market responds well to abstract images,' adds Rimless Spectacle Guy. 'The

research has shown-'

'Emma.' Jack looks at me again. 'Would you buy a drink with ovaries on it?'

'Er…' I clear my throat, aware of a couple of hostile faces pointing my way. 'Well…

probably not.'

A few people exchange glances.

'This is so irrelevant,' someone is muttering.

'Jack, three creative teams have been at work at this,' the black-haired woman says earnestly.

'We can't start from scratch. We simply cannot.'

Jack takes a swig of water from an Evian bottle, wipes his mouth and looks at her.

'You know I came up with the slogan "Don't Pause" in two minutes on a bar napkin?'

'Yes, we know,' mutters the guy in rimless spectacles.

'We are not selling a drink with ovaries on it.' He exhales sharply, and runs a hand through his

dishevelled hair. Then he pushes his chair back. 'OK, let's take a break. Emma, would you be

kind enough to assist me in carrying some of these folders down to Sven's office?'

God, I wonder what all that was about. But I don't quite dare ask. Jack marches me down the

corridor, and into a lift and presses the ninth-floor button, without saying anything. After

we've descended for about two seconds he presses the emergency button, and we grind to a

halt. Then, finally, he looks at me.

'Are you and I the only sane people in this building?'

'Um…'

'What happened to instincts?' His face is incredulous. 'No-one knows a good idea from a

terrible one any more. Ovaries.' He shakes his head. 'Fucking ovaries!'

I can't help it. He looks so outraged, and the way he says 'ovaries!' suddenly seems the

funniest thing in the world, and before I know it, I've started laughing. For an instant Jack

looks astounded, and then his face kind of crumples, and suddenly he's laughing too. His nose

screws right up when he laughs, just like a baby's and somehow this makes it seem about a

million times funnier.

Oh God. I really am laughing now. I'm giving tiny little snorts, and my ribs hurt, and every

time I look at him I give another gurgle. My nose is running, and I haven't got a tissue… I'll

have to blow my nose on the picture of the ovaries…

'Emma, why are you with that guy?'

'What?' I look up, still laughing, until I realize that Jack's stopped. He's looking at me, with an

unreadable expression on his face.

'Why are you with that guy?' he repeats.

My gurgles peter out, and I push my hair back off my face.

'What do you mean?' I say, playing for time.

'Connor Martin. He's not going to make you happy. He's not going to fulfil you.'

I stare at him, feeling wrong-footed.

'Who says?'

'I've got to know Connor. I've sat in meetings with him. I've seen how his mind works. He's a

nice guy — but you need more than a nice guy.' Jack gives me a long, shrewd look. 'My guess

is, you don't really want to move in with him. But you're afraid of ducking out.'

I feel a swell of indignation. How dare he read my mind and get it so… so wrong. Of course I

want to move in with Connor.

'Actually, you're quite mistaken,' I say cuttingly. 'I'm looking forward to moving in with him.

In fact… in fact, I was just sitting at my desk, thinking how I can't wait!'

So there.

Jack's shaking his head.

'You need someone with a spark. Who excites you.'

'I told you, I didn't mean what I said on the plane. Connor does excite me!' I give him a

defiant look. 'I mean… when you saw us last, we were pretty passionate, weren't we?'

'Oh, that.' Jack shrugs. 'I assumed that was a desperate attempt to spice up your love life.'

I stare at him in fury.

'That was not a desperate attempt to spice up my love life!' I almost spit at him. 'That was

simply a… a spontaneous act of passion.'

'Sorry,' says Jack mildly. 'My mistake.'

'Anyway, why do you care?' I fold my arms. 'What does it matter to you whether I'm happy or

not?'

There's a sharp silence, and I find I'm breathing rather quickly. I meet his dark eyes, and

quickly look away again.

'I've asked myself that same question,' says Jack. He shrugs. 'Maybe it's because we

experienced that extraordinary plane ride together. Maybe it's because you're the only person

in this whole company who hasn't put on some kind of phoney act for me.'

I would have put on an act! I feel like retorting. If I'd had a choice!

'I guess what I'm saying is… I feel as if you're a friend,' he says. 'And I care what happens to

my friends.'

'Oh,' I say, and rub my nose.

I'm about to say politely that he feels like a friend, too, when he adds, 'Plus anyone who

recites Woody Allen films line for line has to be a loser.'

I feel a surge of outrage on Connor's behalf.

'You don't know anything about it!' I exclaim. 'You know, I wish I'd never sat next to you on

that stupid plane! You go around, saying all these things to wind me up, behaving as though

you know me better than anyone else-'

'Maybe I do,' he says, his eyes glinting.

'What?'

'Maybe I do know you better than anyone else.'

I stare back at him, feeling a breathless mixture of anger and exhilaration. I suddenly feel like

we're playing tennis. Or dancing.

'You do not know me better than anyone else!' I retort, in the most scathing tones I can muster.

'I know you won't end up with Connor Martin.'

'You don't know that.'

'Yes I do.'

'No you don't.'

'I do.'

He's starting to laugh.

'No you don't! If you want to know, I'll probably end up marrying Connor.'

'Marry Connor?' says Jack, as though this is the funniest joke he's ever heard.

'Yes! Why not? He's tall, and he's handsome, and he's kind and he's very… he's…' I'm

floundering slightly. 'And anyway, this is my personal life. You're my boss, and you only met

me last week, and frankly, this is none of your business!'

Jack's laughter vanishes, and he looks as though I've slapped him. For a few moments he

stares at me, saying nothing. Then he takes a step back and releases the lift button.

'You're right,' he says in a completely different voice. 'Your personal life is none of my

business. I overstepped the mark, and I apologize.'

I feel a spasm of dismay.

'I… I didn't mean-'

'No. You're right.' He stares at the floor for a few moments, then looks up. 'So, I leave for the

States tomorrow. It's been a very pleasant stay, and I'd like to thank you for all your help. Will

I see you at the drinks party tonight?'

'I… I don't know,' I say.

The atmosphere has disintegrated.

This is awful. It's horrible. I want to say something, I want to put it back to the way it was

before, all easy and joking. But I can't find the words.

We reach the ninth floor, and the doors open.

'I think I can manage these from here,' Jack says. 'I really only asked you along for the

company.'

Awkwardly, I transfer the folders to his arms.

'Well, Emma,' he says in the same formal voice. 'In case I don't see you later on… it was nice

knowing you.' He meets my eyes and a glimmer of his old, warm expression returns. 'I really

mean that.'

'You too,' I say, my throat tight.

I don't want him to go. I don't want this to be the end. I feel like suggesting a quick drink. I

feel like clinging to his hand and saying: Don't leave.

God, what's wrong with me?

'Have a good journey,' I manage as he shakes my hand. Then he turns on his heel and walks

off down the corridor.

I open my mouth a couple of times to call after him — but what would I say? There's nothing

to say. By tomorrow morning he'll be on a plane back to his life. And I'll be left here in mine.

I feel leaden for the rest of the day. Everyone else is talking about Jack Harper's leaving party,

but I leave work half an hour early. I go straight home and make myself some hot chocolate,

and I'm sitting on the sofa, staring into space when Connor lets himself into the flat.

I look up as he walks into the room, and immediately I know something's different. Not with

him. He hasn't changed a bit.

But I have. I've changed.

'Hi,' he says, and kisses me lightly on the head. 'Shall we go?'

'Go?'

'To look at the flat on Edith Road. We'll have to hurry if we're going to make it to the party.

Oh, and my mother's given us a house-warming present. It was delivered to work.'

He hands me a cardboard box, I pull out a glass teapot and look at it blankly.

'You can keep the tea-leaves separate from the water. Mum says it really does make a better

cup of tea-'

'Connor,' I hear myself saying. 'I can't do this.'

'It's quite easy. You just have to lift the-'

'No.' I shut my eyes, trying to gather some courage, then open them again. 'I can't do this. I

can't move in with you.'

'What?' Connor stares at me. 'Has something happened?'

'Yes. No.' I swallow. 'I've been having doubts for a while. About us. And recently they've…

they've been confirmed. If we carry on, I'll be a hypocrite. It's not fair to either of us.'

'What?' Connor rubs his face. 'Emma, are you saying you want to… to…'

'I want to break up,' I say, staring at the carpet.

'You're joking.'

'I'm not joking!' I say in sudden anguish. 'I'm not joking, OK?'

'But… this is ridiculous! It's ridiculous!' Connor's pacing around the room like a rattled lion.

Suddenly he looks at me.

'It's that plane journey.'

'What?' I jump as though I've been scalded. 'What do you mean?'

'You've been different ever since that plane ride down from Scotland.'

'No I haven't!'

'You have! You've been edgy, you've been tense…' Connor squats down in front of me and

takes my hands. 'Emma, I think maybe you're still suffering some kind of trauma. You could

have counselling.'

'Connor, I don't need counselling!' I jerk my hands away. 'But maybe you're right. Maybe that

plane ride did…' I swallow. 'Affect me. Maybe it brought my life into perspective and make

me realize a few things. And one of the things I've realized is, we aren't right for each other.'

Slowly Connor sinks down onto the carpet, his face bewildered.

'But things have been great! We've been having lots of sex-'

'I know.'

'Is there someone else?'

'No!' I say sharply. 'Of course there's no-one else!' I rub my finger roughly up and down the

cover of the sofa.

'This isn't you talking,' says Connor suddenly. 'It's just the mood you're in. I'll run you a nice

hot bath, light some scented candles…'

'Connor, please!' I cry. 'No more scented candles! You have to listen to me. And you have to

believe me.' I look straight into his eyes. 'I want to break up.'

'I don't believe you!' he says, shaking his head. 'I know you, Emma! You're not that kind of

person. You wouldn't just throw away something like that. You wouldn't-'

He stops in shock as, with no warning, I hurl the glass teapot to the floor.

We both stare at it, stunned.

'It was supposed to break,' I explain after a pause. 'And that was going to signify that yes, I

would throw something away. If I knew it wasn't right for me.'

'I think it has broken,' says Connor, picking it up and examining it. 'At least, there's a hairline

crack.'

'There you go.'

'We could still use it-'

'No. We couldn't.'

'We could get some Sellotape.'

'But it would never work properly.' I clench my fists by my sides. 'It just… wouldn't work.'

'I see,' says Connor after a pause.

And I think, finally, he does.

'Well… I'll be off then,' he says at last. 'I'll phone the flat people and tell them that we're…'

He stops, and roughly wipes his nose.

'OK,' I say, in a voice which doesn't sound like mine. 'Can we keep it quiet from everyone at

work?' I add. 'Just for the moment.'

'Of course,' he says gruffly. 'I won't say anything.'

He's halfway out of the door when abruptly he turns back, reaching in his pocket. 'Emma, here

are the tickets for the jazz festival,' he says, his voice cracking a little. 'You have them.'

'What?' I stare at them in horror. 'No! Connor, you have them! They're yours!'

'You have them. I know how much you've been looking forward to hearing the Dennisson

Quartet.' He pushes the brightly coloured tickets roughly into my hand and closes my fingers

over them.

'I… I…' I swallow. 'Connor… I just… I don't know what to say.'

'We'll always have jazz,' says Connor in a choked-up voice, and closes the door behind him.

ELEVEN

So now I have no promotion and no boyfriend. And puffy eyes from crying. And everyone

thinks I'm mad.

'You're mad,' Jemima says, approximately every ten minutes. It's Saturday morning, and we're

in our usual routine of dressing gowns, coffee, and nursing hangovers. Or in my case, breakups.

'You do realize you had him?' She frowns at her toenail, which she's painting baby pink.

'I would have predicted a rock on your finger within six months.'

'I thought you said I'd ruined all my chances by agreeing to move in with him,' I retort sulkily.

'Well, in Connor's case I think you would have been safe and dry.' She shakes her head.

'You're crazy.'

'Do you think I'm crazy?' I say, turning to Lissy, who's sitting in the rocking chair with her

arm round her knees, eating a piece of raisin toast. 'Be honest.'

'Er… no,' says Lissy unconvincingly. 'Of course not!'

'You do!'

'It's just… you seemed like such a great couple.'

'I know we did. I know we looked great on the outside.' I pause, trying to explain. 'But the

truth is, I never felt I was being myself. It was always a bit like we were acting. You know. It

didn't seem real, somehow.'

'That's it?' interrupts Jemima, staring at me as though I'm talking gibberish. 'That's the reason

you broke up?'

'It's a pretty good reason, don't you think?' says Lissy loyally.

Jemima stares at us both blankly.

'Of course not! Emma, if you'd just stuck it out and acted being the perfect couple for long

enough, you would have become the perfect couple.'

'But… but we wouldn't have been happy!'

'You would have been the perfect couple,' says Jemima, as though explaining something to a

very stupid child.' Obviously you would have been happy.' She cautiously stands up, her toes

splayed by bits of pink foam, and starts making her way towards the door. 'And anyway.

Everyone pretends in a relationship.'

'No they don't! Or at least, they shouldn't.'

'Of course they should! All this being honest with each other is totally overrated.' She gives us

a knowing look. 'My mother's been married to my father for thirty years, and he still has no

idea she isn't a natural blonde.'

She disappears out of the room and I exchange glances with Lissy.

'Do you think she's right?' I say.

'No,' says Lissy uncertainly. 'Of course not! Relationships should be built on… on trust…

and truth…' She pauses, and looks at me anxiously. 'Emma, you never told me you felt that

way about Connor.'

'I… didn't tell anyone.'

This isn't quite true, I immediately realize. But I'm hardly going to tell my best friend that I

told more to a complete stranger than to her, am I?

'Well, I really wish you'd confided in me more,' says Lissy earnestly. 'Emma, let's make a new

resolution. We'll tell each other everything from now on. We shouldn't have secrets from one

another, anyway. We're best friends!'

'It's a deal!' I say, with a sudden warm burst of emotion. Impulsively I lean forward and give

her a hug.

Lissy's so right. We should confide in each other. We shouldn't keep things from each other. I

mean, we've known each other for over twenty years, for God's sake.

'So, if we're telling each other everything…' Lissy takes a bite of raisin toast and gives me a

sidelong look. 'Did your chucking Connor have anything to do with that man? The man from

the plane?'

I feel a tiny pang inside which I ignore by taking a sip of coffee.

Did it have anything to do with him? No. No, it didn't.

'No,' I say without looking up. 'Nothing.'

We both watch the television screen for a few moments, where Kylie Minogue is being

interviewed.

'Oh, OK!' I say, suddenly remembering. 'So if we're asking each other questions… what were

you really doing with that guy Jean-Paul in your room?'

Lissy takes a breath.

'And don't tell me you were looking at case notes,' I add. 'Because that wouldn't make all that

thumping bumping noise.'

'Oh!' says Lissy, looking cornered. 'OK. Well… we were…' She takes a gulp of coffee and

avoids my gaze. 'We were… um… having sex.'

'What?' I stare at her, disconcerted.

'Yes. We were having sex. That's why I didn't want to tell you. I was embarrassed.'

'You and Jean-Paul were having sex?'

'Yes!' She clears her throat. 'We were having passionate… raunchy… animalistic sex.'

There's something wrong here.

'I don't believe you,' I say, giving her a long look. 'You weren't having sex.'

The pink dots on Lissy's cheeks deepen in colour.

'Yes we were!'

'No you weren't! Lissy, what were you really doing?'

'We were having sex, OK?' says Lissy agitatedly. 'He's my new boyfriend and… that's what

we were doing! Now just leave me alone.' She gets up flusteredly, scattering raisin toast

crumbs, and heads out of the room, tripping slightly on the rug.

I stare after her, completely agog.

Why is she lying? What on earth was she doing in there? What's more embarrassing than sex,

for God's sake? I'm so intrigued I almost feel cheered up.

To be honest, it's not the greatest weekend of my life. It's made even less great when the post

arrives and I get a postcard from Mum and Dad from Le Spa Meridien, telling me what a

fantastic time they're having. And even less great when I read my horoscope in the Mail, and

it tells me I may just have made a big mistake.

But by Monday morning, I'm feeling better. I haven't made a mistake. My new life starts

today. I'm going to forget all about love and romance and concentrate on my career. Maybe

I'll even look for a new job.

As I come out of the tube station, I start to like this idea a lot. I'll apply for a job as Marketing

Executive at Coca-Cola or somewhere. And I'll get it. And Paul will suddenly realize what a

terrible mistake he made, not promoting me. And he'll ask me to stay, but I'll say, 'It's too late.

You had your chance.' And then he'll beg, 'Emma, is there anything I can do to change your

mind?' And then I'll say-

By the time I reach the office, Paul is grovelling on the floor as I sit nonchalantly on his desk,

holding one knee (I also seem to be wearing a new trouser suit and Prada shoes) saying, 'You

know, Paul, all you had to do was treat me with a little respect-'

Shit, My eyes focus and I stop in my tracks, hand on the glass doors. There's a blond head in

the foyer.

Connor. A wave of panic overcomes me. I can't go in there. I can't do it. I can't-

Then the head moves, and it's not Connor at all, it's Andrea from Accounts. I push the door

open, feeling like a complete moron. God, I'm a mess. I have to get a grip of myself, because I

will run into Connor before too long, and I'm just going to have to handle it.

At least no-one at work knows yet, I think as I walk up the stairs. That would make things a

million times harder. To have people coming up to me and saying-

'Emma, I'm so sorry to hear about you and Connor!'

'What?' My head jerks up in shock and I see a girl called Nancy coming towards me.

'It was such a bolt from the blue! Of all the couples to split up, I would never have said you

two. But it just shows, you never can tell…'

I stare at her dazedly.

'How… how do you know?'

'Oh, everyone knows!' says Nancy. 'You know there was a little drinks do on Friday night?