Chapter Eleven
Eleven
So now i have no promotion and no boyfriend. 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 and 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 say sulkily.
“Well, in Connor’s case I think you would have been safe.” 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 around her knees, eating a piece of raisin toast. “Be honest.”
“Er, no!” says Lissy unconvincingly. “Of course not!”
“You do!”
“It’s just…you just 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, 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.
“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 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 toward the door.
“And anyway. Everyone pretends in a relationship.”
“No, they don’t! Or at least, they shouldn’t…”
“Of course they should! Mummy says all this being honest with each other is totally overrated! She’s been married to Daddy for thirty years, and he still has no idea she isn’t a natural blonde.”
As Jemima disappears out of the room, 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 let on to 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 each other, anyway! We’re best friends!”
“It’s a deal!” I say with a warm burst of emotion. Impulsively I lean forward and give her a hug.
Lissy’s so right. We shouldn’t keep things from each other. I mean, we’ve been friends for over twenty years!
“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 pang, which I ignore by taking a sip of coffee. “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. Something about her tone just doesn’t ring true. When Lissy talks about sex, that’s not how she sounds. And she’d never use the word “animalistic.” Or “raunchy,” for that matter.
She’s lying!
“I don’t believe you!” I give her a long look. “You weren’t having sex!”
The pink dots on Lissy’s cheeks immediately deepen in color. “Yes, we were!”
“No, you weren’t. Lissy, what were you really doing?”
“We were having sex, OK?” says Lissy, now agitated. “He’s my new boyfriend, and…that’s what we were doing! Now, just leave me alone!” She gets up, scattering raisin toast crumbs, and heads out of the room, tripping slightly on the rug.
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, “You may just have made a rash mistake. Examine your motives carefully.”
I lie in bed on Saturday night, unable to sleep. Then, at about three in the morning, I find myself replaying that final meeting with Jack over and over in my mind. I even start composing light, friendly postcards to send him in America. Hope you had a good trip back…It was great to meet you…
But who am I kidding? I’m not going to send him any card. He’s probably forgotten who I am already. It was an interesting experience meeting him—and now it’s over.
—
By the time I wake up on Monday morning, I feel a lot better.
My new life starts today. I’m going to forget all about love and romance and concentrate on my career.
As I get ready for work, I reach for my smartest trousers and a neck scarf that isn’t very nice but shouts “career woman.” I’ll show Paul who’s ready for a promotion.
Maybe I’ll even look for a new job. Yes!
As I come out of the tube station, I fantasize applying for a job as marketing executive at Coca-Cola.
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 building, Paul is groveling on the floor as I sit nonchalantly on his desk, holding one knee (I also seem to be wearing a new suit and Prada shoes) and saying, “You know, Paul, all you had to do was treat me with a little respect—”
Shit. My eyes suddenly focus and I stop in my tracks, hand on the glass doors. There’s a blond head in the foyer.
Connor. 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 flake. God, I’m a mess. I have to get a grip on 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?” I stop still in shock and see a girl called Nancy coming toward 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…”
“How…how do you know?”
“Oh, everyone knows!” says Nancy. “You know there was a little drinks do on Friday night? Well, Connor came to it, and he got quite drunk. And he told everyone. In fact, he made a little speech!”
“He…he did what?”
“It was quite touching, really. It was all about how the Panther Corporation felt like his family and how he knew we would all support him through this difficult time. And you, of course,” she adds as an afterthought.
“Although since you were the one who broke it off, Connor’s really the wounded party.
” She leans forward confidentially. “I have to say, a lot of the girls were saying you must have a screw loose!”
I cannot believe this. Connor gave a speech about our breakup. After promising to keep it quiet. And now everyone’s on his side.
“Right,” I say at last. “Well, I’d better get on—”
“It just seems such a shame!” Nancy’s inquisitive eyes run over me. “You two seemed so perfect!”
“I know we did.” I force a smile. “Anyway. See you later.”
—
I head for the new coffee machine, trying to get my head around this, when a tremulous voice interrupts me. “Emma?”
I look up in apprehension. It’s Katie, peering at me as though I’ve suddenly grown three heads.
“Oh, hi!” I say, trying to sound breezy.
“Is it true?” she whispers. “Is it true? Because I won’t believe it’s true until I hear you say it with your own lips.”
“Yes,” I say reluctantly. “It’s true. Connor and I have broken up.”
“Oh, God.” Katie’s breathing becomes quicker and quicker. “Oh, my God. It’s true. Oh my God, oh my God, I really can’t cope with this…”
Shit. She’s hyperventilating. I grab an empty sugar bag and shove it over her mouth.
“Katie, calm down!” I say helplessly. “Breathe in…and out…”
“I’ve been having panic attacks all weekend,” she manages between breaths. “I woke up last night in a cold sweat and I just thought to myself, If this is true, the world doesn’t make sense anymore. It simply makes no sense.”
“Katie, we broke up! That’s all! People break up all the time.”
“But you and Connor weren’t just people! You were the couple.” She removes the bag from her face. “I mean, if you can’t make it, why should any of the rest of us bother even trying?”
“Katie, we weren’t the couple!” I say, trying to keep my temper. “We were a couple. And it went wrong, and…and these things happen!”
“But—”