Chapter Eighteen
Eighteen
I’m in love.
I, Emma Corrigan, am in love.
For the first time ever in my entire life, I’m totally, one hundred percent in love!
I spent all night with Jack at the Panther mansion.
I woke up in his arms. We had sex about ninety-five times, and it was just…
perfect. (And somehow tricks didn’t even seem to come into it. Which was a bit of a relief.)
But it’s not just the sex. It’s everything.
It’s the way he had a cup of tea waiting for me when I woke up.
It’s the way he turned on his laptop especially for me to look up all my Internet horoscopes and helped me choose the best one.
He knows all the crappy, embarrassing bits about me that I normally try to hide from any man for as long as possible… and he loves me anyway.
So he didn’t exactly say he loved me. But he said something even better. I still keep rolling it blissfully around my head. We were lying there idly this morning when I suddenly said, without quite intending to, “Jack…how come you remembered about Kerry turning me down for work experience?”
“What?”
“How come you remembered about Kerry turning me down?” I swiveled my head toward him. “And…not just that. Every single thing I told you on that plane. Every little detail. About work, about my family, about Connor…everything. You remember it all. And I just…don’t get it.”
“What don’t you get?” said Jack with a frown.
“I don’t get why someone like you would be interested in my stupid, boring little life,” I said, my cheeks prickling with embarrassment.
“Emma, your life is not stupid and boring.”
“It is!”
“It’s not.”
“Of course it is! I never do anything exciting, I haven’t got my own company, or invented anything—”
“You have friends who love you and whom you love,” Jack said, interrupting. “You have ambitions. You have fun. You have imagination and optimism. You have…warmth. The only person who even tried to help that kid on the plane was you.”
“Oh, well,” I said, a little embarrassed. “Like that was a big success—”
“Don’t put yourself down.” He studied my face for a few moments. “Emma, you want to know why I remember all your secrets? The minute you started talking on that plane, I was gripped.”
“You were…gripped?” I said in total disbelief. “By me?”
“I was gripped,” he repeated gently, and he leaned over and kissed me.
And the point is, if I’d never spoken to him on that plane—and if I’d never blurted out my stuff—then this would never have happened. We would never have found each other. It was fate. I was meant to get on that plane. I was meant to get upgraded. I was meant to spill my secrets.
As I arrive home I’m glowing all over. It’s like a lightbulb has switched on inside me.
Jemima is wrong. Men and women aren’t enemies.
Men and women are soul mates. And if they were just honest, right from the word go, then they’d realize it!
All this being mysterious and aloof is complete rubbish.
Everyone should share their secrets straightaway!
I’m so inspired, I think I’m going to write a book on relationships.
It will be called Don’t Be Scared to Share, and it will show that men and women should be honest with each other and they’ll communicate better and understand each other, and never have to pretend about anything, ever again.
And it could apply to families, too. And politics!
Maybe if world leaders all told one another a few personal secrets, then there wouldn’t be any more wars! I think I’m really onto something.
I float up the stairs and unlock the door of our flat. “Lissy!” I call. “Lissy, I’m in love!”
There is no reply, and I feel a twinge of disappointment. I wanted someone to talk to. I wanted someone to impress with my brilliant new theory of life and—
Suddenly there’s a thumping sound from her room. I stand completely still in the hallway, transfixed. The mysterious thumping sounds. There’s another one. Then two more. What on earth—
And then I see it, through the door of the sitting room. On the floor, next to the sofa. A briefcase. A black leather briefcase. It’s him. It’s that Jean-Paul guy. He’s in there! Right this minute! I take a few steps forward, completely intrigued.
What are they doing?
I just don’t believe her story that they’re having sex. But what else could it be? What else could it possibly—
OK…just stop. It’s none of my business. If Lissy doesn’t want to tell me what she’s up to, she doesn’t want to tell me. Feeling very mature, I walk into the kitchen and pick up the kettle to make myself a cup of coffee.
Then I put it down again. Why doesn’t she want to tell me? Why does she have a secret from me? We’re best friends! I mean, it was she who said we shouldn’t have any secrets.
I can’t stand this. Curiosity is niggling at me like a burr. It’s unbearable. And this could be my only chance to find out the truth. But how? I can’t just walk in there. Can I?
All of a sudden, a little thought occurs to me. OK, suppose I hadn’t seen the briefcase? Suppose I’d just innocently walked into the flat and happened to go straight to Lissy’s door and happened to open it? Nobody could blame me then, could they? It would just be an honest mistake.
I come out of the kitchen, listen intently for a moment, then tiptoe back toward the front door.
Start again. I’m walking into the flat for the first time. “Hi, Lissy!” I call in a self-conscious voice. “Gosh! I wonder where she is. Maybe I’ll, um, try her bedroom!”
I walk down the corridor, attempting a natural stride, arrive at her door, and knock softly.
There’s no response from inside. The thumping noises have stopped.
As I face the painted wood I feel a sudden apprehension.
Am I really going to do this?
Yes, I am. I just have to know.
I grasp the handle, open the door—and give a scream of terror.
The image is so startling, I can’t make sense of it. Lissy’s naked on the floor. They’re both naked. She and the guy are kind of tangled together in the strangest position I’ve ever, ever…her legs are up in the air, and his are twisted around her, and they’re both scarlet in the face and panting.
“I’m sorry!” I stutter. “God, I’m sorry!”
“Emma, wait!” I hear Lissy shout as I scuttle away to my room, slam the door, and fall onto my bed.
My heart is pounding. I almost feel sick. I’ve never been so shocked in my entire life. I should never have opened that door.
She was telling the truth! They were having sex! But I mean, what kind of weird, contorted sex was that? Bloody hell. I never realized. I never—
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and scream again.
“Emma, calm down!” says Lissy. “It’s me! Jean-Paul’s leaving…”
I can’t look up. I can’t meet her eye. “Lissy, I’m sorry,” I gabble. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. I should never have…Your sex life is your own affair…”
“Emma, we weren’t having sex, you dope!”
“You were! I saw you! You didn’t have any clothes on—”
“We did have clothes on! Emma, look at me!”
“No!” I say in panic. “I don’t want to look at you!”
“Look at me!”
Apprehensively, I raise my head, and gradually my eyes focus on Lissy standing in front of me.
Oh. Oh…right. She’s wearing a flesh-colored leotard.
“Well, what were you doing, if you weren’t having sex?” I say almost accusingly. “And why are you wearing that?”
“We were dancing,” says Lissy, looking embarrassed.
“What?” I am utterly bewildered.
“We were dancing, OK? That’s what we were doing!”
“Dancing? But…why were you dancing?”
This makes no sense at all. Lissy and a French guy called Jean-Paul, dancing in her bedroom? I feel like I’ve landed in the middle of some weird dream.
“I’ve joined this group,” says Lissy after a pause.
“Oh, my God. Not a cult—”
“No, not a cult! It’s just…” She bites her lip. “It’s some lawyers who’ve gotten together and formed a…a dance group.”
A dance group?
For a few moments I can’t quite speak. Now that my shock’s died down, I have this horrible feeling that I might possibly be about to laugh. “You’ve joined a group of…dancing lawyers.”
“Yes.” Lissy nods, looking abashed. “I just…you know, I love the law. I love my job. But I’ve had this unfulfilled feeling for a while, like something was missing, like I wanted to express my creativity in some way.”
An image has popped into my head of a bunch of portly barristers dancing around in their wigs and suddenly—I can’t help it—I give a snort of laughter.
“You see!” cries Lissy. “That’s why I didn’t tell you! I knew you’d laugh!”
“I’m sorry!” I say. “I’m sorry! I’m not laughing. I think it’s really great!” Another hysterical giggle bursts from me. “It’s just…I don’t know. Somehow the idea of dancing lawyers…”
“We’re not all lawyers,” she says defensively. “There are a couple of merchant bankers, too, and a judge…Emma, stop laughing!”
“I’m sorry! Lissy, I’m not laughing at you—honestly!” I take a deep breath and try to clamp my lips together. But all I can see is merchant bankers dressed in tutus, clutching their briefcases, dancing to Swan Lake. A judge leaping across the stage, robes flying.
“It’s not funny!” Lissy’s saying. “It’s just a few like-minded professionals who want to express themselves through dance! What’s wrong with that?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes and trying to regain control of myself. “Nothing’s wrong with it. I think it’s brilliant. So, are you having a show or anything?”
“It’s a week from Friday. That’s why we’ve been doing extra practices—”
“Really?” I stare at her, my laughter melting away. “Weren’t you going to tell me?”
“I…I hadn’t decided,” she says, scuffing her dancing shoe on the floor. “I was embarrassed.”
“Don’t be embarrassed!” I say in dismay. “Lissy, I’m sorry I laughed. I think it’s brilliant. And I’m going to come and watch! I’ll sit right in the front row.”
“Not the front row. You’ll put me off.”
“I’ll sit in the middle, then. Or at the back. Wherever you want me.” I give her a curious look. “Lissy, I never knew you could dance.”
“Oh, I can’t,” she says at once. “I’m crap. It’s just a bit of fun. D’you want a coffee?”
As I follow Lissy into the kitchen, she gives me a raised-eyebrow look. “So, you’ve got a bit of a nerve, accusing me of having sex. Where were you last night?”
“With Jack,” I admit with a dreamy smile. “Having sex. All night.”
“I knew it!”
“Oh, God, Lissy. I’m completely in love with him.”
“In love?” She flicks on the kettle. “Emma, are you sure? You’ve only known him about five minutes.”
“That doesn’t matter! We’re already complete soul mates!
There’s no need to pretend with him…or try to be something I’m not…
And the sex is amazing…He’s everything I never had with Connor.
Everything. And he’s interested in me. You know, he asks me questions all the time, and he seems really genuinely fascinated by the answers! ”
I spread my arms with a blissful smile. “You know, Lissy, all my life I had this feeling that something wonderful was about to happen to me. I always just…knew it, deep down inside. And now it has.”
“So, where is he now?” says Lissy, shaking coffee into the filter.
“He’s going away for a bit. He’s going to brainstorm some new concept with a creative team.”
“What?”
“I dunno. He didn’t say. It’ll be really intense and he probably won’t be able to phone me. But he’s going to e-mail every day,” I add happily.
“Biscuit?” says Lissy, opening the tin.
“Oh, er, yes. Thanks.” I take a digestive and give it a thoughtful nibble.
“You know, I’ve got this whole new theory about relationships, and it’s so simple.
Everyone in the world should be more honest with each other.
Everyone should share! Men and women should share, families should share, world leaders should share! ”
“Hmm.” Lissy looks at me silently for a few moments. “Emma, did Jack ever tell you why he had to go rushing off in the middle of the night that time?”
“Er, no,” I say in surprise. “But…it’s his business.”
“Did he ever tell you what all those phone calls were about on your first date?”
“Well…no.”
“Has he told anything about himself other than the bare minimum?”
“He’s told me plenty!” I say, feeling defensive. “Lissy, what’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” she says mildly. “I’m just wondering…is it you who are doing all the sharing?”
“What?”
“Is he sharing himself with you?” She pours hot water onto the coffee. “Or are you just sharing yourself with him?”
“We share with each other!” I say, looking away and fiddling with a fridge magnet. “Like…like he told me all about his business partner, and his company.”
“What about himself? As a person?”
“Yes!”
Which is true, I tell myself. Jack’s shared loads about himself with me. I mean, he’s told me…
He’s told me all about…
Well, anyway. He probably just hasn’t been in the mood for talking very much. Is that a crime?
“Have some coffee,” says Lissy, handing me a mug.
“Thanks.” I know I sound grudging, and Lissy sighs.
“Emma, I’m not trying to spoil things. He does seem really lovely—”
“He is! Honestly, Lissy, you don’t know what he’s like. He’s so romantic. Do you know what he said this morning? He said the minute I started talking on that plane, he was gripped.”
“Really?” Lissy gazes at me. “He said that? That is pretty romantic.”
“I told you!” I can’t help beaming at her. “Lissy, he’s perfect!”