Chapter Twenty-One #2
“Nice, spiky haircut…” he adds. “Nice dungarees…”
“Shut up!” I cry furiously, my face flaming red. “I’m not a…I’m not…Just fuck off, all of you!”
My hand trembling with anger, I swiftly delete each and every one of Jack’s e-mails. He doesn’t deserve anything. No chance. Nothing.
I rise to my feet and stride out. I head for the ladies’ room, slam the door behind me, and rest my hot forehead on the mirror. Hatred for Jack Harper is bubbling through me like hot lava. Does he have any idea what I’m going through? Does he have any idea what he’s done to me?
“Emma!” A voice interrupts my thoughts. Immediately I feel a jolt of apprehension.
Katie has quietly come into the ladies’, and now she’s standing right behind me, holding her makeup bag. Her face is reflected in the mirror next to mine…and she isn’t smiling. It’s just like Fatal Attraction.
“So,” she says in a strange voice. “You don’t like crochet.”
Oh, God. What have I done? Have I unleashed the bunny-boiler side of Katie that no one’s ever seen before? Maybe she’ll impale me with a crochet needle, I find myself thinking wildly.
“Katie,” I say. “Katie, please listen. I never meant…I never said…”
“Emma, don’t even try.” She lifts her hand. “There’s no point. We both know the truth.”
“He was wrong!” I say quickly. “He got confused! I meant I don’t like…um…creches. You know, all those babies everywhere—”
Katie cuts me off with an odd smile. “You know, I was pretty upset yesterday, but after work I went straight home and I called my mum. And do you know what she said to me?”
“What?” I say apprehensively.
“She said…she doesn’t like crochet, either.”
“What?”
“And neither does my granny!” Her face flushes, and suddenly she looks like the old Katie again.
“Or any of my relatives! They’ve all been pretending for years, just like you!
It all makes sense now!” Her voice rises in agitation.
“You know, I made my granny a whole sofa cover last Christmas, and she told me that burglars had stolen it. But I mean, what kind of burglars steal a crochet sofa cover?”
“Katie, I don’t know what to say….”
“Emma, why couldn’t you have told me before? All that time. Making stupid presents that people didn’t want.”
“Oh, God, Katie, I’m sorry!” I say, filled with remorse. “I’m so sorry. I just…didn’t want to hurt you!”
“I know you were trying to be kind. But I feel really stupid now!”
“Yes, well. That makes two of us,” I say morosely.
The door suddenly opens, and Wendy from Accounts comes in. There’s a pause as she stares at us both, opens her mouth, closes it again, then disappears into one of the cubicles.
“So…are you OK?” says Katie in a lower voice.
“I’m fine,” I mutter. “You know…”
Yeah. I’m so fine, I’m hiding in the loo rather than face my colleagues.
“Have you spoken to Jack?” she says tentatively.
“No. He sent me some stupid flowers. Like, ‘Oh, that’s OK, then.’ He probably didn’t even order them himself. He probably got Sven to do it.”
There’s the sound of flushing, and Wendy comes out of the cubicle again.
“Well…this is the mascara I was talking about,” Katie says quickly, handing me a tube.
“Thanks,” I say. “You say it, um, volumizes and lengthens?”
“It’s OK!” exclaims Wendy. “I’m not listening!” She washes her hands, dries them, then gives me a curious look. “So, Emma, are you going out with Jack Harper?”
“No,” I say curtly. “He used me and he betrayed me, and to be honest, I’d be happy if I never saw him again in my whole life.”
“Oh, right!” she says brightly. “It’s just, I was wondering. If you’re speaking to him again, could you just mention that I’d really like to move to the PR department?”
“What?”
“If you could just casually drop it in that I have good communication skills and I think I’d be really suited to PR.”
Casually drop it in? What, like, “I never want to see you again, Jack, and by the way, Wendy thinks she’d be good at PR”?
“I’m not sure,” I say at last. “I just…don’t think it’s something I could do.”
“Well, I think that’s really selfish of you, Emma!” says Wendy, looking offended. “All I’m asking you is, if the subject comes up, to mention that I’d like to move to PR! Just mention it! I mean, how hard is that?”
“Wendy, piss off!” says Katie. “Leave Emma alone!”
“I was only asking!” says Wendy. “I suppose you think you’re above us now, do you?”
“No!” I exclaim in shock. “It’s not that—” But Wendy’s already flounced out.
“Great,” I say with a sudden wobble to my voice. “Just great! Now everyone’s going to hate me, on top of everything else.”
I still can’t quite believe how everything has turned upside down, just like that.
Everything I believed in has turned out to be false.
My perfect man has turned out to be a cynical user.
My dreamy romance was all just a fabrication.
I was happier than I’d ever been in my life.
And now I’m just a stupid, humiliated laughingstock.
Oh, God. My eyes are tearing up again.
“Are you OK, Emma?” says Katie, looking at me in dismay. “Here, have a tissue.” She rummages in her makeup bag. “And some eye gel.”
“Thanks,” I say, and swallow hard. I dab the eye gel on my eyes and force myself to breathe deeply until I’m completely calm again.
“I think you’re really brave,” says Katie, watching me. “In fact, I’m amazed you even came in today. I would have been far too embarrassed.”
“Katie,” I say, turning to face her, “yesterday I had all my most personal, private secrets broadcast on TV.” I spread my arms. “How could anything possibly be more embarrassing than that?”
“Here she is!” comes a ringing voice behind us, and Caroline bursts into the ladies’. “Emma, your parents are here to see you!”
—
No. I do not believe this. I do not believe this.
My parents are standing by my desk. Dad’s wearing a smart gray suit, and Mum’s all dressed up in a white jacket and navy skirt, and they’re kind of holding a bunch of flowers between them. And the entire office is gawking at them as though they’re rare creatures of some sort.
“Hi, Mum,” I say in a voice that has suddenly gone rather husky. “Hi, Dad.”
What are they doing here?
“Emma!” says Dad, making an attempt at his normal, jovial voice. “We just thought we’d…pop in to see you.”
“Right,” I say, nodding. As though this were a perfectly normal course of events.
“We brought you a little present,” says Mum in a bright voice. “Some flowers for your desk.” She puts the bouquet down awkwardly. “Look at Emma’s desk, Brian. Isn’t it smart! Look at the…the computer!”
“Splendid!” says Dad, giving it a little pat. “Very…very fine desk indeed.”
“And are these your friends?” says Mum, smiling around the office.
“Er, kind of,” I say, scowling, as Artemis beams back at her.
“We were just saying, the other day,” continues Mum, “how proud you should be of yourself, Emma. Working for a big company like this! I’m sure many girls would be very envious of your career! Don’t you agree, Brian?”
“Absolutely!” says Dad. “You’ve…you’ve done very well for yourself, Emma.”
I’m so taken aback, I can’t even open my mouth. I meet Dad’s eye, and he gives a strange, awkward little smile. And Mum’s hands are trembling slightly as she fusses with the flowers.
They’re nervous, I realize with a jolt of shock. They’re both nervous.
I’m just trying to get my head around this as Paul appears at the door of his office. “So, Emma,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “You have visitors, I gather?”
“Er, yes,” I say. “Paul, these are, um, my parents, Brian and Rachel.”
“Enchanted,” says Paul with a polite incline of his head.
“We don’t want to be any bother—” says Mum.
“No bother at all,” says Paul, and bestows a charming smile on her. “Unfortunately, the room we usually use for family bonding sessions is being redecorated….”
“Oh!” says Mum, unsure as to whether he’s being serious or not. “Oh, dear!”
“So perhaps, Emma, you’d like to take your parents out for…shall we call it an early lunch?”
I look up at the clock. It’s a quarter to ten.
“Thanks, Paul,” I say gratefully.
—
This is completely surreal.
It’s the middle of the morning. I should be at work. And instead, I’m walking down the street with my parents, wondering what on earth we’re going to say to one another.
I can’t even remember the last time it was just my parents and me. Just the three of us—no Grandpa, no Kerry, no Nev. It’s like we’ve gone back in time fifteen years.
“We could go in here…” I say as we reach an Italian coffee shop.
“Good idea!” says Dad in hearty tones, and pushes the door open. “We saw your friend Jack Harper on television yesterday,” he adds.