Can You Keep a Secret?

by Sophie Kinsella

  Immediately both of them erupt into hysterical giggles.

  “Thanks, Artemis,” I say shortly. “That’s really sweet of you.”

  “I’m off for a coffee,” says Fergus, standing up. “Anybody want anything?”

  “Make mine a Harveys Bristol Cream,” says Nick brightly.

  “Ha ha,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Oh, Emma, I meant to say,” Nick adds, sauntering over to my desk, “that new secretary in Admin. Have you seen her? She’s quite something, isn’t she?”

  He winks at me, and I stare at him blankly for a moment, not understanding.

  “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.

  “He’s not my friend,” I reply, and he and Mum glance at each other.

  We sit down at a wooden table and a waiter brings us each a menu, and there’s silence.

  Oh, God. Now I’m feeling nervous.

  “So, um …” I begin, then stop. What I want to say is “Why are you here?” But it might sound a bit rude. “What … brings you to London?” I say instead.

  “We just thought we’d like to visit you!” says Mum, looking through her reading glasses at the menu. “Now, shall I have a cup of tea … or—what’s this? A frappalatte?”

  “I want a normal cup of coffee,” says Dad, peering at the menu with a frown. “Do they do such a thing?”

  “If they don’t, you’ll have to have a cappuccino and spoon off the froth,” says Mum. “Or an espresso and just ask them to add hot water.”

  I don’t believe this. They have driven two hundred miles. Are we just going to sit here and talk about hot beverages all day?

  “Oh, and that reminds me,” adds Mum casually. “We’ve bought you a little something, Emma. Didn’t we, Brian?”

  “Oh … right,” I say in surprise. “What is it?”

  “It’s a car,” says Mum, and looks up at the waiter who’s appeared at our table. “Hello! I would like a cappuccino, my husband would like a filter coffee if that’s possible, and Emma would like—”

  “A car?” I echo in disbelief.

  “Car,” echoes the Italian waiter, and gives me a suspicious look. “You want coffee?”

  “I’d … I’d like a cappuccino, please.”

  “And a selection of cakes,” adds Mum. “Grazie!”

  “Mum …” I put a hand to my head as the waiter disappears. “What do you mean, you’ve bought me a car?”

  “Just a little run-around. You ought to have a car! It’s not safe, your traveling on all these buses. Grandpa’s quite right.”

  “But … but I can’t afford a car,” I say. “I can’t even … What about the money I owe you? What about—”

  “Forget the money,” says Dad. “We’re going to wipe the slate clean.”

  “What?” I’m more mystified than ever. “But we can’t do that! I still owe you—”

  “Forget the money,” says Dad, a sudden edge to his voice. “I want you to forget all about it, Emma. You … you don’t owe us anything. Nothing at all.”

  I honestly cannot take all this in. I look from Dad to Mum. Then back to Dad. Then, very slowly, back to Mum again.

  And it’s really strange. But it almost feels as though we’re seeing one another properly for the first time in years. As though we’re seeing one another and saying hello and kind of … starting again.

  “We were wondering what you thought about taking a little holiday next year!” says Mum. “With us.”

  “Just … us?” I say, looking around the table.

  “Just the three of us, we thought.” She gives me a tentative smile. “It might be fun! You don’t have to, of course. If you’ve got other plans—”

  “No! I’d like to!” I say quickly. “I really would. But … but what about …”

  I can’t even bring myself to say Kerry’s name.

  There’s a tiny silence, during which Mum and Dad look at each other, and then away again.

  “Kerry sends her love, of course!” says Mum, as though she’s changing the subject completely. She clears her throat. “You know, she thought she might visit Hong Kong next year. Visit her father! She hasn’t seen him for at least five years, and maybe it’s time they … had some time together.”

  “Right!” I say, feeling totally stupefied. “Good idea.”

  I can’t believe this. Everything’s changed. It’s like the entire family has been thrown up in the air and has fallen down in different positions, and nothing’s like it was before.

  “We feel, Emma,” says Dad, and stops. “We feel … that perhaps we haven’t been … that perhaps we haven’t always noticed—” He breaks off and rubs his nose vigorously.

  “Cappu-ccino,” says the waiter, planting a cup in front of me. “Filter cof-fee, cappu-ccino … coffee cake … lemon cake … chocolate—”

  “Thank you!” interrupts Mum. “Thank you so much. I think we can manage from here.” The waiter disappears again, and she looks at me. “Emma, what we want to say is … we’re very proud of you.”

  Oh God, I think I’m going to cry. “Right,” I manage.

  “And we …” Dad begins. “That is to say … we both … your mother and I …” He clears his throat. “We’ve always … and always will … both of us …”

  He pauses, breathing rather hard. I don’t quite dare say anything.

  “What I’m trying to say, Emma …” he starts again. “As I’m sure you … as I’m sure we all … which is to say …”

  He stops again and wipes his perspiring face with a napkin.

  “The fact of the matter is that … is that …”

  “Oh, just tell your daughter you love her, Brian, for once in your bloody life!” cries Mum.

  “I … I … love you, Emma!” says Dad in a choked-up voice. “Oh, Jesus.” He brushes roughly at his eye.

  “I love you, too, Dad,” I say, my throat tight. “And you, Mum.”

  “You see!” says Mum, dabbing at her eye. “I knew it wasn’t a mistake to come!” She clutches hold of my hand, and I clutch hold of Dad’s hand, and for a moment we’re in a kind of awkward group hug.

  “You know, we’re all sacred links in the eternal circle of life,” I say with a sudden swell of emotion.

  “What?” Both my parents look at me blankly.

  “Er, never mind.” I release my hand and take a sip of cappuccino, and look up.

  Jack is standing at the door of the coffee shop.

  Twenty-two

  I almost can’t breathe as I see him through the glass doors. He puts out a hand, the door pings, and suddenly he’s inside the coffee shop.

  As he walks toward our table, I feel my facade b
egin to crumble. This is the man I thought I was in love with. This is the man who completely used me. Now that the initial shock has faded, all the feelings of pain and humiliation are threatening to take over and turn me to jelly again.

  But I’m not going to let them. I’m going to be strong and dignified. “Ignore him,” I say to Mum and Dad.

  “Who?” says Dad, turning around in his chair. “Oh!”

  “Emma, I want to talk to you,” says Jack.

  “Well, I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt.” He glances at Mum and Dad. “If we could just have a moment …”

  “I’m not going anywhere!” I say in outrage. “I’m having a nice cup of coffee with my parents!”

  “Please.” He sits down at an adjoining table. “I want to explain. I want to apologize.”

  “There’s no explanation you could possibly give me.” I look fiercely at Mum and Dad. “Pretend he isn’t there. Just carry on.”

  There’s silence. Mum and Dad are giving each other surreptitious looks, and I can see Mum mouthing something. She abruptly stops as she sees me looking at her, and takes a sip of coffee.

  “Let’s just … have a conversation!” I say desperately. “So, Mum.”

  “Yes?” she says hopefully.

  My mind is blank. I can’t think of anything. All I can think is that Jack is sitting four feet away.

  “How’s the golf?” I say at last.

  “It’s, er, fine, thanks!” Mum shoots a glance at Jack.

  “Don’t look at him!” I mutter. “And … and Dad?” I persevere loudly. “How’s your golf?”

  “It’s … also fine!” says Dad.

  “Where do you play?” asks Jack.

  “You’re not in the conversation!” I cry, turning furiously on my chair.

  There’s silence.

  “Dear me!” says Mum suddenly in a stagy voice. “Just look at the time! We’re due at the … the … sculpture exhibition.”

  What?

  “Lovely to see you, Emma—”