Thirteen

We arrive at a restaurant in Mayfair which I've never been to before. In fact I'm not even sure I've been to Mayfair before. It's so completely posh, why ever would I?

'It's a kind of private place, ' Jack murmurs as we walk through a pillared courtyard. 'Not many people know about it.'

'Mr Harper. Miss Corrigan, ' says a man in a Nehru suit, appearing out of nowhere. 'Please come this way.'

Wow! They know my name!

We glide past more pillars into an ornate room in which about three other couples are seated. There's a couple to our right, and as we walk past, a middle-aged woman with platinum hair and a gold jacket catches my eye.

'Well, hello! ' she says. 'Rachel! '

'What? ' I look around, bewildered. Is she looking at me?

She gets up from her seat and, lurching slightly, comes and gives me a kiss. 'How are you, darling? We haven't seen you for ages! '

OK, you can smell the alcohol from five yards away. And as I glance over at her dinner partner, he looks just as bad.

'I think you've made a mistake, ' I say politely. 'I'm not Rachel.'

'Oh! ' The woman stares at me for a moment. Then she glances at Jack and her face snaps in under­standing. 'Oh! Oh, I see. Of course you're not.' She gives me a little wink.

'No! ' I say in horror. 'You don't understand. I'm really not Rachel. I'm Emma.'

'Emma. Of course! ' She nods conspiratorially. 'Well, have a wonderful dinner! And call me some time.'

As she stumbles back to her chair, Jack gives me a quizzical look.

'Is there something you want to tell me? '

'Yes, ' I say. 'That woman is extremely drunk.' As I meet his gaze, I can't help giving a tiny giggle, and his mouth twitches.

'So, shall we sit down? Or do you have any more long-lost friends you'd like to greet? '

I look around the room consideringly.

'No, I think that's probably it.'

'If you're sure. Take your time. You're sure that elderly gentleman over there isn't your grandfather? '

'I don't think so.

'Also, you should know that pseudonyms are fine by me, ' Jack adds. 'I myself often go by the name of Egbert.'

I give a snort of laughter and hastily stifle it. This is a posh restaurant. People are already looking at us.

We're shown to a table in the corner, by the fire. A waiter helps me into my chair and fluffs a napkin over my knee, while another pours out some water, and yet another offers me a bread roll. Exactly the same is happening on Jack's side of the table. We have six people dancing attendance on us! I want to catch Jack's eye and laugh, but he looks unconcerned, as if this is perfectly normal.

Perhaps it is normal for him, it strikes me. Oh God. Perhaps he has a butler who makes him tea and irons his newspaper every day.

But what if he does? I mustn't let any of this faze me.

'So, ' I say, as all the waiting staff melt away. 'What shall we have to drink? ' I've already eyed up the drink which that woman in gold has got. It's pink and has slices of watermelon decorating the glass, and looks absolutely delicious.

'Already taken care of, ' says Jack with a smile, as one of the waiters brings over a bottle of champagne, pops it open and starts pouring. 'I remember you telling me on the plane, your perfect date would start off with a bottle of champagne appearing at your table as if by magic.'

'Oh, ' I say, quelling a tiny feeling of disappointment. 'Er... yes! So I did.'

'Cheers, ' says Jack, and lightly clinks my glass.

'Cheers.' I take a sip, and it's delicious champagne. It really is. All dry and delicious.

I wonder what the watermelon drink tastes like.

Stop it. Champagne is perfect. Jack's right, this is the perfect start to a date.

'The first time I ever had champagne was when I was six years old—' I begin.

'At your Aunt Sue's, ' says Jack with a smile. 'You took all your clothes off and threw them in the pond.'

'Oh right, ' I say, halted mid-track. 'Yes, I've told you, haven't I? '

So I won't bore him with that anecdote again. I sip my champagne and quickly try to think of something else to say. Something that he doesn't already know.

Is there anything?

'I've chosen a very special meal, which I think you'll like, ' says Jack, with a smile. 'All pre-ordered, just for you.'

'Gosh! ' I say, taken aback. 'How... wonderful.'

A meal specially pre-ordered for me! Wow. That's incredible.

Except... choosing your food is half the fun of eating out, isn't it? It's almost my favourite bit.

Anyway. It doesn't matter. It'll be perfect. It is perfect.

OK. Let's start a conversation.

'So what do you like doing in your spare time? ' I ask, and Jack gives a shrug.

'I hang out. I watch baseball. I fix my cars..."

'You have a collection of vintage cars! That's right. Wow. I really... um...'

'You hate vintage cars.' He smiles. 'I remember.'

Damn. I was hoping he might have forgotten.

'I don't hate the cars themselves, ' I say quickly. 'I hate the people who... who...'

Shit. That didn't quite come out right. I take a quick gulp of champagne, but it goes down the wrong way and I start coughing. Oh God, I'm really spluttering. My eyes are weeping.

And now the other six people in the room have all turned to stare.

'Are you OK? ' says Jack in alarm. 'Have some water. You like Evian, right? '

'Er... yes. Thanks.'

Oh, bloody hell. I hate to admit that Jemima could be right about anything. But it would have been a lot easier if I could just have said brightly, 'Oh, I adore vintage cars! '

Anyway. Never mind.

As I'm gulping my water, a plate of roasted peppers somehow materializes in front of me.

'Wow! ' I say in delight. 'I love roasted peppers.'

'I remembered.' Jack looks rather proud of himself. 'You said on the plane that your favourite food was roasted peppers.'

'Did I? ' I stare at him, a bit surprised.

Gosh. I don't remember that. I mean, I like roasted peppers, but I wouldn't have said—

'So I called the restaurant and had them make it specially for you. I can't eat peppers, ' Jack adds, as a plate of scallops appears in front of him, 'otherwise I would join you.'

I gape at his plate. Oh my God. Those scallops look amazing. I adore scallops.

'Bon appetit! ' says Jack cheerfully.

'Er... yes! Bon appetit.'

I take a bite of roasted pepper. It's delicious. And it was very thoughtful of him to remember.

But I can't help eyeing up his scallops. They're making my mouth water. And look at that green sauce! God, I bet they're succulent and perfectly cooked...

'Would you like a bite? ' says Jack, following my gaze.

'No! ' I say, jumping. 'No thanks. These peppers are absolutely - perfect! ' I beam at him and take another huge bite.

Suddenly Jack claps a hand on his pocket.

'My mobile, ' he says. 'Emma, would you mind if I took this? It could be something important.'

'Of course not, ' I say. 'Go ahead.'

When he's gone, I just can't help it. I reach over, and spear one of his scallops. I close my eyes as I chew it, letting the flavour flood through my taste buds. That is just divine. That is the best food I've ever tasted in my life. I'm just wondering whether I could get away with eating a second one if I shifted the others around his plate a bit, when I smell a whiff of gin. The woman in the golden jacket is right by my ear. 'Tell me quickly! ' she says. 'What's going on? '

'We're... having dinner.'

'I can see that! ' she says impatiently. 'But what about Jeremy? Does he have any idea? '

Oh God.

'Look, ' I say helplessly. 'I'm not who you think I am—'

'I can see that! I would never have thought you had this in you.' The woman squeezes my arm. 'Well, good for you. Have some fun, that's what I say! You took your wedding band off, ' she adds, glancing at my left hand. 'Smart girl... oops! He's coming! I'd better go! '

She lurches away again, as Jack sits back down in his place, and I lean forward, already half giggling. Jack is going to love this.

'Guess what! ' I say. 'I have a husband called Jeremy! My friend over there just came over and told me. So what do you reckon? Has Jeremy been having a dalliance too? '

There's silence, and Jack looks up, a strained expres­sion on his face.

'I'm sorry? ' he says.

He wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

I can't say the whole thing again. I'll just feel stupid. In fact, I already feel stupid. 'It doesn't matter, ' I say, and force a smile.

There's another silence and I cast around for some­thing to say. 'So, um, I have a confession to make, ' I say, gesturing to his plate. 'I pinched one of your scallops.'

I wait for him to pretend to be shocked, or angry. Or anything.

'That's OK, ' he says abstractedly, and begins to fork the rest of them into his mouth.

I don't understand. What's happened? Where's the banter gone? He's completely changed.

By the time we've finished our tarragon chicken with rocket salad and chips, my entire body is tensed up with misery. This date is a disaster. A complete disaster. I've made every effort possible to chat, and joke and be funny. But Jack's taken two more calls, and the rest of the time he's been broody and distracted, and to be honest I might as well not be there.

I feel like crying with disappointment. I just don't understand it. It was going so well. We were getting on so fantastically. What went wrong?

'I'll just go and freshen up, ' I say, as our main-course plates are removed, and Jack simply nods.

The Ladies is more like a palace than a loo, with gold mirrors, plushy chairs and a woman in uniform to give you a towel. For a moment I feel a bit shy about phoning Lissy in front of her, but she must have seen it all before, mustn't she?

'Hi, ' I say, as Lissy picks up. 'It's me.'

'Emma! How's it going? '

'It's awful, ' I say dolefully.

'What do you mean? ' she says in horror. 'How can it be awful? What's happened? '

'That's the worst thing.' I slump into a chair. 'It all started off brilliantly. We were laughing and joking, and the restaurant's amazing, and he'd ordered this special menu just for me, all full of my favourite things..."

I swallow hard. Now I put it like that, it does all sound pretty perfect.

'It sounds wonderful, ' says Lissy in astonishment. 'So how come—'

'So then he had this call on his mobile.' I blow my nose. 'And ever since, he's barely said a word to me. He keeps disappearing off to take calls, and I'm left on my own, and when he comes back the conversation's all strained and stilted, and he's obviously only half paying attention.'

'Maybe he's worried about something, but he doesn't want to burden you with it, ' says Lissy after a pause.

'That's true, ' I say slowly. 'He does look pretty hassled.'

'Maybe something awful has happened but he doesn't want to ruin the mood. Just try talking to him. Share his worries! '

'OK, ' I say, feeling more cheerful. 'OK, I'll try that. Thanks, Lissy.'

I walk back to the table feeling slightly more positive. A waiter materializes to help me with my chair, and as I sit down, I give Jack the warmest, most sympathetic look I can muster. 'Jack, is everything OK? '

He frowns.

'Why do you say that? '

'Well, you keep disappearing off. I just wondered if there was anything... you wanted to talk about.'

'It's fine, ' he says curtly. 'Thanks.' His tone is very much 'subject closed' but I'm not going to give up that easily.

'Have you had some bad news? '

'No.'

'Is it... a business thing? ' I persist. 'Or... or is it some kind of personal...'

Jack looks up, a sudden flash of anger in his face.

'I said, it's nothing. Quit it.'

Great. That puts me in my place, doesn't it?

'Would you both care for dessert? ' A waiter's voice interrupts me, and I give him a strained smile.

'Actually, I don't think so.'

I've had enough of this evening. I just want to get it over and go home.

'Very well.' The waiter smiles at me. 'Any coffee? '

'She does want dessert, ' says Jack, over my head.

What? What did he just say? The waiter looks at me hesitantly.

'No I don't! ' I say firmly.

'Come on, Emma, ' says Jack, and now his warm, teasing tone is back. 'You don't have to pretend with me. You told me on the plane, this is what you always say. You say you don't want a dessert, when really, you do.'

'Well, this time, I really don't.'

'It's specially created for you.' Jack leans forward. 'Haagen-Dazs, meringue, Bailey's sauce on the side..."

Suddenly I feel completely patronized. How does he know what I want? Maybe I just want fruit. Maybe I want nothing. He has no idea about me. None at all.

'I'm not hungry.' I push my chair back.

'Emma, I know you. You want it, really—'

'You don't know me! ' I cry angrily, before I can stop myself. 'Jack, you may know a few random facts about me. But that doesn't mean you know me! '

'What? ' Jack stares at me.

'If you knew me, ' I say in a trembling voice, 'you would have realized that when I go out to dinner with someone, I like them to listen to what I'm saying. I like them to treat me with a bit of respect, and not tell me to " quit it" when all I'm doing is trying to make conversation...'

Jack is staring at me in astonishment.

'Emma, are you OK? '

'No. I'm not OK! You've practically ignored me all evening.'

'That's not fair.'

'You have! You've been on autopilot. Ever since your mobile phone started going..."

'Look.' Jack rubs his face. 'A few things are going on in my life at the moment, they're very important—'

'Fine. Well, let them go on without me.'

Tears are stinging my eyes as I stand up and reach for my bag. I so wanted this to be a perfect evening. I had such high hopes. I can't believe it's gone so wrong.

'That's right! You tell him! ' the woman in gold supportively calls from across the room. 'You know, this girl's got a lovely husband of her own, ' she exclaims to Jack. 'She doesn't need you! '

'Thank you for dinner, ' I say, staring fixedly at the tablecloth, as one of the waiters magically appears at my side with my coat.

'Emma, ' says Jack, getting to his feet in disbelief. 'You're not seriously going.'

'I am.'

'Give it another chance. Please. Stay and have some coffee. I promise I'll talk—'

'I don't want any coffee, ' I say, as the waiter helps me on with my coat.

'Mint tea, then. Chocolates! I ordered you a box of Godiva truffles...' His tone is entreating, and just for an instant I waver. I love Godiva truffles.

But no, I've made up my mind.

'I don't care, ' I gulp. 'I'm going. Thank you very much, ' I add to the waiter. 'How did you know I wanted my coat? '

'We make it our business to know, ' says the waiter discreetly.

'You see? ' I say to Jack. " They know me.'

There's an instant in which we stare at each other.

'Fine, ' says Jack at last, and gives a resigned shrug. 'Fine. Daniel will take you home. He should be waiting outside in the car.'

'I'm not going home in your car! ' I say in horror. 'I'll make my own way, thanks.'

'Emma. Don't be stupid.'

'Goodbye. And thanks very much, ' I add to the waiter. 'You were all very attentive and nice to me.'

I hurry out of the restaurant to discover it's started to rain. And I don't have an umbrella.

Well, I don't care. I'm going anyway. I stride along die streets, skidding slightly on the wet pavement, feeling raindrops mingling with tears on my face. I have no idea where I am. I don't even know where the nearest tube is, or where...

Hang on. There's a bus stop. I look down the numbers and see one that goes to Islington.

Well, fine. I'll take the bus home. And then I'll have a nice cup of hot chocolate. And maybe some ice-cream in front of the telly.

It's one of those bus shelters with a roof and little seats, and I sit down, thanking God my hair won't get any wetter. I'm just staring blankly at a car advertise­ment, wondering what that Haagen-Dazs pudding tasted like and whether the meringue was the stiff white kind or that gorgeous chewy, caramel kind, when a big silver car purrs up at the pavement.

I don't believe it.

'Please, ' says Jack, getting out. 'Let me take you home.'

'No, ' I say, without turning my head.

'You can't stay here in the rain.'

'Yes I can. Some of us live in the real world, you know.'

I turn away and pretend to be studying a poster about AIDS. The next moment Jack has arrived in the bus shelter. He sits down in the little seat next to mine and for a while we're both silent.

'I know I was terrible company this evening, ' he says eventually. 'And I'm sorry. I'm also sorry I can't tell you anything about it. But my life is... complicated.

And some bits of it are very delicate. Do you under­stand? '

No, I want to say. No, I don't understand, when I've told you every single little thing about me.

'I suppose, ' I say, with a tiny shrug.

The rain is beating down even harder, thundering on the roof of the shelter and creeping into my -Jemima's - silver sandals. God, I hope it won't stain them.

'I'm sorry the evening was a disappointment to you, ' says Jack, lifting his voice above the noise.

'It wasn't, ' I say, suddenly feeling bad. 'I just... I had such high hopes! I wanted to get to know you a bit, and I wanted to have fun... and for us to laugh... and I wanted one of those pink cocktails, not champagne...'

Shit. Shit. That slipped out before I could stop it.

'But... you like champagne! ' says Jack, looking stunned. 'You told me. Your perfect date would start off with champagne.'

I can't quite meet his eye.

'Yes, well. I didn't know about the pink cocktails then, did I? '

Jack throws back his head and laughs.

'Fair point. Very fair point. And I didn't even give you a choice, did I? ' He shakes his head ruefully. 'You were probably sitting there thinking, damn this guy, can't he tell I want a pink cocktail? '

'No! ' I say at once, but my cheeks are turning crimson, and Jack is looking at me with such a comical expression that I want to hug him.

'Oh Emma. I'm sorry.' He shakes his head. 'I wanted to get to know you too. And I wanted to have fun, too. It sounds like we both wanted the same things. And it's my fault we didn't get them.'

'It's not your fault, ' I mumble awkwardly.

'This is not the way I planned for things to go.' He looks at me seriously. 'Will you give me another chance? ' A big red double-decker bus rumbles up to the bus stop, and we both look up.

'I've got to go, ' I say, standing up. 'This is my bus.'

'Emma, don't be silly. Come in the car.'

'No. I'm going on the bus! '

The automatic doors open, and I step onto the bus. I show my travelcard to the driver and he nods.

'You're seriously considering riding on this thing? ' says Jack, stepping on behind me. He peers dubiously at the usual motley collection of night bus riders. 'Is this safe? '

'You sound like my grandpa! Of course it's safe. It goes to the end of my road.'

'Hurry up! ' says the driver impatiently to Jack. 'If you haven't got the money, get off.'

'I have American Express, ' says Jack, feeling in his pocket.

'You can't pay a bus fare with American Express! ' I say, rolling my eyes. 'Don't you know anything? And anyway.' I stare at my travelcard for a few seconds. 'I think I'd rather be on my own, if you don't mind.'

'I see, ' says Jack in a different voice. 'I guess I'd better get off, ' he says to the driver. Then he looks at me. 'You haven't answered me. Can we try again? Tomorrow night. And this time we'll do whatever you want. You call the shots.'

'OK.' I'm trying to give a noncommittal shrug, but as I meet his eye I find myself smiling, too.

'Eight o'clock again? '

'Eight o'clock. And leave the car behind, ' I add firmly. 'We'll do things my way.'

'Great! I look forward to it. Goodnight, Emma.'

'Goodnight.'

As he turns to get off, I climb up the stairs to the top deck of the bus. I head for the front seat, the place I always used to sit when I was a child, and stare out at the dark, rainy, London night. If I stare for long enough, the street lights become blurred like a kaleido­scope. Like fairyland.

Swooshing round my mind are images of the woman in gold, the pink cocktail, Jack's face as I said I was leaving, the waiter bringing me my coat, Jack's car arriving at the bus stop... I can't quite work out what I think. All I can do is sit there, staring out, aware of familiar, comforting sounds around me. The old-fashioned grind and roar of the bus engine. The noise of the doors swishing open and shut. The sharp ring of the request bell. People thumping up the stairs and thumping back down again.

I can feel the bus lurch as we turn corners, but I'm barely aware of where we're going. Until after a while, familiar sights outside start to impinge on my consciousness, and I realize we're nearly at my street. I gather myself, reach for my bag, and totter along to the top of the stairs.

Suddenly the bus makes a sharp swing left, and I grab for a seat handle, trying to steady myself. Why are we turning left? I look out of the window, thinking I'll be really pissed off if I end up having to walk, and blink in astonishment.

Surely we're not—

Surely this can't be—

But we are. I peer down through the window, dumb-founded. We're in my tiny little road.

And now we've stopped outside my house.

I hurry down the stairs, nearly breaking my ankle, and stare at the driver.

'Number 41 Ellerwood Road, ' he says with a flourish.

No. This can't be happening.

Bewildered, I look around the bus, and a couple of drunk teenagers stare blankly back. 'What's going on? ' I look at the driver. 'Did he pay you? '

'Five hundred quid, ' says the driver, and winks at me. 'Whoever he is, love, I'd hold onto him.'

Five hundred quid? Oh my God.

'Thanks, ' I say dazedly. 'I mean, thanks for the ride.'

Feeling as though I'm in a dream, I get off the bus and head for the front door. But Lissy has already got there and is opening it.

'Is that a bus? ' she says, staring. 'What's it doing here? '

'It's my bus, ' I say. 'It took me home.'

I wave to the driver, who waves back, and the bus rumbles off into the night.

'I don't believe it! ' says Lissy slowly, gazing as it disappears round the corner. She turns to look at me. 'So... it was OK in the end? '

'Yes, ' I say. 'Yes. It was... OK.'