TWENTY-ONE

The next morning I wake up full of sick dread. I feel exactly like a five-year-old who doesn't want to go to school. A five-year-old with a severe hangover, that is.

'I can't go, ' I say, as 8.30 arrives. 'I can't face them.'

'Yes you can, ' says Lissy reassuringly, doing up my jacket buttons. 'It'll be fine. Just keep your chin up.'

'What if they're horrid to me? '

'They won't be horrid to you. They're your friends. Anyway, they'll probably all have forgotten about it by now.'

'They won't! Can't I just stay at home with you? ' I grab her hand beseechingly. 'I'll be really good, I promise.'

'Emma, I've explained to you, ' says Lissy patiently. 'I've got to go to court today.'

She prises my hand out of hers. 'But I'll be here when you get home. And we'll have something really nice for supper. OK? '

'OK, ' I say in a small voice. 'Can we have chocolate ice-cream? '

'Of course we can, ' says Lissy, opening the front door of our flat. 'Now, go on. You'll be fine! '

Feeling like a dog being shooed out, I go down the stairs and open the front door. I'm just stepping out of the house when a van pulls up at the side of the road. A man gets out in a blue uniform, holding the biggest bunch of flowers I've ever seen, all tied up with dark green ribbon, and squints at the number on our house.

'Hello, ' he says. 'I'm looking for an Emma Corrigan.'

'That's me! ' I say in surprise.

'Aha! ' He smiles, and holds out a pen and clipboard. 'Well, this is your lucky day. If you could just sign

here...'

I stare at the bouquet in disbelief. Roses, freesias, amazing big purple flowers... fantastic dark red pom­pom things... dark green frondy bits... pale green ones which look just like asparagus...

OK, I may not know what they're all called. But I do know one thing. These flowers are expensive.

There's only one person who could have sent them. 'Wait, ' I say, without taking the pen. 'I want to check who they're from.'

I grab the card, rip it open, and scan down the long message, not reading any of it until I come to the name at the bottom. Jack.

I feel a huge dart of emotion. After all he did, Jack thinks he can fob me off with some manky bunch of flowers?

All right, huge, deluxe bunch of flowers.

But that's not the point.

'I don't want them, thank you, ' I say, lifting my chin.

'You don't want them? ' The delivery man stares at me.

'No. Tell the person who sent them that thanks, but no thanks.'

'What's going on? ' comes a breathless voice beside me, and I look up to see Lissy gawping at the bouquet. 'Oh my God. Are they from Jack? '

'Yes. But I don't want them, ' I say. 'Please take them away.'

'Wait! ' exclaims Lissy, grabbing the cellophane. 'Let me just smell them.' She buries her face in the blooms and inhales deeply. 'Wow! That's absolutely incred­ible! Emma, have you smelt them? '

'No! ' I say, crossly. 'I don't want to smell them.'

'I've never seen flowers as amazing as this.' She looks at the man. 'So what will happen to them? '

'Dunno.' He shrugs. They'll get chucked away, I suppose.'

'Gosh.' She glances at me. That seems like an awful waste

Hang on. She's not —

'Lissy, I can't accept them! ' I exclaim. 'I can't! He'll think I'm saying everything's OK between us.'

'No, you're quite right, ' says Lissy reluctantly. 'You have to send them back.' She touches a pink velvety rose petal. 'It is a shame, though...'

'Send what back? ' comes a sharp voice behind me. 'You are joking, aren't you? '

Oh, for God's sake. Now Jemima has arrived in the street, still in her white dressing gown. 'You're not sending those back! ' she cries. 'I'm giving a dinner party tomorrow night. They'll be perfect.' She grabs the label. 'Smythe and Foxe! Do you know how much these must have cost? '

'I don't care how much they cost! ' I exclaim. They're from Jack! I can't possibly keep them.'

'Why not? '

She is unbelievable.

'Because... because it's a matter of principle. If I keep them, I'm basically saying, " I forgive you." '

'Not necessarily, ' retorts Jemima. 'You could be saying " I don't forgive you." Or you could be saying " I can't be bothered to return your stupid flowers, that's how little you mean to me." '

There's silence as we all consider this.

The thing is, they are pretty amazing flowers.

'So do you want them or not? ' says the delivery guy.

'I...' Oh God, now I'm all confused.

'Emma, if you send them back you look weak, ' says Jemima firmly. 'You look like you can't bear to have any reminder of him in the house. But if you keep them, then you're saying, " I don't care about you! " You're standing firm! You're being strong. You're being—'

'Oh, God, OK! ' I say, and grab the pen from the delivery guy. 'I'll sign for them. But could you please tell him that this does not mean I forgive him, nor that he isn't a cynical, heartless, despicable user and furthermore, if Jemima wasn't having a dinner party, these would be straight in the bin.' As I finish signing I'm red-faced and breathing hard, and I stamp a full stop so hard it tears the page. 'Can you remember all that? '

The delivery guy looks at me blankly.

'Love, I just work at the depot.'

'I know! ' says Lissy suddenly. She grabs the clip­board back and prints without prejudice clearly under my name.

'What does that mean? ' I say.

'It means " I'll never forgive you, you complete bastard... but I'll keep the flowers anyway.'"

'And you're still going to get even, ' adds Jemima determinedly.

It's one of those amazingly bright, crisp mornings that make you feel that London really is the best city in the world. As I'm walking from the tube station to work, my spirits can't help rising a little.

Maybe Lissy's right. Maybe everyone at work will already have forgotten about the whole thing. I mean, let's get a bit of proportion here. It wasn't that big a deal. It wasn't that interesting. Surely some other piece of gossip will have come along in the meantime. Surely everyone will be talking about... the football. Or politics or something. Exactly.

I push open the glass door to the foyer with a small spurt of optimism, and walk in, my head held high.

'... a Barbie bedspread! ' I immediately hear from across the marble. A guy from Accounts is talking to a woman with a 'Visitor' badge, who is listening

avidly.

'... shagging Jack Harper all along? ' comes a voice from above me, and I look up to see a group of girls walking up the stairs.

'It's Connor I feel sorry for, ' one replies. 'That poor

guy...'

'... pretended she loved jazz, ' someone else is saying as they get out of the lift. 'I mean, why on earth would you do that? '

OK. So... they haven't forgotten.

All my crisp optimism dies away, and for an instant I consider running away and spending the rest of my life under the duvet.

But I can't do that.

For a start, I'd probably get bored after about a week.

And secondly... I have to face them. I have to do this.

Clenching my fists at my sides, I slowly make my way up the stairs and along the corridor. Everyone I pass either blatantly stares at me, or pretends they're not looking when they are, and at least five conver­sations are hastily broken off as I approach.

As I reach the door to the marketing department, I take a deep breath, then walk in, trying to look as unconcerned as possible.

'Hi everyone, ' I say, taking off my jacket and hanging it on my chair.

'Emma! ' exclaims Artemis in tones of sarcastic delight.

'Well I never! '

'Good morning, Emma, ’ says Paul, coming out of his office and giving me an appraising look. 'You OK? '

'Fine, thanks.'

'Anything you'd like to... talk about? ' To my surprise he looks as if he genuinely means it.

But honestly. What does he think? That I'm going to go in there and sob on his shoulder, 'That bastard Jack

Harper used me'?

I'll only do that if I get really, really desperate. 'No, ' I say, my face prickling. 'Thanks, but I'm

OK.'

'Good.' He pauses, then adopts a more businesslike tone. 'Now, I'm assuming that when you disappeared yesterday, it was because you'd decided to work from

home.'

'Er... yes.' I clear my throat. 'That's right.' 'No doubt you got lots of useful tasks done? '

'Er... yes. Loads.'

'Excellent. Just what I thought. All right, then, carry on. And the rest of you.' Paul looks around the office warningly. 'Remember what I said.'

'Of course, ' says Artemis at once. 'We all remember! '

Paul disappears into his office again, and I stare rigidly at my computer as it warms up. It'll be fine, I tell myself. I'll just concentrate on my work, completely immerse myself...

Suddenly I become aware that someone's humming a tune, quite loudly. It's something I recognize. It's...

It's the Carpenters.

And now a few others around the room are joining in on the chorus.

'Close to yoooou...'

'All right, Emma? ' says Nick, as my head jerks up suspiciously. 'D'you want a hanky? '

'Close to yoooou...' everybody trills in unison again, and I hear muffled laughter.

I'm not going to react. I'm not going to give them the pleasure.

As calmly as possible I click onto my emails, and give a small gasp of shock. I normally get about ten emails every morning, if that. Today I have ninety-five.

Dad: I'd really like to talk...

Carol: I've already got two more people for our Barbie Club!

Moira: I know where you can get really comfy G-strings...

Sharon: So how long has this been going on?!! Fiona: Re: the body awareness workshop... I scroll down the endless list and suddenly feel a stabbing in my heart. There are three from Jack. What should I do? Should I read them?

My hand hovers uncertainly over my mouse. Does he deserve at least a chance to explain?

'Oh Emma, ' says Artemis innocently, coming over to my desk with a carrier bag. 'I've got this jumper I wondered if you'd like. It's a bit too small for me, but it's very nice. And it should fit you, because -' she pauses, and catches Caroline's eye - 'it's a size eight.'

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 Harvey's 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 emails. He doesn't deserve anything. No chance. Nothing.

I rise to my feet and stride out of the room, breathing hard. 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 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 and I give a start. Immediately I feel a jolt of apprehension.

Katie has come into the Ladies without me hearing. 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. Oh God. What have I done? I've 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, my heart thumping hard. '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—'

'You know, I was pretty upset yesterday, ' Katie cuts me off with an eerie smile. '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? ' I wheel round and gape at her.

'And neither does my granny.' Her face flushes, and now 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, a little morosely.

The door 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 say with a tiny shrug. 'You know...'

Yeah. I'm so fine, I'm hiding in the loos 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? ' Wendy rolls her eyes.

'It's OK, " she says. 'I'm not listening! ' She washes her hands, dries them, then gives me an avid 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? ' I stare at her blankly.

'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, a sudden wobble to my voice. 'Just great! Now everyone's going to hate me, as well as everything else.'

I exhale sharply and stare at my reflection. 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 is a cynical user. My dreamy romance was all a fabrication. I was happier than I'd ever been in my life. And now I'm just a stupid, humiliated laughing stock. Oh God. My eyes are pricking again. 'Are you OK, Emma? ' says Katie, gazing at me in dismay. 'Here, have a tissue.' She rummages in her makeup bag. 'And some eye gel.'

'Thanks, ' I say, swallowing 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 widely. '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 grey 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 staring at them, as though they're some kind of rare creature.

Scratch that. The entire office has now turned their heads in order to stare at me.

'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 dazedly. As though this is a perfectly normal course of events.

'We brought you a little present, ' says Mum brightly. '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.

'Kind of, ' I say, scowling as Artemis beams back winsomely 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 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 puts the flowers down.

They're nervous, I realize with a jolt of shock. They're both nervous.

I'm just trying to get my head round 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 politely.

'We don't want to be any bother, ' says Mum

hurriedly.

'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 surreal. It's 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 each other. 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 as if we've gone back in time fifteen years, or something.

'We could go in here, ' I say, as we reach an Italian coffee shop.

'Good idea! ' says Dad heartily, and pushes the door open. 'We saw your friend Jack Harper on television yesterday, ' he adds casually.

'He's not my friend, ' I reply shortly, 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...' 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 frappelatte? '

'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. Haven'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, ' I say dis­tractedly.

'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, you travelling on all these buses. Grandpa's quite right.'

'But... but I can't afford a car, ' I say stupidly. '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 stare at him, more bewildered 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 don't owe us anything. Nothing at all.'

I honestly cannot take all this in. I look confusedly 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 each other properly for the first time in years. As though we're seeing each other 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 brightly, 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 dazedly. 'Good idea.'

I can't believe this. Everything's changed. It's as if 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 co-ffee, 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. 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. Doesn't matter.' I release my hand, take a sip of cappuccino, and look up.

And my heart nearly stops.

Jack is standing at the door of the coffee shop.