Страница 48

'What?'

'How come you remembered about Kerry turning me down?' I swivelled my head slowly to

look at him. 'And not just that. Every single thing I told you on that plane. Every little detail.

About work, about my family, about Co

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.

Jack looked at me silently for a moment.

'Emma, your life is not stupid and boring.'

'It is!'

'It's not.'

'Of course it is! I never do anything exciting, I never do anything clever, I haven't got my own

company, or invented anything-'

'You want to know why I remember all your secrets?' interrupted Jack. 'Emma, the minute

you started talking on that plane — I was gripped.'

I stared at him in disbelief.

'You were gripped?' I said, to make sure. 'By me?'

'I was gripped,' he repeated gently, and he leant over and kissed me.

Gripped!

Jack Harper was gripped by my life! By me!

And the point is, if I'd never spoken to him on that plane — and if I'd never blurted out all that

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. A lightbulb has switched on inside me. Suddenly I

know what the meaning of life is. Jemima is wrong. Men and women aren't enemies. Men and

women are soulmates. And if they were just honest, right from the word go, then they'd all

realize it. All this being mysterious and aloof is complete rubbish. Everyone should share

their secrets straight away!

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 each other a few personal secrets, then there wouldn't be any more wars! I think I'm

really on to something.

I float up the stairs and unlock the door of our flat.

'Lissy!' I call. 'Lissy, I'm in love!'

There isn't any reply, and I feel a twinge of disappointment. I wanted someone to talk to. I

wanted someone to tell all about my brilliant new theory of life and-

I hear a thumping sound from her room, and stand completely still in the hallway, transfixed.

Oh my God. 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 Jean-Paul. He's in there. Right this minute! I

take a few steps forward and stare at her door, 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. Suppose I hadn't seen the briefcase? Suppose I'd

just walked into the flat perfectly i

to Lissy's door and happened to open it? Nobody could blame me then, could they? It would