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, dumbfounded. 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.'
FOURTEEN
notDo not tell anyone that you were on a date with Jack Harper last night.
I mean, not that I'm exactly planning to tell anyone. But as I arrive at work the next day I feel
almost convinced I'm going to blurt it out by mistake.
Or someone's going to guess. I mean, surely it must be obvious from my face. From my
clothes, From the way I'm walking. I feel as though everything I do screams 'Hey, guess what
I did last night?'
'Hiya,' says Caroline as I make myself a cup of coffee. 'How are you?'
'I'm fine, thanks!' I say, giving a guilty jump. 'I just had a quiet evening in last night. Just
really quiet! With my flatmate. We watched three videos, Pretty Woman, Notting Hill and
Four Weddings . Just the two of us. No-one else.'
'Right,' says Caroline, looking a bit bemused. 'Lovely!'
Oh God. I'm losing it. Everyone knows this is how criminals get caught. They add too many
details and trip themselves up.
Right, no more babbling. Stick to one-word answers.
'Hi,' says Artemis as I sit down at my desk.
'Hi,' I say, forcing myself not to add anything else. Not even about which kind of pizza Lissy
and I ordered, even though I've got a whole story ready about how the pizza company thought
we said green pepper instead of pepperoni, ha ha, what a mix-up.
I'm supposed to be doing some filing this morning, but instead I find myself taking out a piece
of paper and starting a list of possible date venues where I can take Jack tonight.
1. Pub. No. Far too boring.
2. Movie. No. Too much sitting, not talking to each other.
3. Ice skating. I have no idea why I put that, since I can't even skate. Except it was in Splash .
into the idle conversation which is going on around me.
' really working on some secret project, or is that just a rumour?'
' company in a new direction, apparently, but no-one knows exactly what he's'
' is this Sven guy anyway? I mean, what function does he have?'
'He's with Jack, isn't he?' says Amy, who works in Finance but fancies Nick, so is always
finding excuses to come into our office. 'He's Jack's lover.'
'What? ' I say, suddenly sitting up, and snapping the end of my pencil. Luckily everyone's too