'So you blab all your secrets to your boss.'
'But he wasn't my boss on the plane!' I cry in frustration. 'He was just some stranger. I was never supposed to see him again!'
There's silence as Lissy takes this all in.
'You know, this is like what happened to my cousin,' she says at last. 'She went to a party, and there, right in front of her, was the doctor who'd delivered her baby two months before.'
'Ooh.' I pull a face.
'Exactly! She said she was so embarrassed, she had to leave. I mean, he'd seen everything! She said somehow it didn't matter when she was in a hospital room, but when she saw him standing there, holding a glass of wine and chatting about house prices, it was a different matter.'
'Well, this is the same,' I say hopelessly. 'He knows all my most intimate, personal details. But the difference is, I can't just leave! I have to sit there and pretend to be a good employee. And he knows I'm not.'
'So what are you going to do?'
'I don't know! I suppose all I can do is try to avoid him.'
'How long is he over for?'
'The rest of the week,' I say despairingly. 'The whole week.'
I pick up the zapper and turn on the television and for a few moments we stare silently at a load of dancing models in Gap jeans.
The ad finishes, and I look up again, to see Lissy looking at me curiously.
'What?' I say. 'What is it?'
'Emma …' She clears her throat awkwardly. 'You don't have any secrets from me, do you?'
'From you?' I say, slightly thrown.
A series of images flashes rapidly through my mind. That weird dream I once had about Lissy and me being lesbians. Those couple of times I've bought supermarket carrots and sworn to her they were organic. The time when we were fifteen and she went to France and I got off with Mike Appleton whom she had a complete crush on, and never told her.
'No! Of course not!' I say, and quickly take a sip of water. 'Why? Have you got any from me?'
Two dots of pink appear on Lissy's cheeks.
'No, of course I haven't!' she says in an unnatural voice. 'I was just … wondering.' She reaches for the TV guide and starts to flip through it, avoiding my gaze. 'You know. Just out of interest.'
'Yes, well.' I give a shrug. 'So was I.'
Wow. Lissy's got a secret. I wonder what it—
Of course. Like she was really going over case notes with that guy. Does she think I'm a complete moron?
EIGHT
I arrive at work the next morning with exactly one aim. Avoid Jack Harper.
It should be easy enough. The Panther Corporation is a huge company in a huge building. He'll be busy in other departments today. He'll probably be tied up in loads of meetings. He'll probably spend all day on the eleventh floor or something.
Even so, as I approach the big glass doors, my pace slows down and I find myself peering inside to see if he's about.
'All right, Emma?' says Dave the security guard, coming to open the door for me. 'You look lost.'
'No! I'm fine, thanks!' I give a relaxed little laugh, my eyes darting about the foyer.
I can't see him anywhere. OK. This is going to be fine. He probably isn't in yet. He probably isn't even coming in today. I throw my hair back confidently, walk briskly across the marble floor, and start to walk up the stairs.
'Jack!' I suddenly hear as I'm nearing the first floor. 'Have you got a minute?'
'Sure.'
It's his voice. Where on earth—
I turn around, bewildered, and spot him on the landing above, talking to Graham Hillingdon. My heart gives a huge jump, and I clutch the brass banister. Shit. If he looked down now he'd see me.
Why does he have to stand right there? Doesn't he have some big important office he can go to?
Anyway. It doesn't matter. I'll just … take a different route. Very slowly I take a few steps back down the stairs, trying not to click my heels on the marble or move suddenly in case I attract his attention. Moira from Accounts walks past as I'm carefully stepping backwards and gives me an odd look, but I don't care. I have to get away.
As soon as I'm out of his view I feel myself relax, and walk more quickly back down to the foyer. I'll go by lift, instead. No problem. I step confidently across the floor, and I'm right in the middle of the huge expanse of marble when I freeze.
'That's right.' It's his voice again. And it seems to be getting nearer. Or am I just paranoid?
'… think I'll take a good look at …'
My head swivels around. Where is he now? Which direction is he going in?
'… really think that …'
Shit. He's coming down the stairs. There's nowhere to hide!
Without thinking twice I almost run to the glass doors, push them open, and hurry out of the building. I scuttle down the steps, run about a hundred yards down the road and stop, panting.
This is not going well.
I stand on the pavement for a few minutes in the morning sunshine, trying to estimate how long he will stay in the foyer, then cautiously approach the glass doors again. New tactic. I will walk to my office so incredibly quickly, I can't catch anyone's eye. So it won't matter if I pass Jack Harper or not. I will simply stride along without looking right or left and oh my God there he is, talking to Dave.
Without quite meaning to, I find myself running back down the steps and along the street again.
This is getting ridiculous. I can't stay out here on the street all day. I have to get to my desk. Come on, think. There must be a way round this. There must be—
Yes! I have a totally brilliant idea. This will definitely work.
Three minutes later I approach the doors of the Panther building once more, totally engrossed in an article in The Times. I can't see anything around me. And no-one can see my face. This is the perfect disguise!
I push the door open with my shoulder, walk across the foyer and up the stairs, all without looking up. As I stride along the corridor towards the marketing department, I feel all cocooned and safe, buried in my Times. I should do this more often. No-one can get me in here. It's a really reassuring feeling, almost as though I'm invisible, or—