Jemima stares at us both blankly.
'Of course not! Emma, if you'd just stuck it out and acted being the perfect couple for long enough, you would have become the perfect couple.'
'But … but we wouldn't have been happy!'
'You would have been the perfect couple,' says Jemima, as though explaining something to a very stupid child.' Obviously you would have been happy.' She cautiously stands up, her toes splayed by bits of pink foam, and starts making her way towards the door. 'And anyway. Everyone pretends in a relationship.'
'No they don't! Or at least, they shouldn't.'
'Of course they should! All this being honest with each other is totally overrated.' She gives us a knowing look. 'My mother's been married to my father for thirty years, and he still has no idea she isn't a natural blonde.'
She disappears out of the room and I exchange glances with Lissy.
'Do you think she's right?' I say.
'No,' says Lissy uncertainly. 'Of course not! Relationships should be built on … on trust … and truth …' She pauses, and looks at me anxiously. 'Emma, you never told me you felt that way about Connor.'
'I … didn't tell anyone.'
This isn't quite true, I immediately realize. But I'm hardly going to tell my best friend that I told more to a complete stranger than to her, am I?
'Well, I really wish you'd confided in me more,' says Lissy earnestly. 'Emma, let's make a new resolution. We'll tell each other everything from now on. We shouldn't have secrets from one another, anyway. We're best friends!'
'It's a deal!' I say, with a sudden warm burst of emotion. Impulsively I lean forward and give her a hug.
Lissy's so right. We should confide in each other. We shouldn't keep things from each other. I mean, we've known each other for over twenty years, for God's sake.
'So, if we're telling each other everything …' Lissy takes a bite of raisin toast and gives me a sidelong look. 'Did your chucking Connor have anything to do with that man? The man from the plane?'
I feel a tiny pang inside which I ignore by taking a sip of coffee.
Did it have anything to do with him? No. No, it didn't.
'No,' I say without looking up. 'Nothing.'
We both watch the television screen for a few moments, where Kylie Minogue is being interviewed.
'Oh, OK!' I say, suddenly remembering. 'So if we're asking each other questions … what were you really doing with that guy Jean-Paul in your room?'
Lissy takes a breath.
'And don't tell me you were looking at case notes,' I add. 'Because that wouldn't make all that thumping bumping noise.'
'Oh!' says Lissy, looking cornered. 'OK. Well … we were …' She takes a gulp of coffee and avoids my gaze. 'We were … um … having sex.'
'What?' I stare at her, disconcerted.
'Yes. We were having sex. That's why I didn't want to tell you. I was embarrassed.'
'You and Jean-Paul were having sex?'
'Yes!' She clears her throat. 'We were having passionate … raunchy … animalistic sex.'
There's something wrong here.
'I don't believe you,' I say, giving her a long look. 'You weren't having sex.'
The pink dots on Lissy's cheeks deepen in colour.
'Yes we were!'
'No you weren't! Lissy, what were you really doing?'
'We were having sex, OK?' says Lissy agitatedly. 'He's my new boyfriend and … that's what we were doing! Now just leave me alone.' She gets up flusteredly, scattering raisin toast crumbs, and heads out of the room, tripping slightly on the rug.
I stare after her, completely agog.
Why is she lying? What on earth was she doing in there? What's more embarrassing than sex, for God's sake? I'm so intrigued I almost feel cheered up.
To be honest, it's not the greatest weekend of my life. It's made even less great when the post arrives and I get a postcard from Mum and Dad from Le Spa Meridien, telling me what a fantastic time they're having. And even less great when I read my horoscope in the Mail, and it tells me I may just have made a big mistake.
But by Monday morning, I'm feeling better. I haven't made a mistake. My new life starts today. I'm going to forget all about love and romance and concentrate on my career. Maybe I'll even look for a new job.
As I come out of the tube station, I start to like this idea a lot. I'll apply for a job as Marketing Executive at Coca-Cola or somewhere. And I'll get it. And Paul will suddenly realize what a terrible mistake he made, not promoting me. And he'll ask me to stay, but I'll say, 'It's too late. You had your chance.' And then he'll beg, 'Emma, is there anything I can do to change your mind?' And then I'll say—
By the time I reach the office, Paul is grovelling on the floor as I sit nonchalantly on his desk, holding one knee (I also seem to be wearing a new trouser suit and Prada shoes) saying, 'You know, Paul, all you had to do was treat me with a little respect—'
Shit, My eyes focus and I stop in my tracks, hand on the glass doors. There's a blond head in the foyer.
Connor. A wave of panic overcomes me. I can't go in there. I can't do it. I can't—
Then the head moves, and it's not Connor at all, it's Andrea from Accounts. I push the door open, feeling like a complete moron. God, I'm a mess. I have to get a grip of myself, because I will run into Connor before too long, and I'm just going to have to handle it.
At least no-one at work knows yet, I think as I walk up the stairs. That would make things a million times harder. To have people coming up to me and saying—
'Emma, I'm so sorry to hear about you and Connor!'
'What?' My head jerks up in shock and I see a girl called Nancy coming towards me.
'It was such a bolt from the blue! Of all the couples to split up, I would never have said you two. But it just shows, you never can tell …'