'No thanks.' I blow my nose, take a deep breath, then reach for my bag. 'I think I'll go home, actually.'
'Will you be OK?'
'I'll be fine.' I force a smile. 'I'm fine.'
But of course that's a lie too. I'm not fine at all. As I sit on the tube going home, tears pour down my face, one by one, landing in big wet drips on my skirt. People are staring at me, but I don't care. Why should I care? I've already suffered the worst embarrassment possible; a few extra people gawping is neither here nor there.
I feel so stupid. So stupid.
Of course we weren't soulmates. Of course he wasn't genuinely interested in me. Of course he never loved me.
A fresh pain rushes through me and I scrabble for a tissue.
'Don't worry, darling!' says a large lady sitting to my left, wearing a voluminous print dress covered with pineapples. 'He's not worth it! Now you just go home, wash your face, have a nice cup of tea …'
'How do you know she's crying over a man?' chimes in a woman in a dark suit aggressively. 'That is such a cliched, counter-feminist perspective. She could be crying over anything! A piece of music, a line of poetry, world famine, the political situation in the Middle East.' She looks at me expectantly.
'Actually, I was crying over a man,' I admit.
The tube stops, and the woman in the dark suit rolls her eyes at us and gets out. The pineapple lady rolls her eyes back.
'World famine!' she says scornfully, and I can't help giving a half-giggle. 'Now, don't you worry, love.' She gives me a comforting pat on the shoulder as I dab at my eyes. 'Have a nice cup of tea, and a few nice chocolate digestives, and have a nice chat with your mum. You've still got your mum, haven't you?'
'Actually, we're not really speaking at the moment,' I confess.
'Well then, your dad?'
Tacitly, I shake my head.
'Well … how about your best friend? You must have a best friend!' The pineapple lady gives me a comforting smile.
'Yes, I have got a best friend,' I gulp. 'But she's just been informed on national television that I've been having secret lesbian fantasies about her.'
The pineapple lady stares at me silently for a few moments.
'Have a nice cup of tea,' she says at last, with less conviction. 'And … good luck, dear.'
I make my way slowly back from the tube station to our street. As I reach the corner I stop, blow my nose, and take a few deep breaths. The pain in my chest has receded slightly, and in its place I'm feeling thumping, jumping nerves.
How am I going to face Lissy after what Jack said on television? How?
I've known Lissy a long time. And I've had plenty of embarrassing moments in front of her. But none of them comes anywhere near this.
This is worse than the time when I threw up in her parents' bathroom. This is worse than the time she saw me kissing my reflection in the mirror and saying 'ooh, baby' in a sexy voice. This is even worse than the time she caught me writing a Valentine to our maths teacher, Mr Blake.
I am hoping against hope that she might have suddenly decided to go out for the day or something. But as I open the front door of the flat, there she is, coming out of the kitchen into the hall. And as she looks at me, I can already see it in her face. She's completely freaked out.
So that's it. Not only has Jack betrayed me. He's ruined my best friendship, too. Things will never be the same between me and Lissy again. It's just like When Harry Met Sally. Sex has got in the way of our relationship, and now we can't be friends any more because we want to sleep together.
No. Scratch that. We don't want to sleep together. We want to — No, the point is we don't want to—
Anyway. Whatever. It's not good.
'Oh!' she says, staring at the floor. 'Gosh! Um … hi, Emma!'
'Hi!' I reply in a strangled voice. 'I thought I'd come home. The office was just too … too awful …'
I tail off, and there's the most excruciating, prickling silence for a few moments.
'So … I guess you saw it,' I say at last.
'Yes, I saw it,' says Lissy, still staring at the floor, 'And I …' She clears her throat. 'I just wanted to say that … that if you want me to move out, then I will.'
A lump comes to my throat. I knew it. After twenty-one years, our friendship is over. One tiny secret comes out — and that's the end of everything.
'It's OK,' I say, trying not to burst into tears. 'I'll move out.'
'No!' says Lissy awkwardly. 'I'll move out. This isn't your fault, Emma. It's been me who's been … leading you on.'
'What?' I stare at her. 'Lissy, you haven't been leading me on!'
'Yes I have.' She looks stricken. 'I feel terrible. I just never realized you had … those kind of feelings.'
'I don't!'
'But I can see it all now! I've been walking around half-dressed, no wonder you were frustrated!'
'I wasn't frustrated,' I say quickly. 'Lissy, I'm not a lesbian.'
'Bisexual, then. Or "multi-oriented". Whatever term you want to use.'
'I'm not bisexual, either! Or multi-whatever it was.'
'Emma, please!' Lissy grabs my hand. 'Don't be ashamed of your sexuality. And I promise, I'll support you a hundred per cent, whatever choice you decide to make—'
'Lissy, I'm not bisexual!' I cry. 'I don't need support! I just had one dream, OK? It wasn't a fantasy, it was just a weird dream, which I didn't intend to have, and it doesn't mean I'm a lesbian, and it doesn't mean I fancy you, and it doesn't mean anything.'
'Oh.' There's silence. Lissy looks taken aback. 'Oh, right. I thought it was a … a … you know.' She clears her throat. 'That you wanted to …'
'No! I just had a dream. Just one, stupid dream.'
'Oh. Right.'
There's a long pause, during which Lissy looks intently at her fingernails, and I study the buckle of my watch.