My whole new life begins today. In fact, I expect I'll meet someone new tonight at Lissy's dancing show. Some really tall, dashing lawyer. Yes. And he'll come and pick me up from work in his amazingly fab sports car. And I'll trip happily down the steps, tossing my hair back, not even looking at Jack, who will be standing at his office window, glowering …
No. No. Jack won't be anywhere. I am over Jack. I have to remember this.
Maybe I'll write it on my hand.
TWENTY-FOUR
Lissy's dancing show is being held in a theatre in Bloomsbury set in a small gravelled courtyard, and when I arrive I find the entire place crammed with lawyers in expensive suits using their mobile phones.
'… client unwilling to accept the terms of agreement …'
'… attention to clause four, comma, notwithstanding …'
No-one is making the slightest attempt to go into the auditorium yet, so I head backstage, to give Lissy the bouquet I've bought for her. (I was originally planning to throw it onto the stage at the end, but it's roses, and I'm a bit worried it might ladder her tights.)
As I walk down the shabby corridors, music is being piped through the sound system and people keep brushing past me in glittery costumes. A man with blue feathers in his hair is stretching his leg against the wall and talking to someone in a dressing room at the same time. 'So then I pointed out to that idiot of a prosecuting counsel that the precedent set in 1983 by Miller v. Davy means …' He suddenly stops. 'Shit. I've forgotten my first steps.' His face drains of colour. 'I can't remember a fucking thing. I'm not joking! I jete on — then what?' He looks at me as though expecting me to supply him with an answer.
'Er … a pirouette?' I hazard, and awkwardly hurry on, nearly tripping over a girl doing the splits. Then I catch sight of Lissy sitting on a stool in one of the dressing rooms. Her face is heavily made up and her eyes are all huge and glittery, and she's got blue feathers in her hair too.
'Oh my God, Lissy!' I say, halting in the doorway. 'You look amazing! I completely love your—'
'I can't do it.'
'What?'
'I can't do it!' she repeats desperately, and pulls her cotton robe around her. 'I can't remember anything. My mind is blank!'
'Everyone thinks that,' I say reassuringly. 'There was a guy outside saying exactly the same thing—'
'No. I really can't remember anything.' Lissy stares at me with wild eyes. 'My legs feel like cotton wool, I can't breathe …' She picks up a blusher brush, looks at it bleakly, then puts it down. 'Why did I ever agree to do this? Why?'
'Er … because it would be fun?'
'Fun?' Her voice rises in disbelief. 'You think this is fun? Oh God.' Suddenly her face changes expression, and she breaks off and rushes through an adjoining door. The next moment I can hear her retching.
OK, there's something wrong here. I thought dancing was suppose to be good for your health.
She appears at the door again, pale and trembling, and I peer at her anxiously.
'Liss, are you all right?'
'I can't do it,' she says. 'I can't.' She seems to come to a sudden decision. 'OK, I'm going home.' She starts reaching for her clothes. 'Tell them I was suddenly taken ill, it was an emergency …'
'You can't go home!' I say in horror, and try to grab the clothes out of her hands. 'Lissy, you'll be fine! I mean, think about it. How many times have you had to stand up in a big court and make some really long speech in front of loads of people, and if you get it wrong an innocent man might go to jail?'
Lissy stares at me as though I'm crazy.
'Yes, but that's easy!'
'Well …' I cast around desperately. 'Well, if you pull out now, you'll always regret it. You'll always look back and wish you'd gone through with it.'
There's silence. I can practically see Lissy's brain working underneath all the feathers and stuff.
'You're right,' she says at last, and relinquishes her hold of the clothes. 'OK. I'll do it. But I don't want you to watch. Just … meet me afterwards. No, don't even do that. Just stay away. Stay right away.'
'OK,' I say hesitantly. 'I'll go if you really want me to—'
'No!' She swivels round. 'You can't go! I've changed my mind. I need you there!'
'OK,' I say, even more hesitantly, just as a Tannoy in the wall blares out 'This is your fifteen minute call!'
'I'll go then,' I say. 'Let you warm up.'
'Emma.' Lissy grabs hold of my arm and fixes me with an intense gaze. She's holding me so tight, she's hurting my flesh. 'Emma, if I ever say I want to do anything like this again, you have to stop me. Whatever I say. Promise you'll stop me.'
'I promise,' I say hastily. 'I promise.'
Bloody hell. I have never seen Lissy like that before in my life. As I walk back out into the courtyard, which is now swarming with even more well-dressed people, I'm thudding with nerves myself. She didn't look capable of standing up, let alone dancing.
Please don't let her mess up. Please.
A horrible image comes to me of Lissy standing like a startled rabbit, unable to remember her steps. And the audience just staring at her. The thought of it makes my stomach curdle.
OK. I am not going to let that happen. If anything goes wrong I'll cause a distraction. I'll pretend to have a heart attack. Yes. I'll collapse on the floor, and everyone will look at me for a few seconds, but the performance won't stop or anything because we're British, and by the time everyone turns back to the stage again, Lissy will have remembered her steps.
And if they rush me to hospital or anything, I'll just say, 'I had these terrible chest pains!' No-one will be able to prove that I didn't.
And even if they can prove it, with some special machine, I'll just say—
'Emma.'
'What?' I say absently. And then my heart stops.