Can you keep a secret_ - Sophie Kinsella [119]
'Fine,' I say in a strangled voice, and put my phone away. 'Everything's … fine.'
TWENTY-FIVE
As I walk into the auditorium I'm almost lightheaded with panic.
What have I done? What have I done?
I have given away Jack's most precious secret in the world to a morally warped, revenge-wreaking, Prada-wearing nutcase.
OK. Just calm down, I tell myself for the zillionth time. She doesn't actually know anything. This journalist probably won't find out anything. I mean, what facts does he actually have?
But what if he does find out? What if he somehow stumbles on the truth? And Jack discovers it was me who pointed them in the right direction?
I feel ill at the thought. My stomach is curdling. Why did I ever mention Scotland to Jemima? Why?
New resolution: I am never giving away a secret again. Never, ever, ever. Even if it doesn't seem important. Even if I am feeling angry.
In fact … I am never talking again, full stop. All talking ever seems to do is get me into trouble. If I hadn't opened my mouth on that stupid plane in the first place, I wouldn't be in this mess now.
I will become a mute. A silent enigma. When people ask me questions I will simply nod, or scribble cryptic notes on pieces of paper. People will take them away and puzzle over them, searching them for hidden meanings—
'Is this Lissy?' says Jack, pointing to a name in the programme, and I jump in fright. I follow his gaze, then give a silent nod, my mouth clamped shut.
'Do you know anyone else in the show?' he asks.
I give a mute 'who knows?' shrug.
'So … how long has Lissy been practising?'
I hesitate, then hold up three fingers.
'Three?' Jack peers at me uncertainly. 'Three what?'
I make a little gesture with my hands which is supposed to indicate 'months'. Then I make it again. Jack looks totally baffled.
'Emma, is something wrong?'
I feel in my pocket for a pen – but I haven't got one.
OK, forget not talking.
'About three months,' I say out loud.
'Right.' Jack nods, and turns back to the programme. His face is calm and unsuspecting, and I can feel guilty nerves rising through me again.
Maybe I should just tell him.
No. I can't. I can't. How would I put it? 'By the way, Jack. You know that really important secret you asked me to keep? Well, guess what …'
Containment is what I need. Like in those military films where they bump off the person who knows too much. But how do I contain Jemima? I've launched some crazed human Exocet missile, fizzing around London, bent on causing as much devastation as she can, and now I want to call her back, but the button doesn't work any more.
OK. Just think rationally. There's no need to panic. Nothing's going to happen tonight. I'll just keep trying her mobile and as soon as I get through I'll explain in words of one syllable that she has to call this guy off and if she doesn't I will break her legs.
A low, insistent drumbeat starts playing over the loudspeakers, and I give a start of fright. I'm so distracted, I'd actually forgotten what we were here for. The auditorium is becoming completely dark, and around us the audience falls silent with anticipation. The beating increases in volume, but nothing happens on stage; it's still pitch black.
The drumming becomes even louder, and I'm starting to feel tense. This is all a bit spooky. When are they going to start dancing? When are they going to open the curtains? When are they going to—
Pow! Suddenly there's a gasp as a dazzling light fills the auditorium, nearly blinding me. Thumping music fills the air, and a single figure appears on stage in a black, glittering costume, twirling and leaping. Gosh, whoever it is, they're amazing. I'm blinking dazedly against the bright light, trying to see. I can hardly tell if it's a man or a woman or a—
Oh my God. It's Lissy.
I am pinioned to my seat by shock. Everything else has been swept away from my mind. I cannot keep my eyes off Lissy.
I had no idea she could do this. No idea! I mean, we did a bit of ballet together. And a bit of tap. But we never … I never