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'You're seriously considering riding on this thing?' says Jack, stepping on behind me. He peers dubiously at the usual motley collection of night bus riders. 'Is this safe?'

'You sound like my grandpa! Of course it's safe. It goes to the end of my road.'

'Hurry up!' says the driver impatiently to Jack. 'If you haven't got the money, get off.'

'I have American Express,' says Jack, feeling in his pocket.

'You can't pay a bus fare with American Express!' I say, rolling my eyes. 'Don't you know anything? And anyway.' I stare at my travelcard for a few seconds. 'I think I'd rather be on my own, if you don't mind.'

'I see,' says Jack in a different voice. 'I guess I'd better get off,' he says to the driver. Then he looks at me. 'You haven't answered me. Can we try again? Tomorrow night. And this time we'll do whatever you want. You call the shots.'

'OK.' I'm trying to give a noncommittal shrug, but as I meet his eye I find myself smiling, too.

'Eight o'clock again?'

'Eight o'clock. And leave the car behind,' I add firmly. 'We'll do things my way.'

'Great! I look forward to it. Goodnight, Emma.'

'Goodnight.'

As he turns to get off, I climb up the stairs to the top deck of the bus. I head for the front seat, the place I always used to sit when I was a child, and stare out at the dark, rainy, London night. If I stare for long enough, the street lights become blurred like a kaleidoscope. Like fairyland.

Swooshing round my mind are images of the woman in gold, the pink cocktail, Jack's face as I said I was leaving, the waiter bringing me my coat, Jack's car arriving at the bus stop … I can't quite work out what I think. All I can do is sit there, staring out, aware of familiar, comforting sounds around me. The old-fashioned grind and roar of the bus engine. The noise of the doors swishing open and shut. The sharp ring of the request bell. People thumping up the stairs and thumping back down again.

I can feel the bus lurch as we turn corners, but I'm barely aware of where we're going. Until after a while, familiar sights outside start to impinge on my consciousness, and I realize we're nearly at my street. I gather myself, reach for my bag, and totter along to the top of the stairs.

Suddenly the bus makes a sharp swing left, and I grab for a seat handle, trying to steady myself. Why are we turning left? I look out of the window, thinking I'll be really pissed off if I end up having to walk, and blink in astonishment.

Surely we're not—

Surely this can't be—

But we are. I peer down through the window, dumbfounded. We're in my tiny little road.

And now we've stopped outside my house.

I hurry down the stairs, nearly breaking my ankle, and stare at the driver.

'Number 41 Ellerwood Road,' he says with a flourish.

No. This can't be happening.

Bewildered, I look around the bus, and a couple of drunk teenagers stare blankly back.

'What's going on?' I look at the driver. 'Did he pay you?'

'Five hundred quid,' says the driver, and winks at me. 'Whoever he is, love, I'd hold onto him.'

Five hundred quid? Oh my God.

'Thanks,' I say dazedly. 'I mean, thanks for the ride.'

Feeling as though I'm in a dream, I get off the bus and head for the front door. But Lissy has already got there and is opening it.

'Is that a bus?' she says, staring. 'What's it doing here?'

'It's my bus,' I say. 'It took me home.'

I wave to the driver, who waves back, and the bus rumbles off into the night.

'I don't believe it!' says Lissy slowly, gazing as it disappears round the corner. She turns to look at me. 'So … it was OK in the end?'

'Yes,' I say. 'Yes. It was … OK.'

FOURTEEN

OK. Don't tell anyone. Do not tell anyone.

Do not tell anyone that you were on a date with Jack Harper last night.

I mean, not that I'm exactly planning to tell anyone. But as I arrive at work the next day I feel almost convinced I'm going to blurt it out by mistake.

Or someone's going to guess. I mean, surely it must be obvious from my face. From my clothes, From the way I'm walking. I feel as though everything I do