Can you keep a secret_ - Sophie Kinsella [70]
OK, I'm being stupid. I'll call Lissy! She'll tell me. I pull out my mobile and dial home, but immediately it clicks onto answerphone.
'Hi, Lissy, it's me,' I say, trying to sound light and casual. 'A tiny little hitch has happened, which is that I can't remember exactly which door the club is behind. Or actually … which alley it's in either. So if you get this, could you give me a call? Thanks!'
I look up to see Jack watching me.
'Everything OK?'
'Just a slight glitch,' I say, and give a relaxed little laugh. 'There's this secret club along here somewhere, but I can't quite remember where.'
'Never mind,' says Jack nicely. 'These things happen.'
I jab the number for home again, but it's engaged. Quickly I dial Lissy's mobile number, but it's switched off.
Oh fuck. Fuck. We can't stand here in the street all night.
'Emma,' says Jack cautiously. 'Would you like me to make a reservation at—'
'No!' I jump as though stung. Jack's not going to reserve anything. I've said I'll organize this evening, and I will. 'No thanks. It's OK.' I make a snap decision. 'Change of plan. We'll go to Antonio's instead.'
'I could call the car …' begins Jack.
'We don't need the car!' I stride purposefully towards the main road and thank God, a taxi's coming along with its light on. I flag it down, open the door for Jack and say to the driver,
'Hi, Antonio's on Sanderstead Road in Clapham, please.'
Hurrah. I have been grown-up and decisive and saved the situation.
'Where's Antonio's?' says Jack, as the taxi begins to speed away.
'It's a bit out of the way, in south London. But it's really nice. Lissy and I used to go there when we lived in Wandsworth. It's got huge pine tables, and gorgeous food, and sofas and stuff. And they never chivvy you.'
'It sounds perfect.' Jack smiles, and I smile proudly back.
OK, it should not take this long to get from Clerkenwell to Clapham. We should have got there ages ago. I mean, it's only down the road!
After about half an hour, I lean forward and say to the driver yet again, 'Is there a problem?'
'Traffic, love.' He gives an easy shrug. 'What can you do?'
You can find a clever traffic-avoiding back route like taxi drivers are supposed to! I want to yell furiously. But instead I say politely, 'So … how long do you think it'll be before we get there?'
'Who knows?'
I sink back on my seat, feeling my stomach churning with frustration.
We should have gone somewhere in Clerkenwell. Or Covent Garden. I am such a moron …
'Emma, don't worry,' says Jack. 'I'm sure it'll be great when we get there.'
'I hope so,' I say with a weak smile.
I can't make small talk. I'm using every ounce of concentration in willing the taxi to go faster. I stare out of the window, giving an inward cheer every time the postcodes on the street signs get closer to where we want to be. SW3 … SW11 … SW4!
At last! We're in Clapham. Nearly there …
Shit. Another bloody red traffic light. I almost can't keep still on my seat And the driver's just sitting there, like it doesn't matter.
OK, it's green! Go! Go now!
But he's pulling off in this leisurely way, as though we've got all day … he's chuntering down the street … now he's giving way to another driver! What is he doing?
OK. Calm down, Emma. Here's the street. We're finally here.
'So this is it!' I say, trying to sound relaxed as we get out of the taxi. 'Sorry it took a while.'
'No problem,' says Jack. 'This place looks great!'
As I hand the fare to the taxi driver, I have to admit I'm pretty pleased we came. Antonio's looks absolutely amazing! There are fairy lights decorating the familiar green façade, and helium balloons tied to the canopy, and music and laughter spilling out of the open door. I can even hear people singing inside.
'It's not normally quite this buzzing!' I say with a laugh, and head for the door. I can already see Antonio standing just inside.
'Hi!' I say as I push the door open. 'Antonio!'
'Emma!' says