Bullshit! She never had any in-depth conversations with Jack Harper. I'm almost tempted to email him straight away and tell him how she's using his name in vain.
Except that would be a bit mean.
And besides, she's not the only one. Everyone is dropping Jack Harper into their conversations, left, right and centre. It's as if now he's gone, everyone's suddenly pretending they were his best friend and he thought their idea was perfect.
Apart from me. I'm just keeping my head down and not mentioning his name at all.
Partly because I know that if I do, I'll blush bright red, or give some huge, goofy smile or something. Partly because I have a horrible feeling that if I once start talking about Jack, I won't be able to stop. But mainly because no-one ever brings the subject up with me. After all, what would I know about Jack Harper? I'm only the crappy assistant, after all.
'Hey!' says Nick, looking up from his phone. 'Jack Harper's going to be on television!'
'What?'
I feel a jolt of surprise. Jack's going to be on television?
How come he didn't tell me?
'Is a TV crew coming to the office, or anything?' says Artemis, smoothing down her hair.
'Dunno.'
'OK folks,' says Paul, coming out of his office. 'Jack Harper has done an interview on Business Watch, and it's being broadcast at twelve. A television is being set up in the large meeting room; anyone who would like to can go along and watch there. But we need one person to stay behind and man the phones.' His gaze falls on me. 'Emma. You can stay.'
'What?' I say blankly.
'You can stay and man the phones,' says Paul. 'OK?'
'No! I mean … I want to watch!' I say in dismay. 'Can't someone else stay behind? Artemis, can't you stay?'
'I'm not staying!' says Artemis at once. 'Honestly, Emma, don't be so selfish. It won't be at all interesting for you.'
'Yes it will!'
'No it won't.' She rolls her eyes.
'It will,'I say desperately. 'He's … he's my boss too!'
'Yes, well,' says Artemis sarcastically, 'I think there's a slight difference. You've barely even spoken to Jack Harper.'
'I have!' I say before I can stop myself. 'I have! I …' I break off, my cheeks turning pink. 'I … once went to a meeting he was at …'
'And served him a cup of tea?' Artemis meets Nick's eyes with a little smirk.
I stare at her furiously, blood pounding through my ears, wishing just once I could think of something really scathing and clever to put Artemis down.
'Enough, Artemis,' says Paul. 'Emma, you're staying here, and that's settled.'
'Thanks, Liss,' I say through a mouthful of chocolate. 'You're a star.'
'I can't believe you're not allowed to watch.'
'I know. It's completely unfair.' I slump deeper in my chair and take another bite of Aero.
'Well, never mind, we'll watch it again tonight. Jemima's going to put the video on in her room too, so we should definitely catch it.'
'What's Jemima doing at home?' I say in surprise.
'She's taken a sickie so she can do a home spa day. Oh, and your dad rang,' she adds cautiously.
'Oh right.' I feel a flicker of apprehension. 'What did he say?'
I haven't talked to Mum or Dad since the débâcle at the Corporate Family Day. I just can't bring myself to. It was all too painful and embarrassing, and for all I know, they've completely taken Kerry's side.
So when Dad rang here on the following Monday, I said I was really busy and I'd call him back – and, never did. And the same thing at home.
I know I'll have to talk to them some time. But not now. Not while I'm so happy.
'He'd seen the trailer for the interview,' says Lissy. 'He recognized Jack and just wondered if you knew about it. And he said …' She pauses. 'He really wanted to talk to you about a few things.'
'Oh.' I stare at my notepad, where I've doodled a huge spiral over a telephone number I was supposed to be keeping.
'Anyway, he and your mum are going to be watching it,' says Lissy. 'And your grandpa.'
Great. Just great. The entire world is watching Jack on television. The entire world except me.
When I've put the phone down, I go and get myself a coffee from the new machine, which actually does make a very nice café au lait. I come back and look around the quiet office, then go and pour orange juice into Artemis's spider plant. And some photocopier toner for good measure.
Then I feel a bit mean. It's not the plant's fault, after all.
'Sorry,' I say out loud, and touch one of its leaves. 'It's just your owner is a real cow. But then, you probably knew that.'
'Talking to your mystery man?' comes a sarcastic voice from behind me, and I turn round in shock, to see Connor standing in the doorway.
'Connor!' I say. 'What are you doing here?'
'I'm on my way to watch the TV interview. But I just wanted a quick word.' He takes a few steps into the office, and fixes me with an accusing stare. 'So. You lied to me.'
Oh shit. Has Connor guessed? Did he see something at the Corporate Family Day?
'What do you mean?' I say nervously.
'I've just had a little chat with Tristan from Design.' Connor's voice swells with indignation. 'He's gay! You're not going out with him at all, are you?'
He cannot be serious. Connor didn't seriously think I was going out with Tristan from Design, did he? I mean, Tristan could not look more gay if he wore leopardskin hotpants, carried a handbag, and walked around humming Barbra Streisand hits.
'No,' I say, managing to keep a straight face. 'I'm not going out with Tristan.'
'Well!' says Connor, nodding as though he's scored a hundred points and doesn't quite know what to do with them. 'Well. I just don't see why you feel it necessary to lie to me.' He lifts his chin in wounded dignity. 'That's all. I just would have thought we could be a little honest with each other.'
'Connor, it's just … it's complicated. OK?'
'Fine. Whatever. It's your boat, Emma.'
There's a slight pause.
'It's my what?' I say puzzledly. 'My boat?'
'Court,' he says with a flash of annoyance. 'I meant to say … the ball's in your court.'
'Oh right,' I say, none the wiser. 'Er … OK. I'll bear that in mind.'
'Good.' He gives me his most wounded-martyr look, and starts walking away.
'Wait!' I say suddenly. 'Hang on a minute! Connor, could you do me a real favour?' I wait until he turns, then pull a wheedling face. 'Could you possibly man the phones here while I quickly go and watch Jack Harper's interview?'
I know Connor isn't my number one fan at the moment. But I don't exactly have a lot of choice.
'Could I do what?' Connor stares at me in astonishment.
'Could you man the phones? Just for half an hour. I'd be so incredibly grateful …'
'I can't believe you're even asking me that!' says Connor incredulously. 'You know how important Jack Harper is to me! Emma, I really don't know what you've turned into.'
'What are you doing here?' says Artemis, as I arrive at her side. 'What about the phones?'
'No taxation without representation,' I hear myself responding coolly, which perhaps isn't exactly appropriate (I'm not even sure what it means), but has the desired effect of shutting her up.
I crane my neck so I can see over everyone's heads, and my eyes focus on the screen – and there he is. Sitting on a chair in a studio, in jeans and a white T-shirt. There's a bright blue backdrop and the words 'Business Inspirations' behind him, and two smart-looking interviewers sitting opposite him.
There he is. The man I love.
This is the first time I've seen him since we slept together, it suddenly occurs to me. But his face is as warm as ever, and his eyes look all dark and glossy under the studio lights.
Oh God, I want to kiss him.
If no-one else was here I would go up to the television set and kiss it. I honestly would.
'What have they asked him so far?' I murmur to Artemis.
'They're talking to him about how he works. His inspirations, his partnership with Pete Laidler, stuff like that.'
'Sssh!' says someone else.
'Of course it was tough after Pete died,' Jack's saying. 'It was tough for all of us. But recently …' He pauses. 'Recently my life has turned around and I'm finding inspiration again. I'm enjoying it again.'
A small tingle runs over me.
He has to be referring to me. He has to be. I've turned his life around! Oh my God. That's even more romantic than 'I was gripped'.
'You've already expanded into the sports drinks market,' the male interviewer is saying. 'Now I believe you're looking to expand into the women's market.'
'What?'
There's a frisson around the room, and people start turning their heads.
'We're going into the women's market?'
'Since when?'
'I knew, actually,' Artemis is saying smugly. 'Quite a few people have known for a while—'
I stare at the screen, instantly recalling those people up in Jack's office. That's what the ovaries were for. Gosh, this is quite exciting. A new venture!
'Can you give us any further details about that?' the male interviewer is saying. 'Will this be a soft drink marketed at women?'
'It's very early stages,' says Jack. 'But we're planning an entire line. A drink, clothing, a fragrance. We have a strong creative vision.' He smiles at the man. 'We're excited.'
'So, what's your target market this time?' asks the man, consulting his notes. 'Are you aiming at sportswomen?'
'Not at all,' says Jack. 'We're aiming at … the girl on the street.'
'The "girl on the street"?' The female interviewer sits up, looking slightly affronted. 'What's that supposed to mean? Who is this girl on the street?'
'She's twenty-something,' says Jack after a pause. 'She works in an office, takes the tube to work, goes out in the evenings and comes home on the night bus … just an ordinary, nothing-special girl.'
'There are thousands of them,' puts in the man with a smile.
'But the Panther brand has always been associated with men,' chips in the woman, looking sceptical. 'With competition. With masculine values. Do you really think you can make the switch to the female market?'
'We've done research,' says Jack pleasantly. 'We feel we know our market.'
'Research!' she scoffs. 'Isn't this just another case of men telling women what they want?'
'I don't believe so,' says Jack, still pleasantly, but I can see a slight flicker of annoyance pass across his face.
'Plenty of companies have tried to switch markets without success. How do you know you won't just be another one of them?'
'I'm confident,' says Jack.
God, why is she being so aggressive? I think indignantly. Of course Jack knows what he's doing!
'You round up a load of women in some focus group and ask them a few questions! How does that tell you anything?'
'That's only a small part of the picture, I can assure you,' says Jack evenly.
'Oh, come on,' the woman says, leaning back and folding her arms. 'Can a company like Panther – can a man like you – really tap into the psyche of, as you put it, an ordinary, nothing-special girl?'
'Yes. I can!' Jack meets her gaze square-on. 'I know this girl.'
'You know her?' The woman raises her eyebrows.
'I know who this girl is,' says Jack. 'I know what her tastes are; what colours she likes. I know what she eats, I know what she drinks. I know what she wants out of life. She's size twelve but she'd like to be size ten. She …' he spreads his arms as though searching for inspiration. 'She eats Cheerios for breakfast and dips Flakes in her cappuccinos.'
I look in surprise at my hand, holding a Flake. I was about to dip it into my coffee. And … I had Cheerios this morning.
'We're surrounded these days by images of perfect, glossy people,' Jack is saying with animation. 'But this girl is real. She has bad hair days, and good hair days. She wears G-strings even though she finds them uncomfortable. She writes out exercise routines, then ignores them. She pretends to read business journals but hides celebrity magazines inside them.'
I stare blankly at the television screen.
Just … hang on a minute. This all sounds a bit familiar.
'That's exactly what you do, Emma,' says Artemis. 'I've seen your copy of OK! inside Marketing Week,' She turns to me with a mocking laugh and her gaze lands on my Flake.
'She loves clothes but she's not a fashion victim,' Jack is saying on screen. 'She'll wear, maybe, a pair of jeans …'
Artemis stares in disbelief at my Levis.
'… and a flower in her hair …'
Dazedly I lift a hand and touch the fabric rose in my hair.
He can't—
He can't be talking about—
'Oh … my … God,' says Artemis slowly.
'What?' says Caroline, next to her. She follows Artemis's gaze, and her expression changes.
'Oh my God! Emma! It's you!'
'It's not,' I say, but my voice won't quite work properly.
'It is!'
A few people start nudging each other and turning to look at me.
'She reads fifteen horoscopes every day and chooses the one she likes best …' Jack's voice is saying.
'It is you! It's exactly you!'
'… she scans the back of highbrow books and pretends she's read them …'
'I knew you hadn't read Great Expectations!' says Artemis triumphantly.
'… she adores sweet sherry …'
'Sweet sherry?' says Nick, turning in horror. 'You cannot be serious.'
'It's Emma!' I can hear people saying on the other side of the room. 'It's Emma Corrigan!'
'Emma?' says Katie, looking straight at me in disbelief. 'But … but …'
'It's not Emma!' says Connor all of a sudden, with a laugh. He's standing over on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. 'Don't be ridiculous! Emma's size eight, for a start. Not size twelve!'
'Size eight?' says Artemis with a snort of laughter.
'Size eight!' Caroline giggles. 'That's a good one!'
'Aren't you size eight?' Connor looks at me bewil-deredly. 'But you said …'
'I … I know I did.' I swallow, my face like a furnace. 'But I was … I was …'
'Do you really buy all your clothes from thrift shops and pretend they're new?' says Caroline, looking up with interest from the screen.
'No!' I say defensively. 'I mean, yes, maybe … sometimes …'
'She weighs 135 pounds, but pretends she weighs 125,' Jack's voice is saying.
What? What?
My entire body contracts in shock.
'I do not!' I yell in outrage at the screen. 'I do not weigh anything like 135 pounds! I weigh … about … 128 … and a half …' I tail off as the entire room turns to stare at me.
'… hates crochet …'
There's an almighty gasp from across the room.
'You hate crochet?' comes Katie's disbelieving voice.
'No!' I say, swivelling in horror. 'That's wrong! I love crochet! You know I love crochet.'
But Katie is stalking furiously out of the room.
'She cries when she hears the Carpenters,' Jack's voice is saying on the screen. 'She loves Abba but she can't stand jazz …'
Oh no. Oh no oh no …
Connor is staring at me as though I have personally driven a stake through his heart.
'You can't stand … jazz?'
'She wears lucky underwear on first dates … she borrows designer shoes from her flatmate and passes them off as her own … pretends to kick-box … confused about religion … worries that her breasts are too small …'
I close my eyes, unable to bear it. My breasts. He mentioned my breasts. On television.
'When she goes out, she can play sophisticated, but on her bed …'
I'm suddenly faint with fear.
No. No. Please not this. Please, please …
'… she has a Barbie bedcover.'
A huge roar of laughter goes round the room, and I bury my face in my hands. I am beyond mortification. No-one was supposed to know about my Barbie bedcover. No-one.
'Is she sexy?' the interviewer is asking, and my heart gives a huge jump. I stare at the screen, unable to breathe for apprehension. What's he going to say?
'She's very sexual,' says Jack at once, and all eyes swivel towards me, agog. 'This is a modern girl who carries condoms in her purse.'
OK. Every time I think this can't get any worse, it does.
My mother is watching this. My mother.
'But maybe she hasn't reached her full potential … maybe there's a side of her which has been frustrated …'
I can't look at Connor. I can't look anywhere.
'Maybe she's willing to experiment … maybe she's had – I don't know – a lesbian fantasy about her best friend.'
No! No! My entire body clenches in horror. I have a sudden image of Lissy watching the screen at home, wide-eyed, clasping a hand over her mouth. She'll know it was her. I will never be able to look her in the eye again.
'It was a dream, OK?' I manage desperately, as everyone gawps at me. 'Not a fantasy. They're different!'
I feel like throwing myself at the television. Draping my arms over it. Stopping him.
But it wouldn't do any good, would it? A million TVs are on, in a million homes. People, everywhere, are watching.
'She believes in love and romance. She believes her life is one day going to be transformed into something wonderful and exciting. She has hopes and fears and worries, just like anyone. Sometimes she feels frightened.' He pauses, and adds in a softer voice, 'Sometimes she feels unloved. Sometimes she feels she will never gain approval from those people who are most important to her.'
As I stare at Jack's warm, serious face on the screen, I feel my eyes stinging slightly.
'But she's brave and goodhearted and faces her life head on …' He shakes his head dazedly and smiles at the interviewer. 'I'm … I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened there. I guess I got a little carried away. Could we—' His voice is abruptly cut off by the interviewer.
Carried away.
He got a little carried away.
This is like saying Hitler was a tad aggressive.
'Jack Harper, many thanks for talking to us,' the interviewer starts saying. 'Next week, we'll be chatting to the charismatic king of motivational videos, Ernie Powers. Meanwhile, many thanks again to …'
Everyone stares at the screen as she finishes her spiel and the programme's music starts. Then someone leans forward and switches the television off.
For a few seconds the entire room is silent. Everyone is gaping at me, as though they're expecting me to make a speech, or do a little dance or something. Some faces are sympathetic, some are curious, some are gleeful and some are just Jeez-am-I-glad-I'm-not-you.
Now I know exactly how zoo animals feel.
I am never visiting a zoo again.
'But … but I don't understand,' comes a voice from across the room, and all the heads swivel avidly towards Connor, like at a tennis match. He's staring at me, his face red with confusion. 'How does Jack Harper know so much about you?'
Oh God. I know Connor got a really good degree from Manchester University and everything. But sometimes he is so slow on the uptake.
The heads have swivelled back towards me again.
'I …' My whole body is prickling with embarrassment. 'Because we … we …'
I can't say it out loud. I just can't.
But I don't have to. Connor's face is slowly turning different colours.
'No,' he gulps, staring at me as though he's seen a ghost. And not just any old ghost. A really big ghost with clanky chains going 'Whoooarr!'
'No,' he says again. 'No. I don't believe it.'
'Connor—' says someone, putting a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off.
'Connor, I'm really sorry,' I say helplessly.
'You're joking!' exclaims some guy in the corner, who is obviously even slower than Connor, and has just had it spelled out to him, word for word. He looks up at me. 'So how long has this been going on?'
It's as if he opened the floodgates. Suddenly everyone in the entire room starts pitching questions at me. I can't hear myself think for the babble.
'Is that why he came to Britain? To see you?'
'Are you going to marry him?'
'You know, you don't look like weigh 135 pounds …'
'Do you really have a Barbie bedspread?'
'So in the lesbian fantasy, was it just the two of you, or …'
'Have you had sex with Jack Harper at the office?'
'Is that why you dumped Connor?'
I can't cope with this. I have to get out of here. Now.
Without looking at anyone, I get to my feet and stumble out of the room. As I head down the corridor, I'm too dazed to think of anything other than I must get my bag and go. Now.
I enter the empty marketing department, where phones are shrilly ringing around. The habit's too ingrained, I can't ignore them.
'Hello?' I say, picking up one randomly.
'So!' comes Jemima's furious voice. '"She borrows designer shoes from her flatmate and passes them off as her own." Whose shoes might those be, then? Lissy's?'
'Look, Jemima, can I just … I'm sorry … I have to go,' I say feebly, and put the phone down.
No more phones. Get bag. Go.
As I zip up my bag with trembling hands, a couple of people who have followed me into the office are picking up some of the ringing phones.
'Emma, your grandad's on the line,' says Artemis, putting her hand over the receiver. 'Something about the night bus and he'll never trust you again?'
'You have a call from Harvey's Bristol Cream publicity department,' chimes in Caroline. 'They want to know where they can send you a free case of sweet sherry?'
'How did they get my name? How? Has the word spread already? Are the women on reception telling everybody?'
'Emma, I have your dad here,' says Nick. 'He says he needs to talk to you urgently …'
'I can't,' I say numbly. 'I can't talk to anybody. I have to … I have to …'
I grab my jacket and almost run out of the office and down the corridor to the stairs. Everywhere, people are making their way back to their offices after watching the interview, and they all stare at me as I hurry by.
'Emma!' As I'm nearing the stairs, a woman named Fiona, whom I barely know, grabs me by the arm. She weighs about 300 pounds and is always campaigning for bigger chairs and wider doorways. 'Never be ashamed of your body. Rejoice in it! The earth mother has given it to you! If you want to come to our workshop on Saturday …'
I tear my arm away in horror, and start clattering down the marble stairs. But as I reach the next floor, someone else grabs my arm.
'Hey, can you tell me which charity shops you go to?' It's a girl I don't even recognize. 'Because you always look really well dressed to me …'
'I adore Barbie dolls too!' Carol Finch from Accounts is suddenly in my path. 'Shall we start a club together, Emma?'
'I … I really have to go.'
I back away, then start running down the stairs. But people keep accosting me from all directions.
'I didn't realize I was a lesbian till I was thirty-three …'
'A lot of people are confused about religion. This is a leaflet about our Bible study group …'
'Leave me alone!' I yell in anguish. 'Everyone just leave me alone!'
I sprint for the entrance, the voices following me, echoing on the marble floor. As I'm frantically pushing against the heavy glass doors, Dave the security guard saunters up, and stares right at my breasts.
'They look all right to me, love,' he says encouragingly.
I finally get the door open, run outside and down the road, not looking right or left. At last I come to a halt, sink down on a bench and bury my head in my hands.
My body is still reverberating with shock.
I can barely form a coherent thought.
I have never been so completely and utterly embarrassed in all my life.