And she sent back a standard rejection letter.

I was so totally mortified, I never told anyone. Especially not Mum and Dad.

'You should listen to some of Kerry's business tips, Emma,' Dad is saying sharply. 'Maybe if you paid more attention you'd do a bit better in life.'

'It's only a walk,' quips Nev with a chortle. 'It's not a miracle cure!'

'Nev!' says Mum half reprovingly.

'Emma knows I'm joking, don't you, Emma?' says Nev easily and fills up his glass with more wine.

'Of course!' I say, forcing myself to smile gaily.

Just wait till I get promoted.

Just wait. Just wait.

'Emma! Earth to Emma!' Kerry is waving a comical hand in front of my face. 'Wake up, Dopey! We're doing presents.'

'Oh right,' I say, coming to. 'OK. I'll just go and get mine.'

As Mum opens a camera from Dad and a purse from Grandpa, I start to feel excited. I so hope Mum likes my present.

'It doesn't look much,' I say as I hand her the pink envelope. 'But you'll see when you open it …'

'What can it be?' Mum says, looking intrigued. She rips open the envelope, opens the flowered card, and stares at it. 'Oh, Emma!'

'What is it?' says Dad.

'It's a day at a spa!' says Mum in delight. 'A whole day of pampering.'

'What a good idea,' says Grandpa, and pats my hand. 'You always have good ideas for presents, Emma.'

'Thank you, love. How thoughtful!' Mum leans over to kiss me, and I feel a warm glow inside. I had the idea a few months ago. It's a really nice day-long package, with free treatments and everything.

'You get champagne lunch,' I say eagerly. 'And you can keep the slippers!'

'Wonderful!' says Mum. 'I'll look forward to it. Emma, that's a lovely present!'

'Oh dear,' says Kerry, giving a little laugh. She looks at the large creamy envelope in her own hands. 'My present's slightly upstaged, I'm afraid. Never mind. I'll change it.'

I look up, alert. There's something about Kerry's voice. I know something's up. I just know it.

'What do you mean?' says Mum.

'It doesn't matter,' says Kerry. 'I'll just … find something else. Not to worry.' She starts to put the envelope away in her bag.

'Kerry, love!' says Mum. 'Stop that! Don't be silly. What is it?'

'Well,' says Kerry. 'It's just that Emma and I seem to have had the same idea.' She hands Mum the envelope with another little laugh. 'Can you believe it?'

My whole body stiffens in apprehension.

No.

No. She can't have done what I think she's done.

There's complete silence as Mum opens the envelope.

'Oh my goodness!' she says, taking out a gold embossed brochure. 'What's this? Le Spa Meridien?' Something falls out, into her hands, and she stares at it. 'Tickets to Paris? Kerry!'

She has. She's ruined my present.

'For both of you,' adds Kerry, a little smugly. 'Uncle Brian, too.'

'Kerry!' says Dad in delight. 'You marvel!'

'It is supposed to be rather good,' says Kerry with a complacent smile. 'Five-star accommodation … the chef has three Michelin stars …'

'I don't believe this,' says Mum. She's leafing excitedly through the brochure. 'Look at the swimming pool! Look at the gardens!'

My flowery card is lying, forgotten, amid the wrapping paper.

All at once I feel close to tears. She knew. She knew.

'Kerry, you knew,' I suddenly blurt out, unable to stop myself. 'I told you I was giving Mum a spa treat. I told you! We had that conversation about it, months ago. In the garden!'

'Did we?' says Kerry casually. 'I don't remember.'

'You do! Of course you remember.'

'Emma!' says Mum sharply. 'It was a simple mistake. Wasn't it, Kerry?'

'Of course it was!' says Kerry, opening her eyes in wide innocence. 'Emma, if I've spoiled things for you, I can only apologize—'

'There's no need to apologize, Kerry love,' says Mum. 'These things happen. And they're both lovely presents. Both of them.' She looks at my card again. 'Now, you two girls are best friends! I don't like to see you quarrelling. Especially on my birthday.'

Mum smiles at me, and I try to smile back. But inside, I feel about ten years old again. Kerry always manages to wrong-foot me. She always has done, ever since she arrived. Whatever she did, everyone took her side. She was the one whose mother had died. We all had to be nice to her. I could never, ever win.

Trying to pull myself together, I reach for my wine glass and take a huge swig. Then I find myself surreptitiously glancing at my watch. I can leave at four if I make an excuse about trains running late. That's only another hour and a half to get through. And maybe we'll watch telly or something …

'A penny for your thoughts, Emma,' says Grandpa, patting my hand with a little smile, and I look up guiltily.

'Er … nothing,' I say, and force a smile. 'I wasn't really thinking about anything.'


FIVE


Anyway. It doesn't matter, because I'm going to get a promotion. Then Nev will stop making cracks about my career, and I'll be able to pay back Dad. Everyone will be really impressed — and it'll be fantastic!

I wake up on Monday morning feeling totally bouncy and positive, and get dressed in my usual work outfit of jeans and a nice top, this one from French Connection.

Well, not exactly French Connection. To be honest, I bought it at Oxfam. But the label says French Connection. And while I'm still paying off Dad I don't have much choice about where I shop. I mean, a new top from French Connection costs about fifty quid, whereas this one cost £7.50. And it's practically new!

As I skip up the tube steps, the sun's shining and I'm full of optimism. Imagine if I do get promoted. Imagine telling everybody. Mum will say, 'How was your week?' and I'll say, 'Well, actually …'

No, what I'll do is wait until I go home, and then just nonchalantly hand over my new business card.

Or maybe I'll just drive up in my company car I think in excitement! I mean, I'm not sure any of the other marketing executives have cars — but you never know, do you? They might introduce it as a new thing. Or they might say, 'Emma, we've chosen you specially—'

'Emma!'

I look round to see Katie, my friend from Personnel, climbing the tube steps behind me, panting slightly. Her curly red hair is all tousled, and she's holding one shoe in her hand.

'What on earth happened?' I say as she reaches the top.

'My stupid shoe,' says Katie disconsolately. 'I only had it mended the other day, and the heel's just come off.' She flaps it at me. 'I paid six quid for that heel! God, this day is such a disaster. The milkman forgot to bring me any milk, and I had a terrible weekend …'

'I thought you were spending it with Charlie,' I say in surprise. 'What happened?'

Charlie is Katie's latest man. They've been seeing each other for a few weeks and she was supposed to be visiting his country cottage, which he's doing up at the weekends.

'It was awful! As soon as we arrived, he said he was going off to play golf.'

'Oh right.' I try to find a positive angle. 'Well, at least he's comfortable with you. He can just act normally.'

'Maybe.' She looks at me doubtfully. 'So 'then he said, how did I feel about helping out a bit while he was gone? So I said of course — and then he gave me this paintbrush, and three pots of paint and said I should get the sitting room done if I worked fast.'

'What?'

'And then he came back at six o'clock — and said my brushwork was careless!' Her voice rises woefully. 'It wasn't careless! I only smudged one bit, and that's because the stupid ladder wasn't long enough.'

I stare at her.

'Katie, you're not telling me you actually painted the room.'

'Well … yes.' She looks at me with huge blue eyes. 'You know, to help out. But now I'm starting to think … is he just using me?'

I'm almost speechless with disbelief.

'Katie, of course he's using you,' I manage at last. 'He wants a free painter-decorator! You have to chuck him. Immediately. Now!'

Katie is silent for a few seconds, and I eye her a bit nervously. Her face is blank, but I can tell lots of things are going on beneath the surface. It's a bit like when Jaws disappears underneath the rippling water, and you just know that any minute—

'Oh God, you're right!' she suddenly bursts out. 'You're right. He's been using me! It's my own fault. I should have realized when he asked me if I had any experience in plumbing or roofing.'

'When did he ask you that?' I say incredulously.

'On our first date! I thought he was just, you know, making conversation.'

'Katie, it's not your fault.' I squeeze her arm. 'You weren't to know.'

'But what is it about me?' Katie stops still in the street. 'Why do I only attract complete shits?'

'You don't!'

'I do! Look at the men I've been out with.' She starts counting off on her fingers. 'Daniel borrowed all that money off me and disappeared to Mexico. Gary chucked me as soon as I found him a job. David was two-timing me. Do you see a pattern emerging?'

'I … um …' I say helplessly. 'Possibly …'

'I just think I should give up.' Her face falls. 'I'm never going to find anyone nice.'

'No,' I say at once. 'Don't give up! Katie, I just know your life is going to turn around. You're going to find some lovely, kind, wonderful man—'

'But where?' she says hopelessly.

'I … don't know.' I cross my fingers behind my back. 'But I know it'll happen. I've got a really strong feeling about it.'

'Really?' She stares at me. 'You do?'

'Absolutely!' I think quickly for a moment. 'Look, here's an idea. Why don't you try … going to have lunch at a different place today. Somewhere completely different. And maybe you'll meet someone there.'

'You think?' She gazes at me. 'OK. I'll try it.'

She gives a gusty sigh, and we start walking along the pavement again. 'The only good thing about the weekend,' she adds as we reach the corner, 'is I finished making my new top. What do you think?'

She proudly takes off her jacket and does a twirl, and I stare at her for a few seconds, not quite sure what to say.

It's not that I don't like crochet …

OK. It is that I don't like crochet.

Especially pink scoop-neck open-weave crochet tops. You can actually see glimpses of her bra through it.

'It's … amazing,' I manage at last. 'Absolutely fantastic!'

'Isn't it great?' She gives me a pleased smile. 'And it was so quick to do! I'm going to make the matching skirt next.'

'That's great,' I say faintly. 'You're so clever.'

'Oh, it's nothing! I just enjoy it.'

She smiles modestly, and puts her jacket back on. 'So anyway, how about you?' she adds as we start to cross the road. 'Did you have a nice weekend? I bet you did. I bet Connor was completely wonderful and romantic. I bet he took you out for dinner or something.'

'Actually, he asked me to move in with him,' I say awkwardly.

'Really?' Katie gazes wistfully at me. 'God, Emma, you two make the perfect couple. You give me faith that it can happen. It all seems so easy for you.'

I can't help feeling a little flicker of pleasure inside. Me and Connor. The perfect couple. Role models for other people.

'It's not that easy,' I say with a modest little laugh. 'I mean, we argue, like anyone else.'

'Do you?' Katie looks surprised. 'I've never seen you argue.'

'Of course we do!'

I rack my brain for a moment, trying to remember the last time Connor and I had a fight. I mean, obviously we do have arguments. Loads of them. All couples do. It's only healthy.

Come on, this is silly. We must have—

Yes. There was that time by the river when I thought those big white birds were geese and Connor thought they were swans. Exactly. We're normal. I knew it.

We're nearing the Panther building now, and as we walk up the pale stone steps, each with a granite panther jumping across it, I start feeling a bit nervous. Paul will want a full report on how the meeting went with Glen Oil.

What shall I say?

Well, obviously I'll be completely frank and honest. Without actually telling him the truth—

'Hey, look.' Katie's voice interrupts me and I follow her gaze. Through the glass front of the building I can see a commotion in the foyer. This isn't normal. What's going on?