'What?' I stare at them in horror. 'No! Connor, you have them! They're yours!'
'You have them. I know how much you've been looking forward to hearing the Dennisson Quartet.' He pushes the brightly coloured tickets roughly into my hand and closes my fingers over them.
'I … I …' I swallow. 'Connor … I just … I don't know what to say.'
'We'll always have jazz,' says Connor in a choked-up voice, and closes the door behind him.
ELEVEN
So now I have no promotion and no boyfriend. And puffy eyes from crying. And everyone thinks I'm mad.
'You're mad,' Jemima says, approximately every ten minutes. It's Saturday morning, and we're in our usual routine of dressing gowns, coffee, and nursing hangovers. Or in my case, break-ups. 'You do realize you had him?' She frowns at her toenail, which she's painting baby pink. 'I would have predicted a rock on your finger within six months.'
'I thought you said I'd ruined all my chances by agreeing to move in with him,' I retort sulkily.
'Well, in Connor's case I think you would have been safe and dry.' She shakes her head. 'You're crazy.'
'Do you think I'm crazy?' I say, turning to Lissy, who's sitting in the rocking chair with her arm round her knees, eating a piece of raisin toast. 'Be honest.'
'Er … no,' says Lissy unconvincingly. 'Of course not!'
'You do!'
'It's just … you seemed like such a great couple.'
'I know we did. I know we looked great on the outside.' I pause, trying to explain. 'But the truth is, I never felt I was being myself. It was always a bit like we were acting. You know. It didn't seem real, somehow.'
'That's it?' interrupts Jemima, staring at me as though I'm talking gibberish. 'That's the reason you broke up?'
'It's a pretty good reason, don't you think?' says Lissy loyally.
Jemima stares at us both blankly.
'Of course not! Emma, if you'd just stuck it out and acted being the perfect couple for long enough, you would have become the perfect couple.'
'But … but we wouldn't have been happy!'
'You would have been the perfect couple,' says Jemima, as though explaining something to a very stupid child.' Obviously you would have been happy.' She cautiously stands up, her toes splayed by bits of pink foam, and starts making her way towards the door. 'And anyway. Everyone pretends in a relationship.'
'No they don't! Or at least, they shouldn't.'
'Of course they should! All this being honest with each other is totally overrated.' She gives us a knowing look. 'My mother's been married to my father for thirty years, and he still has no idea she isn't a natural blonde.'
She disappears out of the room and I exchange glances with Lissy.
'Do you think she's right?' I say.
'No,' says Lissy uncertainly. 'Of course not! Relationships should be built on … on trust … and truth …' She pauses, and looks at me anxiously. 'Emma, you never told me you felt that way about Connor.'
'I … didn't tell anyone.'
This isn't quite true, I immediately realize. But I'm hardly going to tell my best friend that I told more to a complete stranger than to her, am I?
'Well, I really wish you'd confided in me more,' says Lissy earnestly. 'Emma, let's make a new resolution. We'll tell each other everything from now on. We shouldn't have secrets from one another, anyway. We're best friends!'
'It's a deal!' I say, with a sudden warm burst of emotion. Impulsively I lean forward and give her a hug.
Lissy's so right. We should confide in each other. We shouldn't keep things from each other. I mean, we've known each other for over twenty years, for God's sake.
'So, if we're telling each other everything …' Lissy takes a bite of raisin toast and gives me a sidelong look. 'Did your chucking Connor have anything to do with that man? The man from the plane?'
I feel a tiny pang inside which I ignore by taking a sip of coffee.
Did it have anything to do with him? No. No, it didn't.
'No,' I say without looking up. 'Nothing.'
We both watch the television screen for a few moments, where Kylie Minogue is being interviewed.
'Oh, OK!' I say, suddenly remembering. 'So if we're asking each other questions … what were you really doing with that guy Jean-Paul in your room?'
Lissy takes a breath.
'And don't tell me you were looking at case notes,' I add. 'Because that wouldn't make all that thumping bumping noise.'
'Oh!' says Lissy, looking cornered. 'OK. Well … we were …' She takes a gulp of coffee and avoids my gaze. 'We were … um … having sex.'
'What?' I stare at her, disconcerted.
'Yes. We were having sex. That's why I didn't want to tell you. I was embarrassed.'
'You and Jean-Paul were having sex?'
'Yes!' She clears her throat. 'We were having passionate … raunchy … animalistic sex.'