'Don't lie to me! I know exactly who it is.' He folds his arms and gives me a long, penetrating look. 'It's Tristan from Design, isn't it?'
As soon as our stint on the stall is up, I escape from Connor and go and sit under a tree with a glass of Pimm's, glancing at my watch every two minutes. I can't quite believe how nervous I am about this. Maybe Jack knows loads of tricks. Maybe he'll expect me to be really sophisticated. Maybe he'll expect all kinds of amazing manoeuvres that I've never even heard of.
I mean … I don't think I'm bad at sex.
You know. Generally speaking. All things considered.
But what sort of standard are we talking about here? I feel like I've been competing in tiny little local shows and suddenly I'm taking on the Olympics. Jack Harper is an international multimillionaire. He must have dated models and … and gymnasts … women with enormous perky breasts … kinky stuff involving muscles I don't even think I possess.
How am I ever going to match up? How? I'm starting to feel sick. This was a bad, bad idea. I'm never going to be as good as the president of Origin Software, am I? I can just imagine her, with her long legs and $400 underwear and honed, tanned body … maybe a whip in her hand … maybe her bisexual glamour model friend at the ready to spice things up …
OK, just stop. This is getting ridiculous. I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll be fine. It'll be like doing a ballet exam — once you get into it, you forget to be nervous. My old ballet teacher always used to say to us, 'As long as you keep your legs nicely turned out and a smile on your face, you'll do splendidly.'
Which I guess kind of applies here, too.
I glance at my watch and feel a fresh spasm of fright. It's one o'clock. On the dot.
Time to go and have sex. I stand up, and do a few surreptitious limbering-up exercises, just in case. Then I take a deep breath and, with a thumping heart, begin to walk towards the house. I've just reached the edge of the lawn when a shrill voice hits my ears.
'There she is! Emma! Cooee!'
That sounded just like my mum. Weird. I stop briefly, and turn round, but I can't see anyone. It must be a hallucination. It must be subconscious guilt trying to throw me, or something.
'Emma, turn round! Over here!'
Hang on. That sounded like Kerry.
I peer bewilderedly at the crowded scene, my eyes squinting in the sunshine. I can't see anything. I'm looking all around, but I can't see—
And then suddenly, like a Magic Eye, they spring into view. Kerry, Nev, and my mum and dad. Walking towards me. All in costume. Mum is wearing a Japanese kimono and holding a picnic basket. Dad is dressed as Robin Hood and holding two fold-up chairs. Nev is in a Superman costume and holding a bottle of wine. And Kerry is wearing an entire Marilyn Monroe outfit, including platinum blond wig and high-heeled shoes, and complacently soaking up the stares.
What's going on?
What are they doing here?
I didn't tell them about the Corporate Family Day. I know I didn't. I'm positive I didn't.
'Hi, Emma!' says Kerry as she gets near. 'Like the outfit?' She gives a little shimmy and pats her blond wig.
'Who are you supposed to be, darling?' says Mum, looking in puzzlement at my nylon dress. 'Is it Heidi?'
'I …' I rub my face. 'Mum … What are you doing here? I never — I mean, I forgot to tell you.'
'I know you did,' says Kerry. 'But your friend Artemis told me all about it the other day, when I phoned.'
I stare at her, unable to speak.
I will kill Artemis. I will murder her.
'So what time's the fancy dress contest?' says Kerry, winking at two teenage boys who are gawping at her. 'We haven't missed it, have we?'
'There … there isn't a contest,' I say, finding my voice.
'Really?' Kerry looks put out.
I don't believe her. This is why she's come here, isn't it? To win a stupid competition.
'You came all this way just for a fancy dress contest?' I can't resist saying.
'Of course not!' Kerry quickly regains her usual scornful expression. 'Nev and I are taking your mum and dad to Hanwood Manor. It's near here. So we thought we'd drop in.'
I feel a sparkle of relief. Thank God. We can have a little chat, then they can be on their way.
'We've brought a picnic,' says Mum. 'Now, let's find a nice spot.'
'Do you think you've got time for a picnic?' I say, trying to sound casual. 'You might get caught in traffic. In fact, maybe you should head off now, just to be on the safe side …'
'The table's not booked until seven!' says Kerry, giving me an odd look. 'How about under that tree?'
I watch dumbly as Mum shakes out a plaid picnic rug, and Dad sets up the two chairs. I cannot sit down and have a family picnic when Jack is waiting to have sex with me. I have to do something, quick. Think.
'Um, the thing is,' I say in sudden inspiration, 'the thing is, actually, I won't be able to stay. We've all got duties to do.'