Katie has come into the Ladies without me hearing. She's standing right behind me, holding her makeup bag. Her face is reflected in the mirror next to mine … and she isn't smiling. It's just like Fatal Attraction.
'So,' she says in a strange voice. 'You don't like crochet.'
Oh God. Oh God. What have I done? I've unleashed the bunny-boiler side of Katie that no-one's ever seen before. Maybe she'll impale me with a crochet needle, I find myself thinking wildly.
'Katie,' I say, my heart thumping hard. 'Katie, please listen. I never meant … I never said …'
'Emma, don't even try.' She lifts her hand. 'There's no point. We both know the truth.'
'He was wrong!' I say quickly. 'He got confused! I meant I don't like … um … crèches. You know, all those babies everywhere—'
'You know, I was pretty upset yesterday,' Katie cuts me off with an eerie smile. 'But after work I went straight home, and I called my mum. And do you know what she said to me?'
'What?' I say apprehensively.
'She said … she doesn't like crochet either.'
'What?' I wheel round and gape at her.
'And neither does my granny.' Her face flushes, and now she looks like the old Katie again. 'Or any of my relatives. They've all been pretending for years, just like you. It all makes sense now!' Her voice rises in agitation. 'You know, I made my granny a whole sofa cover last Christmas, and she told me that burglars had stolen it. But I mean, what kind of burglars steal a crochet sofa cover?'
'Katie, I don't know what to say …'
'Emma, why couldn't you have told me before? All that time. Making stupid presents that people didn't want.'
'Oh God, Katie, I'm sorry!' I say, filled with remorse. 'I'm so sorry. I just … didn't want to hurt you.'
'I know you were trying to be kind. But I feel really stupid now.'
'Yes, well. That makes two of us,' I say, a little morosely.
The door opens, and Wendy from Accounts comes in. There's a pause as she stares at us both, opens her mouth, closes it again, then disappears into one of the cubicles.
'So, are you OK?' says Katie in a lower voice.
'I'm fine,' I say with a tiny shrug. 'You know …'
Yeah. I'm so fine, I'm hiding in the loos rather than face my colleagues.
'Have you spoken to Jack?' she says tentatively.
'No. He sent me some stupid flowers. Like, Oh, that's OK, then. He probably didn't even order them himself, he probably got Sven to do it.'
There's the sound of flushing, and Wendy comes out of the cubicle again.
'Well … this is the mascara I was talking about,' Katie says quickly, handing me a tube.
'Thanks,' I say. 'You say it … um … volumizes and lengthens?'
Wendy rolls her eyes.
'It's OK,' she says. 'I'm not listening!' She washes her hands, dries them, then gives me an avid look. 'So Emma, are you going out with Jack Harper?'
'No,' I say curtly. 'He used me and he betrayed me, and to be honest, I'd be happy if I never saw him again in my whole life.'
'Oh right!' she says brightly. 'It's just, I was wondering. If you're speaking to him again, could you just mention that I'd really like to move to the PR department?'
'What?' I stare at her blankly.
'If you could just casually drop it in. That I have good communication skills and I think I'd be really suited to PR.'
Casually drop it in? What, like, 'I never want to see you again, Jack, and by the way, Wendy thinks she'd be good at PR'?
'I'm not sure,' I say at last. 'I just … don't think it's something I could do.'
'Well, I think that's really selfish of you, Emma,' says Wendy, looking offended. 'All I'm asking you is, if the subject comes up, to mention that I'd like to move to PR. Just mention it. I mean, how hard is that?'
'Wendy, piss off!' says Katie. 'Leave Emma alone.'
'I was only asking!' says Wendy. 'I suppose you think you're above us now, do you?'
'No!' I exclaim in shock. 'It's not that—' But Wendy's already flounced out.
'Great,' I say, a sudden wobble to my voice. 'Just great! Now everyone's going to hate me, as well as everything else.'
I exhale sharply and stare at my reflection. I still can't quite believe how everything has turned upside down, just like that. Everything I believed in has turned out to be false. My perfect man is a cynical user. My dreamy romance was all a fabrication. I was happier than I'd ever been in my life. And now I'm just a stupid, humiliated laughing stock.
Oh God. My eyes are pricking again.
'Are you OK, Emma?' says Katie, gazing at me in dismay. 'Here, have a tissue.' She rummages in her makeup bag. 'And some eye gel.'
'Thanks,' I say, swallowing hard. I dab the eye gel on my eyes and force myself to breathe deeply until I'm completely calm again.
'I think you're really brave,' says Katie, watching me. 'In fact, I'm amazed you even came in today. I would have been far too embarrassed.'