Can You Keep A Secret?

by Sophie Kinsella

Don’t be stupid, Emma. They won’t suddenly demand, ‘What does logistical mean?’ I’m a fellow marketing professional, aren’t I? Obviously I know these things.

It’s just like Julie Andrews said. When the dog bites, when the bee stings . . . I simply remember I have a boyfriend – and suddenly things don’t seem quite so completely shit.

As I leave the office that evening I feel all agitated, like one of those snow globes. I was perfectly happy being an ordinary, dull little Swiss village. But now Jack Harper’s come and shaken me up, and there are snowflakes all over the place, whirling around, not knowing what they think any more.

‘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.

He got a little carried away. This is like saying Hitler was a tad aggressive.

No. No. Jack won’t be anywhere. I am over Jack. I have to remember this. Maybe I’ll write it on my hand.

Yes. I’ll collapse on the floor, and everyone will look at me for a few seconds, but the performance won’t stop or anything because we’re British, and by the time everyone turns back to the stage again, Lissy will have remembered her steps.