I gesture to the bed, but it's covered with clothes. And my dressing table stool is piled high with magazines. d.a.m.n, I should have tidied up a bit.

'I'll stand,' says Jack with a little smile. He takes a sip of what looks like whisky, and looks around my room in fascination. 'So this is your room. Your world.'

'Yes.' I flush slightly, uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g my lip-gloss. 'It's a bit messy-'

'It's very nice. Very homey.' I can see him taking in the shoes piled in the corner, the fish mobile hanging from my light, the mirror with necklaces strung over the side, and a new skirt hanging on the wardrobe door.

'Cancer Research?' he says puzzledly, looking at the label. 'What does that-'

'It's a shop,' I say, a little defiantly. 'A second-hand shop.'

'Ah.' He nods in tactful comprehension. 'Nice bedcover,' he adds, smiling.

'It's ironic,' I say hastily. 'It's an ironic statement.'

G.o.d, how embarra.s.sing. I should have changed it.

Now Jack's staring incredulously at my open dressing-table drawer, crammed with makeup. 'How many lipsticks do you have?'

'Er, a few ...' I say, hastily closing it.

Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to let Jack come in here. He's picking up my Perfectil vitamins, and examining them. I mean, what's so interesting about vitamins? Now he's looking at Katie's crochet belt.

'What's this? A snake?'

'It's a belt,' I say, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up my face as I put in an earring. 'I know. It's hideous. I can't stand crochet.'

Where's my other earring? Where?

Oh, OK, here it is. Now what's Jack doing?

I turn to see him looking in fascination at my exercise chart, which I put up in January after I'd spent the entire Christmas eating Quality Street.

'"Monday, 7 a.m.",' he reads aloud. '"Brisk jog round block. Forty sit-ups. Lunch time: yoga cla.s.s. Evening: Pilates tape. Sixty sit-ups."' He takes a sip of whisky. 'Very impressive. You do all this?'

'Well,' I say after a pause. 'I don't exactly manage every single ... I mean, it was quite an ambitious ... you know ... er ... Anyway!' I quickly spritz myself with perfume. 'Let's go!'

I have to get him out of here quickly before he does something like spot a Tampax and ask me what it is. I mean, honestly! Why on earth is he so interested in everything?

FIFTEEN.

As we head out into the balmy evening, I feel light and happy with antic.i.p.ation. Already there's a completely different atmosphere from yesterday night. No scary cars; no posh restaurants. It feels more casual. More fun.

'So,' says Jack, as we walk up to the main road. 'An evening out, Emma-style.'

'Absolutely!' I stick out my hand and hail a taxi, and give the name of the road in Clerkenwell off which the little alley runs.

'We're allowed to go by taxi, are we?' says Jack mildly as we get in. 'We don't have to wait for a bus?'

'As a very special treat,' I say with mock severity.

'So, are we eating? Drinking? Dancing?' says Jack, as we move off down the street.

'Wait and see!' I beam at him. 'I just thought we could have a really laid-back, spontaneous evening.'

'I guess I over-planned last night,' says Jack after a pause.

'No, it was lovely!' I say kindly. 'But sometimes you can put too much thought into things. You know, sometimes it's better just to go with the flow and see what happens.'

'You're right.' Jack smiles. 'Well, I look forward to going with the flow.'

As we whiz along Upper Street, I feel quite proud of myself. It just shows I'm a true Londoner. I can take my guests to little places off the beaten track. I can find spots which aren't just the obvious venues to go. I mean, not that Jack's restaurant wasn't amazing. But how much cooler will this be? A secret club! And I mean, who knows, Madonna might be there this evening!

After about twenty minutes we get to Clerkenwell. I insist on paying the taxi fare, and lead Jack down the alley.

'Very interesting,' says Jack, looking around. 'So where are we heading?'

'Just wait,' I say enigmatically. I head for the door, press the buzzer and take Lissy's key out of my pocket with a little frisson of excitement.

He is going to be so impressed. He is going to be so impressed!

'h.e.l.lo?' comes a voice.

'h.e.l.lo,' I say casually. 'I'd like to speak to Alexander, please.'

'Who?' says the voice.

'Alexander,' I repeat, and give a knowing smile. Obviously they have to double-check.

'Ees no Alexander here.'

'You don't understand. Al-ex-and-er,' I enunciate clearly.

'Ees no Alexander.'

Maybe I got the wrong door, it suddenly occurs to me. I mean, I remember it as being this one but maybe it was this other one with the frosted gla.s.s. Yes. That one looks quite familiar, actually.

'Tiny hitch,' I smile at Jack, and press the new bell.

There's silence. I wait a few minutes, then try again, and again. There's no reply. OK. So ... it's not this one either.

f.u.c.k.

I am a moron. Why didn't I check the address? I was just so sure I'd remember where it was.

'Is there a problem?' says Jack.

'No!' I say at once, and smile brightly. 'I'm just trying to recall exactly ...'

I look up and down the street, trying not to panic. Which one was it? Am I going to have to ring every single doorbell in the street? I take a few steps along the pavement, trying to trigger my memory. And then, through an arch, I spy another alley, almost identical to this one.

I feel a huge thud of horror. Am I in the right alley, even? I dart forward and peer into the other alley. It looks exactly the same. Rows of nondescript doors and blanked-out windows.

My heart starts to beat more quickly. What am I going to do? I can't try every single doorbell in every b.l.o.o.d.y alley in the vicinity. It never once occurred to me that this might happen. Not once. I never even thought to- OK, I'm being stupid. I'll call Lissy! She'll tell me. I pull out my mobile and dial home, but immediately it clicks onto answerphone.

'Hi, Lissy, it's me,' I say, trying to sound light and casual. 'A tiny little hitch has happened, which is that I can't remember exactly which door the club is behind. Or actually ... which alley it's in either. So if you get this, could you give me a call? Thanks!'

I look up to see Jack watching me.

'Everything OK?'

'Just a slight glitch,' I say, and give a relaxed little laugh. 'There's this secret club along here somewhere, but I can't quite remember where.'

'Never mind,' says Jack nicely. 'These things happen.'

I jab the number for home again, but it's engaged. Quickly I dial Lissy's mobile number, but it's switched off.

Oh f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k. We can't stand here in the street all night.

'Emma,' says Jack cautiously. 'Would you like me to make a reservation at-'

'No!' I jump as though stung. Jack's not going to reserve anything. I've said I'll organize this evening, and I will. 'No thanks. It's OK.' I make a snap decision. 'Change of plan. We'll go to Antonio's instead.'

'I could call the car ...' begins Jack.

'We don't need the car!' I stride purposefully towards the main road and thank G.o.d, a taxi's coming along with its light on. I flag it down, open the door for Jack and say to the driver, 'Hi, Antonio's on Sanderstead Road in Clapham, please.'

Hurrah. I have been grown-up and decisive and saved the situation.

'Where's Antonio's?' says Jack, as the taxi begins to speed away.

'It's a bit out of the way, in south London. But it's really nice. Lissy and I used to go there when we lived in Wandsworth. It's got huge pine tables, and gorgeous food, and sofas and stuff. And they never chivvy you.'

'It sounds perfect.' Jack smiles, and I smile proudly back.

OK, it should not take this long to get from Clerkenwell to Clapham. We should have got there ages ago. I mean, it's only down the road!

After about half an hour, I lean forward and say to the driver yet again, 'Is there a problem?'

'Traffic, love.' He gives an easy shrug. 'What can you do?'

You can find a clever traffic-avoiding back route like taxi drivers are supposed to! I want to yell furiously. But instead I say politely, 'So ... how long do you think it'll be before we get there?'

'Who knows?'

I sink back on my seat, feeling my stomach churning with frustration.

We should have gone somewhere in Clerkenwell. Or Covent Garden. I am such a moron ...

'Emma, don't worry,' says Jack. 'I'm sure it'll be great when we get there.'

'I hope so,' I say with a weak smile.

I can't make small talk. I'm using every ounce of concentration in willing the taxi to go faster. I stare out of the window, giving an inward cheer every time the postcodes on the street signs get closer to where we want to be. SW3 ... SW11 ... SW4!

At last! We're in Clapham. Nearly there ...

s.h.i.t. Another b.l.o.o.d.y red traffic light. I almost can't keep still on my seat And the driver's just sitting there, like it doesn't matter.

OK, it's green! Go! Go now!

But he's pulling off in this leisurely way, as though we've got all day ... he's chuntering down the street ... now he's giving way to another driver! What is he doing?

OK. Calm down, Emma. Here's the street. We're finally here.

'So this is it!' I say, trying to sound relaxed as we get out of the taxi. 'Sorry it took a while.'

'No problem,' says Jack. 'This place looks great!'

As I hand the fare to the taxi driver, I have to admit I'm pretty pleased we came. Antonio's looks absolutely amazing! There are fairy lights decorating the familiar green facade, and helium balloons tied to the canopy, and music and laughter spilling out of the open door. I can even hear people singing inside.

'It's not normally quite this buzzing!' I say with a laugh, and head for the door. I can already see Antonio standing just inside.

'Hi!' I say as I push the door open. 'Antonio!'

'Emma!' says Antonio, who's standing by the door holding a gla.s.s of wine. His cheeks are flushed and he's beaming even more widely than usual. 'Bellissima!' He kisses me on each cheek, and I feel a flood of warm relief. I was right to come here. I know the management. They'll make sure we have a wonderful time.

'This is Jack,' I say, grinning at him.

'Jack! Wonderful to meet you!' Antonio kisses Jack on each cheek too, and I giggle.

'So, could we have a table for two?'

'Ah ...' He pulls a face of regret. 'Sweetheart, we're closed!'

'What?' I stare back at him, baffled. 'But ... but you're not closed. People are here!' I look around at all the merry faces.

'It's a private party!' He raises his gla.s.s to someone across the room and shouts something in Italian. 'My nephew's wedding. You ever meet him? Guido. He served here a few summers ago.'

'I ... I'm not sure.'

'He met a lovely girl at the law school. You know, he's qualified now. You ever need legal advice ...'