Can You Keep a Secret?(15)
Author: Sophie Kinsella

‘I never throw away cards.’ Grandpa gives me a long look. ‘When you get to my age; when the people you’ve known and loved all your life start to pass away … you want to hang onto any memento. However small.’

‘I can understand that,’ I say, feeling touched. I reach for the nearest card, open it and my expression changes. ‘Grandpa! This is from Smith’s Electrical Maintenance, 1965.’

‘Frank Smith was a very good man—’ starts Grandpa.

‘No!’ I put the card firmly on the floor. ‘That’s going. And nor do you need one from …’ I open the next card. ‘Southwestern Gas Supplies. And you don’t need twenty old copies of Punch.’ I deposit them on the pile. ‘And what are these?’ I reach into the box again and pull out an envelope of photos. ‘Are these actually of anything you really want to—’

Something shoots through my heart and I stop, midstream.

I’m looking at a photograph of me and Dad and Mum, sitting on a bench in a park. Mum’s wearing a flowery dress, and Dad’s wearing a stupid sunhat, and I’m on his knee, aged about nine, eating an ice-cream. We all look so happy together.

Wordlessly, I turn to another photo. I’ve got Dad’s hat on and we’re all laughing helplessly at something. Just us three.

Just us. Before Kerry came into our lives.

I still remember the day she arrived. A red suitcase in the hall, and a new voice in the kitchen, and an unfamiliar smell of perfume in the air. I walked in and there she was, a stranger, drinking a cup of tea. She was wearing school uniform, but she still looked like a grown-up to me. She already had an enormous bust, and gold studs in her ears, and streaks in her hair. And at suppertime, Mum and Dad let her have a glass of wine. Mum kept telling me I had to be very kind to her, because her mother had died. We all had to be very kind to Kerry. That was why she got my room.

I leaf through the rest of the pictures, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I remember this place now. The park we used to go to, with swings and slides. But it was too boring for Kerry, and I desperately wanted to be like her, so I said it was boring too, and we never went again.

‘Knock knock!’ I look up with a start, and Kerry’s standing at the door, holding her glass of wine. ‘Lunch is ready!’

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘We’re just coming.’

‘Now, Gramps!’ Kerry wags her finger reprovingly at Grandpa, and gestures at the packing cases. ‘Haven’t you got anywhere with this lot yet?’

‘It’s difficult,’ I hear myself saying defensively. ‘There are a lot of memories in here. You can’t just throw them out.’

‘If you say so.’ Kerry rolls her eyes. ‘If it were me, the whole lot’d go in the bin.’

I cannot cherish her. I cannot do it. I want to throw my treacle tart at her.

We’ve been sitting round the table now for forty minutes and the only voice we’ve heard is Kerry’s.

‘It’s all about image,’ she’s saying now. ‘It’s all about the right clothes, the right look, the right walk. When I walk along the street, the message I give the world is "I am a successful woman".’

‘Show us!’ says Mum admiringly.

‘Well.’ Kerry gives a false-modest smile. ‘Like this.’ She pushes her chair back and wipes her mouth with her napkin.

‘You should watch this, Emma,’ says Mum. ‘Pick up a few tips!’

As we all watch, Kerry starts striding round the room. Her chin is raised, her boobs are sticking out, her eyes are fixed on the middle distance, and her bottom is jerking from side to side.

She looks like a cross between an ostrich and one of the androids in Attack of the Clones.

‘I should be in heels, of course,’ she says, without stopping.

‘When Kerry goes into a conference hall, I tell you, heads turn,’ says Nev proudly, and takes a sip of wine. ‘People stop what they’re doing and stare at her!’

I bet they do.

Oh God. I want to giggle. I mustn’t. I mustn’t.

‘Do you want to have a go, Emma?’ says Kerry. ‘Copy me?’

‘Er … I don’t think so,’ I say. ‘I think I probably … picked up the basics.’

Suddenly I give a tiny snort and turn it into a cough.

‘Kerry’s trying to help you, Emma!’ says Mum. ‘You should be grateful! You are good to Emma, Kerry.’

She beams fondly at Kerry, who simpers back. And I take a swig of wine.

Yeah, right. Kerry really wants to help me.

That’s why when I was completely desperate for a job and asked her for work experience at her company, she said no. I wrote her this long, careful letter, saying I realized it put her in an awkward situation, but I’d really appreciate any chance, even a couple of days running errands.

And she sent back a standard rejection letter.

I was so totally mortified, I never told anyone. Especially not Mum and Dad.

‘You should listen to some of Kerry’s business tips, Emma,’ Dad is saying sharply. ‘Maybe if you paid more attention you’d do a bit better in life.’

‘It’s only a walk,’ quips Nev with a chortle. ‘It’s not a miracle cure!’