Can You Keep a Secret?(37)
Author: Sophie Kinsella

‘Do what?’

‘I thought I’d check them all for missing buttons and drooping hems,’ I say, reading the article. ‘And brush all my jackets with a clothes brush.’

‘Have you got a clothes brush?’

‘With a hairbrush then.’

‘Oh right.’ She shrugs. ‘Oh well. Because I was just wondering, do you want to go out?’

‘Ooh!’ My magazine slithers to the floor. ‘Where?’

‘Guess what I’ve got?’ She raises her eyebrows tantalizingly, then fishes in her bag. Very slowly she pulls out a large, rusty keyring, to which a brand new Yale is attached.

‘What’s that?’ I begin, puzzledly — then suddenly realize. ‘No!’

‘Yes! I’m in!’

‘Oh my God Lissy!’

‘I know!’ Lissy beams at me. ‘Isn’t it fab?’

The key which Lissy is holding is the coolest key in the world. It opens the door to a private members’ club in Clerkenwell, which is completely happening and impossible to get into.

And Lissy got in!

‘Lissy, you’re the coolest!’

‘No I’m not,’ she says, looking pleased. ‘It was Jasper at my chambers. He knows everyone on the committee.’

‘Well I don’t care who it was. I’m so impressed!’

I take the key from her and look at it in fascination, but there’s nothing on it. No name, no address, no logo, no nothing. It looks a bit like the key to my dad’s garden shed, I find myself thinking. But obviously way, way cooler, I add hastily.

‘So who do you think’ll be there?’ I look up. ‘You know, apparently Madonna’s a member. And Jude and Sadie! And that gorgeous new actor from EastEnders. Except everyone says he’s gay really …’

‘Emma,’ interrupts Lissy. ‘You do know celebrities aren’t guaranteed.’

‘I know!’ I say, a little offended.

Honestly. Who does Lissy think I am? I’m a cool and sophisticated Londoner. I don’t get excited by stupid celebrities. I was just mentioning it, that’s all.

‘In fact,’ I add after a pause, ‘it probably spoils the atmosphere if the place is stuffed full of famous people. I mean, can you think of anything worse than sitting at a table, trying to have a nice normal conversation, while all around you are movie stars and supermodels and … and pop stars …’

There’s a pause while we both think about this.

‘So,’ says Lissy casually. ‘We might as well go and get ready.’

‘Why not?’ I say, equally casually.

Not that it will take long. I mean, I’m only going to throw on a pair of jeans. And maybe quickly wash my hair, which I was going to do anyway.

And maybe do a quick face-mask.

An hour later Lissy appears at the door of my room, dressed in jeans, a tight black corset top and her Bertie heels which I happen to know always give her a blister.

‘What do you think?’ she says, in the same casual voice. ‘I mean, I haven’t really made much effort—’

‘Neither have I,’ I say, blowing on my second coat of nail polish. ‘I mean, it’s just a relaxed evening out. I’m hardly even bothering with makeup.’ I look up and stare at Lissy. ‘Are those false eyelashes?’

‘No! I mean … yes. But you weren’t supposed to notice. They’re called natural look.’ She goes over to the mirror and bats her eyelids at herself worriedly. ‘Are they really obvious?’

‘No!’ I say reassuringly, and reach for my blusher brush. When I look up again, Lissy is staring at my shoulder.

‘What’s that?’

‘What?’ I say innocently, and touch the little diamante heart on my shoulder blade. ‘Oh this. Yes, it just sticks on. I thought I’d just put it on for fun.’ I reach for my halterneck top, tie it on, and slide my feet into my pointy suede boots. I got them in a Sue Ryder shop a year ago, and they’re a bit scuffed up, but in the dark you can hardly tell.

‘Do you think we look too much?’ says Lissy as I go and stand next to her in front of the mirror. ‘What if they’re all in jeans?’

‘We’re in jeans!’

‘But what if they’re in big thick jumpers and we look really stupid?’

Lissy is always completely paranoid about what everyone else will be wearing. When it was her first chambers Christmas party and she didn’t know whether ‘black tie’ meant long dresses or just sparkly tops, she made me come and stand outside the door with about six different outfits in carrier bags, so she could quickly change. (Of course the original dress she’d put on was fine. I told her it would be.)

‘They won’t be wearing big thick jumpers,’ I say. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘We can’t!’ Lissy looks at her watch. ‘It’s too early.’

‘Yes we can. We can be just having a quick drink on our way to another celebrity party.’

‘Oh yes.’ Lissy brightens. ‘Cool. Let’s go!’

It takes us about fifteen minutes by bus to get from Islington to Clerkenwell. Lissy leads me down an empty road near to Smithfield Market, full of warehouses and empty office buildings. Then we turn a corner, and then another corner, until we’re standing in a small alley.

‘Right,’ says Lissy, standing under a street lamp and consulting a tiny scrap of paper. ‘It’s all hidden away somewhere.’