Page 63 of The Importance of Being Emma
‘So exciting, let me just get my reading glasses, I wonder where I put my handbag? Oh, thank you, Tom . . . Good gracious, these are Mother’s, I must have picked up the wrong ones when I . . . Mark, would you? So kind.’
I took Mary’s piece of paper and scanned it quickly; the words seemed harmless enough, and vaguely familiar. I handed the paper back to her. ‘It says: “This car is automatic, it’s systematic, it’s hydromatic.” Very topical.’
‘Automatic . . . systematic . . . hydromatic . . . It does sound like my car, doesn’t it? I don’tthinkmine’s a hydromatic, but it might be . . . Dave will know, I’ll check with him when I . . . You said they were all songs, Flynn, but what’s the common theme? Blue moon, hopelessly devoted, the one that I want and now a car — let’s see yours, Mark, that might help.’
Churchill nodded at me. ‘Go ahead.’
I opened up the paper, removed the biscuit in order to read the words — and felt the colour drain from my face.
How could the bastard know? Howcouldhe?
‘Something the matter?’ Mary said, anxiously.
With an effort, I brought myself under control. He couldn’t know how I felt about Emma, because I hadn’t told anyone, not even her. He must have chosen these words by accident . . .
I cleared my throat. ‘Not at all, I’m just trying to place these lyrics: “Can’t you see, I’m in misery. We made a start, now we’re apart.” Any ideas?’
In the silence that followed, Mary’s stage whisper to Henry could be heard loud and clear. ‘Poor man, he’s missing Tamara terribly and this has obviously brought it all back to him. Averyunfortunate choice of words . . . ’
She was way off track, but she’d unwittingly put my mind at rest. I realised that Churchill wasn’t taunting me about Emma at all; he was referring to my break-up with Tamara. Someone would have told him about that during his first day in Highbury, I was sure.
Still a bastard, only not as clever as I’d thought.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
It was the look on Mark’s face that got to me. I wanted to put my arms round him and kiss the sadness away. As a friend, nothing more . . .
But the next moment Flynn was murmuring in my ear, ‘Oops, put my foot in it there, didn’t I?’
I gave him a sympathetic smile and whispered back, ‘You weren’t to know.’
He raised his voice. ‘So, Em, are you ready to have a guess at the answer?’
My smile broadened. ‘Depends what the prize is.’
‘Can’t say, you’ll just have to trust me when I say it’s worth winning.’
I took a deep breath. ‘OK then, I think what they all have in common is—’
‘What about Henry?’ Mark put in. ‘He hasn’t read his out yet, it may give more people a chance to win the prize.’
Flynn hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Henry’s probably gives the game away, but if you insist . . . ’
Dad unwrapped his biscuit and stared at it longingly. ‘I don’t think I dare risk it—’
‘The paper, Henry, read out what’s on the paper,’ Batty squeaked.
He looked down and blanched. ‘Oh dear, I feel quite queasy. It says, “Grease is the word”.’
‘Songs fromGrease,’ Mark and I said, at exactly the same time.
‘Correct, both of you.’ Flynn paused. ‘But you’re the winner, Em, I heard you first.’
‘Oh, what a shame, can’t they share the prize?’ Batty said, much to my annoyance.
He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid it’s not that sort of prize.’
