I, Emma Corrigan, am in love.

For the first time ever in my entire life, I'm totally, one hundred per cent in love! I spent all night with Jack at the Panther mansion. I woke up in his arms. We had sex about ninety-five times and it was just … perfect. (And somehow tricks didn't even seem to come into it. Which was a bit of a relief.)

But it's not just the sex. It's everything. It's the way he had a cup of tea waiting for me when I woke up. It's the way he turned on his laptop especially for me to look up all my Internet horoscopes and helped me choose the best one. He knows all the crappy, embarrassing bits about me which I normally try and hide from any man for as long as possible … and he loves me anyway.

So he didn't exactly say he loved me. But he said something even better. I still keep rolling it blissfully round my head. We were lying there this morning, both just kind of staring up at the ceiling, when all at once I said, without quite intending to, 'Jack, how come you remembered about Kerry turning me down for work experience?'

'What?'

'How come you remembered about Kerry turning me down?' I swivelled my head slowly to look at him. 'And not just that. Every single thing I told you on that plane. Every little detail. About work, about my family, about Connor … everything. You remember it all. And I just don't get it.'

'What don't you get?' said Jack with a frown.

'I don't get why someone like you would be interested in my stupid, boring little life,' I said, my cheeks prickling with embarrassment.

Jack looked at me silently for a moment.

'Emma, your life is not stupid and boring.'

'It is!'

'It's not.'

'Of course it is! I never do anything exciting, I never do anything clever, I haven't got my own company, or invented anything—'

'You want to know why I remember all your secrets?' interrupted Jack. 'Emma, the minute you started talking on that plane — I was gripped.'

I stared at him in disbelief.

'You were gripped?' I said, to make sure. 'By me?'

'I was gripped,' he repeated gently, and he leant over and kissed me.

Gripped!

Jack Harper was gripped by my life! By me!

And the point is, if I'd never spoken to him on that plane — and if I'd never blurted out all that stuff — then this would never have happened. We would never have found each other. It was fate. I was meant to get on that plane. I was meant to get upgraded. I was meant to spill my secrets.

As I arrive home, I'm glowing all over. A lightbulb has switched on inside me. Suddenly I know what the meaning of life is. Jemima is wrong. Men and women aren't enemies. Men and women are soulmates. And if they were just honest, right from the word go, then they'd all realize it. All this being mysterious and aloof is complete rubbish. Everyone should share their secrets straight away!

I'm so inspired, I think I'm going to write a book on relationships. It will be called 'Don't Be Scared To Share', and it will show that men and women should be honest with each other and they'll communicate better, and understand each other, and never have to pretend about anything, ever again. And it could apply to families, too. And politics! Maybe if world leaders all told each other a few personal secrets, then there wouldn't be any more wars! I think I'm really on to something.

I float up the stairs and unlock the door of our flat.

'Lissy!' I call. 'Lissy, I'm in love!'

There isn't any reply, and I feel a twinge of disappointment. I wanted someone to talk to. I wanted someone to tell all about my brilliant new theory of life and—

I hear a thumping sound from her room, and stand completely still in the hallway, transfixed. Oh my God. The mysterious thumping sounds. There's another one. Then two more. What on earth—

And then I see it, through the door of the sitting room. On the floor, next to the sofa. A briefcase. A black leather briefcase. It's him. It's Jean-Paul. He's in there. Right this minute! I take a few steps forward and stare at her door, intrigued.

What are they doing?

I just don't believe her story that they're having sex. But what else could it be? What else could it possibly—

OK … Just stop. It's none of my business. If Lissy doesn't want to tell me what she's up to, she doesn't want to tell me. Feeling very mature, I walk into the kitchen and pick up the kettle to make myself a cup of coffee.

Then I put it down again. Why doesn't she want to tell me? Why does she have a secret from me? We're best friends! I mean it was she who said we shouldn't have any secrets.

I can't stand this. Curiosity is niggling at me like a burr. It's unbearable. And this could be my only chance to find out the truth. But how? I can't just walk in there. Can I?

All of a sudden, a little thought occurs to me. Suppose I hadn't seen the briefcase? Suppose I'd just walked into the flat perfectly innocently, like I normally do, and happened to go straight to Lissy's door and happened to open it? Nobody could blame me then, could they? It would just be an honest mistake.

I come out of the kitchen, listen intently for a moment, then quickly tiptoe back towards the front door.

Start again. I'm walking into the flat for the first time.

'Hi, Lissy!' I call self-consciously, as though a camera's trained'on me. 'Gosh! I wonder where she is. Maybe I'll … um … try her bedroom!'

I walk down the corridor, attempting a natural stride, arrive at her door and give the tiniest of knocks.

There's no response from inside. The thumping noises have died down. I stare at the blank wood, feeling a sudden apprehension.

Am I really going to do this?

Yes, I am. I just have to know.

I grasp the handle, open the door — and give a scream of terror.

The image is so startling, I can't make sense of it. Lissy's naked. They're both naked. She and the guy are tangled together in the strangest position I've ever, ever … her legs are up in the air, and his are twisted round her, and they're both scarlet in the face and panting.

'I'm sorry!' I stutter. 'God, I'm sorry!'

'Emma, wait!' I hear Lissy shout as I scuttle away to my room, slam the door and sink onto my bed.

My heart is pounding. I almost feel sick. I've never been so shocked in my entire life. I should never have opened that door. I should never have opened that door.

She was telling the truth! They were having sex! But I mean, what kind of weird, contorted sex was that? Bloody hell. I never realized. I never—

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and give a fresh scream.

'Emma, calm down!' says Lissy. 'It's me! Jean-Paul's gone.'

I can't look up. I can't meet her eye.

'Lissy, I'm sorry,' I gabble, staring at the floor. 'I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that. I should never have … your sex life is your own affair.'

'Emma, we weren't having sex, you dope!'

'You were! I saw you! You didn't have any clothes on.'

'We did have clothes on. Emma, look at me!'

'No!' I say in panic. 'I don't want to look at you!'

'Look at me!'

Apprehensively, I raise my head, and gradually my eyes focus on Lissy, standing in front of me.

Oh. Oh … right. She's wearing a flesh-coloured leotard.

'Well what were you doing if you weren't having sex?' I say, almost accusingly. 'And why are you wearing that?'

'We were dancing,' says Lissy, looking embarrassed.

'What?' I stare at her in utter bewilderment.

'We were dancing, OK? That's what we were doing!'

'Dancing? But … why were you dancing?'

This makes no sense at all. Lissy and a French guy called Jean-Paul dancing in her bedroom? I feel like I've landed in the middle of some weird dream.

'I've joined this group,' says Lissy after a pause.

'Oh my God. Not a cult—'

'No, not a cult. It's just …' She bites her lip. 'It's some lawyers who've got together and formed a … a dance group.'

A dance group?

For a few moments I can't quite speak. Now that my shock's died down, I have this horrible feeling that I might possibly be about to laugh.

'You've joined a group of … dancing lawyers.'

'Yes.' Lissy nods.

An image pops into my head of a bunch of portly barristers dancing around in their wigs and I can't help it, I give a snort of laughter.

'You see!' cries Lissy. 'That's why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd laugh!'

'I'm sorry!' I say. 'I'm sorry! I'm not laughing. I think it's really great!' Another hysterical giggle bursts from me. 'It's just … I don't know. Somehow the idea of dancing lawyers …'

'We're not all lawyers,' she says defensively. There are a couple of merchant bankers, too, and a judge … Emma, stop laughing!'

'I'm sorry,' I say helplessly. 'Lissy, I'm not laughing at you, honestly.' I take a deep breath and try desperately to clamp my lips together. But all I can see is merchant bankers dressed in tutus, clutching their briefcases, dancing to Swan Lake. A judge leaping across the stage, robes flying.

'It's not funny!' Lissy's saying. 'It's just a few like-minded professionals who want to express themselves through dance. What's wrong with that?'

'I'm sorry,' I say again, wiping my eyes and trying to regain control of myself. 'Nothing's wrong with it. I think it's brilliant. So … are you having a show, or anything?'

'It's in three weeks. That's why we've been doing extra practices.'

'Three weeks?' I stare at her, my laughter melting away. 'Weren't you going to tell me?'

'I … I hadn't decided,' she says, scuffing her dancing shoe on the floor. 'I was embarrassed.'