To my horror, tears start to prick my eyes. And now my nose is starting to run. I don't even have a tissue. This is so embarrassing. I'm going to have to sniff, like a mother at a Nativity play. Next I'll be standing up and running to the front with my camcorder, going, 'Hello darling, wave to Daddy!'

OK. I need to get a hold of myself, otherwise it'll be like the time I took my little god-daughter Amy to see the Disney cartoon Tarzan, and when the lights went up, she was fast asleep and I was in floods, being gawped at by a load of stony-eyed four-year-olds. (Just in my defence, it was pretty romantic. And Tarzan was pretty sexy.)

I feel something nudging my hand. I look up, and Jack's offering me a hanky. As I take it from him, his fingers curl briefly round mine.

When the performance comes to an end, I'm on a total high. Lissy takes a star bow, and both Jack and I applaud madly, grinning at each other.

'Don't tell anyone I cried,' I say, above the sound of applause.

'I won't,' says Jack, and gives me a rueful smile. 'I promise.'

The curtain comes down for the last time, and people start getting out of their seats, reaching for jackets and bags. And now we're coming back down to normality again, I feel my exhilaration seeping away and anxiety returning. I have to try to contact Jemima again.

At the exit, people are streaming across the courtyard to a lit-up room on the other side.

'Lissy said I should meet her at the party,' I say to Jack. 'So er … why don't you go on? I just need to make a quick call.'

'Are you OK?' says Jack, giving me a curious look. 'You seem jumpy.'

'I'm fine!' I say. 'Just excited!' I give him as convincing a beam as I can manage, then wait until he's safely out of earshot. Immediately I dial Jemima's number. Straight on to messages.

I dial it again. Messages again.

I want to scream with frustration. Where is she? What's she doing? How can I contain her if I don't know where she is?

I stand perfectly still, trying to ignore my thrusting panic, trying to work out what to do.

OK. I'll just have to go to the party and act normally, keep trying her on the phone and if all else fails, wait until I see her later. There's nothing else I can do. It'll be fine. It'll be fine.

The party is huge and bright and noisy. All the dancers are there, still in costume, and all the audience, and a fair number of people who seem to have come along just for the ride. Waiters are carrying drinks around and the noise of chatter is tremendous. As I walk in, I can't see anyone I know. I take a glass of wine and start edging into the crowd, overhearing conversations all around.

'… wonderful costumes …'

'… find time for rehearsals?'

'… judge was totally intransigent …'

Suddenly I spot Lissy, looking flushed and shiny and surrounded by a load of good-looking lawyer-type guys, one of whom is blatantly staring at her legs.

'Lissy!' I cry. She turns around and I give her a huge hug. 'I had no idea you could dance like that! You were amazing!'

'Oh no. I wasn't,' she says at once, and pulls a typical Lissy-face. 'I completely messed up—'

'Stop!' I interrupt. 'Lissy, it was utterly fantastic. You were fantastic.'

'But I was completely crap in the—'

'Don't say you were crap!' I practically yell. 'You were fantastic. Say it. Say it, Lissy.'

'Well … OK.' Her face reluctantly creases into a smile. 'OK. I was … fantastic!' She gives an elated laugh. 'Emma, I've never felt so good in my life! And guess what, we're already planning to go on tour next year.'

'But …' I stare at her. 'You said you never wanted to do this again, ever, and if you mentioned it again, I had to stop you.'

'Oh, that was just stage fright,' she says with an airy wave of her hand. Then she lowers her voice. 'I saw Jack, by the way.' She gives me an avid look. 'What's going on?'

My heart gives a huge thump. Should I tell her about Jemima?

No. She'll only get all hassled. And anyway, there's nothing either of us can do right now.

'Jack came here to talk to me.' I hesitate. 'To … tell me his secret.'

'You're joking!' breathes Lissy, hand to her mouth. 'So — what is it?'

'I can't tell you.'

'You can't tell me?' Lissy stares at me in incredulity. 'After all that, you're not even going to tell me?'

'Lissy, I really can't.' I pull an agonized face. 'It's … complicated.'

God, I sound just like Jack.

'Well, all right,' says Lissy a bit grumpily. 'I suppose I can live without knowing. So … are you two together again?'

'I dunno,' I say, flushing. 'Maybe.'

'Lissy! That was fabulous!' A couple of girls in suits appear at her side. I give her a smile and move away slightly as she greets them.

Jack is nowhere to be seen. Should I try Jemima again?

Surreptitiously I start getting out my phone, then hastily put it away again as I hear a voice behind me calling 'Emma!'

I look round, and give a huge start of surprise. Connor's standing there in a suit, holding a glass of wine, his hair all shiny and blond under the spotlights. He has a new tie on, I notice instantly. Big yellow polka dots on blue. I don't like it.

'Connor! What are you doing here?' I say in astonishment.

'Lissy sent me a flyer,' he replies, a little defensively. 'I've always been fond of Lissy. I thought I'd come along. And I'm glad I've run into you,' he adds awkwardly. 'I'd like to talk to you, if I may.'

He draws me towards the door, away from the main crowd, and I follow, a tad nervously. I haven't had a proper chat with Connor since Jack was on television. Which could possibly be because every time I've glimpsed him, I've quickly hurried the other way.

'Yes?' I say, turning to face him. 'What did you want to talk about?'

'Emma.' Connor clears his throat as though he's about to start a formal speech. 'I get the feeling that you weren't always … totally honest with me in our relationship.'

This could be the understatement of the year.

'You're right,' I admit, shamefacedly. 'Oh God, Connor, I'm really, really sorry about everything that happened—' He lifts a hand with a look of dignity.

'It doesn't matter. That's water under the bridge. But I'd be grateful if you were totally honest with me now.'

'Absolutely,' I say, nodding earnestly. 'Of course.'

'I've recently … started a new relationship,' he says, a little stiffly.

'Wow!' I say in surprise. 'Good for you! Connor, I'm really pleased. What's her name?'

'Her name's Francesca.'

'And where did you—'

'I wanted to ask you about sex,' Connor says, cutting me off in a rush of embarrassment.

'Oh! Right.' I feel a twinge of dismay, which I conceal by taking a sip of wine. 'Of course!'

'Were you honest with me in that … area?'

'Er … what do you mean?' I say lightly, playing for time.

'Were you honest with me in bed?' His face is growing pillar-box red. 'Or were you faking it?'

Oh no. Is that what he thinks?

'Connor, I never ever faked an orgasm with you,' I say, lowering my voice. 'Hand on heart. I never did.'

'Well … OK.' He rubs his nose awkwardly. 'But did you fake anything else?'

I look at him uncertainly. 'I'm not sure I know what you—'

'Were there any —' he clears his throat

'— any particular techniques I used which you only pretended to enjoy?'.

Oh God. Please don't ask me that question.

'You know, I really … can't remember!' I hedge. 'Actually, I ought to be going …'

'Emma, tell me!' he says, with sudden passion. 'I'm starting a new relationship. It's only fair that I should be able to … to learn from past mistakes.'

I gaze back at his shiny face and suddenly feel a huge pang of guilt. He's right. I should be honest. I should finally be honest with him.

'OK,' I say at last, and move closer to him. 'You remember that one thing you used to do with your tongue?' I lower my voice still further. 'That … slidey thing? Well, sometimes that kind of made me want to … laugh. So if I had one tip with your new girlfriend, it would be don't do …'

I tail off at his expression.

Fuck. He's already done.it.

'Francesca said …' Connor says in a voice as stiff as a board. 'Francesca told me that really turned her on.'

'Well, I'm sure it did!' I backtrack madly. 'Women are all different. Our bodies are all different … everybody likes … different things.'

Connor is staring me in consternation.

'She said she loved jazz, too.'

'Well, I expect she does! Loads of people do like jazz.'

'She said she loved the way I could quote Woody Allen line for line.' He rubs his flushed face. 'Was she lying?'

'No, I'm sure she wasn't …' I tail off helplessly.

'Emma …' He stares at me bewilderedly. 'Do all women have secrets?'

Oh no. Have I ruined Connor's trust in all of womankind for ever?

'No!' I exclaim. 'Of course they don't! Honestly, Connor, I'm sure it's only me.'

My words wither on my lips as I glimpse a flash of familiar-looking blond hair at the entrance to the hall. My heart stops.

That can't be—

That's not—

'Connor, I have to go,' I say, and start hurrying towards the entrance.

'She told me she's size ten!' Connor calls helplessly after me. 'What does that mean? What size should I really buy?'

'Twelve!' I shoot back over my shoulder.

It is. It's Jemima. Standing in the foyer. What's she doing here?

The door opens again and I experience such a shock, I feel faint. She's got a guy with her. In jeans, with cropped hair and squirrelly eyes. He's got a camera slung over his shoulder and is looking around interestedly.