Name & Address Withheld (21 page)

‘And?’ she dared herself to ask.

‘Well, if I leave her for you I’ll probably get stung in the settlement…but what does that matter? I probably deserve some of it. I mean, it had all gone wrong long before I met you. Fact. But I, the self-appointed captain of the inertia team, was still there, and let’s face it I’m the one who’s failed to mention you so far. I just can’t seem to find the right moment. It feels like she’s always in the office, shopping, out for a drink or asleep. And it’s not like I can send her a text message about all of this. I’m not the sort of guy who’s just going to leave a note on the kitchen table either. But I am genuine, Lizzie.’

Lizzie was panicking. If she was to stand any chance of getting him and Rachel back together this was not the time for him to get honest.

‘But you don’t have to tell anyone you’ve met someone. Can’t you just cite irreconcilable differences, irrevocable breakdown, general growing apartness?’

‘Sod that, Liz. I’m sick and tired of all this deceit. If I’m leaving her for you, I don’t care who knows.’

‘No, Matt. I don’t want to be the reason. Can’t you see…?’

No, if he was being honest, he couldn’t. Not unless he’d missed something crucial along the way. He’d thought she’d be thrilled, maybe a little bowled over, but definitely not this hesitant.

‘Look, you have to decide if being without her is what you really want. It’s early days for us, and I think you probably need some time on your own first before we go any further. I mean, you can’t just go seamlessly from her to me.’

Matt was feeling very uncomfortable. He didn’t understand when this conversation had careered off the rails. He couldn’t see why things were any different today. Maybe he should have bought her a heart-shaped present or something. Sometimes he really didn’t get women at all. They weren’t from Venus. More like a whole different galaxy. He’d thought Lizzie was different. She
was
different. Only today she was in a very peculiar mood.

‘Come on, Liz, don’t be all funny with me. It’ll all sort itself out, you’ll see. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that it’s all going to be over soon. It’s been doing my head in. Imagine how nice it will be to just be able to spend some normal time together. Just watching videos curled up on the sofa at home, reading the papers in bed on a Sunday morning. Normal time. Not all this emotional freefall. A bit of fun.’

Lizzie had to admit it would definitely have been something to look forward to if the situation could have been different. Instead she focused on the reason she was sipping coffee in W1, dressed in a suit, having hot-footed it there from a totally spurious meeting.

‘I saw from your e-mail address last night that your wife’s called Rachel.’

It was a total change of tack. Matt wasn’t sure what came next, or indeed what the point of the question was. He’d always made sure that he hadn’t used her name around Lizzie because it did personalise things, and he didn’t really want to have to think about her all the time or indeed any of the time that he and Lizzie spent together.

‘That’s right.’

‘What does she do?’

‘I’m sure I’ve told you before. She’s in advertising.’

Matt was concerned. Maybe this whole deception thing had finally got to Lizzie. He was amazed at how well she’d managed to handle it so far, but now she was asking lots of strange questions—apparently apropos of nothing—about his dinner with his wife. It was probably only natural in a competitive female sort of way. He was only a man. What did he know?

He humoured her. Seeing Lizzie in this slightly confused state of mind made him want to take care of her even more. The question and answer round seemed to have come to an end, and Matt hadn’t seen Lizzie for over a week and hadn’t slept with her for nearly two. He leant across and kissed her, and then immediately recoiled. When he was with Lizzie it was easy to forget to be furtive.

As the tube rattled through central London, Lizzie knew she should have said no. But Clare was at work and things really couldn’t get any worse. But unknown to him this was the grande finale. Something for her to remember him by. She knew now what she had to do.

chapter 16

C
lare was worried. Something wasn’t quite right with Lizzie. In fact, thinking about it, it was precisely the reverse. After barely a couple of weeks of moping and generally dodging anything except work and their video collection, it appeared she’d decided to take a deep breath and move on. Yet Clare sensed all was not well in Lizziedom.

However many times she told herself not to be silly, Clare was disappointed that Lizzie hadn’t felt she could open up to her after everything they’d been through together. Instead she’d erected an invisible wall, and it hurt every time Clare ran into it. She’d been careful not to crowd her, to give her enough of her precious space, and done her utmost not to interfere, but they were best friends for God’s sake. If Lizzie was suffering then so was Clare.

Bruised ego and over-sensitivity aside, she had to admit that objectively Lizzie was doing OK. But Clare was beginning to resent the fact that her job almost always prevented her from physically being there for Lizzie. What if Lizzie needed a spontaneous heart-to-heart at the kettle? Or over a cup of tea and toasted muffin? She was an expert in outwardly keeping
it together in a crisis. The sort of person that Clare would happily have followed into the trenches. But no one was invincible. Maybe this time she’d fallen apart and Clare had been too busy at the restaurant to notice.

By the middle of the afternoon Clare had wound herself up enough to organise someone to cover for her. This morning Lizzie had announced she was having a quiet evening in and Clare was going home to join her. Nostalgic for a girls’ night in, she stopped off at the florist, followed by the off-licence for wine and ice-cream. She was back in the best-friend business.

To Clare’s relief the front door wasn’t double-locked. On the tube she’d had visions of Lizzie trading in the remote control for a night out, leaving her to wallow in calories and concern on her own.

‘Hey, babe, I’m home.’

Clare popped her head round the door to Lizzie’s study, only to find it empty. More like deserted. The computer was off and there was no tell-tale half-started cup of tepid tea on the desk. She wasn’t prostrate on the sofa upstairs either.

‘Liz—Liz…’

She increased her volume.

‘Lizzie?’

Surely she wasn’t in bed? It was only five-thirty—a little late for an afternoon nap and very early for even the earliest of nights. Maybe she’d developed one of her migraines? Clare felt guilty. She should have been taking more notice. For all she knew this was the time of day when Lizzie was mid-nervous breakdown.

Clare flicked the kettle switch and was just making a cup of tea to take upstairs in her new role as Florence Nightingale when Lizzie appeared at her side in a white waffle bathrobe and slippers, looking a little dishevelled but not altogether pale and pathetic. Maybe she had a fever? Clare was no nurse, but Lizzie looked a little flushed and very tired. Poor girl. She really was suffering.

‘You’re home…’

A good sign, Clare thought. Lizzie was clearly still capable of stating the obvious.

‘Is everything OK?’ Lizzie sounded concerned and, if Clare was being over-analytical, a little confused. Maybe she’d been drinking?

‘God, yes, fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just well…I was thinking about things this afternoon and I’ve decided that I haven’t been looking after you properly.’

‘I thought you were working late tonight?’

‘I was, but I got someone in to cover for me. I thought I’d come home early and we could spend the evening together. I’m just sorry that I’ve been so busy recently. You’ve been having a crisis and I’ve been at work.’

Clare walked over and gave Lizzie a hug. It was like hugging a tree trunk—a thin tree trunk—more of a sapling, in actual fact—resplendent in white waffle but wooden, that was the point. However she tried to dress it up, the fact was that Lizzie didn’t hug her back. At all. Clare was determined not to take it personally. After all, they had years of friendship behind them. She wasn’t going to get hung up about one flipping hug. Maybe she was the one having the nervous breakdown and Lizzie was fine.

‘You shouldn’t have got up. Go back up to bed. I’ll bring you a cup of tea in a minute. I thought we could do duvets on the sofa and get a pizza delivered if you feel up to it. I’ve bought ice-cream.’

All of a sudden Lizzie looked paler and greyer. Maybe the pizza wasn’t such a good idea.

‘Or we can just chat, or…whatever you like. You choose. You really haven’t been yourself lately.’

‘No, I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s been a weird few weeks. Pizza would be lovely…’

Lizzie felt terrible. Clare was going for mate-of-the-year, yet any second now she’d discover that her best friend had been lying to her and, while Lizzie had tried to convince herself that she hadn’t actually lied
per se
, because Clare hadn’t asked her a direct question about what was happening, now, standing a few feet from her best buddy, she was feeling very small and
very dishonest indeed. She only hoped that Matt had been listening from the landing and seen fit to hide himself somewhere. Although, thinking about it, there definitely wasn’t any space in her wardrobe, or under her bed, and the laundry basket would only have just about been big enough to provide a suitable hideaway for Paddington Bear.

‘Great. Now, why don’t you go and rest? I’ll come and wake you when I’ve finished faffing down here and we can argue over toppings. I’ll even let you have pineapple on half of it if you want.’ It was an overwhelming gesture of love and compromise. Clare hated pineapple.

‘Really, no—I’m fine down here. It’s nice to see you…’ Lizzie spotted the gerberas in the sink. ‘Oh, Clare, you’ve bought me flowers. You shouldn’t have…’ Lizzie wished she hadn’t. She was feeling more guilt-ridden by the second. ‘How are things at work?’

Lizzie perched on the sofa and sipped at her mug of tea. Clare totally ignored her question.

‘Well, at least let me go and get your duvet so you can snuggle up down here.’

‘No, no. Don’t worry. I’m fine.’

‘It’s no trouble at all. It’ll take me ten seconds.’

‘Really, I’m fine,’ Lizzie snapped.

And when Clare got over the initial shock she was suspicious. She changed tack and put her sympathy to one side. It hadn’t got her anywhere so far.

‘Elizabeth Ford, there’s no need to bite my head off. Listen, you’re a grown-up, and you pay good money to live here, and no one—certainly not me—is going to bring you your duvet or force you to go back to bed if you don’t want to. But I know you well enough to know that something’s up. And, while I can’t make you tell me anything, I think I deserve a little bit of honesty. I’m worried. You’ve got a lot on your plate and I’m only trying to help, but if you’d rather battle on by yourself then that’s fine.’

The way Clare spat the last sentence out, Lizzie knew that it wasn’t fine at all.

Now she’d pissed Clare off and soon Matt wasn’t going to
be too fond of her either. The master plan was backfiring. Tears sprang to her eyes. Clare’s expression instantly softened.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.’

‘No, it’s fine. Sorry. I haven’t been altogether up front with you recently. I didn’t think I needed to tell you because I thought it wouldn’t be necessary, I thought I could deal with everything on my own, but obviously I can’t.’ Lizzie wiped her tears on her sleeve.

Clare felt herself tense with concern. Her hunch had been vindicated. There was something going on.

‘Tell me what?’

‘The reason I don’t want you to go upstairs is because there’s someone up there.’

‘Upstairs…’

Suddenly she understood. Clare was slightly taken aback, but if Lizzie needed to have sex to get over her recent setback then who was she to stand in her way? As she got used to the idea her mood transformed. The jammy so and so. She should have guessed—the rebound reaction was certainly well tried and tested. Clare wondered what he was like. She giggled as she tried to picture the current occupant of Lizzie’s bed. It all made sense now. Did Lizzie honestly think she was so judgmental? If anything she was a little envious. Sometimes she wished she could be a little less uptight about the whole meaningless sex thing. But the last time she’d had a one-night stand was last century. Intimacy scared her. It could only upset the even keel which had taken her over a year to establish. Clare Williamson had become a self-protection guru.

‘Good on you, Liz. Well—who is he and where did you find him?’

Clare smiled encouragingly at Lizzie, who couldn’t have been looking any more grave if she’d tried. It was only sex, for heaven’s sake, not nuclear war. And this was the sort of excitement that Clare was only too happy to enjoy vicariously.

‘Actually, you know him already.’

Clare racked her brains for eligible young and not so young men. Then she moved onto the not so eligible category. It
couldn’t be Colin from downstairs. He was definitely one hundred per cent gay. She stared at Lizzie, hoping for something in her expression to give her a clue. But as Lizzie refused to meet her gaze Clare’s concern turned to anger. Anger was shortly followed by fury. The changes of mood seemed beyond her control. Before she knew it she was shouting. Loudly.

‘It’s him, isn’t it? You’re still fucking Matt.’

Lizzie recoiled at the undiluted aggression now coming from Clare. And only a minute ago she’d been standing there claiming that she wanted to help.

‘How could you, Liz? He’s married. He’s got a wife. After everything I’ve been through. All the tears I cried on your shoulder. I can’t believe you…and to think that I came home early because I was worried about you… Jesus, Liz. What the fuck are you playing at?’

Lizzie didn’t think she’d ever seen Clare so furious and upset all at once. Instinctively she tried to calm things down.

‘I’m sorry, Clare…’

‘Well, obviously not that fucking sorry. I can’t believe you. How the fuck did you get to be an agony aunt in the first place? You don’t give a shit about anybody but yourself.’