Name & Address Withheld (41 page)

‘Liz…Liz…? Are you there? I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing a good thing. Only now I’m having to confess it sounds nothing but bitchy and calculating, but that’s honestly not what I intended to be at all. You’ve just had so much on your plate, and you’re doing so well again now, I guess I didn’t want anything to spoil it…’

Lizzie was speechless. Genuinely speechless.

‘I’ve got the other cards. They’re not all blank. If you go to
my bedside table and forage in the second drawer down, under all those ripped-out recipes which are still waiting to be put in a file, they should be there.’

Lizzie found them in no time. Five cards. All the same. All from previous bunches. Four with messages. One blank.

‘Listen, Lizzie? Liz, honey, are you still there? Look. I’m so sorry. I realise that it wasn’t up to me. I mean, who am I to decide whether or not you have flowers?’ And then, to herself, ‘What did I think I was playing at? Have I completely lost my marbles?’

Lizzie was barely listening. She was just staring at the cards. Enthralled. They were all from Matt. Matt who she didn’t think cared any more. Matt who had been ignoring her since the
Blue
launch. Only he hadn’t been. There, in front of her, were the sort of messages that she’d been hoping so hard for over the last six weeks.

Can you ever forgive me? Sorry. Love you. Matt

Hope you’re coping. Can this have a happy ending? Love Matt

I have some news. Call me at work. Enough Agony. How about some Ecstasy? Love Matt

I’m not giving up. I’m here for you any time you need me, Matt xx

Lizzie was somewhere between euphoria and hysteria. Clare was still on the other end of the phone justifying away. Lizzie was only dimly aware of what she was saying. Something about Rachel going ballistic if she found out that Matt had been in touch. Some more about Lizzie being hurt enough already…and lots about being sorry.

Lizzie had had enough.

‘Clare. Shut up.’ It didn’t even sound aggressive. Lizzie was too pleased with herself to be properly cross. She was, however, a little disappointed at Clare’s behaviour.

‘Oh, good. You’re still talking to me.’

‘How could you?’ Clare felt silent while Lizzie did her best
to sound disapproving even when she felt like cartwheeling across Clare’s room. The trouble was, even though she knew she should have been, she wasn’t really angry. For once she’d played hard to get—admittedly, not of her own volition—but she had and, while she hated to admit it, it almost felt good.

‘I thought we were a team, Clare.’

Clare found her voice again and decided to use it. ‘We were. We are.
We are.
I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘You were just trying to protect me from myself. I know exactly what you were trying to do. But, Clare, I’m old enough to make my own mistakes. You’re my flatmate, not my guardian.’

But despite the frown in her voice Lizzie couldn’t drum up any real fury. If she and Matt were meant to be there would come a time when they would look back on this and laugh. Six weeks ago she wouldn’t have been ready for this moment, but now her demons had been exorcised and she was. However, she didn’t want to be too easy on Clare. This was a very rare reversal of power.

‘I know—I know…’ Lizzie wondered where Clare was at the moment. By the sound of it she was practically genuflecting. ‘I’m sorry. I feel like such a cow. Why don’t you give him a call?’

‘Nice try, but I’m learning. I’m not going to call him in the next five minutes.’

‘Why not?’ Clare was surprised at herself. ‘It won’t do any harm. He’s already been waiting for weeks, and if you call now you might still catch him at work. He’s obviously mad about you. What on earth did I think I was doing?’

Lizzie noted that Clare must be feeling incredibly guilty to be actively encouraging her to call him. She smiled to herself. ‘Look, I’m not rushing into anything. First things first. I need to know what’s happened to Rachel.’

‘Good girl. I’m proud of you. Listen, I only want the best for you.’

‘Thanks. I love him, you know.’

‘I know…’ Clare was genuinely moved by the strength of Lizzie’s feelings. Her principles were melting around her. ‘And
if Matt really is the one for you then, believe me, I will be skipping up that aisle behind you.’

Lizzie laughed. ‘Hey, one step at a time.’

‘That’s rich, coming from you…’

‘Well, maybe I’ve changed.’

‘That’ll be the day. Just woe betide Matt if he turns out to be another Joe.’

‘Speaking of whom…’

‘Yes…?’ Clare was stalling.

‘Has a call been made?’

‘It’s only thirty hours since I got the letter.’

‘And counting… So? How long, according to your rules, before you are allowed to pick up the phone while maintaining full ice maiden status? Do yourself a favour, Clare, lighten up and don’t worry about every eventuality all the time…’

‘I’ll call him.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

‘Good…’ Lizzie caught a glimpse of Clare’s alarm clock. ‘Shit. I’ve really got to go. I’m running seriously late. I hope my cab’s outside.’

‘Listen, good luck with the show. I’ll see you later on, when you get home.’

‘If you’re back from your hot dinner date.’

‘Shut it, Liz. It’s just dinner.’

‘Course it is. My mistake.’

‘Liz…’ Clare was feeling quite giggly despite herself. If she wasn’t mistaken she was feeling—well, just old-fashioned excitement. ‘…just once more for the record, I’m sorry.’

‘You will be if you’ve got a stash of love letters in a shoebox under your bed.’

‘None, I promise.’

As the cab fought its way to the studios Lizzie resisted the increasingly strong urge she now had to call Matt. She didn’t want to snatch a five-minute call, and she was late enough for her meeting without deliberately delaying herself any further.

There were only a few minutes spare after the production meeting before she was due on air, and as the opening jingles
rolled she did her utmost to ignore her hyperactive mind, which was currently insisting on presenting her with a multitude of hypothetical scenarios. She tried to focus on the amended running order in front of her as she wondered whether Matt would be listening tonight, or whether after weeks of dedication he had finally given up on the girl who had failed to acknowledge a single petal?

As the red light flicked on to give Lizzie her final cue, a surge of adrenaline finally emptied her mind of all the unanswerable questions.

chapter 32

‘Y
ou’re listening to City on 99.9 FM, and this is summer in your city. Keep it cool while we get hot.’

The all too familiar pre-recorded growl of Danny Vincent—thankfully the closest he got to her these days—cut to the studio where Lizzie was waiting live and ready for action.

‘Hi, I’m Lizzie Ford and you’re listening to
The Agony and the Ecstasy
on City FM. It’s Tuesday night, it’s 8:03, and I’m here with you for the next three hours. So, if something’s bothering you at the moment—if you’ve got an emotional or personal crisis on your hands, or you just want a shoulder or a sounding board—give me a call. The time is now and you know the number. 0990 99 88 77. That’s 0 double nine 0. Double nine, double eight, double seven.

‘Coming up over the next three hours we’ll be taking lots of your calls, playing some top summer tunes and giving you the last clue for our competition. So, if you want to find yourself and a mate jetting off for a weekend to die for in a Hot City, stick with us.

‘But first it’s time for some music. Coming up, a bit of “Fast Love” from George Michael. Sit back, open a window
and a can of something cold, turn this up and enjoy the feeling of summer with
the
city. We’ll be going to the phones right after these two…’

Lizzie looked across to her sound engineer, Phil, who effortlessly mixed George up and Lizzie down while giving her a wink. They were off. She now had five minutes and twenty-five seconds of George Michael and four minutes and twenty-one seconds of Stardust in which to study the running order and get the lowdown on her first two callers.

Matt drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music as he inched forward in the traffic jam. This was precisely why he rarely drove in London any more. Heat seeped into his personal space from every angle, and despite the fact that his car was a roof-free zone there was a total absence of anything remotely fresh about any of the air around him. As he ground to a halt a wave of hotter air cascaded into his lap and a new trickle of sweat melted into his already damp T-shirt.

Forgetting about his lack of roof, Matt sang along enthusiastically, failing to notice the bemused expression of the motorist to his right. George really knew what he was talking about. Infected by the beat, he was soon nodding moronically in time to the music, and as he started dancing in his seat he joined in again. More song lyrics that seemed to have entered his subconscious by osmosis. It never failed to amaze him just quite how extensive his archive was. Forget MP3, he had his own built-in download facility. Matt adopted a suitable falsetto for the Patrice Rushen sample. Maybe he should have sent Lizzie forget-me-nots instead of a mixed bouquet this week.

He had to admit she was sounding good tonight. He’d only ever used to drive into work in emergencies in the past—what with the second mortgage for parking all day, the worry that his car might not even be there when he got back, or that someone might have slashed his roof—but now it was the only way he got to listen to her show on his own and, while he didn’t want to come across as some sort of stalker, it was the only contact he had with her these days. Not that it was real con
tact, of the two-way variety, but at least by listening he could chart her mood, gauge how she was doing—or at least that was what he told himself.

She still hadn’t called. Upset? Hmm, yes…but he couldn’t blame her. In fact, if he was honest, he actually had a great deal to thank her for. Since he’d moved in with James he’d been feeling a lot more like—well, like he’d remembered he used to feel. That anything was possible, that the world was his, every dream a real possibility. He knew that to the uninitiated it looked bleaker—he’d lost his wife, his home and his love interest—but it didn’t feel like that. He was liberated. Free. To do exactly what he wanted to do. His only regret: that he hadn’t done it years ago.

He watched the lights change as he crept forward a few metres in total synch with the bumper of the gleaming TVR in front. It was a modern-day tragedy. £45,000 of hand-built performance car forced to do 0-30 in thirty minutes. Matt almost believed that it was crueller than battery farming. Almost.

Before she knew it Ben was counting her down to the next link. Lizzie scribbled a few notes on her next callers in the margin as the last few bars played out. Some tracks were just pure summer, and tonight it was un-Britishly hot—one of the four or five evenings of the year when she wished that she and Clare had a garden for BBQing and al fresco beer-drinking. Lizzie was determined to make the most of the heat before the idiosyncrasies of global warming let everyone down again with a late-June cold snap just when they’d managed to find a flattering pair of shorts.

‘Well, that was George Michael and “Fast Love”, followed by Stardust and “Music Sounds Better With You”. More music coming up in a few minutes—and believe me, we’ve got some great tracks lined up for you this evening, including classics from the New Radicals, Texas, Lauryn Hill, and some even older tunes that I guarantee you’ll enjoy. But first let’s take a couple of calls—after all, that’s why I’m here. It’s 8:12 on a
hot, sticky evening, and we’ve got Sarah on line one. Hello, Sarah. What can I do for you?’

‘Hi, Lizzie.’ She sounded quite upbeat. Lizzie gave her team a thumbs-up. There was nothing worse than a monosyllabic first caller.

‘Hi…’

‘Well, the thing is…’

Sometimes Lizzie really had to fight the urge to hurry her callers along. It didn’t help that tonight she was feeling more impatient than normal and there was a surfeit of nervous energy currently looking for a channel out of her system. But she had to be a paragon of patience and understanding. The listeners were patient and anxious to hear the full story, and therefore, Lizzie argued, so should the production team be.

‘Go on…’

‘Well, it’s this bloke at work. I got off with him last Friday night. He said he’d fancied me for ages and we went for a few drinks, and—well, you know…’

‘Right.’

‘Well, we didn’t sleep together or anything, but I was really excited and he said some really nice things to me. I played it cool all weekend…’

All weekend… Ben started laughing silently in the corner of the studio and whispered, ‘Give the girl a medal,’ to Phil. Lizzie shot him a dirty look. She understood exactly where Sarah was coming from.

‘…and when I got into work on Monday I sent him an e-mail—just to say thanks, you know, and to suggest that we did it again some time…’

‘Mmhm…’ Lizzie made sure that Sarah knew she was listening without interrupting her.

‘But he completely ignored it. At first I wondered if, you know, maybe it had got lost in a cyber cul-de-sac or something, or that maybe I’d spelt his name wrong or put the dot in the wrong place. I know, I know—I should’ve known better. Anyway, this morning I found out that he spent most of yesterday dissing me to his mates, telling them that I couldn’t keep my
hands off him, that I was really desperate, all that sort of stuff. But that’s not how it was on Friday at all.
He
made a move on
me
. I just can’t bear the thought of everyone talking about me behind my back. I can’t believe he’s behaving like this. I’m not even gutted any more. I just feel stupid for not seeing through him earlier.’

‘Sounds like a case of immature office male to me. How old are you, Sarah?’

‘Twenty-six.’

‘Right. Well, as hard as this may seem, you’ve just got to take this in your stride and not let him get to you. From the sound of it he’s not worth it, and if you’re not visibly reacting to him and his mates then I’ll bet he’ll soon lose interest in spreading unfounded rumours. By getting angry and defensive I’m afraid it only looks like you have something to hide. If you just get on with everything as normal he’ll be the one that ends up looking stupid. Ten out of ten for keeping yourself out of his bed. That would have made you feel a whole lot worse.’