Name & Address Withheld (23 page)

February became March and April beckoned with the promise of warmer, longer days, and as a slim woman oozing vitality and toned thighs jogged past Lizzie she knew it was time for the next phase. New me. New trainers. New attitude. Time to get fit for life. Or at least buy all the gear.

Lizzie’s daily run ritual was on its fourth consecutive day and she was already feeling a lot better. Her heart and liver were enjoying her overture to normality, and once again there was colour in her cheeks. Quite a lot of colour. They were currently deep crimson as her capillaries did their best to radiate as much heat as they could before her body overheated. As with everything, Lizzie had thrown herself into this running lark one hundred and ten per cent and right now her body was trying to keep up with her mental ambition. Once Lizzie concentrated on breathing, not tripping over and retaining at least a shred of finesse she had no energy or mental space left for worry. Running had become her therapy. Sanity was round the corner. Plus, while she might end up terminally single, at least she might have the legs of Anna Kournikova for company.

She turned the corner into Oxford Road, her arms still pumping like pistons while her legs, now heavy with exertion, forced themselves along behind her. Her heart was pounding and a moustache of sweat had not altogether alluringly graced her top lip. She could taste the salt and was anticipating the welcome surge of her power shower when Colin pulled up alongside her in his red convertible.

Timing was everything.

‘Hey, is that Liz Ford or Liz Colgan?’ If you’re in a hurry I can offer you a lift home.’

It could only be one hundred metres to her front door, yet if he hadn’t been so obviously mocking her Lizzie would’ve been tempted. Instead she reduced her already snail-like pace to a sort of bouncing around on the spot movement while
stretching her arms across her body, pretending to be warming down.

‘What on earth has driven you to exercising outdoors? Why do you think they invented the running machine? It’s much less painful if you can watch MTV at the same time!’

Colin was a confirmed gym-user, although Lizzie suspected that his frequent visits also included a generous helping of tight arse and perfect pec spotting. Thankfully he didn’t ask her how far she’d run. She knew it was a pitiful distance, but it was definitely an improvement on nothing, and judging by the pounding in her chest it was quite sufficient exercise for her out-of-shape heart. He revved up and parallel parked with incredible speed and accuracy before leaping out and opening the gate for Lizzie, who had used her last ounce of competitive spirit to get there before him and was currently bent over in the leapfrog position, desperately trying to get enough air to her lungs to prevent herself from passing out.

Colin, it seemed, wanted a chat. For once Lizzie was not at her speed-talking best.

‘What have you guys been up to? I haven’t set eyes on either of you for ages, let alone managed a conversation.’

‘Fine…’
Breathe in…and out…
‘I’m fine…’
And again…
‘Been through a bit of a rough patch… But…’ Breathe… ‘Seem to be pulling through.’

Lizzie was proud of herself. A week ago she would have been in tears at this point. Any grimaces now were attributable to her calf muscles currently smarting rather painfully as she allowed herself to stiffen up.

‘Fancy a quick cup of tea?’

He didn’t actually say…and a gossip…but it was implied. Tea without talk for Colin would be as alien a concept as a holiday without sunshine—although Lizzie was sure that his year-round healthy skin tone was sustained with the help of fake tan and solarium minutes.

‘Or maybe something colder. Cranberry? Elderflower?’ Lizzie smiled. Most men wouldn’t know an elderflower if it came up and punched them in the face. Meanwhile Colin was
mentally running through his cordial collection, trying to tempt Lizzie into his flat. ‘Lime…Ribena?’

He was standing at the top of the stairs that led down to his front door, awaiting her decision. Lizzie looked down at her running top, which was now attractively a darker shade of red under her arms and breasts and completely stuck to her back. She wiped the sweat from her temples into her hairline. Jane Fonda must have had her pores somewhere else. Even in her feel-the-burn heyday you never really saw her sweat. A little glow, attractive breathlessness and maybe even a few droplets glistening on her cheeks and chest. But then Lizzie clung to the belief that if you weren’t totally dishevelled at the end of a run then you hadn’t been working hard enough.

‘Might nip upstairs for a quick shower first. Don’t think you’d want me sweating all over your furniture in my current state.’

Was that relief on Colin’s face? Lizzie thought it was.

‘OK. Just pop down when you’re done.’

As Lizzie showered she was thankful that she’d run into a familiar face. For starters she’d be tempted to put on some of her smarter clothes, and secondly Colin always made her laugh. Usually at some outrageous and highly improbable tale of sexual conquest which made Lizzie feel totally heterosexually inadequate but quite impressed all the same.

For once she had a story to tell, but instinct told her to leave it. It hadn’t exactly been one of her proudest relationship moments, and continuing to see him after she’d discovered that he was married meant that she’d sort of shot herself in the foot as far as getting any sympathy was concerned. She reached for her exfoliator and scrubbed hard. Twenty-first century self-flagellation at its best.

‘Well, well, well.’ If Colin was a witch he would have been cackling. ‘You have been busy. Who’d have thought the agony aunt upstairs would’ve got herself embroiled in a love triangle…?’

A long burst of laughter. From Colin, not Lizzie. She hadn’t
meant to tell him, yet she’d found herself confessing before she’d even finished her first drink.

‘It’s no wonder you’re out running, trying to sweat the guilt out of your system. Well done for coming home so soon. I think I’d have been tempted to do a Forrest Gump.’ His eyes radiated mischief and the sort of joy that can only be derived from someone else’s misfortune.

Lizzie poured herself another coffee and wondered whether, even in light of her recent burst of activity, consuming a third biscuit would just be plain greedy. This confessional stuff was making her very hungry, and at least if she was eating she might not incriminate herself any further. She hadn’t told him the bit about knowing who Matt’s wife was yet, but it had been a relief to get the rest of it off her chest, and for a few minutes it didn’t seem like such a big deal at all.

‘So, tell me—was he gorgeous?’ Colin wanted details.

‘Well, I’m not sure that he’d be your type, but, yes…’ Lizzie sighed. ‘He was definitely mine…except for the having a wife bit.’ Sometimes the whole episode almost sounded surreal. It almost felt as if she was talking about someone else’s life.

Colin roared with laughter. ‘Oh, well, no one said love was perfect, darling…’ Spotting a flicker of sadness in Lizzie’s eyes, he toned it down. ‘Poor you. You should’ve come down and cried on my shoulder weeks ago. I’ve had my heart broken more times than most.’ And he was off. Colin could regale you with stories of doomed relationships for as long as you had and, listening to him, Lizzie felt positively pedestrian.

Lizzie didn’t know whether she could attribute it to the biscuits, human company, Colin’s cat redressing her recent affection deficit, or his candid tales of love-gone-wrong, but she was feeling loads better. Back in her own flat, she made a decision to analyse less and do more. Self-pity was so last season. Determined to make some changes, Lizzie called Clare’s mobile. Clare obviously wasn’t paying attention, or was expecting someone else to call, because she answered it straight away.

‘Hello?’

‘Clare?’ Lizzie could barely contain her excitement. ‘It’s me—Liz. How are you?’

‘Knackered. Totally shagged. Lunchtime was mad today. We had a private party in and they’ve only just gone.’

It was all great. Clare was being civil. They were almost having a normal conversation. Maybe the time and healing thing had finally happened. ‘Packed on a Sunday—that’s great for business.’

‘Suppose so. What do you want, anyway?’

OK, so maybe it had all been too good to be true. ‘Just thought I’d say hi. Remind you that I miss you and want you to come home. The usual.’

‘Oh. Right. You sound quite perky. Everything OK?’

‘Fine. I’ve just been for a run, and I suppose I’m chuffed that you a) answered the phone when you knew it was me and b) didn’t hang up straight away. Please come home and forgive me.’ Lizzie was burbling.

Clare soon halted her improving mood in its tracks. ‘Not that simple, Liz.’

‘Why not? I know I was wrong…but I can only apologise so many times before it gets boring.’

‘I know you’re sorry, and I’m glad you are, but so you should be…’

Lizzie could feel herself bristling. She’d made a mistake, a big one, but surely she’d paid the price. It must be time to move on now.

‘Look, I know you think I’m trying to be difficult, and I know it looks like I’ve overreacted, but it must’ve triggered off a whole lot of emotion that I had suppressed over the last two years. Stuff that I have to deal with. I used to think you were pretty much perfect. And then—well, you let me down. I know it sounds extreme, and I’m sure if Joe hadn’t done what he did then this wouldn’t be happening. But he did and it is. I just need time.’

Oh, no, this was worse…emotional stuff…the old letting me and letting yourself down line. Guaranteed since school to make Lizzie feel utterly terrible.

‘Can’t we just put it behind us now? Move on.’

Lizzie could sort of see where Clare was coming from, but she wasn’t asking her to have her babies, just to share a flat with her.

‘Can’t you see, Liz? I just need some time to deal with this my way.’

But she’d had loads of time. Right, this was it. Lizzie was going to have to take a chance and try and restore some perspective to the situation.

‘You’re not going to like this, but I do think you’re overreacting…’

Lizzie held her breath, braced herself, and waited for Clare to explode. She didn’t. Lizzie continued with some trepidation. But she had to say it. She couldn’t just sit back and let Clare contemplate her navel for months and months while she started talking to herself every morning.

‘You’re my best friend. And I’m sorry I’m not perfect. Believe me, it would be far easier if I was. But people make mistakes every day. I made a mistake. I’m sorry I let you down—but, believe me, I let myself down even more. And I miss you.’

‘I’m thinking about it Liz. But at the moment I’m sort of house-sitting for a friend near work. I’ll pay my rent—don’t worry, I won’t leave you in the lurch. But maybe it’s time for a change. Maybe it’s time we didn’t live in each other’s pockets any more.’

‘Oh. Well.’ Lizzie felt sick as the latest plot twist in
Her Life—The Soap Opera
was revealed. She didn’t want to be alone permanently. ‘Give it some more time and then see how you feel. There’s no need to decide anything now…’ Lizzie was doing her best to hide her disappointment. ‘In the meantime how about dinner some time? I’ll cook.’

‘Maybe…that would be nice…I’ll call you.’

Would she? Lizzie wondered.

Lizzie could feel her frustration and disappointment transforming into anger. Maybe she’d be better off just getting on with everything on her own. Maybe Clare was right. Maybe this had all been a blessing in disguise.

chapter 19

D
ear Lizzie

Two simple words. But two words that seemed to take him to the edge of a precipice that he couldn’t quite bring himself to look over. And just because he’d started it didn’t mean he had to finish. He thought he knew what he wanted to say and then, on reflection, it was always the same: too distant, too clingy, too clichéd, too desperate. Just too…too bloody difficult.

Matt doodled on the bottom half of the page as he waited for it to get late enough for him leave the office. He was at one of life’s crossroads, only he seemed to have arrived there in a fuel crisis and every time he made a move in one direction something pulled him back. He loved Rachel like he loved
Star Wars
and Mars bars, but he was in love with Lizzie. But if she said that she didn’t love him, that she didn’t want him, then he had to deal with that.

He scrunched up his latest attempt at a letter and slam-dunked it into the wastepaper bin, where it started a second layer of paper balls. He was fed up with pretending he didn’t care. He cared more than he could bear to admit to himself.
Because if it mattered then he had a lot to lose. If he tried to make things work with Rachel he wasn’t being true to himself. If he went for Lizzie he might only be left with memories of them both. He leant forward and rested his forehead on the desk.

His head ached.

Life has more dimensions if you have oestrogen…

Lizzie was deep in this week’s column.

Women agonise over details that men haven’t even noticed and, while you can argue that it makes life more fulfilling, unfortunately it often makes things more complicated. The solution is simple enough. Teach yourself to sit back and enjoy the moment before it passes you by altogether. Stop beating yourself up. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.

Judging by the contents of my in-tray, you all want to know how to shake up your sex lives. You’re tired, you’re bored, and, most amusingly of all—from where I’m standing, at least—you all think I have the answers. But my relationship-saving tactic for today is a turn-off of the television variety. Ditch that remote. For starters, men by their own admission can only do one thing at a time. Secondly, take off your watch. How can you possibly be totally absorbed in the moment if you know exactly how many minutes there are to go until the ten o’clock news?

Sex isn’t something to fill the gap between the regional weather and
The West Wing.
It’s not best slotted into the half-hour before you go to sleep, or squeezed into your schedule before you shower in the morning. Enjoy, cherish, immerse and then lose yourself in the moment. We’ve all been found guilty in the past. Yes, we’ve all taken advantage of our ability to multi-skill and planned something else while on the job. Reminded ourselves to buy risotto rice when we are next in the supermarket, to pick up the jacket that has been languishing at the dry cleaners for weeks, to ask the man you are currently straddling whether he’d like to book tickets for the theatre, or whether he might be interested in accompanying you to the new exhibition at the Tate Modern which you have just read about in last week’s Sunday supplement.