Name & Address Withheld

by Jane Sigaloff

  ‘What I mean is that I wasn’t looking for you. I didn’t want to start a double life. But then we met and I knew. I don’t want you both. I just want you.’

  Lizzie wanted to fling her arms around him and tell him it would all work out, but this was not the time for her to suffer a moment of weakness. She’d indulged in one of those and look where it had got her. She went on the offensive.

  ‘Why do men do it? Apart from the ego thing, of course, and the fact that most men can be flattered into bed if the woman is pretty enough. Make that keen enough. The fact that your wife was trusting in you while you were in bed with me makes me feel like shit. And no one gave me a choice until it was too late.’

  ‘Believe me, Liz, I’ve suffered too.’

  ‘Sure you have. Must be really tough having to remember who it is you’re shagging.’

  Matt shook his head. He could see where she was coming from, but it wasn’t like that at all. He also knew that trying to tell her when she was in this sort of mood would be futile.

  ‘I’m trying to work a way out of this mess.’

  ‘You’re only saying that because now I’m telling you I’m no longer an option. Frankly, you might as well stay with Rachel. You’ve probably gone and put me on some sort of pedestal by now, and I’m probably no better than her in lots of ways. I’m just the forbidden fruit…’

  ‘You’re much better.’

  Lizzie was playing her role to perfection. A bit of her wished she wasn’t being quite so convincing, although it was good to know that she could remain articulate in the face of a crisis. Usually she came up with her best lines when she was relating events to a third party, a good couple of hours after the confrontation had finished.

  ‘Don’t kid yourself. Believe me, underneath my exciting mistress veneer I’m just the same. I have bad breath in the morning and armpit stubble. I can just choose to be at my moodiest when you’re at home or in the office. Mistresses aren’t nicer or better than wives, you just see them less. The whole concept is based on fantasy and it’s flawed.’

  ‘I thought we were worth fighting for. I thought things were going really well… I love you, Lizzie. I know you love me too. I want us to work, and so do you. I can feel it.’

  The words just hung in the air. He didn’t want to leave. She sat back in her chair and began an intense study of her cuticles. Well, that was how it appeared. She was actually concentrating on not crying. No wonder people ignored their principles when it suited them. Doing the right thing was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. The tension was unbearable. It was minutes before Matt broke the deadlock. His voice was calmer again.

  ‘You’re just saying that it’s over, Liz, you don’t mean it.’

  Lizzie took a deep breath.

  ‘I do mean it. We had fun. You were going through a bad patch, but it doesn’t matter how you dress it up—you’re married to and living with someone else. Someone that’s not me. I just think you owe it to yourself and to Rachel to give it your best shot. You can’t just walk away. Believe it or not, I’m the easy option.’

  Matt’s body was now hunched in defeat. ‘Is this what you really want?’

  Her heart was shouting No. No. No. No. No. Lizzie ignored it. It didn’t deserve a fair hearing. So far it had only got her into trouble. ‘Look, we had great sex. We had a laugh. But we’ve only known each other for a few months. It was just a fling. An affair.’

  ‘An affair to remember?’ Matt couldn’t resist finishing off the 1957 film title. He did it automatically and with no enthusiasm.

  Lizzie’s heart felt as if it was breaking, but she knew that this was damage limitation. She forced herself to think of the repercussions of another moment of weakness. She couldn’t lock herself away with Matt for ever. She had to get up every morning and face the world.

  Lizzie was silent as Matt finally got to his feet, numb in defeat. This wasn’t how he’d envisaged the end of this afternoon at all. In his version there was more smiling—laughter, even—promises, a future, kissing—yes, lots of kissing. He could feel himself shaking as he leant over and kissed her tenderly, breathing in slowly for a fix of her smell. She was motionless.

  ‘Take care, Lizzie…’ Just saying her name out loud made him want to cry. ‘I’m only leaving now because you’re telling me to, and because, most importantly, I want you to be happy, not because I want to go. And later, if you think you’ve made a mistake, you know where to find me. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I really believed we could get through this together. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Maybe I just don’t deserve you.’

  He turned and walked to the door. His eyes were wet with tears that Lizzie couldn’t see. He didn’t know where he was going. His feet were on automatic pilot. He was no longer aware of his surroundings.

  It was the worst moment of Lizzie’s life. What on earth did she want? An Academy Award? A Joan of Arc statuette for services to martyrdom? What if he had been it? What if he was ‘the one’? She knew that it was an old-fashioned concept, but deep down she was just an old-fashioned girl.

  chapter 18

  Mornings became afternoons and afternoons became evenings. The only consolation was she knew she wasn’t alone in her suffering. She only had to watch EastEnders to know that what she was going through would’ve been ten times worse if she’d lived in Albert Square.

  She shouldn’t have been so surprised—after all, she’d gone from born-again-virgin to mistress and back again in under three months. But why hadn’t she learned from previous mistakes? She’d known from an early age not to take things out of the oven without wearing oven gloves, she’d discovered to her cost that tapered trousers were never flattering, bitter experience had taught not to drink beer after champagne or wine, and yet she still hadn’t worked out how to avoid heartache.

  All this time on her own wasn’t helping. In the age of communication Clare was single-handedly resisting all Lizzie’s attempts to get in touch. Worse still, she’d been back to the flat, collected more stuff and hadn’t even left a note. Lizzie had apologised repeatedly, and couldn’t manage another morsel of humble pie, but in Clare’s eyes she’d betrayed the sisterhood and purgatory wasn’t over yet. But if Clare was stubbornly determined to take the side of a woman she’d never even met, let alone lived with, Lizzie knew she was better off on her own. Clare would calm down eventually. Her high horse always ran out of steam before the final fence.

  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.’<
br />
  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.