Name & Address Withheld

by Jane Sigaloff

  ‘I suggest you start at the beginning. I seem to have my dates all mixed up. Just remind me. When exactly did you sleep with my husband?’

  Lizzie wished she would stop saying ‘my husband’. It sounded a lot worse than just ‘Matt’, and despite her height advantage she was feeling smaller and smaller. In her own mind she had practically reached Mrs Pepperpot dimensions. She only hoped that Matt was using this time to get a taxi to the airport. She would much rather have had a chance to explain all this to him.

  Lizzie took a deep breath. ‘I first met Matt at the City FM Christmas party last year. We got chatting. That was all. I didn’t know he was married. He didn’t tell me. I didn’t ask. Nothing happened…that night anyway. We met up a couple of days later and then, what with him going skiing and everything, it all took off. At that point I hadn’t had your letter, and even if I had I wouldn’t have known that you two were linked in any way.’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘By the time I discovered that he was married, and married to you, I was in up to my neck—and, believe me, I did everything in my power to make things better again. I thought we could all move on and put it behind us. I should have known better. I wish that none of this had happened. I just want my old stress-free life back.’

  Lizzie’s voice sounded hollow. She was drained. It all sounded unconvincing now. Rachel had every reason to feel angry and hurt. Lizzie knew that. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d fallen in love with Matt, and what made it even worse was that she honestly had believed that he’d been in love with her too. But did she wish that she’d never met him? Even now that was a tricky one.

  Rachel was finding the line between fury, hysteria and tears incredibly fine. There was nothing she hated more than to be a made a fool of, and yet in a peculiar and irrational way, despite herself, she was jealous of Lizzie. Rachel knew her own control freak tendencies only too well, and it was true she did like to have the power to pull the strings, but Matt was hers. She’d always believed that he was hers unconditionally, and that as bad as things got he loved her enough to stand by her. She’d thought that even at her worst she’d made him happy. Apparently not. And instead of finding a clone replacement he’d gone for the archetypal leggy blonde. Jesus. She wasn’t about to give up on him. She might have been betrayed by the two people she’d trusted above all others, but she wasn’t about to let either of them get off lightly. No one fucked up Rachel Baker’s perfect life plan without asking first.

  Lizzie sensed Rachel’s distress and, oblivious to the depth of her anger, allowed her professional persona to take over for a second. ‘Look, Matt and I weren’t together when things between you two started picking up. He’d obviously hit rock bottom when we met and he used me. I was an unwitting accomplice. But you two are back on track now. You told me that yourself.’

  Lizzie knew that this would offer little consolation to a woman who’d been paranoid about infidelity since her childhood, but she had to try everything. It was her turn to be selfish. She could see the tabloids now. They’d have a field-day. And her job was all she had left. Lizzie swore to herself that she would never have sex again, ever, if she got out of this party alive. She’d always wanted to travel. Maybe this was the perfect time for her to buy a herd of sheep, embrace a nomadic lifestyle and go and find herself—or better still lose herself—on the mountainsides of Peru.

  Rachel had finally come to the end of this phase of her attack, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do next. She needed some time to plan her next move and she had to get out of the Ladies’. ‘This isn’t over yet. Once I’ve got the sordid details out of that low-life of a man I was once proud to call my husband, I’ll decide what to do next. I don’t need him. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.’ Rachel gathered her last ounce of composure and stormed out of the toilets and out of the launch.

  Lizzie really had to hand it to Rachel. It was quite an exit. She bundled herself into the nearest stall where she could at least lock a door and lick her wounds in semi-private while trying to compose herself sufficiently to re-enter the arena. She shuddered as she recapped the last hour. She only hoped that their exchange hadn’t been audible in the main party area.

  Lizzie remained in hiding until she’d heard a few flushes and a corresponding number of hand-washing and drying noises before making the unilateral decision that she couldn’t spend the rest of the evening in hiding.

  She’d almost convinced herself that the crowd were going to part before her like the Red Sea as everyone stopped to catch a glimpse of tomorrow’s news headlines, but to Lizzie’s relief the DJs were now in full swing and she made it to the exit unscathed and unhindered, her publicity smile plastered somewhat unconvincingly across her face.

  Melissa Matthews would just have to wait.

  Lizzie barely breathed on her taxi ride home, much to the annoyance of her cab driver who was trying to get as much information and advice as possible out of his semi-celebrity passenger. She stuck with the gruff lip-biting approach all the way to SW15, before giving the bloke a generous tip and flashing him her best I’m-having-the-worst-day-of-my-life-but-know-I-can’t-afford-to-be-moody smile, hoping that he wouldn’t tell all his future passengers that Lizzie Ford was ‘a right moody cow—all compassion on the radio, but very rude when I drove her home’. She knew never to underestimate the power of a black cabbie—so much more than just a ride home, and worth their weight in leather interiors and word-of-mouth publicity.

  Back in the empty flat, she grabbed a couple of bottles from the drinks cabinet and made it to her bedroom before breaking down uncontrollably. Every time she closed her eyes she could see career-ending newspaper headlines projected onto the inside of her eyelids. How could she have risked everything she had worked so hard for, for a man? And, even more of a concern, why, right now, when her world was hanging in the balance, the Sword of Damocles swinging gently above her head, was she wondering if he was OK?

  She had to speak to someone—but her mother would need the whole back story, Colin would be too flippant, He would be at home with Her, and the only other person she really wanted to talk to wasn’t really speaking to her. She dialled Clare’s mobile anyway, and when it clicked on to answer-phone—as she had known it would—she left the most pathetic message she’d ever left before hanging up and wallowing in a new wave of self-pity which rolled in over the duvet as she sobbed herself to sleep.

  For the second time in six months her life had fallen apart. Only this time there was no saving grace. Rachel was determined for revenge and there was only Lizzie’s job left to take. And Lizzie had just handed her the perfect story on a plate.

  chapter 21

  Clare listened to Lizzie’s message once more in the cab before dialling the flat again. There was still no answer. It didn’t make sense. Lizzie had to be there. Maybe she’d unplugged the phone? Clare smiled to herself. Lizzie was about as likely to have unplugged the phone as she was to eat an apple if there was a biscuit in the house. If you wanted to torture her all you had to do was prevent her from answering a ringing phone. But the mystery remained unsolved. Where was she now?

  Clare wished she was a bit more up to date. From what she could make out from Lizzie’s almost unintelligibly slurred message, she thought she was going to lose everything. Clare wasn’t sure how literally to take it. There could be a pinch of drama queen in there, but as a rule she’d never been that good an actress—and even allowing for the distortion of her mobile phone Lizzie sounded terrible.

  As angry, bitter and disappointed as Clare had been when the whole Matt saga had unfolded, Lizzie was her best friend in the whole world, and at the end of the day she did want Lizzie to be happy—just preferably not at the expense of an innocent party. But maybe she should’ve done more sitting and listening. She’d been meaning to call for a couple of weeks, but work and pride just kept getting in the way. Clare was sure that if she couldn’t quite forgive she would learn to forget. Friends like Lizzie were hard to find, and in a les
s than perfect world maybe Clare had expected too much.

  Lizzie wasn’t to blame because her own husband had failed to keep it in his trousers, but she still found it hard to distance herself from the hurt she’d felt when Joe had cheated. She’d loved him with every molecule, and had happily been planning their soft-focus future when he’d stopped her life in its tracks, and, while she’d rebuilt her self-worth, it would always be something that she’d take personally. When your partner slept with someone else there was no other way to take it.

  It was 11.25 p.m. when Clare finally let herself in. All the lights were on, but there was no sign of life. On closer inspection, the pile of clothes on Lizzie’s bed was person-shaped. Still dressed, she had assumed the crumpled heap position, face down, her duvet half-on, half-on the floor, her mascara half on her eyes, half on her cheeks. An empty bottle of gin was at her side, adjacent to an empty bottle of tonic. Clare looked down affectionately at her best friend. Even at rock bottom she hadn’t been able to swig neat alcohol. She had, though, it appeared, stopped short of a slice of lemon and a glass.

  Clare undressed her totally comatose flatmate and put her in the recovery position before going to get a few cushions from the sofa and setting up a nursing station at the end of the bed. She had no idea that things had reached the drinking-in-your-bedroom-until-you-pass-out stage. She checked Lizzie’s CD player. Just as she’d thought. Travis were in situ. She must have been up to her waist in heartache as she’d lost consciousness.

  Lizzie woke up to find herself naked and someone asleep on the floor at the end of her bed. She didn’t remember even getting into bed. Using her arms, she hauled herself to the edge of the bed and let her head hang down. She just stared at the sleeping face for a few seconds as the blood rushed to her brain, and put her arm out to touch her just in case she was hallucinating. It was Clare. Asleep. In her room. In their flat. A series of tears relubricated the rivers of eye make-up that had dried overnight. Clare was home. Lizzie almost managed a smile before her body reminded her why it had seen fit to rouse her from her coma a few minutes earlier. She stumbled to the bathroom where she was violently and repeatedly sick. Her nurse slept on.

  chapter 22

  According to her watch it had just gone 8:00 a.m. but for a split second when Clare woke up she had no idea where she was. Sitting up, she reeled as the beams of daylight highlighted the picture of devastation all around her. The air in the room was probably forty per cent proof, but after breathing gin and goodness knows what else all over them Lizzie had obviously gone in search of fresh air. As Clare subjected her lungs to another intake of stale, stuffy room, with just a hint of ethanol, and observed the clothing debris draped over every available chair and bedknob, she could understand why.

  ‘Coming up after the break, we talk to women who just can’t say no….’

  ‘…the trouble with the children in the area is that they have no respect for anyone but themselves…’

  ‘…just add the rest of the ingredients and stir gently…’

  ‘A new survey published this morning reveals that Britain now has the highest divorce rate in Europe. We ask: is divorce too easy? Should we work harder at our marriages? Or is staying together for better or for worse an outdated concept?’

  ‘Who’s on line four? Angela, good morning to you. Where are you calling from?’

  Clare stood in the doorway to the sitting room. Lizzie, clad in tracksuit bottoms and favourite hooded sweatshirt, was perched on the sofa. Her hood was on. She was hiding. Blinkered from the rest of the world, she had failed to notice Clare watching her. Lizzie was almost a woman possessed, doggedly flicking from channel to channel, following the morning’s stories as they unfolded. She’d obviously been up early and out already as the day’s papers were strewn all around her and a now empty bottle of chocolate milk had been discarded on the coffee table. Clare wasn’t at all sure what she was looking for. She needed to do some catching up—and fast.

  Clare went to make tea before returning to the newsroom. This time she announced her arrival, and as she sat down Lizzie relinquished the remote control, grabbing hold of Clare instead and hugging her.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming over. I’ve missed you so much. I know I’ve been stupid. Naïve. Selfish. Whatever. I didn’t mean for all this to happen.’

  ‘Hey, it’s OK.’

  Clare felt awful for having left Lizzie to stew for so long. She’d always had a dogmatically stubborn streak. In that respect she was an archetypal Taurus.

  She held Lizzie close.

  ‘Everything will be fine.’

  Lizzie shook her head numbly. Her eyes lacked their usual vitality. Her body language was negative. She slumped back into the sofa. Tired, drawn and dejected.

  ‘I’m not so sure. I think I’ve really blown it this time.’

  Lizzie recounted the evening to Clare, who did her best to keep positive until she had all the information at her disposal. In a nutshell it sounded as if Lizzie had innocently gone to meet someone about a job, bumped into someone else and pretty much succeeded in losing her career in the process.

  ‘And so you bought all the papers because you thought they might be running a story on you this morning?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Clare raised an eyebrow at Lizzie.

  ‘Look, you didn’t see Rachel last night. She wants my blood and she’s the sort of woman who gets exactly what she wants.’

  ‘I felt like that once. And I hate to say it but it doesn’t get a lot easier.’

  ‘Thanks, I feel heaps better now.’ Lizzie tried to give her a wry smile, but she suspected it looked more like trapped wind. ‘Look, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, and I know I’m biased, but I’ve thought about this a lot and I honestly think your situation with Joe was completely different. It’s just that when I saw Rachel and Matt together they didn’t look that happy. And I don’t think she really loves him. Not the right way. Not as much as he deserves.’

  ‘Liz. Please. You have no idea what goes on between those two behind closed doors. For all you know they had a row about toothpaste lids that morning. Just because they weren’t all over each other doesn’t mean that their marriage is back on the rocks. I know you don’t want to think about it but they could be having great sex right now.’

  Lizzie felt shaky. She knew Clare had to be honest, that was what friends were for and all that stuff, but maybe just not quite this blunt. Lizzie refused to be drawn by Clare’s logic. She didn’t know Matt—or Rachel, for that matter. Common sense was one thing, but it didn’t apply to every situation. Otherwise everyone would always know what to do and what to expect.

  ‘But you haven’t met Rachel. She’s totally focused. I admit I thought she was great at first—but by the end of the night she was intimidating me. I just think Matt needs something more.’

  ‘Something more…like you, perhaps? Don’t forget, you lied to him too. Matt had no idea that you knew about their marital problems from her point of view. He didn’t know you and Rachel were pen friends and I’m sure you’re not the only one feeling lousy right now. Being lied to hurts…you learnt that from him in February.’

  Lizzie wasn’t really listening. She knew Clare had a point, but she didn’t want to face up to yet more of her failings. All she really wanted was a bit of sympathy and someone to tell her that everything would work out. Suddenly she was exhausted and shivering. She pottered off to the kitchen in search of painkillers and carbohydrate.

  ‘Poor guy.’ She had meant to think it. Unfortunately it slipped out and Clare was right behind her to catch it.

  ‘Hmm. Look, Liz, I don’t want to be brutal but right now we can assume that Matt is at home, with Rachel. The one thing we can be sure of is that he’s not here consoling you. Now, I know that you need to justify your relationship with Matt to yourself and to me, and you keep telling me that their marriage was as good as over when you started seeing each other, but—as you of all people should know—that “married
in name only” line is a pretty standard pick-up line for an adulterer. I’m just surprised you fell for it.’

  ‘I know all that—but, Clare, you know that feeling you get when someone cares about you? We were both so happy in each other’s company. It was—well, looking back, it couldn’t have been, but for a few weeks everything seemed perfect.’

  ‘Because he was lying to you…’

  Clare was bowled over by the feelings that Lizzie still had for Matt. Only now did she realise how deeply Lizzie had come to care for him over the last few months. But she’d been brave, she’d done the right thing in ending it, and now she had to stand by her decision and move on. Boy, Lizzie knew how to pick them. She was obviously still in love with Matt. Yet again she seemed to have chosen to invest her emotions in someone who, when the crunch came, didn’t choose to love her back.

  ‘Listen, Liz, hard as it may seem, you really need to try and forget all about Matt. Stop being a true heart-following romantic just for a minute or two. Right now you need to concentrate on keeping your job and your credibility.’

  ‘But how?’

  Clare had to admit to herself that at this precise moment she wasn’t sure, but she refused to admit defeat so early on in the day. There must be some options available to Lizzie even if she hadn’t worked out what they were yet. It was all about being rational—although, even in the sober light of day, Clare had to admit that there was currently more drama in Lizzie’s life than there had been on television since Christmas. She followed her back to the sofa with a fresh mug of tea and a sponge finger—the nearest thing she could find to breakfast in the cupboard. ‘Just give me a second. I’m thinking. You’re the person who does advice for a living. And to be honest I’m a bit behind and slightly confused about who knew what about who when.’