Name & Address Withheld (34 page)

‘But she’s toying with me. What if I run into Matt at work and she finds out? Does that count? I can’t control what he does, and I don’t want to live my life on a knife-edge. I think I’d honestly rather work in a bar and not feel threatened.’

Clare loved Lizzie, but right now she could happily have slapped her. Talk about ungrateful. Here it was, a second chance on a plate, and she was talking about pulling pints for a living. ‘Don’t be stupid, Liz. You love your job and…you’re bloody good at it. If I were you I wouldn’t ask too many questions.’

‘Well, that’s where we differ, then. I’ve done enough treading on eggshells over the last few months to last me a lifetime. I don’t want to be stitched up a few months down the line when I least expect it because she’s still pulling the strings. I’d better give her a call. At least if I talk to her I can gauge how she sounds. I mean, anyone could have written this from her desk.’

‘Anyone? Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. I doubt she’s told too many people. Honestly, do you have a conspiracy theory for everything?’

‘Apparently so.’

‘You’re mad. Who else could have written that message? Who else knows anything about your ultimatum?’

Lizzie had to agree that Clare was making sense. As usual.

It made less sense at 1:30 a.m. when Lizzie finished her column. And less sense still at four-fifteen, when Lizzie was still trying to find a comfortable enough position to go to sleep in. By nine-thirty Lizzie was pacing up and down the sitting room with the phone in her hand. By nine-forty Clare had talked her
out of calling. At ten-seventeen Clare had left the house and the line was ringing.

‘Good morning—CDH. How can I help you?’

‘Rachel Baker, please.’

‘Just one moment, please. Who should I say is calling?’

‘Lizzie Ford.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Hello…’

Lizzie was fired up and didn’t want to waste a moment.

‘Hello, Rachel, it’s Lizzie. Listen—’

‘…this is Rachel Baker’s phone. I’m sorry I can’t take your call at the moment. I’m either on the other line or away from my desk. If you leave your name and number after the tone I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Alternatively dial 455 now, to speak to Kitty my secretary. Thank you.’
Beeeeeep.

Shit. Voicemail. Should she leave a message? So far she hadn’t said a word. Her overriding urge was to hang up, but she forced herself to go through with it. Eventually Lizzie found a voice. It wasn’t her normal one, but it would just have to make do for now.

‘Rachel. It’s Lizzie Ford on Wednesday morning. I’ll try you later. Thanks.’

Thanks?
Thanks?
For what, exactly? For being married to a man that Lizzie had loved so much it hurt? For threatening to end her career and causing her to have a five-day stomach upset? For the outbreak of acne that had recently graced her shoulders…in her thirties? Yes, ‘thanks’ was patently what it was all about, and pretty much the opposite of what she’d really wanted to say.

Now what? Lizzie hung around for about an hour before calling back. This time the ‘hello’ was really Rachel’s voice.

‘Rachel, it’s Lizzie.’ Time to be brave. She stood up straight. ‘Have you got a minute for a quick word?’

‘Sure. Hang on a second….’

Lizzie heard her get up and the click of a door. She was baffled. Rachel’s tone was—well, it wasn’t exactly friendly, but it was certainly civil.

‘Did you get my e-mail?’

‘Yes. Thanks. It’s why I’m calling, actually.’

Nothing from Rachel.

Lizzie continued. ‘What are you up to?’

‘What do you mean?’ Rachel said it in as charitable a spirit as she could muster.

‘It just seems a bit of U-turn, I suppose. How do I know you won’t change your mind again? And probably when I least expect it.’

‘Look—’ Far too snappy. Rachel took a deep breath and started again, a little more softly. She just couldn’t help it. Being all there-there didn’t come naturally to her. ‘I’ve done a lot of thinking. I’m not saying that you weren’t at fault, but I suppose that, while I hate to admit it, if things had been great between us Matthew wouldn’t have been wandering the streets looking for someone else to sleep with…’

God, Rachel had a way with words.
Wandering the streets.
Thanks to her, Lizzie currently felt worth all of fifty pence. So much for love and romance, thunderbolts and mutual attraction. Lizzie thought back to her time with Matt to remind herself that she wasn’t actually an easy lay for unhappy men. Rachel, on the other hand, was still going strong.

‘In a way I suppose I know that I should be relieved that he picked you to shag…’

Shag. Never a nice verb.

‘…rather than some brainless bimbo who wouldn’t have sent him home again.’

Was Rachel being nice or not? Overall, Lizzie suspected that she was, and she hadn’t mentioned tabloid newspapers once—which was a definite turn-up for the books. Plus, there was almost a compliment in there. At least she didn’t perceive Lizzie as a brainless bimbo, which had to count for something.

‘Listen. You’re good at your job. Everyone makes mistakes, and I suppose I thought that maybe you deserved another chance.’ Rachel was doing everything she could to sound as if she meant it. She was still irritated that she wasn’t going to be able to finish Lizzie off, but thanks to her interfering flatmate the stakes were just too high.

‘Thanks.’ Lizzie was doing it again. Rachel was insulting
her and she was saying thank you. Years of minding her p’s and q’s at school had taken their toll. She’d been brainwashed by the manners police.

‘Just stay away from Matt. I really think we have a chance at making things work together.’

‘Of course.’ The words stuck in Lizzie’s throat. She knew it was the least that she could and should do. And, unsurprisingly, she’d lost all interest in having recreational sex. Especially when it involved shagging men who were wandering the streets.

‘Look, I’ve got to go’

‘Right.’

‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’ Civil, but strained. Lizzie was confused. Rachel’s new approach was disconcerting to say the least.

The flat was quiet. As Lizzie returned the phone to its charger, the clock on the video saw fit to remind her that in the real world it was 11:45 and counting.

Hot and sweaty, she delivered her column to Susan’s office with only seconds to spare, before stopping at Bridget’s desk to book herself in for a lunch with her editor. Next stop, City FM. It was a tactical move. Time to re-kindle her enthusiasm with the team—just in case they were starting to think that she was on the verge of self-important celebrity disdain for the production process. How better to win them over than taking them out for a coffee-and-cake-fuelled production meeting the day before their next show? If work was all she had for now, Lizzie was going to make damn sure she enjoyed it.

chapter 26

‘G
reat show tonight.’

‘Thanks. You were right. I couldn’t have just given it all up overnight.’

‘I still don’t know how you do it. I couldn’t think of anything remotely positive to say to most of the people that ring in…but I guess that’s why I run a restaurant and not a helpline. I think I’d want to give most of them a slap and tell them to stop whining about everything. No one said life was a fucking fairytale.’

Lizzie helped herself to a bit more food while Clare finished her familiar rant. On a post-show high, and full to the brim with euphoria but nothing of any calorific value, she’d made the mistake of ordering a takeaway and was currently working her way through a second plateful. Clare had managed to resist the first round, but now had a large slab of peshwari naan in her hand which was making Lizzie feel a lot better about her own gluttony. With Clare keeping her company the whole feeding frenzy seemed a little bit less like a binge.

‘I’m starting to feel like myself again.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly got your appetite back… Agony aunts are supposed to be rotund and motherly, aren’t they?”

‘Not in their early thirties…’

Clare got an impressively clear view of half-chewed lamb pasanda and sag aloo as Lizzie forgot her manners and combined talking with shovelling another forkful of colourful food into her mouth. She was mid-feeding frenzy and not going to let a little thing like aesthetics get in her way.

‘Well, for some totally unfair and inexplicable metabolic reason you seem to get away with eating this late at night. I only have to look at a biscuit after 10:00 p.m. and I might as well apply it directly to my abdominal area.’

‘I do prefer it when you’re here to look after me when I get home. I can’t believe it’s only just over a week since you packed me off to Mum’s; it feels like ages since Rachel was standing here reading me her version of the Riot Act…’

Clare nodded. It had been quite a week. She decided to ignore Lizzie’s lack of table—well, sofa—manners, and the graphic washing machine window display of mastication, and began leafing through one of last Sunday’s newspaper supplements which had taken up residence on the sofa. She didn’t look up when Lizzie started speaking. From the sound of it, the coast wasn’t quite clear yet.

‘It’s funny, though. While the whole showdown scenario was horrific, now that Rachel knows I feel like a huge weight has been lifted. For the first time this year I’m no longer part of some intricate web of deceit—not that I knew what I was getting myself into at the start. One minute I was dating Matt and the next minute, boom, in trouble up to my earlobes and no failsafe escape route.’

Lizzie poured more red wine into Clare’s empty glass and to her delight could see that her friend was succumbing rapidly to the powers of Chilean Merlot. She deserved it. Clare needed to relax. The washing was done, the ironing basket was empty, and today there were more beautiful flowers on the kitchen table. She’d been making a huge effort and it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Lizzie had a confession to make. In light of the last few
months of her life she had decided to live a secret-free existence—as far as Clare was concerned, at any rate. ‘I spoke to Rachel yesterday.’

Everything stopped. Clare’s mouthful stuck in her throat and she gulped at her wine. Her stomach knotted in anticipation. ‘Did you call her?’

Lizzie nodded. ‘Yup.’

Clare shook her head. She hadn’t meant to but the Merlot must have loosened the joints in her neck.

‘I know—I know you told me not to, but I had to after that e-mail. It didn’t really make sense to me. It still doesn’t.’

‘What did she say?’

Clare was genuinely interested. Lizzie didn’t seem to be cross with her, so Rachel had obviously been discreet. Clare focused on every word that Lizzie said in the hope that she would remember it later for further analysis. She hated the effect alcohol had on her memory when she was trying to concentrate.

‘Oh, something about her accepting a minuscule amount of responsibility for driving Matt into someone else’s arms, hence my reprieve. The trouble is I’m not sure that I trust her. I mean, what if she changes her mind again?’

‘Maybe she’s just calmed down a bit?’ Clare started to relax again. She knew it wasn’t in Rachel’s interest to mention her to Lizzie, but it had been a worry.

‘Maybe…’

Lizzie didn’t sound convinced.

‘Anyway, I’ve arranged to see Susan. She owes me a lunch and my contract’s nearly up. The more I think about it, the more I think I might just hand in my notice. Even if Rachel’s feeling charitable at the moment, the scandal’s bound to catch up with me sooner or later, and to be honest I don’t think I’m the right sort of person to deal with that sort of notoriety. I’m not interested in being a tabloid headline, or a Trivial Pursuit answer of the future. Maybe this is a chance for me to try something new?’

Lizzie was trying to sound as optimistic as she could. Every time she said it to herself it sounded like a better idea. Far more
attractive than living on a knife-edge. She wanted to try and retain some element of control.

Clare was shocked. Not least because it actually sounded as if Lizzie had really thought about this. ‘Don’t do anything rash, Liz. Look at how much has changed over the last week. Now the ultimatum has been lifted there’s no hurry.’

‘I had nothing else to think about when I was at home. I could probably move into another area of writing or broadcasting…I don’t want to leave the industry altogether…but at the moment part of this second chance thing is linked to me never seeing Matt again. Obviously in the light of everything that’s happened I’m not about to give him a call.’ She had been so close in the last couple of days. So close. ‘But what if he gets in touch with me? Just say…’

Clare was horrified. Lizzie could tell. But at least she was being honest now, and not just saying what she knew Clare wanted to hear.

‘I’m just saying, what if…? You know…hypothetically speaking.’

‘What? Change your career in case Matt deigns to give you a call some time?’ Clare snapped. She knew she shouldn’t but she couldn’t help it.

‘Thanks. I knew I could count on your support…’

Clare had promised herself that she’d try and be more understanding, yet here she was once again dismissing Lizzie’s point of view out of hand.

‘I know you think I’m being ridiculous, but humour me. What if…? Well, hypothetically just say—I know it probably won’t happen…but if it did…’ Lizzie was sputtering as she tried to find a way to keep Clare on side. She took a deep breath and just went for it. ‘OK. Just say that he leaves Rachel of his own accord and then looks me up when I’ve got my life just about back on an even keel, and this whole scandal is still just waiting to be wheeled out and ruin everything. Think how much more bitter she’d be then, if he’d actually left her for me.’

‘Hello…? Hello…?’ Clare was pretending to knock on Lizzie’s forehead. ‘Hello? Is that Lizzie Ford? Where are your pink slippers? You’re sounding a bit like the late Barbara Cart
land… Right, no more schmaltzy romantic comedies for you. From now on you watch the
Alien
movies, Westerns and that’s it. Honestly. What if he leaves Rachel? He’s hardly been round here checking you’re OK so far… And, conniving as she is, we can assume that she hasn’t tied him up and left him for dead in a cellar somewhere. Where is he? With her. Where he should be.’