Your Roots Are Showing (9 page)

“God, Tessa, if only you knew how much.”

“Well, then! You’ve got to get off your backside and do something! I’ve already mentioned I think you might be depressed. I mean, clinically depressed, not just sad. I think you should consider getting some counseling.”

Lizzie was shaking her head in disbelief. “Tessa, talking to some stranger is never going to work. Not for me. It’s sort of — creepy and weird. And — you know, not very loyal to James.”

Tessa pursed her lips. “Okay, okay. But did you read the research I brought you? Lack of libido is a common symptom of depression. Plus — I think you’re showing other symptoms too.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows and bit viciously into a biscuit. “Such as?” she asked with her mouth full.

“Such as — erm, well, you must admit you’re not quite as much — in control as you used to be. I mean, in control of yourself, your life. I mean, look at you. Look at your clothes, for heaven’s sake. You must have grabbed those out of the laundry basket. And your hair. When did you last wash it?”

Lizzie felt her blood pressure beginning to rise. How dare Tessa go on about her clothes and her hair? At a time like this? When her husband had just left her and was possibly beginning to date other women? If this was her idea of being supportive, well, she could go and — and flipping well suck eggs.

“For your information, I just read a magazine article that said you should leave your hair unwashed for about ten days every now and then in order to restore the natural oils.”

“So this greasy look, it’s actually a beauty treatment?”

“That’s right.”

“What about your roots, then? Do you realize they’re showing? And all these years I thought you were a natural blonde.”

Lizzie glared at her. “It’s — it’s all part of the repair process,” she improvised. “I’m going to grow it out for a bit. On purpose. Nonstop chemical treatments take their toll on the health of your hair, didn’t you know?”

For a moment, Tessa was at a loss. Then she began a new attack from another direction entirely.

“What about your weight, then? Is that a beauty treatment too? It’s feasible, I suppose. The French always say you have to choose between your face and your figure when you reach a certain age.”

“Excuse me?”

Tessa blushed and looked away. Then she took a deep breath and said clearly, “Your
weight
. You must have put on a couple of stone at least since Ealing Broadway days. I mean, you’ve never been the skinny type, but I bet you’ve had to buy a whole new wardrobe of, you know,
fat clothes
.”

Lizzie felt the blood rushing to her head, whether in humiliation or rage she hardly knew. How
dare
Tessa bring up the “W” word so brazenly? And what woman in her right
mind
uttered the “F” word in front of her best friend, in direct reference to said best friend?

She couldn’t have been more gob-smacked if Tessa had suddenly hit her in the face with a dead fish.

Tessa at least had the grace to look acutely uncomfortable. Obsessively combing out the tassels of one of Lizzie’s new cushions, and refusing to meet Lizzie’s blazing eyes, she staggered on: “Look, Lizzie, this is my take on the whole thing. You had the twins, you got the baby blues, and somehow or other they never went away. Remember how exhausted you were when the little horrors were born, bless their hearts? You used to boast that you never got more than two hours of sleep in a row. And anybody could tell it wasn’t
idle
boasting — you looked like death warmed up.”

Lizzie opened her mouth, but Tessa, all recovered from any initial sense of delicacy, held up an imperative hand for silence and steamrolled on.

“I don’t think staying home suited you, either. I think you were bored as well as chronically sleep deprived. Somewhere along the line you stopped watching your diet. I’m guessing you just didn’t have the energy to continue the crusade. I mean, you always used to say you could put on five pounds overnight just by sucking up the smell of a bag of fish and chips. And look at you now; you’ve just
devoured
five chocolate biscuits!”

Her tone of voice wouldn’t have been inappropriate if she’d been accusing Lizzie of snorting up five lines of cocaine.

“Well, for God’s sake, woman, I’ve just lost my husband. Do you expect me to be
dieting
?”

Again, Tessa held up the imperative hand.

“You’re misery-eating, but I don’t think you’ve just started since James swanned out.”

“He didn’t really
swan
out. It was more of a shuffle, what with that heavy suitcase and his golf clubs.”

But there was no stopping Tessa in full flow. “My guess is you’ve been doing it since the twins were born. Misery-eating, I mean. I’ve been trying to screw up my courage to talk to you about your weight for, hmm, at least three years. So, I’m thinking that the, erm, well, the weight gain may also have affected things in the bedroom. Made you feel less — you know, interested.”

Lizzie simply stared at Tessa, speechless.

“Say something, Lizzie. You’re making me feel weird, just gaping at me like that.”

“That’s because you are weird. What kind of person goes around making up stories like that about their friends?”

“I’m not making up stories. Am I? Isn’t it all true?”

“Well, for your information, I have
not
put on two stone. One and a half, that’s all. Well, maybe one and three quarters. And it’s just my pregnancy weight, that’s all. Everyone knows it’s really hard to get rid of pregnancy weight. Plus, I had
twins
.”

“Okay, so I got a few details wrong. But I’m right, on the whole . . . aren’t I?”

Lizzie knew she was spot-on, but she couldn’t help feeling betrayed.

“You’ve never had a baby, Tessa. You have absolutely no clue what you’re talking about. So just shut up about it, okay?”

“Ouch. That was below the belt. No, I haven’t had a baby, but that’s not through want of trying, as you ruddy well know. I’ll forgive you because I know you’re just lashing out without thinking.”

“I’m lashing out?
I’m
lashing out?”

“Yes, you are, and no, I’m not. As I said, I’ve been thinking about all this stuff a lot, and I just think someone has to talk to you and, sort of, set you back on the right path.”

“And you’re the one qualified to do that? You, the Boyfriend Snatcher of Ealing Broadway?”

“Angus wasn’t even your boyfriend and you didn’t even want him. Don’t throw that in my face at this stage.”

All of a sudden, Tessa was starting to look vulnerable, even tearful. Lizzie knew she’d been wrong to mention Tessa’s fertility problems. She knew it was a sensitive issue. But then, Tessa ought to have known that Lizzie’s weight was a
super
sensitive issue.

Still, she felt herself weakening.

“Okay, so what if you’re right? What if I am fat and depressed and that’s why my marriage failed? What then?”

Tessa wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and then gave a deep sigh. “Good girl,” she breathed, “good girl. Now that you’re not in denial anymore I can show you some stuff I’ve brought for you.”

Lizzie gave a snort of incredulous laughter. “Denial?
Denial?
”

“Oh, Christ, Liz, don’t start all that again. All the righteous huffing and puffing and whatnot. Just hold on a moment, I have to run out and get something from the car.”

While Tessa was out, Lizzie took the opportunity to wolf down another couple of biscuits. She was brushing crumbs off the sides of her mouth surreptitiously when Tessa came back lugging a bulging black hold-all.

“That Bruno chap is gone,” Tessa remarked, setting the heavy bag down on the floor beside the coffee table.

Lizzie sat up in her chair, eyeing the bag. This was beginning to get interesting. She wondered if Tessa had brought in some control panties or even corsets to rein in Lizzie’s superfluity of flesh.

But no, Tessa began to unpack bottles and jars of what looked like vitamins or food supplements. Was it possible she had access to some experimental dieting drugs that would cause Lizzie’s excess weight to melt away miraculously?

Tessa spent some time lining up her bottles. Then she sat back and, assuming the earnest expression of a Tupperware party hostess, began what sounded like a rehearsed speech.

“Now Lizzie, I know you’ve never really had that much faith in alternative medicine, but I hope you’ll have a little faith in my judgment, since drugs are my business. What I’ve got here is a lineup of all the alternative stuff that is supposed to have some effect on mood. So I’ve got SAM-E, that’s for depression, St. John’s Wort, ditto, DHEA, that’s for vim and vigor, ginseng, that’s for energy, and a new one, codonopsis, that’s supposed to work just about as well as ginseng, and improve your memory too.”

“What’s the matter with my memory, for God’s sake?”

“Nothing. Only of course you did forget my birthday last year. If your memory is beefed up that’ll be a bonus, but what we’re really aiming at is lifting your mood and improving your energy levels. I’ve also included an iron supplement because for all we know you may be anemic.”

Lizzie picked up a couple of the bottles and glanced at the labels. “I have enough energy to do what I need to do,” she muttered, studying the blurb about ginseng.

“Right, but do you have enough energy to run around the block?”

Lizzie frowned. “Of course I don’t have enough energy to run around the block. Who does? Only complete nutters like you, that’s who. The rest of us are quite pushed enough just getting on with our daily lives. And by the way, I read somewhere that too much aerobic exercise can have a negative effect on fertility.”

“You’re probably thinking of what cycling can do to a man’s sperm production,” Tessa riposted.

Lizzie frowned, trying to remember the magazine article she’d read recently while waiting to show Ellie’s tonsils to the doctor. “I’m sure they said something about jogging and a woman’s ovaries. Anyway, you’d be well advised to do some research into it.” If Tessa was going to persist in a vicious and totally unprovoked attack on a taboo subject, then Lizzie was going to fire off some slings and arrows too.

“Good thing we don’t have to worry about your ovaries.”

“
What
?”

Tessa grabbed her hands and squeezed them tight.

“Look, Lizzie,” she said urgently, “everyone knows that exercise is one of the best treatments for depression. Gets all those endorphins pumping through the system. So . . . so . . . well, to cut to the chase . . . how about running the London Marathon with me?”

Chapter Five

L
izzie laughed in Tessa’s face. Nobody mentioned marathons and Lizzie Buckley in the same breath.

“We both know I can’t run the London Marathon, idiot,” she said fondly. “Besides, it’s over already, isn’t it?” She was quite well acquainted with the London Marathon. She’d stood on the sidelines trying to catch a glimpse of Tessa among the throngs when Tessa had run the thing years ago.

“Yes, it’s over for this year. But the thing is, I’ve decided to run
next
year. My thinking is that if I’m obsessively training for a marathon that I’ve got my heart set on running, then I’m bound to fall pregnant.”

Lizzie nodded sagely. “Ah, using reverse psychology on Fate.”

This was an old ploy of theirs. If you desperately wanted some man to ring you, you had to go out all day and not even
think
about the phone. If you wanted to meet a new man, you had to vow you were sick of men and stay right away from the places they congregated, like pubs, all-night carry-out restaurants, and television sets.

(Thank God those days were over, Lizzie thought. All that dicing with Fate had been so debilitating. Now that she was a married woman . . . Hang on. Okay, maybe she wasn’t quite a married woman anymore, but she was definitely not playing those games ever again. And no, Fate, that was
not
an attempt at reverse psychology.)

“Right,” said Tessa. “Thank goodness somebody understands. Greg reckons you can’t play mind games with Fate. I had to reframe the whole thing and call it Murphy’s Law before he’d go along with it. So I’ve given up on the baby thing and now it’s all about the marathon. I’m going to start training this weekend — just some road work to get me back on track. Maybe a 5K race here or there. I’m really out of shape — sex just isn’t the workout they say it is. But it’s okay because my training partner” — arch smile — “is definitely even more out of shape than I am.”

Lizzie stood up and began backing away into the kitchen. “Steady on, Tessa. I’ve already told you no.”

“Glad we’re on the same page, Liz. Come on, I know you’re up for it.”

“You’re out of your tiny mind.” Lizzie was pleased with the assertive ring in her voice. But she was distinctly uneasy. Tessa was a
force majeur
. You couldn’t discount any of her crack-brained ideas.

Tessa held up a piece of paper from the hold-all. “This is our first challenge,” she said. “I thought we’d start off really slowly. So I’ve put us both down for a 5K fun run in May. By then you should be able to handle the distance, absolutely no sweat.”

Lizzie kept shaking her head. “I’m not doing it, Tessa. I’m not a runner, okay? I’ve never been a runner. I never will be a runner. Have you seen the size of my boobs?”

“Hard not to.” Tessa gave Lizzie’s considerable chest a measuring look. “But have you never heard of sports bras?”

“Sorry, Tessa, completely bloody out of the question.”

“Nonsense, I’ve bought you one already. Let me just say two words, Liz. Oprah Winfrey.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows.

“That’s right. Oprah Winfrey. Ran the U.S. Marine Corps Marathon at the age of forty in four hours twenty-nine minutes. If she can do it with her cup size — which I would really hesitate to even guestimate — then you haven’t got a leg to stand on, Miss 36D.”

“If I haven’t got a leg to stand on, then I can’t run, can I? Ha ha.”

Lizzie didn’t quite pull off the laugh.

Tessa simply plowed on as if she’d never even opened her mouth.

“So I’m giving you a few days to get used to the idea, and I’m leaving you some literature to sort of pep you up.” She fished in the black hold-all and emerged with a pile of magazines with scary titles like
Runner
and
Extreme Athlete
.