Jane Sigaloff - Name and Address Withheld

Lizzie could have kicked herself. It had all been going so well. But Clare was her best friend. She was entitled to the full story—and besides, it wouldn’t feel real if Clare didn’t know. Yet now she felt sheepish. Since her divorce Clare had been so generally anti-men that Lizzie felt somehow she had let the side down.

‘OK. So I shared a cab with him.’ Lizzie looked at her feet awkwardly.

‘With…’

The intensity of Clare’s stare was currently boring a hole in the side of her head. Lizzie felt sure that Clare would be able to bend spoons if she put her mind to it.

‘With Matt.’ Lizzie looked up. She was going to take this on the chin. She had nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t as if she met people every weekend. In fact she couldn’t remember the last time…

‘The guy who rescued you from the clutches of the delightful Danny?’ Clare grinned at her use of alliteration, just in case Lizzie had missed it.

‘Yeah.’

‘You shared a cab all the way to Putney? Does he live round here, then?’

Lizzie hesitated as she realised that she had no idea where he lived. She vaguely remembered Matt telling the driver where to go next, and she even remembered listening, but she had no recollection of what he’d said. Her mind had quite clearly been on other things.

‘I’m not sure…I got out of the cab first.’

‘So the taxi didn’t terminate here, then?’

Clare was now striding back and forth across the landing, casting a cursory glance at Lizzie from time to time. Lizzie attributed this increasingly irritating habit to the surfeit of dog-eared John Grisham novels on their bookshelves and one viewing too many of A Few Good Men, which seemed to be playing on a loop on one of their digital channels.

Clare adopted her best quasi legal tone.

‘Miss Ford, in the early hours of Saturday December twentieth did you, or did you not, bring a Mr Matt to 56 Oxford Road for a night of wild abandon?’

Lizzie was stalling. Nothing like building nothing into something. One kiss had become headline news in south-west London. They really had to get out more.

‘It’s a simple enough question. Did you bring a man back to our apartment last night? Yes? Or no?’

Apartment. She’d definitely been reading another American legal thriller.

‘No.’ All of a sudden Lizzie was feeling very self-conscious and very naked underneath her bathrobe.

‘But at any point on the night in question did you engage in the activity of kissing? Were salivary juices exchanged?’

Clare certainly knew how to make an ostensibly romantic moment seem very clinical. But the I-know-I’m-onto-something look now plastered all over on Clare’s face was making Lizzie laugh. She stopped fudging her answers and, between giggles, confessed.

‘Yes. Guilty as charged. We kissed in the cab. He left. Happy?’

Lizzie didn’t want to get on to the fact that she hadn’t got his number and didn’t know when, or even if, she would be seeing him again or, more interestingly, the fact that she knew she’d quite like to. Clare was bound to say something disparaging, plus it always seemed like tempting fate. It was time to move this conversation on. Lizzie was determined to develop her enigmatic side, and now was as good a time as any—plus, once she admitted that she liked someone things always seemed to go awry. However humorous Clare thought she was being, this was Lizzie’s life they were mocking, even if right now there was more material than normal.

‘I suppose I’d better get on with my day…’

Clare looked at her watch. ‘Your afternoon…’

‘Afternoon, then… God, you can be pedantic.’

‘Takes one to know one. You’ve taught me everything I know. Anyway, now you’re up I must just pop to the shops. Do you need anything? I shouldn’t be long but I don’t have to be at the restaurant until five…’ Clare waited for Lizzie to process the information. If she knew Lizzie as well as she thought she did, she’d offer to cook them some lunch. She could almost hear the cogs grinding into action.

‘Right… Why don’t I cook us some lunch? Take advantage of the fact that we’re both in the flat at the same time. Novel, I know. Spaghetti Bolognese OK for you?’

Bingo. Clare loved the way that Lizzie’s mind always worked the same way. It was one of the most male things about her personality.

‘Great. Is two o’clock too late for you?’

‘Perfect. I’m sure I can manage on tea and toast until then.’

‘Bit peckish, are you? Was your tongue sarnie not very filling?’

Lizzie was already on her way to her room. Thanks to Clare, though, she was smiling.

Clean, dressed, and well on her way to physical and emotional recovery, Lizzie headed down to her study. She wanted to at least start work before lunch, so that it would be easier to return to later, when the call of the shops would be strongest. Surrounded by her post, she switched on her computer and then, to order her thoughts, made one of her famous ‘to do’ lists. Scaring herself into action, she started by printing off her e-mails and adding them to the letters pile for immediate attention.

Her concentration was coming and going in waves but, focusing on the screen in front of her, she forced herself to keep typing. She had almost succeeded in blocking out her surroundings when the phone rang. The shrill electronic bleat cut through the silence and nearly prompted an instant coronary. Lizzie just stared at it. Could it be?

Caught up in the moment, she overlooked the fact that she hadn’t given him her home phone number, that she was ex-directory, and that there was no one in the office that morning to give it to him and so, after flicking her hair back with her hand, she answered in a semi-flirtatious fashion.

‘Heylo?’

‘Liz, it’s me…’

‘Me’ being Clare. Lizzie did her best not to actually sound disappointed.

‘Clare.’

‘I’m in Waitrose. Do you need me to pick up the stuff for our lunch?’

‘Yup, that would be great…’ In her hungover state Lizzie had completely forgotten about the whole needing ingredients in order to cook lunch thing. Thank goodness one of them was living in the real world today. ‘The usual…and don’t forget—’

Clare interrupted her. ‘Mushrooms and red peppers. I know.’

‘Thanks…’ Clare really was the perfect flatmate at times. ‘And a couple of tins of chopped tomatoes.’

‘No problem. See you in a bit.’

‘Bye.’

But Clare, anxious not to waste even a few seconds of her free call time, had already gone.

Lizzie was rereading her notes in an attempt to recall her train of thought when the phone rang for a second time. Again she leant back in her chair, ran her fingers through her hair, and, ever so casually, slightly slurred her greeting.

‘Heylo?’

‘Liz, it’s Mum. Can’t be long. I’m on the mobile in the Sainsbury’s car park.’

‘OK.’ What was this? The phone a friend from a supermarket half-hour?

‘I hope I haven’t interrupted anything…’

Chance would be a fine thing. ‘It’s fine, Mum. I’m working, but…’

‘On a Saturday? You are conscientious.’

A compliment. Only, the way she said it, almost an accusation.

‘What do you need?’ Lizzie could feel herself snapping without meaning to and pulled herself up. She’d always believed what goes around comes around, and didn’t want to jeopardise any chance of her and Matt getting together in the not too distant future by upsetting her mother now. It was perfectly clear female reasoning.

‘That Thai curry you were telling me about…’

‘Mmm…’

‘What was the fresh herb you needed?’

‘Coriander. Lots of it. Ignore the recipe and put loads in. If you buy too much you can always freeze it.’