Name & Address Withheld (28 page)

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

C
lare 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 less 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 se
ries 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

A
ccording 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.’

Nearly an hour later Clare was up to speed on Lizzie and Matt, Matt and Rachel, Rachel and Lizzie, and Rachel, Lizzie and Matt. It was a truly three-dimensional love triangle. A sort of Rubik’s Cube conundrum for the twenty-first century. And Clare had to admit, if only to herself at this stage, it didn’t look good. There might not be anything in the papers this morning, but it was likely to take a couple of days for Rachel to sort out a reporter, a paper, contacts and enough photos to fill a double-page spread. Somehow they had to try and keep one step ahead, although unless Rachel had woken up in a totally different frame of mind Clare wasn’t sure what they could do.

Only time would tell whether Lizzie’s career could weather this storm, and while there seemed little point in Lizzie drawing anyone’s attention to her indiscretion on the off-chance that Rachel changed her mind, conversely it would be better if she got to Susan before Rachel did. In the interim Clare was adamant that she just had to carry on as normal, which didn’t mean sitting around in front of the television in a tracksuit at 11:00 a.m., waiting for her world to end or for Pauline to leave
EastEnders
. It was difficult to say which one was more likely to happen first.

Clare collapsed onto the sofa after one of her biggest pep talks ever and for a few minutes the old I-can-do-anything Lizzie was back. She even fetched herself a pint of water from the kitchen in an attempt to start today again. But slowly, visibly, the energy and enthusiasm drained away. At a loss as to what to do next, Clare adopted the I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer bossy matronly approach, finally forcing Lizzie to have a bath and change her clothes. She was determined to get her
off the sofa and away from the television for at least an hour before she cooked her some lunch.