Name and Address Withheld. Jane Sigaloff
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Excellent. ‘So where are we off to, then?’
Lizzie managed to sound much calmer and more offhand than she felt. She could feel her blood coursing through her veins and was trying to breathe deeply and slowly without it being apparent to anyone but herself. She didn’t want Matt to think she was about to break into an aria as they were walking along.
‘I’ve booked a table at that flash-looking restaurant on the river. I thought we could probably walk from here. It’s a perfect day.’
‘Fab.’ A man who felt happy eating somewhere that wasn’t a pub, a Café Rouge or a Pizza Express. And he was right, it was a perfect day. Lizzie inhaled deeply as they walked down the road. It smelt like December. That fresh, clear, cold and slightly smoky smell which even in London made you think of log fires and snow-covered copses.
Winter was probably Lizzie’s favourite season. On the days when the pale yellow sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky and frosty grass crunched underfoot, life was good. There was something ethereal about wrapping up in jumpers and fleeces and walking until the tips of her ears and toes froze only to be rewarded with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, or lunch with a mysterious new man…
Matt broke into her reverie. ‘I love days like this. All we need is a bit of snow and a few Alps…’
Yippee—same wavelength.
‘An open fire…logs crackling…and blankets.’ She had meant it innocently enough. Only out loud it had overtones, under-tones and double entendre at every turn. Matt fortunately hadn’t picked up on it. He was happily chatting about the positive effects of sunshine on the UV-challenged British public.
As they strolled down towards the river Lizzie sighed contentedly. It was at times like this that she felt the relief of finally being an adult without all the hang-ups and put-downs that had dominated almost every conversation on dates in her twenties. So her dates were further and fewer between these days—at least they had some potential when they did happen. A complete contrast to the grab-any-guy-to-prove-I’m-still-attractive approach that had kicked in after her last serious relationship crashed and burned. No one was going to tell her who she was and what she wanted any more. Love me, love my CD collection. Gone were the days of hiding The Best of Erasure in the depths of her underwear drawer. It might have taken a while, but it seemed she had finally learnt her lessons well.
Lizzie managed to eat her herb salad without splashing her face with balsamic vinegar or resorting to the Ermintrude display-a-leaf-between-your-lips approach, and didn’t spill anything on herself or the tablecloth during the other courses. From their table by the window they watched rowing crews glide past, a reminder of halcyon days when sportsmen hadn’t felt the need to don shiny sportswear plastered with the marks of their sponsors. The tranquillity was interrupted intermittently by the idiosyncratically speedy and noisy afterbirth of fibreglass bathtub launches and loudhailers as the coaches tried to keep up with their oarsmen.
The distraction was welcome as they hadn’t drunk nearly enough to move onto the searching questions round, and so their conversations were dominated by dissections of work and Friday night. Lizzie was doing her best to fill any silences, and it was due to this, coupled with an over-attentive head waiter who appeared silently to check on them at inopportune intervals, that Matt hadn’t got round to mentioning his marital status. He’d now decided to wait until there weren’t people sitting at tables only a few metres away desperate to eavesdrop on other people’s lives because their own were so dull. He didn’t feel the need to provide a floor show. Nor was he impatient to ruin the moment.
The light was fading rapidly by the time they’d finished their coffees, and it was Matt who suggested that they cross the bridge and go for a walk in Bishops Park. He took a deep breath as he followed Lizzie out of the restaurant. It was now or never.
He was just rehearsing his confession in his head when he realised that Lizzie must have asked him a question and was, as is customary in a conversation, now waiting for an answer. Her eyes were glistening, and to his amusement he noticed that perfect crimson circles had formed on her cheeks, which were now rosy in the style of Noddy Goes to Toytown. He smiled slowly, stalling. It was no good; he was going to have to admit that he had been thinking about something else instead of hanging on her every word.
‘Well?’ Lizzie was getting a little impatient.
‘Sorry, Liz… What did you ask me?’
‘I just wanted to know if you do this often.’
‘What?’ Matt wondered if the word had come out as defensively as he thought it had. Lizzie didn’t seem to have noticed anything strange. But then she didn’t have a guilty conscience screaming silently at her.
‘You know—pick up women on a Friday night, play the chivalrous man, whisk them home in a cab, send them a basket of cakes, and then do a Sunday lunch date?’
Matt laughed despite himself. Nerves had always had an unpredictable effect on his emotions. There must have been a short circuit somewhere that had permitted this particular reaction.
‘No, to be completely honest I’m a bit out of practice. This is the first date I’ve been on in years.’ Matt felt his chest tighten. It was about time he was completely honest about a few other things as well. He had just deftly dodged the perfect opportunity and he knew it.
‘Really?’ Lizzie was pleasantly surprised. So there were eligible men out there who could cope with being on their own… Just wait until she told Clare. Her afternoon was improving by the minute. As they came to the rail by the river Lizzie closed her eyes for a minute, savouring the moment and resting her eyes from the now biting wind. Matt stood behind her and she leant back, resting her head on his chest.
Matt was incredulous. It felt as if they had known each other for years. It couldn’t have been going any better. And the better the afternoon got, the less he wanted to spoil things. Why couldn’t he have mentioned his foundering marriage on Friday night? The longer he left it, the more calculating he appeared. And how on earth did you drop having a wife into conversation without ruining everything? You just didn’t see films where the guy got the girl after a ‘Hey, I’m married, but not happily…now kiss me before you think about it too much’ moment. And the last thing he wanted to do was upset her. Bit late now, he thought grimly. But maybe if he had a chance to explain… As he stood there, Lizzie’s head resting on his jacket, the chill wind burning his nostrils and filling his lungs with the floral scent of her freshly washed hair, luckily the icy gusts could take full responsibility for the water that had suddenly appeared in the corners of his eyes. How could his life have become so complicated in less than forty-eight hours? Matt wrapped his arms around Lizzie from behind her, in a reverse bear hug, and luckily couldn’t see the enormous grin on her face as they stood gazing at the river in silence.
Matt was desperately searching for the words to continue. Eventually he managed to produce something that resembled a voice, albeit not really his own.
‘Lizzie?’
‘Mmm.’
‘I’m having a lovely afternoon—you know that, don’t you…?’
‘Yes, I do…’ Lizzie felt a flush of pride ‘…and I’m having a great day too. I take it all back. Office parties are fabulous.’
She was effervescent in her enthusiasm. Matt’s heart plummeted to his stomach.
‘The thing is—look, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. I should’ve mentioned it on Friday night, I suppose, but I just never got round to it.’
‘What is it?’ Lizzie tensed and turned urgently to face Matt.
His heart, now back in the right place but beating faster than normal, melted.
‘It’s just that…well…you’d be bound to find out sooner or later…I just wanted to tell you myself… It’s not very good timing, I’m afraid…’ Come on, Matt, he berated himself. Come on…
Lizzie was just staring at him. Aside from the wind that was whipping