Name and Address Withheld. Jane Sigaloff
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afraid I won’t be around after tomorrow until the middle of January. I guess that rules me out of the whole holiday season as far as you’re concerned. But, if you can wait, I’d love to see you when I get back.’
Lizzie shook her head in disbelief. Matt could see the tension in her face dissipate. Finally she smiled.
‘You are a funny one, Matt Baker. I thought you were going to tell me that you were married or gay or only had a couple of months to live or something…’ Relieved, she turned to face the river again. ‘Believe me, Christmas is overrated. You have to spend the day with close family on pain of death. You eat too much, try and wash it down with too much alcohol, and then top it off by watching a usually highly unsuitable film and having to pretend not to be looking when anyone shags or swears in case your parents or great-aunt are still awake on the sofa next to you. Alternatively, the evening is spent arguing over the annual game of Trivial Pursuit. I’m not sure what’s worse, actually. As for New Year’s Eve—well, that was obviously invented just to make everyone feel that they lead really dull lives. Year after year everyone feels that they are the only person who hasn’t been invited to the party of the season. I get hundreds of letters every January from disappointed people who are thoroughly depressed after the Christmas build-up turns out to be a load of old hype…’
Lizzie was rambling. And Matt wasn’t really listening. Lizzie might not be a weekly dater these days, but even she could tell that his eyes were now glazed. And she wasn’t even facing him. His muscles were locked and he was standing stock still. Maybe he had frozen solid.
She decided to test her theory…
‘I mean you’d be depressed if you were forced to spend three weeks every year on a beach in California, wouldn’t you?’
‘Mmm…’
It was an automatic response. Inserted at the first sign of a pause. He definitely wasn’t listening.
Sure enough, Matt was miles away. In a place where he was watching a slow motion replay of the conversation that had just happened. The one where he had failed to bite the bullet. Let the moment pass. It was playing on a loop. And with each repetition he felt more foolish. This was atypical behaviour. Not big. Not clever. Not good enough. It was a professionally executed lie, surprisingly easy—masterful, in fact, if lacking a little in the imagination department. A perfect demonstration of the use of tactical truth economics.
He was going skiing for a week with a few guys from work for New Year, so there was an element of truth in there somewhere. He could even send her a postcard… He shook his head silently. By the time he got back from his ‘fortnight’ on the slopes he would make sure that he could give Lizzie what she deserved or be honest and face the consequences. Maybe this was the impetus he needed.
Lizzie was looking at him expectantly again. This time she had folded her arms and was tapping her toe in a comedy fashion. Again he apologised, and again he had no clue what she had been saying. With a bit of luck she’d dump him in a minute for failing to pay attention to her. At least then he could feel sorry for himself. Right now he was busy hating himself to his core.
‘Well, quite frankly, Matt, I’m beginning to take it a wee bit personally. I mean, it can hardly be a great sign if I’m boring you already. It’s true, I do have a tendency to gabble—especially when I’m a bit over-excited. Clare, my flatmate—you know, the one who owns the restaurant that I was telling you about earlier…?’
Matt nodded. ‘The restaurant in Notting Hill…’ See—he had been listening most of the time. Lizzie acknowledged his response with a nod, but barely drew breath.
‘Well, she’s always telling me off for going on and on, and I’m trying to retrain myself, I’m really trying, but it’s a long drawn-out process. It doesn’t help that I get paid to ramble for a living. See, I’m doing it again. Right, that’s it. I’m stopping. Right…now.’
She pretended to zip up her mouth, and this time Matt was listening and ready with something to say.
‘Sorry, Liz. Please don’t take it personally. I’ve just had a really tough couple of days and I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
Lizzie stared at Matt blankly. He stared back. Now what? He was sure he had said that last bit out loud.
‘Permission to speak?’
‘Granted.’ Matt laughed and took her arm. ‘You’re barking, do you know that?’ Thirty-two going on twelve, he thought to himself. A vast improvement on the people he usually met, most of whom were far too busy taking themselves incredibly seriously to see the funny side of anything.
‘I prefer eccentric. It conjures up fewer images of antiseptic bluey-grey linoleum corridors and men in white coats.’
‘Yup, more like monocles and dandruff…’
Lizzie poked his arm playfully.
‘Well, at least I don’t think up slogans for a living. I think that’s madder than what I do…at least I help people.’
‘I help them too. I help them remember which brand to buy. Imagine how stressful supermarket shopping would be and how long it would take if you had to weigh up the pros and cons of each item while you were standing there with your trolley before making a decision.’
‘So what you’re saying is that you’ve helped by brainwashing them into picking Ariel over Persil, Country Life over Anchor or vice versa?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Mmm…really helping. Shouldn’t be long before you find yourself on the New Year’s Honours List. Arise, Sir Matt— Lord of the Brand. Helper of the Decisions, Knight of the Supermarket Shopper… I can’t wait.’
Matt grabbed Lizzie’s arm and pretended to punch it amicably before linking it with his own.
They strolled back over the bridge very much together. It was truly a black and white Robert Doisneau photo moment. Had he been there with some film in his camera Lizzie felt sure that they would have adorned the walls of thousands of students in years to come. Immortalised arm in arm, the river behind them, eyes shining, in first-date heaven.
As they walked past the cinema Matt stopped at the ‘Showing Now’ poster selection. He didn’t want to head home just yet, but he didn’t want to have to do all the talking either. He checked the screening times with his watch. They were in luck.
‘Fancy an early film before we head back?’
‘Why not?’ Lizzie loved spontaneity, and she was in no hurry to say goodbye. Clare would be at work for ages yet, so there was no point in rushing home to report back. She’d only end up calling her mum, who would be bound to rush round for all the gossip before trying to set one date to meet Matt and another one for the wedding. Better not to invite the kiss of death into this relationship yet.
Lizzie panicked. What was she thinking? Relationship was far too strong a word. It was barely a first date, even if it did feel as if they had known each other for years.
They stood in silence reading the posters. Lizzie knew what she wanted to see. There was a romantic comedy that everyone else had been talking about for ages. You know the sort. Boy meets girl. She loves him. He hates her. He shags someone else and she pretends not to care before he realises that the first girl is the one he really loves by which time she, of course, has finally moved on, has shacked up with someone totally unsuitable and is trying to put him behind her. He pursues her until she finally succumbs to fate just before the final credits… Fate being that the two really good-looking, well-paid, A-list movie stars end up together. But there was a thriller on too. A stylish film, critically acclaimed, but not what Lizzie would have chosen for a Sunday afternoon. Still, she was sure that the man in the image business currently holding her hand would pick it.
‘Well, Liz, what do you think? I’m up for the romantic comedy if you are…or have you already seen it?’
For once Lizzie was speechless. He’d even referred to it as a romantic comedy