Eliza’s day was going incredibly well – really, extraordinarily well – until the hairdresser rang her to cancel.
‘I’m so sorry love, Letty’s broken her finger and we need to cancel your appointment today, but I’ll book you in for tomorrow, OK?’
It was absolutely not OK. She needed her hair blow dried for tonight, on pain of death. Her long brown mane – unruly, and neither straight nor curly – only looked good when it was blow dried properly, and she couldn’t do it herself. She had long admired Patience’s effortless glossy blonde hair and wished she’d got that particular gift in the genetic lottery. Although she acknowledged, of course, that she’d done pretty well in the whole able-to-walk-and-speak genetic side of things.
Her attempts with hair straighteners usually resulted in limp yet frizzy hair which looked as if she’d just walked home through drizzle, and her blow dries were akin to Bridget Jones’ hairdo after that ride in an open-top sports car. Neither was the look she was going for this evening. This evening, she had to be hot. Very hot.
She was finally, finally getting together with Ed for dinner tonight for the ‘closure’ he apparently wanted. It had taken weeks and weeks to arrange. Evidently, he was very busy and she had pretended to be, too, just for a few of the dates he’d suggested, just to appear unbothered. She hoped she’d been convincing.
She had not told Katy about the meeting. This absolutely was not because she was ashamed; it was something she had to do for herself and for her relationship, and Katy didn’t need to know, because she’d worry. And tell her not to do it. Anyhow, it was imperative that she had nice hair. She had bought a new outfit during her lunch break yesterday. Nothing too overtly sexy, because that would be sending out the wrong message. But she had found, in Zara, a nice black skirt and a gorgeous frilly red top; with tights and heels, the hair was to be the icing on the cake. It wouldn’t work without it.
She was supposed to be bashing out a press release for that afternoon, but instead found herself sending multiple Facebook messages to salons in the area, begging them to see her. Twenty messages later and a near-miss with Jenny (she’d just managed to flick up the Office doc she’d been working up in time) she had managed to secure an appointment at Chez Julienne down the road. It was twice the price of her previous option (and wasn’t Julienne a way of cutting vegetables?) but beggars couldn’t be choosers – and anyway, it was impossible to put a price on confidence.
She had dashed out of the office during her lunch break in order to make it on time, passing on actually eating anything. Her Australian stylist, Laura (Julienne was on his or her own lunch break, clearly) ushered her towards a plush chair next to the mirrors and wrapped her in a gown.
‘So, where are you off to tonight?’ she inquired, her tone implying that she actually cared. You got what you paid for in this place, clearly.
‘Nowhere particularly special. I’m just meeting an ex for dinner.’
‘Wow. Ex-husband?’
Eliza laughed nervously.
‘Ah, no. We never got that far. Ex-fiancé. We were supposed to be getting married next summer, but…’
‘Ah, I see. What happened? Did you call it off?’
Laura was clearly a straight from the hip sort of girl. Eliza laughed, aware that Laura was watching her in the mirror.
‘No, sadly,’ she replied, after a pause. ‘He said he wanted… closure.’
‘Is he a recent ex?’
‘Yes, sadly.’
‘Hence the hair.’
‘Yep.’
‘Show him what he’s missing, that sort of thing?’ suggested Laura.
‘Exactly.’
‘So as well as the cut and blow-dry, can we offer you any colour today?’ said Laura, as she examined Eliza’s hair. ‘We have some really cool temporary rinses which are excellent for hiding those silver flyaways.’
‘Er, no thanks, I’m fine with the highlights I already have,’ Eliza spluttered. Jesus, she thought, do I really look that old? She had the odd grey growing around her parting, sure, but she tweezered them out whenever she spotted them. But shit, she was only four years off forty. Was she actually over the hill? She realised with horror that she might be.
‘So did you have kids, you and your ex?’
‘Ah, no. We never got that far, either.’ God, woman, please stop asking these questions, she thought. I can’t cope with them today.
‘Probably best, eh? It gets messy with kids. And they’re exhausting. I have a son, he’s three. His dad left us last year. It’s a bit… shit. To be honest.’
Eliza suddenly felt sympathy for her inquisitor.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Ah, that’s OK. He was a bastard. Like yours, eh?’
‘Yes, like mine,’ Eliza replied, trying to smile.
Laura reached for the shampoo bottle. ‘So, do you have any brothers and sisters?’ she asked, switching tack.
Ah, she’s decided to opt for ‘safe’ small talk, Eliza thought. She hated it when this happened. It was always a toss-up – should she lie and say that she had no siblings, or boast about a gorgeous brother who worked in the City instead? Or, should she be honest and then have to accept the hairdresser’s sympathy, mitigating the ensuing awkwardness by explaining, in painful detail, her sister’s inabilities, and her family’s pain?
‘I have one sister,’ she replied, hoping that might be the end to it.
‘Ah. Are you close in age?’
‘She’s six years younger than me. It took my parents a while to get around to procreating for a second time.’
Laura laughed. ‘That’s like my brother and me. He’s ten years younger. An accident, ha.’ Eliza tried to produce a chuckle, as it seemed appropriate. Laura began to rinse the shampoo out of her hair. ‘So, what does she do, your sister?’
Ah, here we go, Eliza thought. The yawning chasm beckoned.
‘She’s disabled,’ she answered, resigned to her fate. ‘She lives near Oxford. In residential care.’
Laura turned off the water and paused. ‘Oh, I see. What’s she got? My cousin’s autistic, so I know a bit about that sort of thing.’
Not about this sort of thing, Eliza thought. She took a breath.
‘She can’t walk, talk or do anything for herself,’ she answered, as Laura wrapped a towel around her head. ‘I always say: imagine a baby in an adult’s body and that’s her.’
There was an awkward silence. Laura beckoned her over into a chair in front of a mirror. She busied herself with her duties – removing the towel and bringing over a pile of magazines – but was silent. It was a reaction Eliza not only understood, but expected. It was always like this. People had no idea what to say.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ Laura asked, finally. ‘We do a great cappuccino here.’
To avoid further conversation, Eliza pretended to find her magazine, full of the airbrushed lives of the rich and famous, tremendously interesting. It worked; Laura stopped talking to her as she brushed, trimmed and blow-dried her hair. But as she was holding up a mirror to show her the back of her hair – sleek and just on the right side of bouncy – Laura spoke once more.
‘Good luck this evening,’ she said, smiling at Eliza. ‘You look sensational. But don’t give him any joy. He’s an ex for a reason. They always are. I have been there, and I know. Look at him, head held high, and repeat to yourself, “I am worth more than you”.’
‘Right,’ replied Eliza. ‘“I am worth more than you.” Got it.’
*
She tried reciting the mantra to herself, under her breath, when she emerged from the comforting, luxurious cocoon of the salon half an hour later. Her hair now looked sensational, but her face told a very different story. She was already mentally preparing herself for that evening, for the enormous effort she was going to have to make to appear untainted, unbruised. Fortunately, the location of her desk in the office – tucked away in the corner, handy for hangovers, tears and lazy days – worked in her favour and none of her colleagues questioned her unusual silence, or unusual expression, that afternoon.
At 6 p.m., after the room had emptied of most of her colleagues, she retreated into the bathroom. She had her make-up bag with her and a small holdall which contained her outfit. And as she exchanged her white underwear for black satin, she began to feel a new resolve. Things might have gone stale between them, but that was simply because she hadn’t tried hard enough. She had become lazy, she thought. So, to quote Laura – tonight, she’d show him what he’d been missing.
Half an hour later, she caught a bus to St Paul’s. Ed’s chosen venue was a steakhouse near to the London branch of his firm, where he’d had meetings that afternoon.
A year ago, Ed had decided to retrain as a lawyer after an aborted first career as a teacher. Having passed his exams in the June, he’d moved to Oxford in July to start his training at a well-regarded firm with an office near the Cornmarket. He’d been delighted about the move and the challenge ahead; she’d been delirious with tears. He had told her not to be silly – and had proposed to her after a celebratory meal in their favourite Italian restaurant. He had said that their future was bright.
They’d decided not to give up the London flat, as her job kept her in town. So she’d had to lead this strange half-life, half in London, half in Oxford, a foot in both camps. Exhausting, but worth it. Being together was always worth it, of course it was. They had lived together for more than fifteen years, after all, and distance was nothing to a couple who were so grounded, so devoted, so together.
She’d taken to doing most of the travelling, as they (or, he?) had decided that Oxford was a far more pleasant place to spend a weekend. It had been an extraordinary challenge to cover two lots of rent, but it had been the right decision. Or at least, she had thought it had been. Now it just seemed as though she’d taken the mesh off the top of a very deep wishing well and simply chucked all of her cash into it. His decision to leave her had given with one hand financially and taken away with the other: she no longer had to share the cost of the rent of the Oxford flat – on the other hand, she now had to shoulder the London rent alone.
Eliza’s route to the restaurant took her down a street lined with plane trees, planted there with great hope more than a hundred years ago, because of their resistance to the city’s pollution. At the time, London’s toxic air had caused thousands of deaths each year. Now, they were just a welcome note of colour in a grey man-made jungle, turning from bright green to shades of amber, floating down onto the pavement, forming a golden carpet. But despite their beauty, Eliza could never understand people who preferred autumn above all other seasons. The colours of the leaves aside, the season really signified the impending darkness of the winter and a long wait for rejuvenation – hardly a reason to celebrate in anyone’s book. Not only that, but the damp leaves were not the safest surface for her new black patent stilettos and she occasionally found herself reaching for the tree trunks, railings and street lamps for stability and support.
The restaurant was fronted with black glass two storeys high. It didn’t take long to spot Ed among the crowds of people gathered for fine wine and well-aged meat, even in the low light cast by hanging chrome pendants; brown closely-clipped hair, a smart suit, obviously tall, even when sitting – yes, that was him over there, at a table near the bar.
‘Hello,’ she said. He looked up.
I am worth more than you. I am worth more than you. I am worth more than you.
‘Hi, thanks for coming.’
He’d spoken as if she had arrived for a meeting to discuss writing a will. His formality made it feel even more awkward a meeting than she had let herself imagine. She dropped into the chair that was proffered, smoothed her skirt and swept her hair away from her face. Then she took her compact out of her bag and reapplied her lipstick using the mirror inside. When she looked up, she saw that he was staring at her.
‘Is that a new top?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I liked the colour.’
What else was there to say? He hadn’t mentioned her hair, but then, he hadn’t noticed when she started adding lowlights, then highlights, then layers – it wasn’t his thing. They examined the drinks menu for a minute or two, encased in a bubble of silence that was exclusive to their table alone. Ed broke it first.
‘So I asked you here because I felt that we didn’t really get to say all that we needed to say.’
I am worth more than you, I am worth more than you.
‘You could say that. You walked out.’
‘Yes. And I’m sorry about that. But I just felt we weren’t getting anywhere. We were going around in circles and you were so upset…’
‘Of course I was upset. You told me you didn’t know what love was.’
‘Yes, I did.’
*
It had happened when they had invited a couple of long-standing friends over for the evening. It had been a Saturday and Ed had been up from Oxford, on a rare weekend visit to the capital. They had seized upon the opportunity to invite old university friends over for an Indian takeaway and a large quantity of beer. Callie and Max had also met at uni and had been together for more than eighteen years. They had got married several years after leaving, and were now parents to eight-year-old Rupert and four-year-old Julia. Their dinner with Ed and Eliza was a rare escape from the binds of parenthood.
‘I do envy you both,’ Callie had said, necking the wine. ‘Look at your tidy flat, right in the centre of London, and that inevitable lie-in you’re both planning in the morning. Absolutely magic.’
‘Yes,’ Max had interjected. ‘Meanwhile, we had to move out to zone six to afford a house and it takes us about ten hours to get into work. If the trains run at all. And our idea of a fun evening now is a night at a friend’s place eating food from Khan’s Balti – no offence.’
‘None taken,’ Ed had replied, quickly. ‘But Khan’s is obviously the best takeaway in London town.’
‘Obviously,’ said Max. ‘I don’t know why it doesn’t have a Michelin star.’
There had been much drinking that night. Wine, beer and spirits. Max and Callie were demob happy, had a taxi booked home and were not afraid of their hangovers in the morning. Which was probably at least part of the reason for Ed’s awful behaviour later.
They had all collapsed onto the sofas after the meal, clutching their glasses. Eliza had opened the window and turned off the main light, and for a while, they had all gazed out at the view of south London, thousands of streetlights beaming out in the partial darkness of a summer’s evening, mapping each street.
‘Big year coming up next year for you guys, then,’ Callie had said, after a while. ‘Finally saying I Do. So exciting. Do you remember that time, Max?’
‘Sorry, when was that?’ Max joked, as Callie playfully punched him in the arm. ‘Yes, that I do. It was quite the time. They were the best days, actually. The best.’
‘Yes, you’re so lucky to have it all yet to come. That’s such an amazing time, when it’s just about you two and the love you have,’ mused Callie. ‘No ankle biters nipping at you, nagging you to feed them three times a day, that sort of thing.’
‘So pesky,’ replied Max, kissing her and rubbing her leg. He gave his wife a look which made Eliza wince. Ed had never looked at her like that. And right now he was staring into the distance, impassive. Callie had filled the space that was looming large.
‘Anyway, yes, it’s amazing, that feeling you have, just before you get married. I’m guessing you guys are right in that bubble now,’ she’d said, looking at Ed.
‘I’m not sure I know what love is, really,’ Ed had replied, after a pause, in the same tone of voice he’d have used if he didn’t know what time the bus was coming, or what food to order. Eliza’s stomach lurched.
‘Oh, come on mate, don’t go all heavy on us,’ said Max. ‘We all know how you feel about Lize.’
‘Yes, I know; we’re getting married and that’s great, it’s the right thing to do – but I mean, I don’t think I understand the meaning of the term, really. Not in the way you guys are using it. I never have.’
At that point, Eliza had got up, walked to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. She took several deep breaths, trying to subdue the adrenaline which coursed through her body, before collapsing onto the toilet seat, her head cradled in her hands. She had only heard the muffled responses to Ed’s pronouncement, but got the feeling that Max and Callie had decided that it might be time to leave. This was confirmed when they walked past the bathroom in the direction of the bedroom to retrieve their coats.
Callie had whispered at the door, ‘We’re off, Lize. But I’m on the phone, OK? I’m on the phone. Whenever. Speak in a bit. Love you.’
She had gone then. They both had. It had been very silent after that. Well, until Ed had put on some Coldplay dirge, loudly, to fill the void. Eliza had used the cover of the music to repeatedly hammer her head into the bathroom door, desperate to exorcise the disturbing thoughts which were now running rampant through her head.
Half an hour later, Eliza had emerged from the bathroom to find Ed in the lounge, staring at his phone, a small rucksack beside his feet. He had looked up at her and said, without any further explanation, that he felt it might be best to go back to Oxford.
*
‘Are you any clearer now?’ She wanted Ed to give her answers. Or at least, she thought she did.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said, looking around for their waiter. ‘I need time to figure that one out. But what I am certain of is that I don’t want to get married yet.’
‘Yet? Ed, you’re in your late thirties. We’ve been together since uni. When will you be ready?’
The waiter arrived to take the drinks order. Eliza stared directly down at the table and did not look up.
‘We’ll have a bottle of the Chilean Merlot. And a bottle of sparkling water,’ said Ed, before bidding the waiter to leave them. ‘Have your parents cancelled the venue?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, her voice hoarse. ‘Have you just brought me here to talk logistics and refunds?’
‘Eliza, I’m just being practical. They spent a lot of money on that venue. And I know money is tight.’
Yes, they had. The venue – the venue that would have been – was a stately home fifteen miles from her childhood home, bang in the middle of the rolling Cotswold hills.
Langland Manor was actually somewhere her parents had taken them out to at weekends when they were kids. The house was open to the public on Saturdays and it was also one of the first places in the county to provide a disabled toilet for visitors – a prerequisite of any Willow family trip after Patience got too big to be lifted into a toilet cubicle. So, about twice a year, in fine weather, they had all mounted an expedition to view the house’s manicured lawns and carefully laid-out vistas, before retiring to a wooden picnic table beneath apple trees to eat the packed lunch Mum had made; always egg and cress sandwiches, crisps and apple juice. And possibly Jaffa cakes for a treat.
It had been a relief, eating outdoors. Patience was a messy eater, but no one really noticed her table manners (or lack of them) there, with so much space. No one was really close enough, not even the inevitable staring, curious children, and what Patience hadn’t managed to eat, the birds had loved. Those picnic tables had had a fine view of the house’s Georgian facade, which in itself had been built on the carcass of a rather fine Tudor manor house. And while her mum and dad had bickered over Patience’s feeding efforts, wiped her face and hands and debated about who was going to push her up the slope back to the car, Eliza had stared at that house and soaked up its beauty, its stories.
She had always loved historical buildings. It was not the decor or the furnishings. It was the layers of human drama they had contained within them which inspired her. And when she and Ed had decided on it as a wedding venue, she had felt she was adding her own scene in that multifaceted human play. Well, it had certainly taken a dramatic turn.
‘Thanks for your concern,’ she said. ‘I’ll pass it on.’
She wondered idly whether wedding insurance covered being dumped. Ed was right; her parents were set to lose a lot of money that they’d saved up for so long, simply because of her inability to persuade a man to marry her.
The waiter returned, bringing with him the wine, the glasses and the food menus. He poured Ed a glass and waited patiently as he sniffed it, rolled it around the glass and put it to his lips and sipped.
‘Mmm. Nice,’ Ed said, satisfaction in his voice. Two full glasses were poured for them as they waited in silence.
Finally, Ed spoke. ‘So, I suggested we meet because I wanted to explain why I said what I said.’ He took a sip of his wine. ‘And why I left. I feel like we need closure.’
Eliza raised both eyebrows, and half-laughed.
‘Bloody hell, Ed, have you finally been reading those relationship books I bought? Closure! Is there any point? I mean, I feel we got closure when you packed your bags and took half the items in the flat. More than half, actually.’ As she spoke, Eliza knocked her newly poured glass of merlot with her left arm, and they both watched in horror as it tumbled to the ground, spilling its overpriced cargo all over the tiled floor, the glass smashing into hundreds of tiny pieces.
As a flock of waiters ran towards them bearing paper towels and a dustpan and brush, Ed glared at her. He looked around anxiously as the clean-up took place, aware that the couple next to them – who had not spoken a word since they had arrived a quarter of an hour ago – were listening in to everything they said to each other.
‘You seem really angry,’ he said, almost whispering now. ‘I get that you are. But let’s try to be calm. At least in here.’
Eliza swallowed hard.
‘I’ll do my best. Tell me then, why you left me.’
‘Let’s order food first and I’ll try to explain.’
Another glass was brought for Eliza and more wine poured. And after about thirty seconds of reading the extensive menu, Ed told the waiter that they were ready to order. He reeled off his choice – scallops, followed by a medium rare fillet steak, with blue cheese sauce and fries – and then looked across the table at Eliza with anticipation, like a conductor preparing to lead an orchestra.
‘I’m… I’m not feeling very hungry,’ she said, cautiously. ‘I ate a late lunch. Can I skip the starter and just have the mussels for main?’ The waiter asked if she wanted to have garlic bread with it, but she declined. After that, he smiled in her direction – she detected a possible note of sympathy there – took both menus and walked away in the direction of the kitchen.
‘Not like you not to be hungry,’ said Ed.
‘Situations like this do that to a girl,’ she snapped. Did Ed look slightly guilty? It was possible. But he’d always been good at hiding how he really felt. That was at least part of the reason why she hadn’t seen any of this coming.
‘So, as I said, I asked you here because I wanted to explain,’ he continued, unbidden, picking up a piece of bread from the basket a waiter had just left, and tearing it apart. ‘I’d like to start by saying how sorry I am that I did it the way I did it. Coming out with that stuff in front of friends. It wasn’t my intention. Anyway, I wanted to say also – I love you. But I think I’m not in love with you. Not the sort of love that Max and Callie were talking about. Not those sorts of feelings that withstand two kids, wrinkles, endless drives down the M40. I’m trying to look forward here, to the future – and I realise I don’t see us in it, like that. Let’s be honest here. Do you?’
Ed’s gut-wrenching summary of his feelings was interrupted by the waiter bringing the food. Eliza looked down on her steaming pot of mussels and felt bile rising.
‘Yes,’ she said.
Ed waited while the waiter positioned the plates, refilled their water and then retreated.
‘Sorry?’ he said, his whisper harsh.
‘Yes, I see,’ she replied, thinking: I see us getting married next summer, I see us having a family, I see us eventually settling in Oxford or somewhere else together and me working part-time for a PR agency. I see us buying a house with enough room for a vegetable patch and a downstairs loo so Patience can visit with Mum and Dad. I see Christmas decorations hung on the front door and you swinging our children up in the air in the living room, just missing the light fixings.
‘Yes, I see,’ she said.
‘You see?’
‘I see where you are coming from, I suppose. We had gone stale.’
‘You could put it like that. But were we ever like Max and Callie? Were we ever in love enough to make that promise to be together for the rest of our lives?’
‘You made that promise when you proposed to me. Why did you do that, if you didn’t want to marry me?’ she asked. She looked down at her pot of mussels, at those little bodies which had been boiled alive, and realised she couldn’t face eating them. Instead, she reached for her spoon and drank some of the sauce from the bottom.
‘I thought I did,’ he answered, slicing into his rare steak, blood spilling out as he did so. ‘Looking at it objectively, you and I are the perfect partnership. You’re intelligent, you’re fun, we don’t drive each other mad. You’re very attractive.’
Eliza felt her face begin to glow red.
‘But, you know, perhaps I’m just not the marrying kind.’
‘So you’re saying that it’s not me, it’s you?’ She looked up at him, her statement dripping with irony. Ed ignored her tone.
They paused to let the waiter take their plates. He looked concerned when he saw that Eliza hadn’t eaten her mussels. ‘I’m just not hungry,’ she said, by way of apology. He nodded and took them away.
Eliza excused herself and made her way to the toilets. She threw herself into a cubicle, locked the door and paused briefly, looking down at the bowl, before vomiting copiously. Afterwards, she leaned down over the sink and sucked in and swilled some water around her mouth from the tap, before spitting it out. She watched it spiral down the plughole, along with small splatters of brown, orange and red sick. And when she looked at herself in the mirror in front of her, she could see that her face betrayed the truly sorry state of her beleaguered, emotionally damaged digestive system. Her skin was almost translucent, her eyes bloodshot and dull. It took her several minutes to restore relative order with the help of concealer, powder and lipstick, and a hard pinch on each cheek.
When she emerged from the loos, Ed was entering his pin into a credit card reader at their table. He stood up as she approached, and handed over her coat.
‘I asked for the bill. Thought it best.’ Eliza gave him a grateful smile and followed him as he made his way to the door and out into the street. When she had caught up with him and stood next to him, she fought the urge to reach out and hold his hand. It had been such an instinctive gesture for so many years. Instead, she placed her hands in her pockets. Ed turned to look at her.
‘Which way are you going? I’m staying at a hotel near Blackfriars. Fancy a walk?’
Eliza had actually been planning to catch a tube from St Paul’s, but decided not to mention it.
‘Sure. I can get the bus from the bridge,’ she said, following him. Their walk took them through a network of quiet, tiny streets with names referencing their historic past; Dean Court, New Bell Yard, Addle Hill. The roads were so narrow that no parking was allowed, and, as it was now 9 p.m. and all but the most dedicated of workers had gone home, it was as if they had the City to themselves. Except – a Toyota Prius was ripping down Addle Hill at some speed; its driver probably lost and late for a fare.
Eliza had no time to see it. She just caught something white and large in her peripheral vision. It was Ed who grabbed her by the hand, forcing them both into the side of a wheelie bin, nudging it under an archway. Eliza toppled over, falling awkwardly onto her left side with her arm underneath her. The car did not stop.
‘Are you OK?’ Ed asked afterwards, slightly breathless, holding out his hand to Eliza as the Prius disappeared around the corner and out of their lives forever.
‘I think so,’ she replied, allowing him to pull her upright. She felt shaky. It was the adrenaline. ‘I’m going to be bruised tomorrow, but that’s all, I think.’ She added, ‘Thank God.’
‘Yes, thank God for that,’ he said. He did not let go of her hand. They carried on walking down the road, together, not talking. When they reached Ed’s hotel several minutes later – an ugly concrete square overlooking Upper Thames Street – he turned towards her and drew her in for a hug. She felt a further surge of adrenaline pass through her as he did so.
‘Do you want to come in for a bit?’ he asked, into her ear. ‘I spotted some good whisky behind the bar. Might be good for the shock.’
She nodded and allowed herself to be led inside. It was the most natural thing in the world to do.