It isn’tthateasy right now, though. I feel as though I want to drink in every single one of his mannerisms, turns of phrase, facial expressions, store them away so that I can get them out sometimes and revisit them over the coming months during which IknowI’m going to question myself and what happened here. I also just want to leave so that I can get home and do some wallowing, because over the course of only one weekend Jake has managed to get to me in a way that I can’t remember anyone else ever doing.
Eventually our fish and chips are finished, and with it our polite conversation.
It’ssopolite. As the server takes our plates away, we’re literally talking about the modules we took at university. It’s basically a mundane sharing of not-at-all-sensitive-or-indeed-particularly-interesting trivial information.
We walk – politely – back to Waterloo together, say our – polite – goodbyes, and take our separate Tube (Jake) and train (me) home.
I do wallow that night, and I don’t have as much rest as I would have liked, given how lacking in sleep our weekend was, so when I wake up on Wednesday morning, I feel as though I’m just going to be staggering through the day, desperate for bed again in the evening.
So I’m notdelighted(which makes me feel guilty) when I get a message from Lizzie in the early afternoon saying that she wants to convene an ‘emergency discussion’ with me and can I do this evening.
I reply immediately, panicked that something has happened between her and Dan and she’s going to be devastated again.
Are you okay?
Her response is also immediate.
Yes I am. Are you though?
What? Has there been another newspaper article or something? Or is the latestWake Up Britainmontage out and is it unfavourable to me? Lizzie doesn’t know anything about our weekend, so she can’t be referring to that.
After quite a lot of toing and froing we establish that Lizzie genuinely is fine but that she thinks I am not fine but won’t say why. We agree that we’ll meet tomorrow evening so that I can get some sleep tonight. I’m so tired I’m practically seeing bunting round the edges of my vision.
On my way round to Lizzie’s flat the next evening, I’m still in two minds about whether or not I’m going to tell her about what happened with Jake. On the one hand I want to talk about it and on the other it’s still too raw. When Idotell someone, Lizzie’s probably the first person I would tell; she’s very kind, very sensible, very caring and always discreet.
Maybe another time, though. When I’ve digested it all a bit further.
Lizzie greets me by holding me by the hands at arm’s length and studying my face closely, before pulling me into a long hug, so I’m immediately feeling a little uneasy. (Clearly she’sconvened this evening to talk about me, not her, but I don’t want to talk about me.)
‘Okay, we need wine and then you need to tell me everything about the weekend and you and Jake.’
‘Erm…’
Lizzie pulls me into her kitchen and over to the table.
‘So you and Jake,’ she says.
‘Erm,’ I repeat.
‘Dan told me. Jake told him.’ Ohhhh.
‘What did Jake say?’
‘In a nutshell that at the beginning of the weekend you were still quite hostile towards each other but by the end of Saturday you’d started getting on very well. And that then you had two amazing nights together and Jake felt like it could be the start of something big, but you told him you don’t want to begin any kind of romance because your relationships never work out and you don’t want to get upset when this one finishes.’ Lizzie finally pauses for breath, unscrews the lid of a bottle of red wine and fills our (quite large) glasses to the rim.
‘Good summary,’ I say, weakly.
‘What did you mean, though?’
‘Exactly what you just said.’
Lizzie frowns. ‘Basically that youknowthat every relationship you startwillfinish? So you don’t want to start one with Jake because itwillfinish and you’ll be upset?’
‘Yes?’ I really don’t know what’s not to understand about that.
‘Butwhywould it finish?’
‘Because my relationshipsdofinish.’
