be any tell-tale Durex logos lurking on the carpet. This was the seedy aftermath of the night before and Lizzie collapsed back onto the bed feeling hot, bothered and decidedly unsexy.
Within nanoseconds she was back in the bolt upright position and rummaging through her make-up bag. This was when she was glad that she’d decided to stay on the Pill, even though she presently had sex less often than the England cricket team won a Test series. As she knew from her letters, condoms weren’t always to be trusted, and taking the Pill had become a habit. Somehow it made life a little easier and, although she knew she shouldn’t be popping hormones on a daily basis, it prevented her skin and monthly mood swings returning to their teenage ferocity. Anyway, it was one of the few things in life which was still free, and in the prolonged barren months between men it helped to remind her that some people had sex regularly.
Lizzie wrapped herself in a towel and set off for the bathroom to restore herself to her formerly feisty incarnation. On the bright side she’d had a great day and sex—twice. On the down side she didn’t like to think that he made a habit of this…
And to think that she’d already been thinking of it in relationship terms. Would it take a lobotomy for her to learn? She’d jinxed it all by herself by daring to think long term. Men definitely had a sixth sense about that sort of thing. Her instinct had said genuine last night, and she was usually quite a good judge of character, but then he was unlikely to have had ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ printed on his boxer shorts. For all she knew he was a serial sex-on-a-first-date merchant. Still, Lizzie had vowed in the past that she would no longer live with her heart on her sleeve. She could be pragmatic. Right. It was just sex. In which case everything was going according to plan. Well then. Much easier to deal with now.
Lizzie had barely put one carefully painted toenail over the threshold when she saw Clare standing at her bedroom door, a slice of half-eaten breakfast in her hand. The ‘phantom’ toast-maker was indeed at home. For once Lizzie wished her flatmate had a nine to five job. Clare’s knowing smile was making her feel like an attraction at a Victorian circus. Roll up. Roll up. Come and see the woman who had sex twice in an hour with the incredible disappearing man.
‘So I take it you had a good afternoon and evening with Mr Matt? Coffee too this time. What progress.’
Lizzie was beginning to wonder whether Clare had installed CCTV before she realised they had abandoned their mugs on the coffee table. There was no point denying anything.
‘Yup, we went to the cinema after lunch and he came back for a coffee before heading home. What time did you get in?’
‘Oh, not until half-one. I ended up drinking the world to rights with a few girlie mates…just for a change. You must have done your usual pass-out-on-the-sofa-before-staggering-to-bed trick. You left all the lights on. I know I’m a sad old nag, but we don’t need to leave the hall, landing and sitting room lights on while you’re in bed, so if you could just try and muster enough energy and co-ordination to hit a few switches as you stumble past I’d appreciate it.’
‘Sure. Sorry.’
Lizzie didn’t even remember turning the landing light on, and smiled esoterically when she realised that Matt had probably put and left it on when he got up to leave…which meant he must have left before Clare got back. Which meant—her smile evaporated—he hadn’t exactly hung around. Clearly she wasn’t as irresistible as she had previously thought. And to think that she’d entertained the possibility, albeit fleetingly, that he might be making her toast this morning…
Clare was quick to notice the split second when the corners of Lizzie’s mouth turned up.
‘Lizzie Ford. You…you…you pulled, didn’t you?’
Lizzie hated that word. It was so unromantic, and didn’t sound like anything she ever wanted to be involved in. She wished that for once Clare could be just a touch more tactful and a fraction less direct. She was feeling more than a little emotionally fragile this morning.
‘Well, isn’t Matt a lucky boy…?’
For the first time since she’d woken up Lizzie was glad that he wasn’t in her bed, listening to Clare going on and on…and on.
‘So…’ Lizzie was refusing to make eye contact. Clare couldn’t bear it any longer, and she couldn’t wait for Lizzie to tell her in her own time either. ‘Well…did you? Did he…? Is he…you know…? Well…?’
Lizzie wasn’t helping. It was going to have to be the direct approach and it was now or never. ‘Well…did you shag him?’
The pause that ensued was pregnant—with twins. Lizzie reddened, Clare had her answer and, despite her flatmate’s broad, almost proud smile, Lizzie felt a little cheap. About £4.99.
Clare decreased her volume for dramatic effect, bypassing her normal speaking tone in favour of a clipped half-whisper. She had just one more question.
‘In which case, where is he now?’
‘How would I know?’ Lizzie tried to sound flippant and failed miserably. Her presently folded arms indicated only one mood: defensive.
Clare knew that Lizzie was incapable of emotionally detaching herself from this sort of situation. Maybe she should have adopted a more softly-softly approach, but the trouble with that was that she never got any answers. Lizzie always started out trying to be coy about relationships. Clare usually only got the real truth after copious amounts of alcohol or after the final whistle had been blown on the whole thing.
‘Ahh. So he didn’t exactly say goodbye, then?’
‘No. I just woke up this morning and he had gone. No note. Nothing.’
Clare scolded herself for being so insensitive. She was seriously cross with Mr Matt. She changed her whole tone and demeanour at once, and replaced accusatory with sympathetic.
‘So that’s it, then?’ She went over and gave Lizzie a hug and stroked her cheek affectionately. ‘Just a one-night stand?’
‘Yup, that’s it. Just a bit of festive fun.’ It sounded logical to Lizzie, even if it didn’t feel fun right now. She wished Clare would stop being so nice. It was only making her feel tearful and crying wouldn’t achieve anything. If she was feeling hurt, it was her own fault for letting him get under her skin.
‘Was it worth it?’
Lizzie blushed. Clare had her answer. She could have told Lizzie that she should have waited, but it was a bit late now and no one needs a told-you-so, smart-arse flatmate at a time like this.
Lizzie was sitting in her study, staring at her computer screen trying to work, when the doorbell rang. She had no idea what time it was. The day had been doing its best to drag its heels since she’d got dressed.
‘I’ll get it!’ Clare shouted.
Fine with Lizzie. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. The front door slammed and was shortly followed by a tentative knock at her study door.
‘Yes?’ She didn’t even look up. She wasn’t in the mood.
‘Liz. Good news…he obviously has shares in delivery services.’
‘Hmm… What?’
Lizzie looked over her shoulder. Clare
