Christmas Day.
1997.
Liz. Where do I start? I suppose the end is as good a place as any.
Yes, I broke up with her. Right after that first date I gave serious thought about the prospect of a relationship with Liz, and quickly concluded it was never going to work.
And five years later, I finally got around to telling her.
Of course, in retrospect, it might have been better to do it sooner. Certainly before she'd proposed. And probably not on Christmas Day. We'd just left my parents and as I drove, eyes fixed ahead, she broke the silence:
“Jason. I think we should get married.” Then, when I didn't say anything or react in any way, she added; “Or break up.”
“Then we should break up.” I said.
“I've finally done it. It’s over.” There was a pause at the other end of the phone.
“What is?” Asked Alex.
“Me and Liz.”
“Right,” he said. “But for how long?”
“How long? Forever!” There was another pause.
“Are you saying you’re not going to get back together with Liz?” Asked Alex.
“Yes! Exactly. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Ok,” he said, “And why's that again?”
“Why are we not getting back together?”
“No you pillock – why did you dump her?”
“Do you not listen to anything I say?”
“Not really, no” said Alex. “Look,” he went on. “Let’s face it – it doesn’t make sense.”
“Which part?”
“Any of it,” said Alex. “What was wrong with Liz? Nothing I could see. Ok, so she's a moody cow sometimes, but out of ten, I’d still give her one.” I shook my head in silent pity. “So,” he continued, “I can only assume you’re shagging someone else.”
“No.”
“But you’d like to!”
“Yes, of course I would.”
“Ah! So who's this new bird?”
“There is no new bird.”
“No new bird?”
“No.” Silence.
“So is Liz shagging someone else?”
“No!” Silence again.
“So why the hell did you dump her?”
“Because I don’t 'love' her!” I blurted.
“Yeah, yeah. Look mate, if you’d only known Liz five days I could understand it. Five weeks, or even five months, that would be fine too. But no one- no one- dumps after five years.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re supposed to marry them first!”
The rest of the journey felt like a bad dream: We sat in silence. I stared forward, mesmerised by the crimson, snow filled sky; the way the flakes swarmed, then rushed at the windscreen, like they might rip me limb from limb, if only they break through the glass.
Occasionally I'd steal a glance at Liz. But all I could see was the back of her head, her sleek hair shielding the side of her face, and a hand at her mouth. Every now and then her body would jolt, and shake, as if someone in the waking world was using a defibrillator to bring her back from the nightmare.
When we finally got to her place we just sat in the car.
“Want to come in, for coffee?” she said eventually. Just as she had done a million times before. The thing to say at this point would have been “No.” “No, sorry, but given the fact I've just dumped you on Christmas Day I’ll just make a move.” Instead I said:
“Ok then.”
“Fine,” said Liz, getting out and slamming the car door behind her. I got her bags from the boot and followed her into the flat. By the time I'd got in, put down the bags, removed my coat, hung it on my allocated hook, Liz was in the kitchen. Somehow she'd had time to change and now she stood with her back to me, engulfed in nothing but one of my jumpers. From the thighs downwards she was all smooth bare legs and cute little feet. I could quite fancy her, if she wasn't- well- Liz.
“How long?” She asked, putting tea bags in mugs in the same way someone might load a gun.
“I don't understand,” I said.
“Don't play stupid with me Jason,” she said turning to face me, her face flushed, her teeth bared. “How long had you been thinking about ditching me?”
“I wouldn't call it 'ditching',” I said, “it's just.. I don't think...”
“How long!”
“A while.” Liz folded her arms and gave me that look again.
“What.. a few days?” She asked. I said nothing. “Weeks? Months?” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. “Months!” said Liz. “How many? Are we talking years?” Again silence. “Years!?” She exclaimed. “I don't believe this! You can't have spent the whole of our relationship waiting for the right moment to break up?!” I raised my hand in front of me, in the way you do when you want to say something important. I took a breath. Then another. And then- nothing. Liz threw her hands in the air “You have! Haven't you?! How the -”
“No of course not!” I said, finding some words.
“Well that's what it sounds like!”
“But I haven't said anything!”
“You don't need to Jason, it's written all over your stupid.. fat.. face! If it wasn’t for -”
“Look!” I said, “Just... shut up.. a moment! It was.. I was.. 'hoping'.”
“Hoping?” Asked Liz.
“Yes.”
“Hoping for what?”
“Hoping that.. it would get better.”
“Better? How?”
“Just... better.”
“What? That I'd magically transform into.. Kylie Minogue.. or someone?”
“No!” I said, the blood rushing to my face. “Of course not!” Liz screwed up her face, bunched her hands into fists, and visibly shook for a second or two. This was not a good sign.
“Oh for god's sake Jason!” said Liz, her voice leaping octaves and decibels with every word. “When are you going to grow up and get over your Stupid – Kylie - Fantasy! She's not even a real bloody woman!”
“Of course she is!” I replied.
“If you believe that,” screamed Liz, “then you're an even bigger idiot than I thought!” She whirled round on the spot, picked up the tea spoon from the work surface, and then hurled it at my face. It missed, just, but ricocheted off the kitchen cupboards and hit me on the back of the head.
“Ok,” I said. “That hurt!”
“Just answer me one question!” Roared Liz. “If I'm so bloody awful, why the hell did you ask me out in the first place!? And a second time!? And why did you sleep with me!?”
“That's three questions,” I said.
“Jason Smith,” she said screwing up her face again and stamping her foot, “I swear I'm going to..” and before I could raise my arms in defence, she was holding one of the mugs above her head and aiming it at me, right before she spotted something better.
“Whoa! Ok,” I said, my palms outstretched “now – put the knife down!”
“Just answer the question!” demanded Liz.
“Knife down first!” She looked at the blade in her hand, slammed it on the work surface, opened a drawer and took out a plastic spatula.
“Ok look,” I said, mind racing. “Not all of us are 'Garys'. Not all of us can swan down to your local nightclub on a Friday night, undo a few shirt buttons, throw half a dozen ‘Stellas’ down our necks, waltz over to the nearest bit of nightclub totty, and say, 'get your coat love, you’ve pulled'.”
“Jason,” said Liz, spatula quivering in hand, “what the.. hell.. are you talking about!”
“Just listen a moment! What I'm saying is.. when the stars are aligned, and Ibiza has momentarily depleted Essex of it’s supply of Garys, and you finally meet a girl that’s remarkably still single.. and you ask her on a date... and she accepts.. it’s tempting to believe that those days of being sad and single might be over.” For a brief second her face flickered with interest. This was all news to her. I continued:
“But if that first date doesn’t go quite as well as you hoped, well what then? Especially if Miss First Date is now banging on your door demanding her second and third date? Do you return to your life as the geek? Back to the life of competing with every Gary and his mate? Or do you relent and go on that second date, hoping, against all the odds, that maybe the first date was just a bit flat and given a second chance, things might be better? Of course you do!” I stood for a moment, hands still outstretched, and watched for any sign that Liz might lower her weapon. She didn’t. Instead her eyes narrowed.
“I did not 'bang on your door',” she said.
“Oh for godsake Liz, you phoned me and asked why I hadn't invited you out again!”
“Rubbish!” said Liz. “You phoned me and invited me to a Chinese - I remember it clearly.”
“That's crap and you know it! You phoned me and told me I should invite you out for a Chinese. What's more you already had a table booked at the Chinese lantern and you told me to pick you up at eight! What was I supposed to do?”
“You should have said you weren't interested!”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you - I was hoping things were going to get better!”
“Then you should have told me.. when they didn't!”
“It wasn't that simple!”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because..”
“Because what?” spat Liz. But I'd dried again. I just waved a hand around in front of me like I was hoping to conjure words out of thin air. “Because we'd had sex?” asked Liz. I waved both hands, and shook my head for good measure, but there was nothing. Nothing, but the truth.
“Yes,” I said eventually, letting out a long sigh.
“So you didn't dump me.. because I'd slept with you?”
“I didn't want you to feel.. used.” Liz raised her arms heavenwards.
“Oh! But this is so much better! Five years later, and I find out that our entire relationship was your way of letting me down gently!?”
“It’s not that simple,” I muttered. Liz stood there for a moment waiting for me to say something else, then when I didn’t she folded her arms tightly across her chest and lent back against the worktop.
“So, if it's not me, just what is it that you do want, Jason Smith?” I said nothing. Just stared at my feet. Then she turned her back on me, put the spatula on the side, and rested her hands on the work surface. I stood there, hating her, hating myself, wondering if I should say something, but knowing I had nothing left to say.
“Jason,” she said after a moment. “Just.. leave.”
As I closed the door behind me, and took in a lungful of the icy air, it felt like I was stepping into another world; a world without Liz. Or at least, a world where Liz was just another person.
I crunched through the fresh snow to the car, and somehow summoned the courage to glance up at her flat. I was just in time to see her step away from her window, and draw the curtains.
And that was it. Five years of my life. With Liz. Over.
But as I cleared the snow from the car windscreen her words kept ringing in my ears: “Just what is it that you do want, Jason Smith?”