LIZ JONES'S DIARY: At 1am he said he was going, leaving me alone in bed. I fear he was returning home to another woman…
We arranged to meet in the bar of Soho House at 8pm. He texted to ask if we were having snacks, or had I eaten? I said, ‘Of course, am starved.’ When he arrived he was in black jeans, black poloneck: he looked exactly like Daniel Craig as James Bond. I’d spent half an hour waiting (I’m habitually early), surrounded by chatting couples, and now I was one of them. We went in for dinner, and we had the most frank conversation I’ve ever had with a man. I’ve always been too unsure to stick up for myself.
‘Why did you ghost me for four weeks? I’d told you I was feeling happy for the first time in my life, and then, nothing.’
He said he’d read the comments under my column about him standing me up on my birthday. ‘Everyone condemned me. Rightly so, as I let you down. But I have no mistress, no girlfriend. And I need you to be in London. I can’t do long distance. I work in the office every day. You’d be giving up so much, your house, your horse. If you lived in London, we would be living together already, I’m sure. I want to travel, to one day own a place in Italy, spend months there.’ (I’m picturing Mini Puppy wearing a saddle of ice packs.)
My column had hurt him hugely. ‘But you aren’t identified,’ I squeaked. He had told a couple of friends he was seeing me, though, and obviously they did their homework. ‘They told me, “You have to get over Liz. She writes about you.”’ And of course they dripped so many negative things about me into his ear; as he said, people love to deliver bad news. He struggles that my online profile is huge.
I am so in love with him, so enjoying feeling normal, dressed up, I told him that before he ghosted me I’d been thinking the disaster of leaving London, losing everything, was all worth it as it led me to him. I only met him because a mutual friend had helped me get a mortgage. And then he was gone. I was now in tears, telling him my job means I have no life: ‘You ask how can I be available? This is how.’
He said he wouldn’t be sitting with me if I wasn’t a writer. That if I stop writing, the haters will have won. ‘Do I care? Not really. I am here, aren’t I?’
We go up to my room. He starts kissing me as soon as we get in the lift. We have sex and I find I’m clinging on to him.
And then, at 1am, he says something but I can’t hear him (my hearing aids whistle when kissed, so were on the bedside cabinet). So I’m sitting on the bed in my thong, while he stands next to me, now fully clothed, texting. It’s like a crazy romcom.
Him: ‘I’m going home now. I don’t like the morning, checking out, getting a taxi. That’s why I go now and we make our plan, OK?’
Me (I’m sorry, I’m pathetic): ‘OK, but I want to be with you.’
Him: ‘But we are together. Next time, I want you to accept simple and come and stay with me. I love everything about us. You are truly beautiful. Your body is beautiful. Your fame, success, is something I have to understand. I never expected to meet someone like you. So happy you gave me another chance. We start again. But you will sacrifice so much.’
Me, 3am, alone: ‘Are you sure you haven’t gone home as you live with a woman? Feeling vulnerable.’
Him: ‘I have no one. Except you. But give me our own private space that you share with no one except me.’
The next morning, I text him. ‘Again, sorry I wrote negative things but I was confused by the silence. I could write that we ended it last night due to the distance, my writing? It’s my fault you disappeared. We need to spend more time together before I decide about London. You know everything about me, every thought, but I don’t know you… yet. You can see the turmoil I’m in as I didn’t touch dinner.’
Him: ‘First, thank you for a lovely evening. Yes, I wanted you. As for the column thing, you know how to handle it. I wish I had brought you home last night. To dispel your fears. I agree we need to talk and meet more before making life-changing decisions. I was being selfish.’
On the train home, I start ordering festive food from Riverford. Man things. I google Norfolk Island pine trees. My first Christmas in my beautiful house, which is finally finished, and someone to share it with!
And then he texts, ‘I can’t do Christmas. But I will message you every night.’
