LIZ JONES’S DIARY
In which David gets back in touch
SOME CHRONOLOGY. SAM was put to sleep, as he could no longer eat or stand, on Saturday 10 December, just four days after I moved house. I collect his ashes on Wednesday. On the Monday after he died, I received the following from the estate agent.
‘Dear Liz. We have received a few complaints about you. You have not been keeping your dogs on the lead. And you have been leaving your car on the gravel, when it should be parked in the garage. We trust there will be no more issues.’
I’ve only just moved in! I had left my car out as I was back and forth unpacking, and in case Sam needed to go to the vet in an emergency. I think a dog kept on a lead is abuse; collies need hours of exercise at full pelt. And whatever happened to people welcoming a new neighbour with a bunch of flowers or a bottle of wine? I’m going to start complaining about people’s bad taste in ornaments placed in windows where I can see them.
On the Monday before Christmas, 19 December, a package addressed to me arrived at Isobel’s. I opened it. There was a Christmas card and some Christmas presents. I opened the card, thinking it must be from a PR who had sent me some beauty products. It read:
‘Hi Liz. I know how much you enjoy Christmas so I wanted your tree to look as festive as possible. I hope you will accept these gifts in the same spirit they were purchased. With love, your creepy skinflint. X’
I unwrapped them. A cashmere cardigan and cashmere tracksuit bottoms, both grey and size small (plus one gold star; last year he was under the impression I’m a medium), a wooden tea-light holder in the shape of a heart (minus a gold star; I’d have preferred Diptyque; should I read anything into the heart shape?), slippers, which were damaged, and a gift each for Grace Kelly and Mini Puppy. I didn’t unwrap those, but Gracie had a little chew on a corner. I emailed him this.
‘Dear David, thank you so much for the gift, which arrived today. I have only unwrapped the square box, as I thought it might be jewellery, and read the card. I want to apologise for my behaviour. I have been under a lot of stress.
‘After a huge amount of work, I am in a much better place. I no longer have an enormous mortgage.
I have a small garden, and the house is beautiful and warm, it’s just like a boutique hotel. It’s really near a Lidl. I’ve just let the cats out, and they love it here as it’s so safe.
‘I will be on my own at Christmas. I really wanted Sam to have one last hoorah but in his last week he just went downhill really quickly; he couldn’t even stand up. I hope you have a lovely Christmas. I imagine you will be with your mum and family in Inverness. You really were the love of my life. It’s a shame I was in no position to be in a relationship.
‘Love, Liz x’
I kept checking my inbox to see if he had replied. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Nothing. Then, on 22 December, this: ‘Hi. Thank you. Sorry to disappoint re “jewellery”. I got the tea light as an impulse thing. The others I’ve had for some time. (If the slippers really have broken, they should be replaced. They’re not cheap.)
‘Thank you also for the apology. It is my mother you should be directing that to first. I am pleased your life appears in control. It seems that ever since we met you’ve had a constant list of disappointments and bad news. Hopefully that will change. No, I’m not going to Scotland for Christmas. ‘Love, David.’ Why should I apologise to his mum? He had to say the slippers ‘weren’t cheap’, didn’t he? I’ve looked them up. Mahabis slippers. Almost £80. The stuck-on sole, beneath the detachable one, came off. I love the ‘really have broken’. I don’t make things up. How about: ‘I’m sorry I lied about meeting my ex, my car. I’m sorry I don’t take care of myself for you. Sorry you lost your home. How heart-breaking. Sorry I said I was busy in an irritated voice, not even looking up, because I was cooking a frankly awful tomato sauce.’
Patronising t***.
‘It seems that ever since we met,’ wrote David, ‘you’ve had a constant list of disappointments’