Irish Daily Mail - YOU
LIZ JONES’S DIARY
In which David and I become an item again
SOWE STAYED at Soho House in Shoreditch. I told David to book the room, and he chose the ‘small plus’; it could have been worse – he could have chosen ‘small’. I waited for him in the bar overlooking the steaming rooftop pool and a view of East London, the spire of Shoreditch Church poking through the gloom. I love London so much it makes my chest ache. The bar was packed with lots of very loud young people wielding brand new laptops; I couldn’t help but wonder how on earth they could afford to be here, in a private members’ club. I’ve worked at the top of my profession for 30 years, and I couldn’t afford to be here.
David was running late, so I went down and waited in the lobby. He dashed in looking anxious at 5.45pm; we only had half an hour to get to our premiere in Leicester Square. He was wearing a black Crombie coat I’d never seen before, and black Levi’s that were so new the label was still stapled to his back pocket. ‘You need to grow a beard to fit in,’ I told him, cancelling my taxi as his car was outside.
‘I had a beard until this morning,’ he said. ‘I was so depressed I stopped shaving. My flat is a mess. I haven’t been out, even on New Year’s Eve. I stopped watching telly.’
We drove to the cinema. He fondled my bare leg. ‘I didn’t say you could do that,’ I said. ‘I think I’m on a promise tonight,’ he said, grinning.
Back at the hotel (the shower was cold, the carpets stained), we got into bed. He assumed we were going to have sex, so we did, after a fashion. The next day we had breakfast by the pool (smashed avocado on soda bread with chilli flakes) and I checked out. I asked if he wanted to come and look at a house next to Victoria Park with me; I’ve decided I need to move back to London now my house is sold, mainly because one night in the ‘small plus’ room, dinner and breakfast cost £500, not including £34 to park my car and £23 for the congestion charge.
‘I would,’ he said, picking up my case. ‘But I really need to go home to use the loo.’
‘You are really trying to woo me, David,’ I said.
He was due to arrive at my new house in Yorkshire on Valentine’s Night. I wasn’t sure if he would have noticed the significance of the date, so I didn’t say a word. He turned up late, as he’d got lost: I could see him, reversing crossly in the distance; men hate getting lost. When he finally parked outside, he emerged, and in his arms were a bouquet of red roses, a bottle of champagne and champagne truffles; the only minus point was the roses came with green, spiky foliage. I don’t do foliage, and spiky leaves are bad feng shui, but at least they didn’t have glitter on them, and they trumped the single, half-dead rose he bought me last year.
‘The woman in M&S said, “She’s a lucky lady.” And I told her, well, I’m sure I’ll have got something wrong. I’m not sure if I’m being presumptuous,’ he said, suddenly doubtful, handing them to me. I’d lit the fire, and candles.
‘I do love you, you know,’ he said, giving me a hug. Gracie looked anxious and tried to get between us. ‘But you are very difficult.’
We had a frank discussion. I told him he was wrong to steal the cat. He was jealous I had seen the ex ex, but I told him that it was none of his business as we’d been on a break.
‘He never came to my house,’ I told David. ‘You’re my first guest.’
‘It’s lovely,’ he said. ‘So warm!’ The day after Valentine’s Day, we went for lunch at Middleton Lodge. It was nice to have someone to eat lunch with. When we got back, we watched Spectre, which he had never seen. ‘If you cover three quarters of Monica Bellucci’s face, she looks a bit like you,’ he said.
That is officially the worst compliment I have ever received. We are officially an item again. What on earth am I doing?
We had a frank discussion. He was jealous I had seen the ex ex