Sweetheart
He called her Sweetheart the very moment they met, sprawling into the seat beside heranother red, velvet-upholstered chair, as frayed by countless elbows as the one beneath Eliza.
He spent a minute surveying the hall before glancing at his neighbour.
“Bored, sweetheart?” he sighed, attempting to cross his legs, but the meagre aisle of the old London concert hall made it impossible. His pointed shoe jammed against the seat in front, twisting his ankle; Michael grimaced in discomfort.
Eliza pretended not to notice him, fixing her gaze on the stage, though nothing there warranted attention. Tables pushed into a single row, a lectern, people bustling to and fro, fiddling with equipmentjust like every conference she’d ever endured. And the air was thick and stifling.
Crowds always made Eliza uneasy, crammed together shoulder to shoulder, with no way out.
“Well,” Michael stretched the word, rubbing his chin. “Were in for it, aren’t we! You know, sweetheart, nothing new here. Truly! Ive read every reportthey land on my desk, you know. Job perk. Not an ounce of substance in the lot.”
Eliza turned and regarded him sternly.
He was neat enough, in suit and tie, shoes polished to a shine. But still, something off about him, like a cut-out figure pasted atop the wrong outfit. A rogue, a jester, a chatterboxhe radiated mischief. Even his hair bristled up, with two cowlicks at the crown curling delicately. Soft hair, gentle.
“Michael,”he offered his broad, warm hand before Eliza could utter a word”And tell you what, lets skip off for lunch. Youre tiny! I want to see you properly fed. Yes, let’s. Come on, lets scarper!”
The lights in the hall had begun to dim, and various bosses and managers were taking the stage, folk clapping dutifully, when Michael, blithely unconcerned, led his Sweetheart out, endlessly treading on peoples feet, clumsily stuffing his tie back into his blazer as it refused to stay hiddenalmost as if to stick its tongue out at all those stern-faced grey suits.
“What are you doing?! Let go of me, will you!” protested Eliza, trying to pry away her hand, but he had a firm grip and she shuffled along behind him towards the exit.
They burst into the foyer just as the ceremony reached its climax, someone tapping a microphone, desperate for quiet.
“Let me go! I need to take notesI have an assignment!” Eliza snapped, clutching her notebook to her chest; her pen clattered to the floor. She bent to retrieve it, but Michael was faster.
“Oh, leave off scribbling, Sweetheart! Ill send you all those reportsread them in your own time. Right now, lets get some food. But first, water. Youre pale as a ghost, and your pulsehm, yes, too quick. Here, let me feel.” He checked her wrist, tutting. “Air, food, no more conferences!”
Eliza did feel rather drained, her heart hammering, throbbing at her temples.
No one before had cared for her like this. Shed always been the carerfor her mother, her husband, her daughter. It just seemed normal. Hard at times, of course. Sometimes shed yearned to let down her guard, to be carried, be carefree, to drink wine and laugh like the women in Sunday evening dramasbut there was never any opportunity.
But Michael gave her that chance.
She hardly noticed how, but soon enough she was sitting at a cosy table in a pub just across the street, and the waiter brought them glasses of juicefresh-pressed, golden-orange, so bright it might have been squeezed from the African sun itself, all orange and lemon and passion.
“Here you go. Drink that. And some water. Right, what shall we eat?” Michael mused, scanning the menu.
He seemed genuinely taken with her. Eliza, slender and delicate, the trace of fragility lending her an unlikely charm. Might have had her share of admirers, if not forwell, if not for that look of perpetual weariness and resignation. Nearing fifty, with a family, no spark of love, all of it routinehow could she bloom like an English rose?
Still, Michael found her enchanting, Sweetheart who was exhausted by life.
“I dont want anything. Ill catch my breath and go back in, I promise, Im feeling much better!” Eliza protested feebly.
“Go on, then!” Michael nodded. “But first, some sea bass and veg, a salad, andSweetheart, what will you drink?”
He tore his eyes from the menu, mischief and freshness in his look, smelling vaguely of tobacco and cologne, all muscles and strength, gazing at her.
She blushed, frowned. She was out of her mind, surely! A perfect stranger dragged her to a pub, buying her lunch, calling her ‘Sweetheart,’ even straightening a lock of her fringe, the cheek! And she just melted, softening completely.
Where he had touched her, the skin burned, and shivers ran along her back.
They shared a bottle of white wine, and Michael chatted about his youth, how he worked summer jobs on building sites, then headed up north for a stint on big projects. Later
“Later, Sweetheart, me and my mate George started our own businessnothing grand, just a crew building garden rooms and summer houses, knocked together some teams, and it took off. Everyone wants to be cosy, dont they? And in comfort, no dashing to the loo in the cold. We got the hang of it. Go on, eat! This is for you, Sweetheart! Realised the moment I saw you: This young lady needs feeding! Want more?”
She shook her head, feeling as if she were floating, from the wine, the delicious food, and the peculiar joy of being cared for, just because she was worn-down and slim.
Home had never been like this. Eliza grew up with just her mother, always working. Mornings, she was gone before Eliza awoke, most nights home late; Eliza fending for herself, keeping dinner warm, washing up while her mother had a shower, both in bed by midnight.
On New Years Eve, her mother Mary would appear at elevenshe worked in a shop, the final pre-midnight hour always brisk with shoppers. She arrived haggard and pale. Eliza would set out her frock, help pin up her hair, then off theyd go to greet the guests.
The flat was crowded every yearneighbours, friends, some distant relations who appeared unexpectedly, already tipsy and boisterous. Everyone sat around, chatting and laughing, while Eliza kept a wary eye, ensuring her mother didn’t pass out after her first vodka.
Mary only touched vodkasaid champagne was a nonsense, but vodka, that was proper! Problem was, her worn-out body let her down just after one glass; shed begin to snore at the table. Eliza would nudge her, she’d startle awake, squint at her surroundings, then quickly demand another shot, clinking glasses, laughingthough always with a bitter edge. Hardly the time for Eliza to be a frail little girl.
Eliza married young. Andrew was nearly ten years her senior, wise, set in his ways, university-educated, but not affectionate or talkativehe seemed to have fitted Eliza into his life like a cog in his clockwork, never offering more.
Not that Eliza longed for romance or passionit was there, at the start, as bodies have desires, but it soon faded. The best thing was she now had her own family and space, away from her eternally weary mother and the dismal flat with peeling wallpaper. Now it was their own well, Andrews flat; a kitchen, spacious bath, two bedrooms and a grand bookshelf, and a husband. Everyone envied her! Living separately from her mother-in-lawa real blessing!
From her girlhood until her encounter with Michael, Eliza had always been just ‘Eliza,’ or at best, Miss Eliza Victoria.
Andrew, her mother, her friendsall called her Eliza.
But then came ‘Sweetheart.’ Wine, nibbles and someone actually interested in her thoughts and wishes.
Andrew was always busy. Sure, he discussed the household, major purchases, holidaysusually just informing her of his decision, her protests lost in the breeze rattling through the ever-open windows (Andrew loved the air; forbade closing the windows, drafty or not).
At the pub, though, Michael immediately ensured they had a snug spot, out of the draught.
Thoughtful…
He asked her questions, Eliza answered bashfully. Yes, she had a husband. And a daughterwhats her name? Jane. Janes at the university, studying languages; Eliza had found her the perfect tutor, and now Jane was soon heading abroad on a placement.
They hadnt exactly ‘planned’ Jane, or prayed for herthey simply set about it. Andrew’s mother insisted he ought to become a dad, and Eliza was young, surely it would happen soon. But nothing did, and they worked at it.
Eliza finally discovered she was expecting. For all nine months, Andrew kept his distanceno touching her belly, no talking to the baby as people do in cheerful adverts. He found it a bit…distasteful.
“Once thats born, then Ill deal with it. Eliza, whens your next check-up?” That was his reply. “I can drive you over!”
He did so, and fetched her from the hospital with balloons, guests, and a “Thank you for our daughter.” He monitored Janes weight, Elizas milk, bought only the best food, got up at night with the baby, carried her for vaccinations. When the health visitor came, Andrew checked she scrubbed her hands thoroughly, eyed her white coat, warmed the stethoscope for Janes comfort.
“Tired?” her friend Grace would ask, eyeing Elizas dark circles. “A baby isnt a rose, its hard work! Does Andrew at least help?”
Eliza would shrug. He helps, she supposed. But never enough…
It was almost pleasant to feel the martyralways frazzled, people sympathised, sometimes criticised her husband for not cherishing his Eliza more.
But Michael fussed over her, fed her delicacies. She blushed again and declined.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Michael would mock-scowl. “Eat up! Not letting you go otherwise!”
Eliza bit her lip, watched her unlikely hero with a mournful gaze, and ate.
He walked her to the Tube; she refused a further lift, pleading errands.
That evening, the conference notes arrived in her inbox.
“For Sweetheart from Michael!” the note read.
Eliza snapped the laptop shut quickly, but Jane seemed to notice, smirking at her mother’s fussing.
“Honestly, what a silly nickname!” Eliza muttered. “These are official documents for goodness sake. Foolishness!”
Jane, already detached, turned away, headphones on, music up.
“Eliza, Jane, Im home! Dinner time!” Andrews voice rang from the hall.
He stumbled in, weary from a stuffy commute, stripped off his shirt, changed to shorts with garish green palms, flung open the patio door, inhaling.
He smelled sour, sweat lingering from yesterday.
“Look, Eliza, Im not showering every day! Stop it! Makes my skin itch like mad. Ill wash tomorrow, alright? Done. Lets eat.”
They ate in silence. Eliza thought of Michaelhis fresh scent, courtesy, the ease of his manner.
He rang her at the office the very next day.
“Hello, Sweetheart! How are you? Missed you. Have you eaten?” Michaels voice boomed in her phoneEliza panicked, sure everyone could hear.
“No Not yet, so busy…” she mumbled. Sweetheart. Her. Tremors danced down her spine.
“Drop everything, come down. Im in your cafénot much, but we need to eat, dont we? Come on, now!”
Eliza mumbled an excuse to colleagues, pressed the lift button, cheeks aflame with scandal. Surely they all suspected she had a lover!
Shed begun to think of Michael as sucha lover. Exciting, daring.
Today Michael wore a crisp T-shirt and jeans, hair tousled.
They had coffee, Eliza recounted childhood stories, Michael attentive.
“Sweetheart, youre beautiful, do you know that?” he blurted. “Lets buy you a dress! Ive friends at those boutiques, theyll sort us out. I want to see you in a dress.”
And he did. Not right that moment, but that evening, whisking her to Harrods, sitting on a velvet pouffe while the shop girls fussed over a flustered Sweetheart.
Oh, the way he looked at her! So hungry and eager. Andrew couldnt compare.
“Ive never seen anything like it!” Eliza confided in Grace, her closest friend. “Only in films. Never thought Id be looked at that way. I felt like a woman, Grace. Its dreadful, but I liked it.”
“What about Andrew?” Grace pressed gently.
“He knows nothing. And he shouldnt. I hardly know myself what’s happening! Dont breathe a word, alright? And please keep the dress for mehere, in this bag. How could I ever explain? It cost a fortune! Whats going to happen, Grace?”
Grace shrugged. What happens, happens.
“I dont know, Eliza Youre being daft. Andrew might not be a charmer, but remember how he used to travel out to Kent in winter, just to fetch you real milk? And he works hard. Another man would lounge on the sofa drinking lager, but yours is clever, respected, gets you holidays every year. He’s solid. Whos Michael, though? Where’s all his money from?”
“I dont know. And what do I care? Grace, you never lived with Andrew. He bores me to the point of nausea, understand? You just envy me!”
Grace shrugged again. Perhaps she did. But not for Michael, for Elizas solid marriage.
Eliza began coming home late, tossing together hurried meals, pushing food round her plate, daydreaming.
“Mum, you listening? I asked for bread twice.” Jane called out, then fetched it herself. “Were out of bread!” she grumbled.
Eliza nodded, scowled and retreated to her room. Lost in dreams.
Andrew and Jane exchanged wary glances.
Eliza could drift for hours, head spinning, palms damp with nerves.
Michael was tender, a wonderful kisser, teased her shyness, fussed over her, called her Sweetheart, fed her, bought her gifts she hid at Graces house. Occasionally, hed send her money, even risk texting at night. Eliza would bolt to the bathroom to read, delete, wait, then switch off her mobile and return to bed.
Andrew would roll over, drape his heavy arm about her, mutter, and belch. Eliza would stiffen, silent. Ah, if only Andrew werent there… If only shed known what it meant to be Sweetheart: lovely, passionate, beautiful. So many years wasted
But now she had Michaelher true happiness.
They met at his flat, spacious and bright, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Londons skyline glittering at night. Her head spun from Prosecco and Michaels scent, the sheets smooth and clean, real silk…
The world exploded in fireworks, showering diamonds across their bed.
Home became stifling and bleak. Eliza imagined everyone suspectedJane stared, Andrew grew stern.
She invented reasons to stay out late, coming home after all were in bed. Sitting alone in the kitchen, with a mug of bitter instant coffee, lost in longing…
… “Eliza, where are you? I bought cabbage, need it shreddedremember?” Her husbands voice crackled over the phone as she stared at Michael swimming laps at the pool. Goosebumps ran over her in the chilly air.
Shed never swum at the Lido before, but Michael brought her, urged her to change, and theyd swum while mist rose in the freezing dusk. Few people, peaceful. From the diving platform, she could see the twinkling lights in Hyde Park. Yet Eliza only had eyes for her gallant. At long last, shed found himat long last, love! Dear Lord…
“Cabbage?” she floundered, wrapping up in a towel. “Leave it. Ill be latewe Grace and I are at the pool. They said I need to work my back. So, we got a membership. Tomorrow for the cabbage. Sorry, Grace is callingbye!”
She hung up, swallowing, needing to warn Grace in case Andrew rang her.
She waited for Graces answer, whispering hurriedly about the pool, then fell silent.
“Eliza, I just popped round with some caraway seeds. Didnt you say you use them with your cabbage? I picked some up at the market, thought Id drop by. Andrews already put the kettle on,” Grace replied serenely. “CarawayI brought it…,” she repeated pointedly.
Eliza bit her lip, glancing for Michael. He stood on the platform, flexing, ready to dive; beneath him, a group of giggling girls waved. Younger, slimmer, full of life.
“Alright, sweethearts? One, two, three!” Michael cried, leaping into the water with perfect grace, then waved at Eliza. “Eliza, come on in! The nights still young!”
The girls turned, examining Eliza. Suddenly, she was ordinary again, with her droopy stomach and unflattering thighs, floundering through the water like a frog. Her face resumed its habitual, careworn grimace.
Michaels new sweethearts were already playing water polo, diving to brush against him.
He laughed, barely bothered that Eliza had slipped away. He understoodcommitments, family, cabbage. Let her go!
… The hallway was dark, the sitting room too. Only the kitchen light glowed.
Andrew placed a pan of eggs before her.
“You must be hungry after the pool? Eat. Shall I cut you some sausage?” He poured out a mug of tea.
Eliza shook her head. She couldnt meet his gaze, staring down, prodding her egg.
Did he know? What now? Why was he so calm?
“Eliza…” Andrew finally spoke after long silence. “Grace brought some things over. She fussed about reorganising, but I asked her to leave itits your kitchen. Bags, there…” He jabbed under the table. “She said theyre yours. Odd, arent they? She mixed them up, I suppose.”
Eliza slowly lifted the cloth, stared at the bags, shrugged.
“Exactlynonsense!” Andrew brightened, as if relieved. “Pour me some tea, will you? Or no, lets have some brandy. I need a drop.” He smiled.
Eliza sprang up, went to the cabinetand suddenly stopped.
“Sweetheart,” she heard her husband’s voice and turned sharply. He looked straight at her. “I said, sweethearton the table, sweep up the crumbs. Jane is always making a mess. Should get a cloth for that.” He finished quietly, eyes heavy, then looked away…
They drank brandy together in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes.
At last, Andrew rose and left.
…”Grace, hes gone! Packed up, left the keys on the side. Grace!” Eliza sobbed to the phone, gazing at her reflection, her face contorted and dowdy. Just hours before, Sweetheart had been splashing in the pool with Michael. The scent of chlorine still lingered in her hair, her back ached. “Grace! How could he? Is that what proper men do? Hes abandoned me and Jane!”
Elizas anger flared; she clenched her fist, struck the table.
“That is what decent men do, Eliza. Another might have struck you. Andrew lefthis own flat, mind! And you still talk about him? Grace scoffed. I could never understand why things werent working for you Youve enough, Jane is clever, Andrews no drunk, clever too. Maybe, yes, a bore, but better than tipping ale with his mates. You just wanted a fancy lifesomeone to fawn over you. Yet you never praise him, never thank him. Men are like childrenyou praise them, they give you a hundred times more! No, I cant support you on this, sorry. Goodnight.”
Eliza placed the phone in front of her, hunched on the chair, and wept quietly…
Jane passed her exams, went off to friends in the countryside. She left a note, not to be disturbed.
Michael reappeared a week later, catching Eliza as she emerged from her block of flats.
“Hello, sweetheart!” he whispered, his cheeks red from the cold, coat collar up. “Missed me?”
Eliza had called several times, seeking comfort, but he never repliedinstead, here he was…
“Michael” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”
“And now, Sweetheart, time to square up, eh? Need a favour.” Michael gripped her elbow, fingers pressing tightly.
“What favour? What are you on about?”
“I fed you, didnt I? Cared for you, eh? Now I need help, darling. Times are tight and youve your mums flatcould fetch a fair price. Lets sell it. And this place too. Come on, lets go inside, talk it through!”
Terrified, Eliza jerked away but his hold was firm, dragging her toward the entrance, praying someone might appearbut the street was empty.
“Open up, SweetheartI’m freezing,” he prodded.
Eliza sobbed, kneeling in the snow. Suddenly Michael jerked away, headbutting empty air, then toppled aside with a yelp.
Standing behind him was Andrew, wild-haired, fist clenched.
“Get lost! Out! You hear me? Or Ill break every bone in your miserable body!” he bellowed, lunging. Eliza grabbed him, pulling back.
Michael, recognising his rival, gave a sly, wounded laughAndrew, betrayed! He fell silent as Andrew struck him hard across the face.
“Go! Dont let me see you near Eliza again!” Andrew barked, grabbing his woolly hat, wiping his nose, then turning to his wife. “Come on, lets go home. Its freezing!”
…What the two of them spoke about all nightwhat pains they confessedonly the moon and the wind through the cracked window will ever know. Two untouched cups of tea, shutters ticking. At last the night enveloped them: husband and wife, for reasons mysterious, choosing to go on
No one ever called Eliza ‘Sweetheart’ again. And if they did, she only flinched and turned away.
Michael never reappeared in her lifeit didn’t work out, her husband had too much backbone.
Later, Michael overheard her on the bus saying shed no idea what to do with her mothers flat, how tired and lonely she felt. Michael thought he might finally solve Elizas housing crisisand her loneliness too. With a gentle hand, she mightve parted with all she ownedhed tamed, fed, cherished her. But he acted rashly, pressed by circumstances. George demanded his money, so sharply that Michael felt his ribs burn So he lunged for it, demanded Elizas help. It backfired. Ah well, there were plenty more sweethearts in the worldunloved, sorrowful, always yearning. Michael would find them, bring them happiness, and take his due.
For now, hed had to quit that beautiful flat with the silk sheets and city view. But Michael always landed on his feetunless George had other plans.
