Liz Fielding - City Girl in Training

The house is on fire and you only have time to grab one item of clothing. Would you choose:

a. the kickin hot purple leather miniskirt that turns heads in the street?

b. your expensive go-anywhere black suit?

c. a pair of washed-thin jogging pants that you were wearing when you first met the man of your dreams?

d. the designer skirt you bought in a sale? Youll never get a bargain like that again.

e. the sweater knitted for you by your grandmother?

A RE you sure you dont want to take this sweater, Philly? Aunt Alice will expect to see you wearing it at Christmas My mother looked up when I didnt answer and caught me looking at the quiz in the magazine shed bought me on her last-minute dash to the shops. Save that for the journey, dear, she said, as if I were six years old, instead of nearly twenty-three, or you wont have anything to read on the train.

I heroically resisted the urge to tell her that while I was the baby of the family, the one who didnt get a starred first at university, I was quite capable of buying myself a magazine, and instead gave her my full attention. Her question, however, had been purely rhetorical. Shed already unzipped the corner of my case and tucked away the sweater.

It figured.

Id been haunted by that sweater ever since my Great-Aunt Alice had knitted it for me. It was pale blue and fluffy and I loathed it. Id planned on putting it in a carton of clothes to be stored in the attic, hoping that a moth would consider it a suitable home for her offspring.

You really should have bought a new case. Im not at all happy about this zip.

The zip is fine, I said. At least it had been fine until my mother had added that sweater. Im catching a train to London, not flying to the other side of the world. Unlike my parents who were abandoning me, throwing me upon the mercy of strangers while they went on a world tour visiting their far-flung offspring.

My father had taken early retirement and it was, my mother had told me, time for them to have a little fun visiting my three clever and adventurous brothers in New Zealand, California and South Africa, respectively. And my beautiful, and equally adventurous, clever married sister, and her new babies, in Australia.

Fun! They were parents . Parents werent supposed to have fun. They were supposed to stay home, do the crossword, play Scrabble and drink cocoa and I told them so.

They thought that was very funny.

I WASNT JOKING!

But then, neither were they. Theyd spent the last thirty-five years bringing up their family and now they were seriously intent on enjoying themselves. I was the only fly in the ointment. Twenty-two years old, still living at home. Still dating the boy next door. With no sign of a wedding any time soon.

Worse was to come.

Id assumed theyd go on their extended holiday happy in the knowledge that Id be there to take care of things while they were away. And the up side was that, with the house to myself, Id have a real opportunity to move things along with Don. Get his mind out from under the bonnet of his car, away from his mother, and inject some physicality into our relationship.

I was getting desperate for some action while I was still young enough to enjoy it.

But my fathers successor had been looking for somewhere to rent while he and his family found a house in the district. The deal had been done before Id even heard about it. Id appealed to my mother, but shed said it was nothing to do with her. And thenand here was an extraordinary coincidencemy boss (the one who played golf with my dad every Sunday morning) asked me if Id consider a six-month secondment to the City. Working in a merchant bank. Honing my skills for the next step up the ladder. Promotion. Something Id been avoiding for the last two years. Promotion meant moving.

But Maybridge was alive with the twanging of strings being pulled and, before Id known it, my mother had been on the old girls network, finding me somewhere to live.

Itll do you good to have a change of scene, she said, over my protests. Youre stuck in a rut in Maybridge. Gone as far as you can at the local branch of the bank Everything came in threes, and apparently ruts were no exception. And Don takes you for granted. It will do you both good to stand back and look at where youre going.

I knew where I was goingId known since I was ten years oldbut my mother had a look about her that warned me that any argument would be a waste of breath. An I-know-whats-best-for-you look. An unexpectedly knowing look that suggested a little enforced separation might shake Don into action.

Nearly twenty-three years old and still a virgin, I was getting desperate for some action.

All this talk of ruts was, however, a bit hard to take from a woman whod lived with the same man, in the same house, for nearly forty years.

Not that I was criticising her for that. It was what I wanted, too. A lifetime with one man, in one house, raising a family. Just like my mother.

And Don wanted the same thing. Well, obviously he didnt want a man , he wanted me, hed said so. He just wasnt doing anything about making it happen. Perhaps my imminent departure would jolt him out of his complacency.

Id found him in his garage working on the small vintage car hed been restoring for what seemed like for ever, told him my news and held my breath.

London? he said, with that sweet, puzzled expression that made him look as innocent as a baby. Okay, he was innocent. And sweet. If hed been anything else, Id have been beating off other girls since he was old enough to shave. But hed only ever had eyes for me. He pushed back his floppy blond fringe, leaving a smear of grease on his forehead, to look at me with concern. What on earth will you do in London?