Maybe I had, rather inadvertently, slept with a call girl, but compared to the people I met in London, I might as well have been a virgin. Not that at heart we were so different, because in the end, we were all just looking for love, Elizabeth included. Liz, as I was soon instructed to call her, was a very high-end escort who worked one or sometimes two nights per week, and got paid a lot of money for it. The rest of her time she spent painting. In fact, I’m looking at one of her paintings now, as it’s hanging on the wall across from my writing desk. She sent it to me as a housewarming gift when I came to live here, with a note attached that said: “Dear Lee, don’t get too lonely. If you do, call me.” I haven’t called her yet, not that I haven’t been lonely.

I could have easily fallen for her, if it weren’t for my pre-occupation with Nathalie and Liz’s, well, occupation − it took me a while to come to terms with that. She was tall and blond and pretty in a glossy kind of way. And she had the most amazingly elegant fingers. But above all, she was so incredibly nice. The way she spoke to me the first time we met, so warm and gentle, she just oozed kindness. She also went about ‘things’ in such a natural way that I never for a second felt awkward about it. She made me laugh, she teased me and she giggled with me. It just felt like harmless fun, which was basically what it was, but, given the circumstances, I could have easily perceived it as completely the opposite. That was Liz’s big talent, she felt totally at ease with herself and what she did, and she could make you feel exactly the same.

Later, when I asked her why she had taken me under her wing, she told me that, although I was trying very hard to hide it, she saw a slightly scared, bewildered lesbian trying to come to terms with life in a big city, and all that came with it. People like Alex and Theresa, for instance, whose hedonism seemed to overwhelm me somewhat, but who constituted the two most important relationships in my life, at home and at work. Meeting Liz really was a welcome change from hanging out with Alex, who was always up to something and for whom sleeping was almost a crime − except if it wasn’t alone. Alex was a great guy, who was always there for me when I needed him, and more, but he lived at a pace that I would never get used to. He was a party boy, a disco queen, a Mary Poppers, and he brought it all into our flat, all of the time. I guess Liz noticed my more demure side and she soon gave me a key to her place, which was definitely not located in East-London − which wasn’t nearly as trendy in the early noughties as it is now − and had the most amazing view. It was filled with her paintings and her easy-going spirit. I ended up spending quite some time there, reading books or the paper, writing in my journal or plotting unsent letters to a woman I was trying to forget.

We were not romantically involved, but I guess we were what is nowadays referred to as ‘friends with benefits’. Years later, when I told Liz that I was clearly the more beneficial party in our friendship back then, she said that was completely the opposite of what friendship was about and that I should never think like that again. She was, and still is, a wise woman and a great friend. And she taught me a thing or two about sex toys on the way as well.

To be continued…