by Clare Naylor
“Sure, love to!” she called back. “Thanks!” Okay, score ten, she thought. Fantastic. And nothing but spearmint would pass her lips until then.
Chapter Eleven
Here, Boy
The next day Liv decided to tell Alex that she would be joining her for the evening’s entertainment. She didn’t usually like to tag along with Alex wherever she went, but she was happy to make an exception because she had received a very personal invitation to Ben’s party and there was no way she was going to let him down. She did, however, completely forget that according to Dave, she wasn’t meant to be available and offer herself at a discounted rate to the first taker. Still, what did Dave know? Hadn’t Ben practically panted after her last night? Besides, he’d handpicked her. It would be rude to say no in the name of dog handling.
“So I’m going to Ben’s party tonight. Shall we go together?” Liv asked as she practised her blanket stitch on a scrap of fabric. She had vowed to teach herself to sew, and then she’d be able to help the boys out with their designs. It wasn’t hats for Goldsmiths, but it was a start.
“Sure, sweetie, but I thought you couldn’t walk because of your ankle.”
“I can’t. Well, not very well, but you can just perch me on a stool and I’ll be fine,” Liv assured her.
“Whatever. Tell you what, I’ve got to dash round to Charlie’s to pick up my moisturiser, so I’ll get you some arnica cream to take the bruising down while I’m out.”
“Fab. Oh, and we need a pint of milk!” Liv yelled back as Alex dashed out of the door. “And cereal,” she added, wondering how she was going to get skinny if she couldn’t walk. And in under six hours.
Two hundred sit-ups on the living room floor seemed as good a place to start as any until Laura came in and made her feel a bit embarrassed. So instead she decided to make herself a health shake with every seed and pulse and fruit she could find. It was really completely disgusting, but she just visualised Amelia’s clavicle as she downed it in one. In fact, visualising Amelia could be a good way to make Liv a better all-round person. It could inspire her to learn foreign languages and make her race down to the beach for her surf lesson instead of practically crawling across the sand cursing. She grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen.
“How’s work at the moment? Busy?” Liv asked Laura, who was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor in what was an undoubtedly therapeutic manner.
“Fine. Got a postholocaust set to design and finish by next week, though, so I might be a bit tied up,” said Laura. “How was the party last night? I’m really sorry I ran off. I just had a bit of a funny one, y’know? Bit of a panic attack.”
“Oh, it was fine. Actually, it was great. I ran into this guy who I knew years ago. Real sweetie,” Liv said.
“That’s nice. Do you fancy him?”
“Is it that obvious?” Liv blushed a bit; she was still torn between wishing she’d kissed him back and being glad that she hadn’t, as yet, had an opportunity to disappoint him. “Well, I suppose I do have a bit of a crush on him. But he’s going out with some girl called Amelia, so I think it’ll have to be a nice fantasy,” Liv said, but really hoping to god it wouldn’t have to remain in her head and that whatever strange frame of mind or class A narcotic it had taken to persuade Ben to try to kiss her last night was still kicking around his system tonight.
“I see.” Laura let her sponge fall into the bucket and looked a bit pale and ill suddenly. “That’s nice.” Then she seemed to do some counting thing under her breath and a chant that Liv couldn’t quite make out, but it was pretty miraculous, because after she’d said it she sprang to life again like a jack-in-the-box. Liv meanwhile pretended not to notice and distracted herself by taking a pair of scissors to an old Vogue. “Do you want some of this pasta, by the way?” Laura was now going at it with a tin of sweet corn and some tuna.
“I’d love some, only Alex is coming round soon and I’ll probably have lunch with her. But thanks.”
“Oh my god!” Laura suddenly yelped, and her tuna mush fell to the floor with a huge smash. Liv looked up and caught Laura staring at the picture of Amelia in a Colette Dinnigan evening dress that Liv had shoved under one of the fridge magnets in a bid to motivate her. “What on earth is that doing there?” Laura began to pick up her crashed bowl but still didn’t take her eyes off Amelia.
“I know. She’s disgustingly pretty, isn’t she? I just think it might help motivate me,” Liv said decisively.
“Oh, shit.” Laura started her chant again but stopped. “It won’t work. I can’t handle it.” And with that she fled from the scene as though she’d just discovered the tuna was radioactive waste. “I’m sorry.” She burst into tears as her bedroom door banged shut behind her.
“I can’t believe you didn’t kiss him,” Alex said later as Liv lay prostrated across the sofa surrounded by discarded board games and the wrappers of a 25 percent extra free six-pack of TimTams, the best of Australia in chocolate biscuit form. Laura was still acting like a train wreck in her room.
“Neither can I. And I wish you hadn’t let me eat all that garlic bread or I’d probably still be lying there being all Here to Eternity with him,” Liv said as she rubbed some more arnica cream into her still bruised but now thankfully deflated ankle.
“Yeah, until Amelia decided to come looking for her boyfriend. Despite the fact that I think you should take your fun where you find it, I also think you ought to be careful not to piss her off. She’s a tough old cow.” Alex turned off the television. “Shall we order in? Pizza?”
“Sure. Anyway, I don’t see how Amelia can be such a hypocrite. It’s not as if she isn’t getting her oats elsewhere.”
“Listen, Liv, I know for a fact that the Robert–Amelia thing just isn’t happening. They’re not having an affair,” Alex said sternly. Then she softened marginally to add, “And I don’t want to sound like your mother, but you do know that Ben’s probably not as sweet and harmless as he seems, don’t you? I know he does that shy, flaky hesitant stuff, but I mean you don’t get to snag Amelia Fraser, heiress with a penchant for spitting out Hollywood actors after breakfast, if you’re not a major player. And in my vast experience major players tend not to be nice. And you, my angel, are about as sweet and tough as a jam doughnut,” Alex said as she rifled through Liv’s drawers for a take-away menu. “Just be careful.”
“What on earth is this?” Alex was trawling through the cupboard looking for the pile of take-away food bumph that nestles somewhere in every home. She pulled out a transparent plastic folder that Liv had never seen before from the bottom cupboard. “Under the telephone directories.”
“Don’t ask me. Pizza menus?” replied Liv, thinking that if Alex wanted to make her fancy Ben even more than she already did then she was going about it the right way. Dangerous. A player. When a girl just got out of a steady (terrible word) relationship with a wonderful man what was she looking for? Well, it certainly wasn’t nice. And it certainly wasn’t kind to babies and animals. Or even makes a great Bolognese sauce. It was danger, of course. Big red letters promising that if you go within the taped-off crime scene of this man then you’re looking for serious trouble. For trouble meant lust, sex, ecstasy, and, yes, if you’re not careful, a scorched heart. Which all seemed pretty tempting after five years of ishness with Tim.
“A dossier. Christ, you really have fallen for him, haven’t you?” Alex sat down at the kitchen table and spread the contents of the folder across the table. “Amelia Fraser and unknown hunk at the Australian Music Industry Awards: ‘Stunning heiress Amelia seemed to have put Brit-pop boyfriend Jonti Clarke behind her last night as she arrived dressed in a slinky black dress with a mystery male companion known only as Ben. She refused to be drawn on the subject, saying only, “I’m having a fabulous time tonight seeing some of Australia’s finest musicians.” ’ ” Alex flicked her way through a few more cuttings. “Could she be more bland if she tried?” Alex said.
“Thanks, Alex; you’re a fab
friend.” Liv hobbled over to the table and heaved herself onto one of the chairs.
“Great dress, though,” Alex muttered, and began to pack the Ben and Amelia Collection back into its folder. “But, Christ, all these pictures you’ve been cutting out of him. How long have you been doing this for, Liv?”
“Me? This wasn’t me. How pathetic do you think I am? Just because I’m single doesn’t make me a demented sad stalker of other people’s boyfriends,” said Liv. “It must have been Charlie’s.”
“Somehow I don’t think so.” Alex asked, slotting the folder back into the drawer, “But who else could they belong to?”
Liv shrugged her shoulders and looked closely at Amelia opening a possum sanctuary in Vaucluse when suddenly it hit her.
“It’s not Charlie’s folder. It’s Laura’s. And it’s not Ben Parker she’s interested in. It’s Amelia.” Liv’s eyes lit up wide as this stroke of genius dawned on her. She whispered excitedly so that Laura couldn’t hear, “It’s Amelia. The friend of Charlie’s who broke Laura’s heart was Amelia Fraser. They had an affair. It all makes complete sense now.” Liv limped back to the sofa triumphantly.
“Liv, you’re so full of it,” Alex said dismissively as she dialled up Arthur’s Pizza. “First you’re determined that Amelia’s having an affair with Rob, which I categorically know not to be true.”
“How?” Liv quizzed her. “It still could be.”
“It’s not.” Alex shuffled her hair in front of her eyes a bit and looked shifty before continuing with renewed vigour, “Then you decide that she’s actually gay and a heartbreaker to boot. Bit of an ulterior motive here? Like Ben, for example?”
“No, I’m right. You know, I’m sure she guessed that it was Ben Parker who I had a crush on, because when I said he was going out with Amelia she looked all pale and started praying. I mean how many Amelias does Charlie know?” Liv felt a bit like Miss Marple, but with youth on her side.
“None, I suppose,” Alex conceded.
“Exactly. And she freaked when she saw the photo of Amelia on the fridge, the fact that she wouldn’t come into the party when she knew that Charlie’s friends, i.e., Amelia, was going to be there. See, I’m right. So where, I wonder, if Amelia is a dyke, does that leave Ben?”
“Well, as he’s a bloke, probably pretty chuffed that he’s scored a lesbian fantasy to be enjoyed in his own bedroom. For free. Do you want pineapple on yours?” Alex asked as she doodled a loveheart on the front of the telephone directory.
Later, when Alex had scoffed her pizza and gone for a shower, Liv wondered if she should go and make sure that Laura wasn’t standing on the edge of the balcony wondering what it would be like if she left this big bad world forever. She decided that this was Laura’s problem and she clearly had all the professional help and handy mantras a girl could hope for at her fingertips. Though Liv was longing to know whether Amelia did swing both ways. Actually, Liv hoped that she didn’t, because that would make her a bit more interesting. Looks were quite enough without interest tossed in to ruin Liv’s chances even further. Still, poor Laura. Liv would just have to be kind and let her know that she was there for her. She’d smile warmly a lot and leave nice Post-it notes around and replace all the wine that she had drunk in the last few weeks. Show she cared a bit. Right now Liv had to prepare for the night she came face-to-face with fate. “Look out, Ben,” she said to herself as she softened the edges of her eyeliner and hitched her boobs up over the precipice of her trusty old bodice. Yes, the Chloe of wet streets of Notting Hill fame, though all that was now thankfully forgotten. As was her wedding to Tim. In fact, the only fantasy she was indulging anymore had this tacky happy ending that involved Liv and Ben Parker somewhere hot with a cocktail umbrella in the background. Heedless of her swollen ankle, Liv struggled into a pair of Alex’s Manolos. She practised her evening in her head:
Ben Parker pushed her backwards onto a chaise longue (blissfully not the balding maroon velour usually found in pubs but a kind of soft damson velvet from Wallpaper magazine) and deftly unlaced her corset until her bosom spilled voluminously into his large, warm hands. His kisses were salty with the taste of the oysters they’d just shared, her mouth sticky with the juices of the Persian honey cake he had just placed piece by piece between her eager lips . . . and now . . . feasting not on Turkish delight or lobster but . . . oh, the crescendo of pleasure . . . her right nipple.
“Oh, you look fabulous in those shoes!” Alex squealed, and Liv smudged her lipstick in a bloody-looking red mess up to her nose. Alex was resplendent in jeans and a white T-shirt. Liv had on her satin trousers and hair a foot high with product. “But you do know we’re only going to the Grand National, don’t you?” Alex said as she scraped her hair back into a loose ponytail.
“What? For a quick drink before the party? Sure, that’s fine,” Liv said, thinking that it would give her time to work out the exact angle she could tilt forward so as to be stunningly sexy but not pouring her tits onto Ben’s lap. “Where’s Charlie tonight?” she asked.
“Oh, he’s gone to some conference in Canberra. So while the cat’s away I thought we’d go and play with some locals. It’s crap coming all this way just to see the same old faces. I mean how many real Australian accents have you heard yet?” Alex quizzed Liv as they hopped in a cab to the Grand National.
“Well, quite a few, actually. There’s Laura. Then there’s Justin the surf instructor. And Ben and Amelia and Rob.”
“Oh yeah, actually, Rob might just pop into the pub later.” Alex smiled.
“Great. We can all go on to the party together.”
But Alex wasn’t really paying attention. “Which is just what I mean. Rob’s about the only real Australian we know. Tonight I thought we’d leave the poncy crowd behind and meet some blood-and-guts Aussies. Dyed-in-the-wool. Okka. A bit of rough,” she whispered huskily as the cabby grinned a black-toothed all-my-Christmases-have-come-at-once-type salivating grin.
“But we are going to the party later, right?” Liv asked as she thrust a tip into the cabby’s hand and tried to ignore the disconcerting way he whistled his heavy breathing through the gaps in his teeth.
“What party?” Alex asked as they approached the Grand National, a pub that, despite a new lick of paint, hadn’t managed to shrug off the locals.
“Ben’s party. The one he invited me to last night. The one I got dressed up for. I don’t usually hoik my tits up under my chin just so some bloke in a scruffy bar can have a laugh trying to rest his pint on them,” Liv said anxiously.
“Oh, Liv, you never said. I’ve been planning this all week. Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” Alex looked genuinely guilt-stricken. “We can always go along later if you like. I mean I’m sure that Rob and the boys won’t mind.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Liv put on a brave face, knowing that later she wouldn’t feel up to it and her chest would be too exhausted to perform.
“If you’re sure. I tell you what. I’ll invite Ben and Amelia over to dinner one night next week and sit you and him at the opposite end of the table to Amelia and feed him oysters just to make up for it,” Alex promised, and looped her arm through Liv’s as she and Alex swayed in through the doors of the pub like Mae West into a Western saloon. The men on the other side wished they had their pistols at the ready. Liv ran her hand through her hair in a bid to lose a few inches and followed in Alex’s already-feted wake.
“Can I get you anything, love?” A man in moleskins took a step forward from the bar and offered Alex his stool.
“Holy shit, that’s the first time Tom’s taken his arse off that stool in thirteen years!” his mate yelled from the snug.
Liv and Alex smiled, took their glasses, and sat at a small round table under the window.
“So before the boys get here I thought we should have a bit of a chat.” Alex took a sip of her wine.
“Sounds ominous,” Liv said, hoping that it didn’t concern men, because she was actually bloody bored of being so overanalytical right
now and if she couldn’t be getting hot and heavy with Ben, then she’d rather just shut the whole subject out for a while.
“Not at all. Actually, I had a business proposition for you.” Alex continued, “I’ve been thinking about Greta’s Grundies and how for James and Dave it’ll always just be a hobby. Their Saturday afternoon social club. But you know, I think it could be a really successful business. The branding’s bang on, the boys have so many contacts, and between you and me I reckon we could make it a really profitable company.”
“Really?” Liv hadn’t really thought of Greta’s Grundies as a major business proposition, but well, maybe it could work. “But what would we do? Buy the boys out?”
“Exactly. We could arrange to pay them in instalments, give them shares, and then expand, expand, expand.” Alex had clearly thought this through.
“I don’t have any money at all,” Liv thought out loud for a moment.
“Well, I can sell some stocks; you could remortgage your flat or something,” Alex offered helpfully.
Wow, clearly Liv’s accountancy brain had deserted her over the last couple of months. “Yeah. I think you’re right. We’d have to talk to James and Dave, though. It’s totally their baby.”
“If you’re agreed in principle then that’s great. And think of the contacts we have here. I reckon Amelia will really help us, too, if we ask her. She’s so well connected,” Alex concluded.
“Yeah, and she’d want to call it Amelia’s Adorables or something pukey.” Liv wasn’t too happy about this part of the deal.
Bloody Perfect Amelia. She could very well live without her. Amelia’s Adorables. Adorable Amelia. Eugh. And anyway, why hadn’t Liv been called Amelia? The name that tinkled like a bell when you said it, instead of Lumpy Liv, who was always just a lady’s maid in Victorian England. You couldn’t help but fall in love with Amelia, could you?
