by Clare Naylor
The restaurant was full of very quiet couples. They were all so sophisticated that Liv felt she’d come in her mother’s nightie and high heels. Everyone was tête-à-tête, doubtless discussing the vintage of the merlot in hushed tones and agreeing that this year’s grape may be pungent, but it lacked a certain je ne sais quoi.
“Doesn’t it remind you of the school in Little House on the Prairie?” Ben whispered in Liv’s ear as they were shown across the low-beamed dining room to their table. This of course was all the excuse they needed to break into ludicrous American accents and find themselves hysterically funny. They devoured their warm bread rolls and then asked for more as they suddenly realised that they hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The waitress gave them a sympathetic look as though she were feeding the needy.
“Do you think we’ll still behave like five-year-olds when we’re seventy?” Liv asked, giving her first hint that she was prepared to talk about anything beyond tomorrow. Which, one glass of champagne down, was the first step to giving up her armoury of toughness and mantle of noncommitment.
“Seventy?” Ben asked, casting his imagination across the decades. “No, when we’re seventy we’ll be wandering around a farm in Devon scraping our gum boots on our grandchildren and kicking geese.”
“Devon? God, I can’t imagine a time without sunshine,” said Liv. “Couldn’t we stay here and have sandy children and mangoes for breakfast forever?”
“Sorry, you’re barking up the wrong bloke. I’ve always wanted to live in England. Well, Russia, actually, but England’s got all the miserable weather you can buy. I want a windswept, chilly old age with bleak skies and a library full of books. The sun’s no good when you’ve got the body of a California prune and can’t get your kit off without scaring off the local wildlife,” Ben remarked as he offered her a bite of his asparagus.
“If you promise that I can have a blackberry bush and pond and you’ll bring me duck eggs for breakfast you might have yourself a deal,” Liv said as she imagined her grown-up self picking daffodils and packing the children off to school with perfect triangles of marmite sandwiches. But now obviously wasn’t going to be the time to be grown-up because, as Liv tried to cut her way through her prosciutto to offer him a taste, her hand slipped and sent her wineglass tumbling, which set off a full-blown chain reaction incorporating the water jug and ending with the candelabra. In Ben’s lap.
“That’s not a good look.” Liv tried not to laugh as the waitress wafted the smell of burning away with a large napkin and offered to douse Ben’s trousers with a soda siphon.
“Thanks, I’ll be fine.” He was an adult for a second before the pair of them exploded into howls the second the waitress’s back was turned.
“It all just happened in slow motion,” Liv said by way of apology.
“Yeah, well, like I said, you set me on fire.”
“I was wondering how long it’d take you before you came out with some atrocious line, Barry Manilow.” Liv smiled as the waitress hastily took their credit cards before she got tangled up in a tidal wave or assassination plot or some other disaster that might befall the ill-fated Liv and Ben.
Despite narrowly averted injury, this had been the most fun evening Liv had had in a very very long time. She wasn’t really a druggy clubby girl. She wasn’t an athletic, hearty, surfing type, either. She was much more mellowing-out-with-the-man-I-love. It suddenly occurred to her that it wasn’t just a coincidence that she’d been in a relationship with Tim for five years. Being part of a couple suited her in the way getting pissed and staying up till five o’clock and crawling to brunch in combats with a hangover suited other girls. It would be unnatural to pretend otherwise. Liv decided that now was the moment to come clean. Then she’d be able to agree to what he wanted. What she wanted more than anything. They could at least give the relationship a try.
“Ben, I’ve been thinking. About us,” Liv began.
“It’s not so hard, Liv. You know all you have to do is say yes. I’ve never felt more serious about anything and—”
“It’s not quite so simple.”
“There’s Will, I know, but maybe you can finish with him when I finish with Amelia—”
“I’m not seeing Will. That was just a rebound moment. There’s nothing to finish, thankfully. No, this is a bit more tricky. . . .” Liv took a deep breath. “You see, I,” but as she was about to launch into her dog-handling confession she was interrupted by the waitress, who braved life and limb and approached the jinxed table.
“Erm, do you have another credit card, Miss Elliot?” she asked quietly.
“What?” Liv looked up at the interloper.
“This one’s been declined.” She was a sweet waitress who looked embarrassed to have to ask. Liv the accountant had a bit of a problem.
“Oh no,” she said, hunting through her purse for sufficient coinage.
“Here.” Ben handed the waitress his card again. “Put the rest on here. See, that’s God’s way of saying if you’d let me pay in the first place . . .” He looked at Liv, who had just had a minor epiphany.
“That’s God’s way of saying I’m no longer an accountant and now I’m a fully fledged designer of small, tight swimsuits.” Liv smiled proudly. She’d been longing for something like this to happen since she opened her junior savings account aged twelve.
“Congratulations.” Ben leaned over and kissed her.
“It’s actually a really big deal, because for the first time in my life I’ve been totally, utterly irresponsible and hopeless without having to try.” She laughed out loud and the whispering couples thought it might be better for all concerned if the couple in the corner left. Which they did.
They clambered back up the scrub of the hillside with a bit of bruising and battering on the way. At the top they collapsed onto the back lawn and looked up at the stars.
“That was gorgeous,” Liv said as Ben pulled a tin of tobacco from his pocket and began to roll a spliff. “And I’ve been thinking.” He stopped for a second and looked up at her. “Me and you. I really would like to try . . .” Liv laughed nervously to fill the silence. Ben wrapped his tobacco back up and put it to one side.
“And I hope that when I tell you what I’m about to tell you—”
“Liv, that’s so fantastic. You won’t regret it. I promise.” He gave the biggest rib-crunching hug and kissed her face over and over again.
Liv pulled back “But I’m not so perfect as you imagine, Ben. I mean I’m really so far from perfect. I can behave badly and—”
“God don’t I know it. You’re remarkably filthy for such an angelic-looking girl. You know, the morning after Mardi Gras I was so beaten up and scratched and—”
“I am not filthy.” Liv laughed as he kissed her neck and began to run his fingers up and down her spine. God, now was not the time to tell him, was it? She’d do it tomorrow. She promised.
“I’ve got you. I can’t believe it—you’re mine.”
“Okay. But just a word of warning. If you play true to boy form and dump me brutally or break my heart I’ll get my contacts in the gay Mafia to break your legs and boil your cat. All right?” Liv tried to look forbidding.
“So we’re going out together?” He looked like his team had just won a test match.
“As of the moment you’re no longer going out with Amelia,” Liv added.
“Oh, she’ll get over it.” Ben laughed. “I’m sure she’s already got her next target lined up anyway.”
“My god, who?” Liv asked.
“Good with women and horses.” Ben smiled, paying much more attention to stroking Liv’s shoulder than the fact that his girlfriend was in love with someone else.
A lightbulb went on for Liv. “If you’re talking about the person I think you’re talking about, then Amelia would never survive. Not only is he about to father someone else’s child, he’s dirt-poor and he’d never be able to keep her in the manner to which she’s accustomed.” Liv was thinking of Rob and congratulati
ng herself on having spotted Amelia’s penchant for him the first time they ever met.
“Then you’re thinking of the wrong bloke. This lucky bastard owns this place, for one thing. Along with seven stud farms in the Western Districts and a few department stores in the States.”
“Then we needn’t spare another thought for Amelia, had we? Who is this guy anyway? Guess he’s out of the country on business a lot, hey?” Liv asked, looking out over the hilltop and down the valley. At least as it wasn’t Rob. Amelia would be able to afford to have her highlights redone from time to time.
“Nah, he’s a dyed-in-the-wool Aussie. Now what about us?” Ben pulled Liv towards him and gave her a slow, warm kiss.
“So, best that you don’t come in, I think,” Liv said as Ben pulled up outside the cottage early on Monday morning.
“No, I’ll leave you to explain all this to Laura . . . unless you want me to come in and just sort of be there.”
“She’ll be fine. Leave it to me. And I guess this is it then. We don’t get to speak till . . .”
“I think after the party’s best, don’t you?” Ben looked downcast. “To be on the safe side.”
“Yeah, I guess. Well, until then . . .” She leaned in and kissed him one last time. “Thanks so much. I’ve had the most brilliant time, you know.”
“I really, really do think you’re incredible, Liv. I love the way you are.”
“Bye.” Liv picked up her bags and virtually sprang out of the car and up the path. Did life get much better?
Once inside, she collapsed onto the sofa with a goofy look on her face. Alex had left a note to say she was at the library and Liv wouldn’t have to tell Laura until after the party at least. Until Amelia knew what was going on in her own private life then it was pretty unfair to tell anyone else anyway. Except for Alex of course. And James. Oh, and Dave. Oh god, she felt a lurch of shame when she thought of Dave. How could she ever have behaved so stupidly with all that dog-handling stuff? To use Ben like some experiment. To not return his calls. To be all the things he said he hated—manipulative, steely. Oh, hell. And she just hadn’t been able to tell him this morning in the car on the way home. It was just so sunny and the music was just a bit too loud and they were having such a nice time it would have been criminal to ruin things. It all felt like she’d missed the moment. Still, what he didn’t know was not ever going to hurt him, was it? And really, how bad had it been? It was just a stupid prank. Nobody got hurt. What was a little manipulation, a little massaging of the facts, between friends? Besides which, he was never going to find out—he thought butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth and she was pure and innocent as driven snow. Try mucky slush, she thought, and put the whole matter out of her mind guiltily.
“Good weekend?” Laura walked into the room and smiled warmly.
“Yeah, really nice, thanks.”
“Liv, I have a confession to make.” Laura sat down and looked guilty. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t been completely honest with you. . . .”
Liv didn’t know whether to let Laura go on and tell her everything or just explain that she knew the whole story of Laura’s Lunacy, but she didn’t get a choice. Laura, unlike Liv, was in confessional mode and Liv could do nothing but sit back and hear her side of the story until she got pins and needles in her foot.
So Laura told Liv everything. Beginning with the fact that she’d been thrown back into old behaviour patterns when she talked to Ben on the phone. Like his voice had set off some reaction in her. She’d panicked when she heard him and lied to Liv about what happened because she couldn’t face seeing him again—couldn’t face the possibility that he might be calling by, staying over the night, bumping into her in the bathroom in the mornings. Liv explained that she was perhaps taking the scenario a little too far as he was still going out with Amelia, but Laura explained that there was little that was rational about her problem. Though she’d talked to her shrink about it and they were working through it. Above all, she was very, very sorry and understood if Liv wanted to throw her out. Of course Liv wanted no such thing and the girls ended up making up.
“Now there’s not a single skeleton left in any closet, right?” Liv asked hopefully.
“Absolutely not. I know you think all this therapy is a bit extreme, but it’s really helped me,” Laura confided. “Three months ago I wouldn’t have been able to cope with this. I’d have been a complete emotional train wreck.”
“Always look on the bright side of life then, eh?” Liv attempted. It was Monty Python, but it sounded sensible enough.
“Yeah. Life’s a piece of shit when you look at it.” Laura laughed.
And they began to whistle and sing the song until they were rolling off the sofa laughing in a completely bonded and totally insane way.
“Oh, Liv, by the way.” Laura stopped for a second. “There was one more thing. . . .”
“Oh hell, what?” Liv asked as she caught her breath.
“A guy called Tim called. He said he’s staying at the Ritz-Carlton and give him a ring ’cause he’s dying to see you.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Past Is a Foreign Country—
They Do Things Differently There
Liv could very happily not have seen Tim. She had successfully pushed him to the back of some dingy cupboard in her mind along with the time her knicker elastic had given way during the egg and spoon race. He wasn’t somewhere she wanted to go. Though she supposed that if she ever had to, then now would be as good a time as any. She was happy and glowing from her weekend away with Ben, and if she looked back to her “I Will Survive” days of misery and damp tissues and imagining her best-case scenario for bumping into Tim again, then this was it. She’d moved on completely and would no more want him back than put her own eye out with a knitting needle.
It was just that opening the cupboard would mean that she’d have to confront a few things—like the fact that she was still angry about the icy-blooded way he’d done it, still bitter about being replaced so quickly by the Sainsbury’s woman when he’d claimed only to want space and freedom. And she still thought he was mean and pathetic and small. But maybe she should pity him because he did have the odd sprouting hair on his back (unlike Ben) and played golf (unlike war correspondent Will, who dodged land mines for exercise) and had spent his last few months in the frozen goods section, whereas she’d had forays into club culture, had drag queens lap-dance for her, enjoyed (?) a one-night stand and sex al fresco—something Tim had always refused to do on no grounds other than he couldn’t see the point. Which made her a pretty remarkable and accomplished young woman in her eyes. And Tim was still just Tim.
All of which did not mean that she didn’t want to look as amazing as she could and play her look-what-you’re-missing card. So when she turned up at the Doyles’ fish-and-chip cafe with a sundress she’d made herself last week but had decided was a bit too Hands at Home for her weekend with Ben, she expected to attract a bit of attention. The dress was a bit short. And low. And other attention-grabbing things. But instead Tim seemed to be the main attraction in the place.
Not that the place was big and gaping and full to the rafters; it was an outdoor cafe and fish-and-chip shop on the waterfront. Leaning across his table, her skirt riding higher even than Liv’s sundress and her blond ponytail falling into his can of Coke, was the waitress. Sixteen if she was a day but nonetheless flirting outrageously. Liv just gleaned the tail end.
“Oh, I live down at Bondi; you have got to come and see my view. There’s a party tomorrow—” Liv was about to clear her throat to announce her arrival and, she hoped, cause the Elle Macpherson in waiting to flee when she saw the two women at the next table were also peering at Tim over the tops of their menus. Unlike the waitress, these two were only sixteen in their dreams, but presumably intended to use their throaty cigarettey voices and clanking gold charm bracelets and ladies who-lunch-but-never-cook nails to lure Tim back to their convertible BMWs. Liv was quite amused. Tim must have got
himself some new aftershave. She smiled to herself as she pulled a chair up at his table and leaned over to kiss him.
“Tim,” Liv said, then stopped dead in her tracks. This was not the Tim she had known and loved and been engaged to. This was the new, improved formula. Until this minute she’d been so busy sniggering at the hordes of admiring women she had only really recognised Tim by his shoes and watch poking out from behind the waitress. The shoes and watch were, in fact, the only things of Liv’s Tim that remained. Or so it seemed.
“Liv. Hi, darling.” He leaned over and kissed her chastely (the indignity of it) on the cheeks. “You look gorgeous. Very sporty.” Tim smiled as he sank back into his chair. “Just fish and chips; thought we’d walk along the beach and eat them,” he said with quiet assurance.
Liv nodded weakly. Sporty? She didn’t want to look sporty; she wanted to look heartbreakingly sexy. Beddable. Weddable. Once upon a time she had been. She wouldn’t have minded getting the impression that he was just a tiny bit still in love with her. Not so he couldn’t sleep and eat and stuff, but just a little “I’ll always be a bit in love with Liv Elliot” type effect.
“So how have you been?” He spoke because Liv wasn’t going to. She couldn’t. It was actually just a physical shock to see him again. The cupboard door flew open and she nearly threw a vinegar bottle at his head for the pain he’d caused her. Instead she smiled.
“Fine. You look tanned already. Been to the Electric Beach sun-bed parlour on Fulham Road?” she asked as she wished she’d left her Hands at Home dress at home and worn one of Alex’s ball gowns.
