Olivia's Luck

by Catherine Alliott

  Yes, OK, I couldn’t do the subtle lighting job on Malcolm that I’d previously envisaged, but I could at least put him in deep shade with an old Panama hat of Johnny’s – quite familiar, I thought, to lend him that – pulled down over his eyes. Right down.

  I was just about to move away from the window and hop into the shower, fizzing with nerves and excitement now, when something stopped me. I stared. To my horror, I saw the caravan door open. Good grief, hadn’t they all gone home for the weekend? It was Sunday, after all. Did they have to live with me permanently? The door stayed open, but no one appeared. Oh terrific, I seethed furiously. All my sylvan scene needed was Mac, belching and scratching his balls, Alf, bending down for bricks and showing us half his backside, and Spiro, sobbing away in a corner somewhere – Jesus! I watched in fury as finally Lance came down the steps, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, his tool bag under his arm. Suddenly I remembered he’d said he was going to work this weekend because Mac wanted to get the Aga in next week and the cabinets had to go in first. Damn. I didn’t particularly want him ligging around, sniggering behind his hand at me and Malcolm, but at least, I reasoned, he was less obtrusive than the rest. And if he was ensconced in the new kitchen with his lathes and drills going, and Capital Radio blaring, he probably wouldn’t be any trouble. I followed his journey up the path, under the rose arbour, across to the terrace and – ah, that’s exactly where he was headed for. Good. He shut the kitchen door behind him, and, relieved, I hopped in the shower.

  As I lifted my face up to the warm water I felt nervous, but strangely excited too. Gosh, perhaps Angie was right. This taking control lark was rather stimulating, and if Johnny took the bait, heavens knows what sort of passions and jealousies could be aroused. I wondered briefly if the posy of flowers was a bit too much … No. Why not? Flowers were always delightful, and what about a straw hat for me? Very Vita Sackville-West in her garden. Or was she a lezzie? She was certainly very Bloomsbury and blue-stockinged, but I couldn’t quite remember which way she’d leant … forget the hat. The garden was stunning enough anyway, just at its most magical at the moment, with the Albéric Barbier in full flower, the lavender borders brimming over and – Damn. I paused mid-scrub as the telephone rang from my bedroom. Swearing and dripping I grabbed a towel and ran to get it.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Olivia? It’s Malcolm.’

  ‘Malcolm! Hi!’ Gosh, I was almost delighted to hear from him, almost as if he really were my lover. I could quite get into this role-playing.

  ‘Olivia, I’m awfully sorry, but something’s come up.’

  I blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I’m so sorry, but I’ve just realised I’m supposed to be somewhere else this morning. I do apologise, but I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to make it.’

  I stared, horrified and dumbstruck, into the mouthpiece. What did he mean, he had to be somewhere else? Where else could a man possibly be on a Sunday morning, apart from church, the pub or a car-boot sale, for God’s sake? I sat down heavily on my bed, aghast.

  ‘Malcolm, I don’t believe it. Where have you got to be?’

  Silence.

  ‘Malcolm?’

  There was another pause, then I heard him clear his throat. ‘Olivia, am I right in thinking you’re separated?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you have a young daughter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who, presumably, your husband has visiting rights to on a Sunday?’

  I licked my lips. Couldn’t speak. My tongue seemed to be entwined with my tonsils.

  He sighed. ‘Olivia, when you’ve been single as long as I have, you get to know the ropes. A lot of the girls I know are gay divorcees, but some are not so happy about it, and the Sunday morning routine is an old one. I don’t particularly want my lights punched out by your estranged husband, if it’s all right by you.’

  I was speechless. All my plans, my schemes, dripped off me, evaporated into the duvet. But a small part of me felt awful too. There’d been a sadness in his voice. A jaded resignation.

  ‘Malcolm, I’m so sorry. I feel dreadful now, and I really did like you.’ I crossed my fingers hard here. ‘I didn’t ask you over just to – well to –’

  ‘Use me?’

  I gulped. Licked my lips. ‘Um, look. Maybe – maybe we could get together some other time?’ I said generously.

  ‘I don’t think so, do you?’

  ‘Er, right. No, no, maybe not.’

  ‘Goodbye, Olivia.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  I replaced the receiver. Stared at it. Bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger! Now what the hell was I supposed to do? God, Johnny would be here in – I glanced at the clock – an hour. I’d got the linen dress laid out on the bed, the croissants poised ready to be warmed in the oven, Claudia was away for the night – gosh, that had been difficult enough to arrange – I couldn’t waste all that effort! Couldn’t do it all over again next Sunday, could I?

  I paced about the room wrapped in a towel, racking my brains madly. For an awful heady moment I wondered if I could borrow Roger. He was in insurance or something, wasn’t he? Could I possibly ring and ask Nanette if he’d come over and take a look at my policy? No – no, he’d probably rape me in the undergrowth hooting ‘Lucky dog!’ before hoovering up all my warm croissants and, anyway, I had a feeling Johnny had met him once so he’d know he belonged to Nanette. He’d also know he was a complete prat. No, that was no good. So what on earth was I going to do!

  I wrung my hands wretchedly, gazing out of the window at my perfect table, my flowers, when suddenly, right underneath my window, from out of the kitchen door came Lance. I stared down at him. He was wearing old khaki shorts, a faded pink T-shirt, and was carrying a couple of skirting boards, destined, no doubt, for the workbench, which he’d set up outside the back door. I blinked. Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? Lance! Hell, in anyone’s book he was completely bloody gorgeous, far more gorgeous than Malcolm – and certainly Roger. Yes, yes, Lance was perfect! But the only problem was, I thought, chewing my lip maniacally now, how to organise it? How on earth could I set it up without him suspecting anything, and without him – heaven forbid – thinking I fancied the pants off him? I chewed my lip even more furiously, paced about the room a bit more. I glanced nervously at the clock. Ten o’clock. I didn’t have much time. Suddenly I remembered something. Quick as a flash I got dressed in the cream dress, the navy shoes, the pearl earrings, brushed my hair, tucked it neatly behind my ears, added lipstick and mascara, and went downstairs.

  Out in the garden Lance was planing away, his broad back bent low over the bench as he worked, his shoulders rippling under his T-shirt, the blond curls curling at the nape of his brown neck, just slightly damp with sweat as he – Blimey, I’d be sweating myself soon; I was rather warming to this idea.

  ‘Hi!’

  He turned. I gave a breezy smile. A dinky little wave.

  ‘Oh, hi there.’ He looked me up and down. ‘You going out?’

  ‘Um, no, just sort of, felt like a change from jeans, really.’

  ‘Oh, right. Very smart. Not much good for your usual grovelling about in the flowerbeds, though.’ He turned and went back to his planing.

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ I walked round the bench so that I was facing him. ‘Um, Lance?’

  ‘Yes?’ He paused, looked up.

  ‘I was having a look at that brochure of yours just now. You know, the one you showed Angie the other day, with all your tables and chairs and things in it?’ I produced his portfolio from behind my back.

  ‘Oh right,’ he brightened.

  ‘Yes, and I was just wondering, would you have time to make Claudia a bedside table? Nothing fancy –’ keep it cheap – ‘it’s just that – well, she’s got nowhere to put her books and things and I’m sure she’d love it.’

  ‘Sure, I can do that. Which one caught your eye?’ He moved across to take the book from my hand. I held it back.

&nb
sp; ‘Well, I was wondering if we could discuss it later. You know, have a sort of meeting. At about eleven thirty?’

  He shrugged. ‘OK, but I can talk you through it now if you want. I’m not that busy.’

  ‘Er, no, that’s all right. I’ve got to – do the washing-up. But I thought, if we could catch up later, ooh, let’s see, say under the cedar tree? Over there where the table is?’

  He turned and followed my gaze. Slowly he took in the two chairs, the checked tablecloth, the flowers, the jam, the coffee cups. He looked startled for a moment, then his face cleared. As he turned back, his eyes glinted, as though he’d just had a brush with possibility.

  ‘Sure,’ he grinned. ‘Under the cedar tree it is. Shall I have a rose in my teeth?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I spluttered. ‘But – you might put some trousers on.’

  He blanched. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘N-no – nothing,’ I hastened. ‘Forget it.’ God, so stupid, Olivia. Why on earth should he change his shorts, for heaven’s sake?

  He gazed down at his shorts. His mouth twitched.

  ‘You don’t like my legs?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never even looked at them!’ I could feel myself blushing.

  His brow wrinkled. ‘But you think … Ah yes, that’s it, you think that if you do look at them, and my brochure, you’ll be so overcome, you’ll start panting and have to loosen your clothes?’

  ‘Idiot!’ I spluttered. ‘Forget I said it. I’ll see you by the tree at eleven thirty, wear what you bloody well like. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got jobs to do.’

  I turned and stalked off, hopefully with dignity, towards the back of the house. But after a moment, just as I was crossing the terrace, his voice stopped me in my tracks.

  ‘What time’s Johnny coming?’

  I turned. Flushed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said,’ he strolled towards me, hands in his pockets, ‘what time is your husband coming?’

  ‘I – don’t know what you mean!’

  ‘Oh, I think you do, Olivia.’ His voice was gentle now. Less flippant.

  He gazed at me, blue eyes very intense. I took a deep breath. Raised my chin. After a long moment, I spoke.

  ‘Eleven thirty. And yes, Lance, how clever of you, how sharp. You’ve seen right through my little plan. I did want to make him jealous, wanted a reaction from him, but unfortunately, the candidate I originally picked for the job also smelt a rat and cried off, so I panicked and asked you instead, satisfied? You see, naïve and new to this game as I am, I thought I’d hit on an original formula. Thought – I know, I’ll pack Claudia off to a friend, be caught by my husband having a cosy à deux with my lover under the tree and then, terribly flustered, say, “Oh, Johnny, I’m so sorry! I was so caught up with lover-boy here, I forgot to ring and tell you Claudia wasn’t here!”’ I smiled ruefully. ‘Little did I know I’d picked a well-worn, sad divorcee’s path, one that all you predatory, prowling, single men can sniff out at twenty paces. Forget it, Lance. I’ll still have the bedside table, if you don’t mind, but I’ll just mark the brochure and give it back to you later.’

  I turned and started to go towards the house, tears already pricking my eyelids. Just short of the French windows, he caught up with me.

  ‘Hey, hang on. Don’t go off in a huff!’

  I walked on.

  ‘I just think you could do it better than that, that’s all.’

  I stopped. Turned to face him. ‘What?’

  ‘You want to make him jealous, right?’

  ‘Well, yes I –’

  ‘And is sipping tea with some stuffed shirt under the cedar tree really going to make him see red?’

  ‘Well I thought it might just –’

  ‘What time did you say he was coming?’ he interrupted.

  ‘Half eleven.’

  He glanced at his watch, interrupting. ‘He’ll be here in ten minutes. Right. We have to get a wiggle on. Now, what we need are a couple of these,’ he walked across to the washing line, reached up and grabbed a couple of towels, ‘and a rug, possibly – have you got a rug? Oh yes, I know. I’ve seen one in the cloakroom.’ He marched inside and, as my heart began to beat faster, reappeared a moment later with it under his arm. He laid it on the grass with the towels.

  ‘Now,’ he frowned, ‘let’s see … I’ll take off this –’ he whipped his T-shirt over his head – ‘and these –’

  ‘No!’ I squeaked as his hand went for his flies.

  He grinned. ‘Only teasing. No, I’ll just lie down like this, I think.’ He settled back on the rug, arms locked behind his head, legs stretched out, brown chest, with its smattering of golden hair, bared. His merry blue eyes squinted up at me, into the sun. He shaded them with his hand.

  ‘You look ridiculous, if you don’t mind me saying so. If you’d just had a romp with your lover you’d hardly be prissed up like that. You look like you’re going to the Tory Party Conference – all you need is a frigging hat – and apart from anything else, it’s eighty-five degrees. Go on, go and get your kit off and put your cossy on. Oh, and grab some suntan lotion while you’re at it. Come on, chop chop, we haven’t got much time!’

  I gazed down at him incredulously. Get my kit off? Suntan lotion?

  ‘But –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, he’ll hit the roof, won’t he? Seeing us laid out out here, all sort of –’

  He raised himself on one elbow. I have to say, he looked completely gorgeous. ‘All sort of … naked? And isn’t hitting the roof the general idea?’

  I gulped, hovered tremulously for a moment, but didn’t make the mistake of hesitating again. He might change his mind. As a wave of hysteria threatened to engulf me, I ran inside, up the stairs, across the landing and into my bedroom, pulling out drawer after drawer, riffling around for my costume. My costume – oh God, could I do this? My hand stayed abruptly. I shut my eyes tight. Thought of Johnny. How I wanted him. Yes, I bloody could.

  What I actually came down in – rather sheepishly – was something of a compromise: a bikini top and shorts, not quite having the nerve to go the whole hog which would involve exposing my thighs, which, since I lived in shorts, were horribly white and, as Claudia put it, ‘rather porridgey’.

  I crept nervously to the rug. He was still prone, hands locked behind his head and eyes – thankfully – shut. I was grateful for that small amount of tact, for not looking me up and down as I slunk down beside him.

  ‘Got the Ambre Solaire?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, my heart going like a bongo drum.

  ‘Good. To be applied later. With vigour. Now, what would you like me to be, a solicitor? Architect? Famous artist? And shall I change my name to Jeremy?’

  I giggled. ‘Oh, well, now let me see …’ I paused. ‘How about Lance, the cabinet-maker?’

  He grinned across at me, seeing me for the first time with not a lot on.

  ‘That’s very loyal of you, Olivia, but actually, I think it would be better if I wasn’t a chippy or anything too manual and close to home. It would look a little slutty of you to have bonked one of your workforce already, don’t you think?’

  His eyes danced at me. I shaded mine to see him more clearly. I could never quite tell if he was laughing at me or not. Slutty? Would it? Well yes, of course it would! I inched away from him hurriedly on the towel, suddenly having severe second thoughts about this charade, when at that moment, the doorbell rang.

  ‘Shit!’ I squeaked, flipping over, face down on to the towel. ‘He’s here!’ I shoved my fist in my mouth. ‘Oh God, Lance, I’m not sure I can do this. I think I’m losing my bottle!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course you’re not. Here –’ he passed me the Ambre Solaire – ‘have this one. Now, sit up and rub it into my shoulders. Firmly, please, I don’t want any namby-pamby business.’ I hesitated. ‘And don’t forget, Olivia,’ he murmured into the towel, ‘I’ll bet he’s just given that Nina of his a ri
ght good seeing to.’

  That did it. I knelt up, emptied half a bottle on to Lance’s back, and got stuck in. His skin was soft and velvety, already warmed by the sun, and I could feel my heart pounding for various reasons as I kneaded the lotion in. A silence prevailed. Just my heavy breathing and a couple of swallows, warbling away in the treetops. Then the bell rang again. I was almost shaking with nerves now – in fact, I had a feeling I might have to run for the loo in a minute. Thank God I had my back to the side passage and wouldn’t see his face immediately. All went quiet. For ages.

  ‘Oh God, he’s not coming round!’ I hissed, panicking. ‘He’s going to go away!’

  Lance raised himself up on his elbows. ‘Quite normal,’ he whispered. ‘He feels he doesn’t live here any more, you see, so he wouldn’t presume to come round the back. I’ll go and see him.’ He jumped nimbly to his feet.

  ‘Lance! No, you can’t! What are you going to say?’ I gasped.

  ‘Oh, I’ll say you’re in the bath, soaking, and that in all the excitement you forgot to ring and tell him Claudia was away. I might yawn a bit too, scratch my sleepy head, and then as he goes, I’ll turn and walk back upstairs to the bedroom.’

  ‘Lance!’ I shrieked, but it was no good. He’d gone.

  I flung myself down on the towel and stuffed the corner in my mouth. Omigod omigod! He’d freak! He’d go insane, he’d – he’d hit him! Would he hit him? I took the towel out of my mouth. I had a feeling Lance was just a little bit bigger, and Johnny wasn’t a fisticuffs sort of man but, oh Lord, the fur would most certainly fly. I shut my eyes tight and counted – one elephant, two elephant – like Claudia did to will the seconds by.