Madeleine had said she was obviously guarding her heart, and Liv asked if she had an app that generated sappy sayings. Mad had given a fake laugh and said she should bring David to the wedding as her plus one. Liv had given a genuine belly laugh and said she should have her head examined.
The truth was – and she was too embarrassed to admit this even to Madeleine – the place she was guarding was a little south of her heart. Liv knew she came across as all confidence and sass, but the very idea of sex paralysed her with fear. It had just been so long. When the boys were little she was so exhausted she hardly ever thought about it. Back then she was in no fit state; her heart was too battered and bruised, she needed time to heal, and who had the energy anyway? But lately there had been stirrings. She found it quite physically uncomfortable to watch movies with hot sex scenes, or any sex scenes, or just the suggestion that sex might happen sometime in the future. She’d even had to give up her addiction to the BBC series of Pride and Prejudice, which was her extra-strength comfort DVD, right up there with chocolate, wine and bedsocks. But that kiss in the very last few seconds – the only kiss in the entire six hours! – was enough to set Liv off, imagining what Mr Darcy was going to get up to with Miss Elizabeth Bennet when they got back to Pemberley.
But sex in real life wasn’t like sex on screen. It was clumsy and awkward, and sweaty and physical, and you had to be really comfortable with the other person before it all clicked into place. That had been Liv’s experience anyway. She’d had her share of casual sex in her early twenties, pre-Rick, but it had never really done it for her. She knew that as a liberated woman she was supposed to love it, and be all in tune with her body and free with her sexual expression. Perhaps she wasn’t as liberated as she thought, because she’d only enjoyed it when she knew the guy at least a little, when there was some chance of tenderness and regard.
So what was she worried about? She knew David at least a little now. They were grown-ups, verging on middle-aged, actually. They ought to know what they were doing. Who knows, it might turn out to be pretty good.
And once she’d opened the floodgates, then what? She had been doing fine without it, so why scratch the itch now, so to speak? Everyone knows that scratching an itch only makes it worse, and that you can’t stop scratching once you start. Nuns managed to live without sex, and they were okay, weren’t they? Liv had read somewhere that they were more likely to get cervical cancer . . . No, wait, that was the one they didn’t get, because they didn’t have sex. So there were health benefits to celibacy, clearly. Anyway, there was some kind of cancer that nuns did get at a higher rate, but that had more to do with not having children, and Liv had two. Though only one pregnancy, so she couldn’t really count them as two, in terms of protective effects.
Liv was standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding a plate in each hand and trying to remember what had started her off thinking about nuns and babies. Sex! That was it. And right then her phone started ringing like some kind of alarm, snapping her out of it.
It was Rick – that really snapped her out of it. Like being doused with a bucket of cold water.
‘I know the boys have a sleepover tomorrow night,’ he began. ‘So I was wondering if you’d come with me to look at an apartment I’m considering. I could ask the agent to take us.’
She wondered what planet Rick was living on, thinking a real estate agent was going to give him his own private viewing on a Friday afternoon, on a rental. It was a buyer’s market, not a renter’s, making him a beggar, not a chooser. He could get in line like everyone else.
Rather than explain all that to him, she just said no.
‘You don’t want to see where the boys will be spending part of their time?’
‘I’ll say it again, Rick: you’re their parent, I trust you to look after them adequately when I’m not around.’
‘You know, you’ve become really hard lately, Liv,’ he said, his voice glum. ‘You haven’t even asked me about my break-up.’
‘Because that would imply I was interested.’
‘Jeez, Liv.’
Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh. ‘Rick, we’re not friends, we’re co-parents.’
‘But as co-parents, shouldn’t we try to be friends?’
‘Friendly, there’s a difference.’
‘You’ve changed since the phantom boyfriend suddenly appeared.’
‘If he’s only a phantom, why would that have made me change?’
‘All right then, give me a name.’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘So I was right, he doesn’t exist.’
‘It’s David, okay?’
There was a silence down the line for a moment. ‘That’s so generic,’ he muttered. ‘You just pulled that out of a hat.’
Liv was flabbergasted. ‘Yes, Rick, I have a hat handy at all times, filled with random names on slips of paper, just in case you ask.’ She sighed. ‘I have to go.’
‘But Liv –’
‘Goodnight, Rick.’
Amblin Press
‘Who’s up for Friday lunch?’ Liv announced, walking out of her office.
She was met with a rousing chorus of whoops and hollers from everyone on the floor. Friday lunch was a bit of an institution, whenever they could swing it. If they came to a Friday that was completely free of events – no author lunches, no library talks, no festivals – they went to lunch as a department. It was always a very long lunch: no one came back to the office afterwards. There was no point really – Friday afternoon wasn’t a good time to conduct business. You couldn’t find a journalist to save your life, and authors didn’t want to be bothered with publicity matters at the start of a weekend.
‘You’ve all done a wonderful job on the great desexing campaign,’ said Liv. ‘I met with Jane only this morning, and she’s thoroughly impressed. So let’s celebrate our collective awesomeness. I can’t even remember the last time we had a Friday lunch.’
‘Too long,’ Ren called out.
‘So,’ Liv clapped her hands together, ‘what are you all waiting for? Grab your hats! Let’s get outta here.’
Friday lunch was always held at Durango’s. It was a happy, vibrant place, and sitting in the sunny internal courtyard surrounded by Mexican kitsch, you could forget you were in the middle of the CBD. But most importantly, they served tapas. No self-respecting single girl wanted to be seen in public tucking into a full plate of food, but salad was a bit insubstantial when one was imbibing. Rocket leaves didn’t soak up alcohol as well as fatty little morsels of chorizo and battered squid, not to mention the delectable variety of bacon, cheese and potato pastry thingies. The other clear advantage of Durango’s was that the bar was popular with the Friday afternoon office crowd. In truth, this was the main attraction for the single women, who comprised most of the department.
It was such a big part of the attraction of Friday lunch that Madeleine had been feeling for some time now that she didn’t really fit in any more, so she usually didn’t mind having the excuse that she had to drive home. She liked a bit of fun as much as the next person, she just believed there was fun to be had in other ways than keeping scores on a list of ‘hotness indicators’, or playing ‘Root, Shoot or Marry’ or any number of inane games that basically centred around perving on, and fantasising about, the male patrons who filed through the door. Madeleine knew that if a group of men sat around a table rating women in the same way they’d be derided as sexist pigs. But she also knew she could never point that out to her colleagues for fear of being branded a feminazi killjoy.
Perhaps they were right, it was only a bit of fun. But the best thing about working in publicity was also the worst thing – it was staffed entirely by women. Madeleine couldn’t help but think that a few good men added to the mix would do something towards correcting the hormonal imbalance in the office, especially come Friday afternoon.
‘A toast!’ Liv declared when the first round of drinks arrived at the table. ‘To working hard and wor
king smart. Especially you, Madeleine. You did a fantastic job with those press releases; you effectively gave the girls a script to work from, and for that matter, the authors as well.’
Madeleine smiled graciously and raised her glass.
Liv peered at it. ‘What are you drinking?’
‘Mineral water,’ Madeleine said.
‘Are you going home tonight?’
‘No, but I’m pacing myself. I’ll have something when the food comes out.’
‘That’s very sensible of you,’ Liv said, clearly approving.
Madeleine had been sorely tempted to order one of those Mexican beers with a wedge of lemon. But after her experience with Aiden last week she didn’t want to risk getting sick later on, and she knew if she started drinking too early that was on the cards. She wanted to enjoy herself, prove once and for all that she could handle a few drinks without dire consequences – and definitely without a hangover.
Still, she should probably call Henry before she started drinking, in case he tried to call her later. They had talked on Wednesday night, and twice yesterday. He had hoped that she would be coming home tonight, until she told him she had essential wedding-related shopping to do on Saturday. Only she didn’t. Madeleine felt mean about lying, but then she remembered what Aiden had said about sparing the other person’s feelings. This might be her last chance to have a night out with the girls, and what Henry didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
Her phone started to play the rumba: that might be him now. She fished it out of her handbag and checked the screen, and her heart jumped. It was Aiden.
She turned away from the table. ‘Hi! Where are you?’
‘I’m at the airport, I’ve just flown back from Canberra. I’m a little ahead of schedule . . . I guess you’re not going home for a few hours yet?’
‘Actually, I’m not going home at all. Henry’s not expecting me until tomorrow.’
‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Do you want to grab a drink after work? When do you get off?’
‘I’m off already,’ she said. ‘I’m out for a long lunch with the rest of my department. We won’t be going back to work this afternoon.’
‘Oh . . . okay then. Well, maybe I can meet you later?’
‘No, come meet us now!’ she said.
‘Are you sure? I don’t want to crash your party.’
‘Don’t worry about that, you’re going to be a very welcome addition to the party. Though I should warn you, you’ll be the only male.’
‘Now you’re talking.’
She gave Aiden the address of Durango’s and he said he’d be right over, he just needed to take a detour by the apartment to drop off his bags. Madeleine hung up, turning around again to face the table. The girls were chattering excitedly, and Ren had called over a waiter to order another round. Madeleine couldn’t help feeling a little chuffed that she was going to get to show off Aiden. She only hoped he would survive it.
One hour later
‘Oh em gee!’ Ren hissed. ‘Get a load of what just walked in.’
Heads turned left and right, and no doubt the force of all those eyeballs drew Aiden’s gaze towards them. He smiled broadly and held up his hand in a wave. A frisson of electricity literally travelled the length of the table. Yes, literally; Madeleine was quite sure she would get zapped if she were to touch anyone right now. Aiden was utterly delectable in jeans and a crisp white shirt with a casual dark jacket. It was like seeing him for the first time all over again, imagining how he looked to the girls. His features were positively chiselled, as though his face had been carved out of honey-coloured wood, and you could tell all the way across the room that his eyes were blue. Madeleine rose to her feet as he made his way over, those bluer-than-blue eyes trained solely on her. This was going to be fun.
‘Maddie!’ he exclaimed, throwing his arms around her with his customary exuberance. ‘It’s good to see you. I missed you.’ He drew back to look at her. ‘So, are you going to introduce me to your friends?’
When she turned back to the table it was like staring into a fish tank – all open mouths and goggling eyes. ‘Everyone, this is Aiden Carmichael, he’s going to be the best man at our wedding.’
Their expressions shifted from shock and awe, to dawning realisation, to barely contained excitement. This was the man they’d been waiting to meet. He was tall, handsome and available. Let the games begin.
Suddenly the table broke into a simultaneous cross-examination, like a pack of journalists at a press conference, or seagulls fighting over a chip. They were all talking at once, and Aiden didn’t have a hope of keeping up with them.
‘One at a time, girls,’ Liv said loudly, getting their attention. ‘You’ll frighten the poor man away.’ They all looked duly chastened. She turned to Aiden and held out her hand. ‘Hi, Aiden, I’m Liv. Pleased to meet you finally. We’ve heard so much about you.’
‘Liv,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘But aren’t you the boss? You must have started working when you were twelve.’
Madeleine didn’t think she’d ever seen Liv blush before. Aiden seemed to have this effect on everyone. ‘Aiden,’ she said with a sweep of her arm, ‘this is Stacey, Lauren –’
‘Call me Ren.’
‘Sarah, Natalie, Katie and Amy.’
‘I hope there’s not going to be a test,’ he joked, at which they all laughed, a little too loudly.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ said Liv. ‘You need to catch up with this lot.’
‘No, I should be buying the drinks.’
‘No way,’ said Natalie, jumping up from her seat. ‘I’ll get it.’
‘Or I will!’ Sarah offered, getting to her feet. ‘I’m closer.’
‘I said it first,’ Natalie hissed. ‘What will you have?’ she asked Aiden, starting to walk backwards in the direction of the bar in case anyone tried to overtake her.
‘A beer would be great. Thank you.’
He didn’t buy another drink all afternoon. Publicists were accustomed to looking after people, and Aiden was the main attraction, the guest star. He took to the role with aplomb, holding the floor with stories of his work abroad.
‘What’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen?’ Natalie asked.
‘Tasteless much?’ said Ren. ‘Do you slow down to gawk at car accidents too?’
‘Piss off.’
‘Ladies,’ Liv chimed in.
‘It’s okay,’ said Aiden. ‘I’d have to say it’s always the children that get to me. We can do a lot for them, we have done a lot – immunisation alone has probably saved somewhere in the vicinity of two to three million lives. But sometimes I wonder what we’re saving them for.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sarah asked.
‘Their lives are just so relentlessly grim. In the west we often talk about kids falling through the cracks, but in these places the cracks are great, wide chasms of the most bone-crushing poverty you could imagine. Millions of children live on the streets in India, and I do mean children, living alone, on the streets. Here, someone would report them, someone would pick them up, and yes, maybe they wouldn’t have the best of lives, but they would have a chance. These kids have no chance, they live and work in the trash, next to open sewers. They’re at a much higher risk of disease, but they’re frightened of authority figures, so we can’t get anywhere near them to give them medical attention, to give them anything.’
He paused, staring at the label on his bottle of beer. ‘Even worse are the ones you don’t see. There are Nepalese girls as young as nine being sold into brothels in India, children from Sudan and Yemen trafficked into the Gulf states to be camel jockeys, of all things, entertainment for the rich. It’s very dangerous, you know, a lot of them are killed doing it, but it’s okay, because they’re disposable.’ Aiden was shaking his head. ‘Then I go back home, and I see my nieces and nephews complaining about being bored, or turning up their noses at food – and look, they’re great kids, I love them, they don’t know anything else. But . . . remember whe
n your mom used to tell you to finish your dinner and think about the starving children in Africa? Well, now I do. I can’t stop thinking about them.’
Suddenly Madeleine understood why Aiden was so overwhelmed, and why he felt so hopeless. She really wanted to give him a hug right now.
‘Have you ever thought about writing a book?’ Liv asked him.
He shook his head as all the women made noises in agreement. ‘I wouldn’t have the patience,’ he said.
‘Well, you tell a good story,’ she said. ‘I’m quite certain our nonfiction publisher would be interested. And she could always hook you up with a ghost writer, or even a co-writer.’
‘I dunno,’ he said with a self-deprecating grimace, ‘I think I’d rather be out there doing it than writing about it.’
That unintended innuendo set off a schoolgirl titter around the table. They had all been in Aiden’s thrall since he arrived, and although the early office crowd had started to file in, no one at the table seemed to have noticed. Natalie was leaning forward, directly across from him, her chin resting in her hands, gazing at him with blatant adoration and drooling so badly she was in danger of leaving a puddle. Honestly, they were all well on the way to tipsy town. Madeleine was glad she had decided to take it slow; she was feeling quite smug and proud of herself. She could totally do this.
‘So, I think it might be time to move this party on,’ Aiden announced. ‘Who’s with me?’
‘This place kicks on into the night,’ said Sarah. ‘There’s no need for us to move anywhere.’
‘You don’t think so?’ he said.
‘You don’t like it here?’ Natalie was dismayed.
Aiden treated them to an adorably apologetic expression. ‘Here’s the thing. I’ve spent a lot of time in Mexico, and seeing as I’m in Sydney, I’d like to go someplace that looks like Sydney. Maybe down near the harbour? I haven’t seen the Opera House up close yet.’
The Best Man Page 25
