Dog Handling (16 page)

“I’ve got a few other things on my mind at the moment.” He let the ice cube slither onto the sand and began to trace his finger around Liv’s anklebone and up her calf to her knee.

Liv would have liked to rasp some throaty reply like, “Tell me exactly what’s on your mind, Mr. Parker.” But once again she didn’t, because this wasn’t a secretary–boss situation in a B movie. Instead, a puttering noise rose in her throat and found its way out through her nose. Then he leaned in even closer to her and moved his hand toward her face. Liv recognised the vital signs now. That pause in conversation, the lips looming towards hers. Only this time they were a hell of a lot more beautiful than any lips that had loomed at her in a long, long time. Perhaps, ooohh . . . nine years or so. But as he ran a finger over her own petrified mouth, she suddenly remembered that she’d not only had an entire onion pasty this afternoon on the market but she’d just gobbled down half a baguette of garlic bread. In short, she probably ponged to high heaven. Which absolutely would not do if she were going to kiss someone else’s boyfriend.

“Ooooh.” Liv gulped. “I think maybe not, hey?” But still he hovered in front of her with an expectant look on his face. Any second now she’d have to breathe on him and he’d just die of garlic. Instead, she held her finger to his lips and shook her head slowly until he retreated, almost a broken man, she hoped happily.

“For the best, I think,” she added to make him feel better. But the poor little pup, she almost felt sorry for him.

Liv hobbled back along the sand towards the house and was grateful for the limp because it meant he didn’t notice that the rest of her body was also shaking like a leaf. If only she hadn’t eaten that bloody garlic bread, she thought. She could be kissing him now. But it really did have to be perfect. There was no way she could bear to have Ben Parker, who seemed to almost be quite keen on her right now, suddenly change his mind and avoid her for the rest of his life like every other man she’d ever kissed.

“Hey, Liv?” he called as he sat on the sand watching her stumble along. “I’m having a drinks thing tomorrow night. You’ll come, won’t you?”

“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

T
he 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.