Dog Handling (21 page)

“Would you like to share?” Suzanne made a note on her pad to book an eyebrow wax.

“It’s my neighbour Liv. I’ve been sabotaging her social life.” Laura looked up from under her paint-strewn fringe in embarrassment. Suzannah did a “share away” pout and waited.

“Well, the thing is that she’s involved with someone who I know is trouble and I’m really trying to protect her.”

“How do you know this person is trouble?” Suzanne asked.

“Because I was involved with this person myself.”

“Is this The One?”

“The one I had all the trouble with? Who broke my heart? Yes.” Laura’s hands had begun to shake and her cuticles no longer had a hope in hell of surviving the latest onslaught.

“You know I don’t approve of that term, Laura.” Suzanne frowned disapprovingly.

“The person who caused me temporary emotional trauma, then. Well, I just happen to be able to hear their phone from my hut and just sort of overheard this message that this person had left and deleted it. I’d hate to see her hurt in the way I was. Was that right?”

“I suspect you know that it wasn’t. That it was you being controlling and not respecting your neighbour’s right to make her own decisions.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll tell her as soon as I get home, then. Sorry.” Laura broke into a sweat and moved on to discuss how her father flushing her dead goldfish down the toilet when she was five had left her with unresolved feelings about her own mortality.

Liv hadn’t been able to get a sensible word out of James or Dave all afternoon. It was four and the beach was still hot as the three of them topped up their vitamin D levels in preparation for the night of mayhem they were planning.

“You two are like a couple of kids gearing up to go to a birthday party. I’ve never seen adults so excited.” Liv grinned as Dave covered his face with a towel so that he wouldn’t catch any more sun and not be pale enough to be Greta Garbo tonight.

“Just you wait, young lady; this is the party of the year. You’ll see,” James berated her.

“Well, I’m not likely to know, am I, as you can’t seem to get me a ticket. I thought you were supposed to be the Queen Bee, and you can’t even get me in. I have no faith in all this Pink Power you claim to wield,” Liv complained.

“Sorry, babe, queers only. Anyway, you should be grateful I got you into that roof garden party on the route. I’ll wave to you from my float. You’ll be sipping cocktails all night and dancing with boys dressed in angel costumes, and you’re complaining?”

“Yeah, I guess. But I’m not going to know anyone there, so I may feel a bit . . . well, left out. Won’t all be gay, will it?” Liv wondered aloud.

“Not even slightly, honey. But very exclusive, so stop whinging and count yourself lucky. Besides, I gave you a guest ticket, too—haven’t you invited anyone?”

“I’m going to ask Alex. I’ll make her put on her nipple tassels.”

“Fab. Get her to swing them in my direction when we go past,” said James.

Liv lay on the sand and made angels’ wings with her arms. Little grains had lodged under her fingernails and her hair was gently baking. Life felt good. She wasn’t sitting on a dark commuter train somewhere under Victoria Station and she’d begun to realise that life as a single girl was not too horrible at all. In fact, the future, now she’d managed to eliminate all the male distractions (Tim, she had heard, had been spotted in Sainsbury’s with a new girlfriend, to whom he was
so
entitled, she told herself; I mean how much further from buying mushroom quiche and cold meats with a marketing executive could she be right now? Will had been consigned to the scrap heap of bad-mannered boys who didn’t return phone calls after they’d slapped your bum during sex, and Ben Parker had a perfectly valid girlfriend and had duly shown that dog handling was clearly a load of rubbish, as he hadn’t even begun to stalk her despite the fact that it was at least a week since she’d told him she didn’t want anything to do with him—and there you had it, the male status quo, not exactly a cause for celebration, but with the sun shining and Mardi Gras hours away who gave a stuff, frankly?) was a promising landscape in which anything could happen. So Liv had just decided to trust in fate and get on with her fabulous career, enjoying her friends, experimenting, and experiencing life as she’d always wanted to do. Nobody to stop her from wearing too-short skirts, sleeping all day, eating pizza for breakfast, going out for morning coffee wearing her pyjamas and stilettos, no one to make her feel guilty for only reading the showbiz section of the newspaper; she could do whatever she wanted.

“Okay, I think it’s time we made a move. Let the beautification begin,” Dave said as he pulled on his shirt and covered up his gloriously smooth chest. His grooming habits put Liv to shame and he seemed to positively enjoy his regular back, sack, and crack waxing sessions, much to Liv’s horror.

“Liv, we’re off, but we’ll wave to you from the float—we’re sixth along, just after Dykes on Bikes, and I’ll be at the helm of the ship, of course,” James reminded her—he was The Little Mermaid and was going to be surrounded by hordes of seamen, or semen, whichever way you wanted to look at it, and they were all going to dance to the throb of “In the Navy.” “And I’m going to leave you a bit of a treat to get your party started. Have fun, angel; we’ll call you to check in tomorrow.”

“Wish us luck!” Dave called back as they headed for their van.

“Break a leg, boys. You’ll be gorgeous!” Liv yelled as Dave and James went off like love’s only slightly raddled dream into the sunset.

Liv sat on the beach a bit longer, finished reading
Vanity Fair,
and decided that she, too, ought to head home and slap on a bit of war paint. She gathered up her stuff and shook the sand from her towel.

“Rob. I didn’t expect
you
to be here,” said Liv as she bounded into the kitchen at home. “Is Charlie here, too, then?” She poked her head around the corner and found Alex in her dressing gown on the sofa with her hair in a scruffy ponytail and her nails devoid of polish.

“Oh my god, you’re practically naked!” Liv squealed, realising that Charlie absolutely couldn’t be here if Alex was looking so dishabillé.

“Charlie’s away playing polo.” Rob came in behind Liv and handed her a large goldfish bowl–sized glass of wine.

“Yeah, so Rob’s keeping me company. Isn’t that sweet?” Alex tucked her feet under her and took the proffered glass of wine. “It’s an amazing Sancerre—try it.”

Liv sank back into one of the beanbags on the floor and decided that despite appearances to the contrary and guilty-sounding protests, there was no way that Alex and Rob were having an affair, because Alex had made sod all effort to look attractive. Unless it was a Frumpy Housewife theme party. It wasn’t that Liv was opposed to anyone being an un-made-up slouch, just that for Alex the groomed thing was an occupational hazard and she’d never been seen in public before without her Laura Mercier primer and foundation.

“Now do you guys want to come to Mardi Gras with me tonight? I’ve got the hottest tickets in town,” said Liv.

“Actually, we’ve just got back from a bit of a day trip to the Hunter Valley, so we’re a bit knackered. Sorry, Liv.” Alex did actually look a bit whacked, but that could be the lack of primer.

“The Hunter Valley. Isn’t that the wine region?”

“Yeah. We thought that another Saturday in Sydney was a bit pathetic. I was going to ask you, but Laura said you were at the beach with the boys,” Alex assured Liv. “She said she’d been waiting to speak to you. Sounded a bit desperate, actually.”

“Do you think I should go and see her now?” Liv wondered aloud.

“Oh, she went out about ten minutes ago. To some theatre thing. Anyway, she’s always desperate. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Yeah. I’ll catch her later. So how was the Hunter Valley?”

“So beautiful, Liv, you can’t imagine. We had this amazing lunch in a vineyard and got a bit sozzled. We really shouldn’t have driven back, but . . .” Alex and Rob looked at each other and smiled at the memory. “Rob’s parents have a place there, don’t they, Rob?” said Alex. “But he wouldn’t take me. I told him not to worry; my parents lived in a really small house when they were alive. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I just wanted to meet his mum and dad. They sound so nice.”

“Yeah, well, another time, hey, doll,” said Rob. “And, Liv, you’ll come with us, right?”

“Sure. But right now I need a date for tonight, and as neither of you look fit for anything other than bed I should go and get ready. Guess I’ll just have to go alone,” said Liv.

“Alone? Are you sure? Liv, you hate going to places on your own.” Alex was feeling a bit guilty. “I can always pull on some clothes and come with you if you like.”

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s weird and I must be growing up or something, but I actually quite like it. Not knowing who’s going to be there, who I’ll meet, and there’s the distraction of the parade anyway. I’ll take some photos of the boys,” Liv assured Alex. Actually, she was quite looking forward to an evening alone on the prowl: she could dance as badly as she wanted without anyone she knew being emotionally scarred by the experience. “Hey, I’d better get ready. You’ve got plenty of glitter I can borrow, haven’t you?”

“Sure thing, babe—on my dressing table. Help yourself.”

Thankfully as Liv raided Alex’s wardrobe and lamented the loss of her waist since she’d arrived in Sydney she discovered a great Fat-Day sheath dress that performed all the necessary tricks demanded by a girl whose gym membership was less lapsed than never opened. In fact, so hypereffective were all Alex’s wildly expensive lotions and expensive glittery bits in making Liv look like a girl, not a bushpig, that she was ready in twenty minutes. She decided that her dancing needed a bit of a helping hand, so as Rob and Alex roared with laughter over some inane dating show on television she put on a CD and practised a few moves—full dress rehearsal in high mules to Techno beat.

“I am happiness on toast. I am sex in a sheath dress. I am J-Lo in silver trainers.” (The high mules had caused her to dance in a jerky parent-at-a-wedding fashion.) And after a few bounces around the room and mouthfuls of wine she started to feel distinctly nifty on her feet. Of course there was no mirror handy, but, well, the furniture was still standing and she hadn’t any visible lacerations or bruises yet, which was novel. She let out a little squeal of delight and shimmied her hips to celebrate.

“You okay, Livvy?” Alex turned round from her place on the sofa and looked puzzled.

“Really well. Actually, I’m fantastic. Feeling wonderful.”

“Good.”

Alex and Rob looked at her with curiosity.

“Hmmm. So I’ll be off then.” She smiled like a very happy Osmond child and made her way to the front door. “Ciao.”

Liv arrived at the party and as she climbed the stairs to the roof terrace was longing for the Mardi Gras parade to begin. All up and down Oxford Street people were lining the route, standing on milk crates, wearing fabulous costumes: men in glitter hot pants, stray Chers, lots of moustachioed hard men in leather chaps, but also lots of children and teenagers and accents and real policemen mingling cheerfully with those with the buttocks of their trousers cut out. The fun was infectious and everyone was waiting for eight o’clock and the start of the parade.

“Cocksucking Cowboy?” A voice next to Liv’s ear asked as she leaned over the edge of the roof and watched the crowds and strobe lights sparkle below.

“Love one.” She smiled at the Cruella De Vil waiter.

“Coming right up.” Cruella winked and vanished.

“You don’t call; you don’t write; you don’t phone. How am I supposed to know if you’re dead or alive, eh?” another voice behind her said over her shoulder and kissed the back of her neck.

Liv swung round to be confronted by Ben Parker, for heaven’s sake. “You?” She scowled as though screwing up her face would make him vanish like a mirage.

“Me. This is the hottest ticket in town—did you think me and my prestigious girlfriend would go anywhere else?” He smiled sweetly. “There’s a crowd of us over there. Come join us?”

“Where?” Liv stood on tiptoes in her silver trainers and didn’t have to look for very long before she spied Amelia and her reams of beauteous friends shimmering in slinky fabrics and dazzling the waiters with their sparkly eyelashes.

“You know what, I’m fine just where I am, thanks,” Liv told Ben. Despite the little kiss he’d just bestowed on her neck (which may have been a trick of her disco-dazzled brain), she felt comfortable with him for the first time since she’d arrived. Clearly they’d dispelled any misleading sexual tension by having a bit of a snog, she’d then set him straight about her intentions, and he hadn’t called her. So no weirdness—just friends. “But it’s sweet of you to offer. I’m so glad we can be friends, you know. I do think you’re nice.”

“Well, I’m glad. I think you’re nice, too.” He laughed and Cruella brought over Liv’s drink. Just then the lights went down and the music began as the MC announced that the parade had just begun. “Well, I’d better be getting back over there or I’m likely to be missed. See ya later,” Ben said, and patted Liv’s arm in what could only be described as an avuncular way. Worst luck but definitely for the best, Liv thought as she craned her neck to see the Dykes on Bikes on the street below roaring into gear with their boobs wobbling proudly. And as the music struck up, as the lights flashed up from the street and from the ceiling above her, Liv began to experiment with her hips a bit. She jutted one in one direction. Then the other. She shifted her feet on the floor and shot a glance shyly around the room to see if anyone had noticed. If they had, then they seemed unfazed and not especially terrifed. The police may have been alerted, but she didn’t think so. So Liv got a bit more flash with her moves. She jiggled her arm like she was pulling a fruit machine and then caught sight of herself in a nearby window. She was dancing. Not reinventing the boogie or anything but definitely dancing. Which set her off all over again. I can dance! I can dance! she cheered in her head as years of miserable school discos and sitting out the Scottish dancing at weddings melted into happy oblivion.