Dog Handling (38 page)

Liv imagined it must be a bit of a twisted-knickers-and-tights issue or something and took off her shoes for a second.

“In fact, I’d be really grateful if you could give me a hand.” The door swung open and there, lodged between the cistern and sink with a great big plaster cast on her leg, was Fay.

“Fay. Oh my god. Look at you.” Liv leapt up and ran to Fay’s aid. She took hold of her crutches and looked down at a giant plaster cast and a toe ring on the bare foot. “I’m so glad you could come. Alex has heard all about you and was so grateful for you letting me go to Oz and keep her company that she had to invite you. But god, how did this happen?”

“Believe it or not, I was learning to ride bareback. In Hyde Park. Not Arizona, but still . . .” Fay used Liv as a lever to prise herself out from the loo and collapsed on the steps.

“It’s great to see you, Fay. Only I hope you’re not going to try to poach me back, ’cause I think I’m staying in Australia for a bit.”

“Not a bit of it. I’ve got a much more efficient accountant who doesn’t know how to use the Internet so she doesn’t waste quite as much time as you did on Naked Brad.” Fay laughed. “Anyway, Livvy, what about you? Did you find your jackeroo?”

“Not exactly. But I had my knickerless lunch and even though I haven’t been hip enough to do rehab I’ve renounced drugs and had a huge affair, but . . . well . . . it’s all over now.” Liv wondered whether she should fill Fay in.

“Ben?”

“How did you know?”

“Well, I tripped this very handsome boy up with one of my crutches as we were coming out of the church and he was looking for you.” Fay nudged Liv and winked.

“Oh god, I wish it were like that, but miserably it’s all gone more pear-shaped than me.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Such a long story that I’m not even going to bore you with it. Actually, it’s more of a Theban play than a story. Or maybe one of those medieval morality tales.”

“Sounds nasty.”

“No, really, it’ll be fine.” Liv put on a brave face in the presence of her glamorous wonderboss, who was perhaps the most inspiring person Liv had ever met. And that was just her hair. “And besides, I did what I went out there for. I got over my broken Tim heart. I lived life a bit rather than just imagining it and I’m not even nearly as old as the girls in
Sex and the City,
so I reckon I can afford a few more years of single and fabulous before I have to start worrying about settling down. And you know I still haven’t had sex with a rock star. I reckon every girl has to do that before she meets the man of her dreams, right?” Liv looked pleadingly at Fay, who took her hand and smiled sympathetically.

“If I were being completely naff I’d tell you that for every door that closes a window opens or something.” Fay laughed quietly. “But you know you’ll be fine, don’t you?”

“I know.” Liv pulled a pen from her handbag. “Can I sign your cast? Right here, next to . . . . Hey . . . when did you let Robbie Williams near your leg? Did you get his phone number?”

It was now one in the morning and Not-the-Carpenters had been replaced by a Boney M–playing DJ. The hardier guests were still giving it loads to “Rasputin” and Alex was sitting on Rob’s knee and they were both having a very earnest conversation with the Little Bloke and patting the little bump.

“Liv, I’ve been looking for you.”

Liv, who had flaked out on a chair having danced a polka with every male member of Rob’s family and a couple of his young nieces, turned round to see Ben, whom she had forgotten to avoid in her whirling frenzy. “Ben, please don’t let’s have this conversation now. I’m exhausted. I know what I did was unforgivable, but do you think perhaps you could just not remind me of what a horrible bitch I am until tomorrow?”

“Three nights ago I was at home on my own, about to watch some documentary on the Discovery channel, and couldn’t be bothered to cook.” He pulled up a chair next to her and handed her a glass of champagne.

“What are you talking about?” Liv opened her heavy eyes and squinted at him suspiciously. “Have you been smoking crack?”

“Anyway, I thought maybe I’d get a Chinese. Then I thought nah . . . what I really want is an American hot.”

“An American hot?”

“Pizza. From Arthur’s. Spicy, pepperoni. Family-size and a Coke.”

“Ben, I think maybe we should get Tim to take you back to your hotel room. Where are you staying?”

“So I knew that I had some flyers somewhere with Arthur’s number on. I mean I can’t believe that after all these years of vegging on the sofa I don’t know it by heart, but then I guess when I was going out with Amelia we were more a sushi couple than your pizza types. What type are you by the way, Liv?”

“Four-eight-five three-o-three-nine.” Liv had taken two mouthfuls of champagne and was trying to ignore the fact that Ben was talking complete rubbish and simply be delighted that he was talking to her at all. It was clearly a drug-induced, temporary state of affairs, which was even more reason to take advantage of it. If he hadn’t snapped out of it in five minutes she might even attempt to kiss him. Or put her hand on his thigh.

“What’s that?” It was his turn to be puzzled.

“Four-eight-five three-o-three-nine. Arthur’s phone number. I’m a pizza girl.”

“I knew you were.” He took hold of Liv’s hand. “So I went out into the hall and rummaged through my drawer and found the flyer for Arthur’s. And just as I was scanning the list, looking for my American hot, I noticed that somebody had scrawled all over it.” Ben looked at her with such excitement you’d have thought he’d just worked out how to split the atom. Then he pulled a piece of scrunched-up paper out of his pocket and waved it in her face.

“My note?” Liv suddenly realised what he’d been going on about. “You found my note?”

“Only three days ago. I found your note. You see, until then I thought that you hadn’t given a damn. You’d showed up late when I’d given you a chance to explain and then I never heard another thing from you. It was as if you just didn’t care at all. As if all the dog-handling stuff had really been a game and once you’d got me, made me like you, you lost interest.”

“Oh my god, you didn’t really think that, did you?”

“What else was I supposed to think? Anyway, I didn’t get your note until after I’d told Dave that I never wanted to see you again. After I’d told Rob that I wasn’t coming to the wedding because I couldn’t bear to be in the same room as you. And after I’d decided that I hated you.”

“But—” Liv tried to interrupt, but Ben was kissing the piece of paper.

“And I know that I’ve been a stubborn bastard and that I wouldn’t listen to you and that whatever this dog-handling thing is, by the way, it is complete bollocks, because if you had ignored just one more of my phone calls I was going to give up on you completely.”

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” Liv said—but even though she
was
sincerely sorry and the whole thing had been a miserable disaster, a slow smile had begun to spread across her face. What he was saying was that he used to hate her but that now he’d read her note he’d forgiven her. This was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to her. How could she help but smile?

“No,
I’m
sorry. Really, Liv. Anyway, the thing is that what you did was pretty shitty.”

“I know and believe me, I’ve regretted it every single minute since it happened. I’ll probably regret it for the rest of my life.”

“And because of that I’ve found someone else,” Ben said gravely.

Liv’s smile vanished. She nearly buckled as he said this. “So soon?”

“I knew that I had to do it. You see, I figured that if you were really into all this game playing, needed someone to manipulate, to jump to your commands—”

“Ben, I’m not like that; please don’t think I am. I don’t blame you for finding yourself another girlfriend, I know I’ve messed up, but—”

“Do you want to see a photo?” Ben put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a photo.

“Actually, I don’t think that I do. This is pretty tough on me because despite what you think, I really do love you. So no, I don’t want to see a photo of some other girl you’ve met. Thanks all the same.”

“You do?”

“Do what?”

“Love me?”

“Yeah. I do. Well, I did. And I always have. So I probably always will.”

“Here, just have a quick look.” Ben pressed the photograph in front of Liv.

She nodded miserably but couldn’t make out the girl in the picture because her eyes were blurry with tears.

“What do you think?”

“Ben, please, could you just leave me alone now?” Liv disentangled her hand from his and was about to stand up.

“Isn’t that the most beautiful shiny hair you’ve ever seen? And those legs . . .” Ben was gazing at the photo and laughing. Jesus, he really was a sicko.

“Bye, Ben.” She stood up.

“And all ours.”

“Ours?” Liv nearly fled. Near miss. What? He’d hired some girl for them to share? He was an ubersicko.

“He’s called Felix. And I figured that while you had this thing about dogs, about training them, well, while Felix was living under the same roof as us then you wouldn’t have to hound me so much.” Ben laughed at his feeble joke.

Liv looked at him in disbelief. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I bought us a dog, Liv. Look—he’s kind of a mutt. I thought maybe they were a bit more intelligent. A bit easier to train, right?”

“A dog?”

“Called Felix. I hoped that even if you didn’t want to move in with me when you got back to Sydney, then you could at least take him for walks on the weekends. Maybe you could even stay over sometimes. He’d probably like that. Or we could come and visit you if you like.”

“Ben. You’re insane.” Liv pulled the picture out of his hand and found herself staring at the cutest, most hairballish puppy she’d ever seen.

“I mean I know it’s a big commitment and stuff, but I really am serious about you, Liv, and I figured that maybe we’re ready to take this step and—”

“He’s beautiful.” Liv put her arms around Ben’s neck and kissed him. She couldn’t believe it. He’d bought her a dog. Them a dog. They were going to be a dog-owning bona fide couple with responsibilities and a life together, all three of them. “Thank you; thank you. Oh, Ben, you’re so amazing. I mean this is wonderful and . . . what about Amelia?” She stopped for a brief reality check. Just in case something horrific were lurking round the next corner waiting to bite her on the bum.

“She’s going out with a rock star.” He grinned.

“Thank god. I mean good for her.” Liv’s smile got wider. “And you mean this? Felix is ours?”

“Yes. If you want him. If you want us.” Ben had hold of her hand and was waiting for her answer.

“Of course I do.” She kissed him and he was kissing her back. But then she stopped for a moment and looked closely and seriously at him.

“Ben?”

“Yes?”

“There’s one condition.”

“What’s that?” He looked concerned for a moment.

“When I look back on all I’ve been through over the last few months, all the lumps and bumps and little hurdles and all the stuff that life throws at you, well, when I look back I think there’s one lesson I’ve learned. One thing a girl must always put her foot down about.”

“What’s that?” Ben wondered if maybe this was Liv backing out.

She took a deep breath. “He can only stay if he promises that he will never ever take me to dinner and then not call me the next day. Is that understood? Because if he does that then I’m afraid he’ll have to go.”

“I’ll tell him that.” Ben laughed.

“You’d better.” Liv smiled and raised her glass of champagne, “To dogs everywhere. May they get the owners they deserve.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ben laughed. “They always do.”

Praise for Clare Naylor

Catching Alice

“Delicious . . . A refreshing, sexy, and funny novel.”

—Publishing News
(England)

“Naylor has fun in this send-up—surely only in Los Angeles would old-fashioned wooing with chocolates, flowers, and love notes be interpreted as stalking—and her readers will, too.”

—
Booklist

Love: A User’s Guide

“A perky tale of a glossy magazine fashion assistant’s adventures in wonderland.”

—
The Guardian

“Lighthearted and assured . . . [Naylor] has created a comic heroine with a difference. . . . With the sharply intelligent wit of a modern Elizabeth Bennett and the imagination of Ally McBeal, Amy is the best excuse yet for surrender . . . to the [British] invasion.”

—
Publishers Weekly

A Ballantine Book

Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group

Copyright © 2002 by Clare Naylor

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

www.ballantinebooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

eISBN 0-345-45485-5

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