Dog Handling Part 19

"Have you spoken to Ben yet?" Alex asked as she and Liv clinked gla.s.ses on their venture and the minor triumph that was not having to host the party in a room full of rats and bats . . . though given the a.s.sembled photographers and fashion hags . . .

"I'll go and say h.e.l.lo when he's stopped talking to that girl over there," said Liv.

"I'd go over now if I were you, Livvy. That girl's Helena Christensen." Liv looked over and, indeed, resting her arm lightly on Ben's was another dewy temptress. Lord, the world was peppered with them.

"Well, I suppose I should just say a casual h.e.l.lo so people don't suspect." She looked over at him all crisp in his white shirt and the casual way he was chatting but not leering at Helena and her heart simply soared. She felt light and happy and awash with warmth. If not love. "I suppose if I completely ignore him that'll look even more suspicious," she said while praying for an instant five-inch height spurt. By the time she'd arrived at Ben's right elbow it still hadn't been granted, so she stood on tiptoes instead and smiled warmly at Helena.

"Hi, Liv. Great party," Ben said, and winked at her discreetly.

"Thanks. I'll see you around then." She was shaking and could think of nothing else to say. She swore he was laughing at her nervousness but felt she'd already overstepped the mark. But what the h.e.l.l, she leaned over and patted his arm. "Good to see you," she added. She knew she'd be rendered asthmatic at her obviousness tomorrow, but right now she was, if not the Greta of Greta's Grundies, then at least the power behind the pants. And tonight she looked the part-she'd washed the sand out of her hair for once and was swathed in a long pale blue dress, her hair was pulled up into a froth of curls, and her lips were a very kissable ruby colour. Not bad for a la.s.s from just outside Basingstoke, basically.

"You look beautiful," Ben whispered as Helena turned to grab a canape.

"Thanks. So I'd better mingle, I suppose." She smiled.

"I'll see you later. I really can't wait," he added before she walked away with all the conviction of a yo-yo. Leaving a boyfriend-to-be alone with a supermodel was never going to be the highlight of any girl's evening.

So Liv had used up her can-only-be-seen-together-in-public-before-people-begin-to-talk allowance of forty-five seconds and would now have to spend the rest of the evening circ.u.mnavigating Ben as if he were a globe or the South Pole. Something to be avoided lest she crashed. But that didn't matter, as she needed to be networking or something very eighties like that. Wasn't everyone in the room supposed to be wondering who the business brain behind this starkly original lingerie line was?

"You are positively a wunderkind, darling. It's a genius idea," a gravelly fashion voice declared.

"You took the words out of my-" Liv turned and smiled a flashing smile of success at the voice.

"Thanks, but you know it's a piece of p.i.s.s really. Just G.o.dda do a little drawing and run the thing up on the sewing machine. Nothing to it," Amelia was saying as she lapped up the praise graciously. Liv looked at her own pinp.r.i.c.ked hands, a monument to struggle; each bikini she'd sewn with her bare hands was a triumph over unlikeliness. The accountant turned designer. Not an everyday tale of modern transformation.

"Well, I think it's fantastic. We'd love to put a photo of you at the loom or whatever on the cover of next month's issue, your hair kind of a bit skewiff from a night of toil but the glow of achievement in your cheeks. You know what I mean," said the voice.

"Yeah, right." Amelia grinned vacantly and Liv wept inwardly. Christ, she had the ego of a designer now, too.

To distract herself from the grisliness of Amelia and a roomful of untenably thin, gleaming girls, Liv headed over to the music corner where James and his decks were keeping everyone's hips swaying.

"Not a bad do, sweetheart." Tonight James was Shirley Ba.s.sey. His big wig and dazzling dress had already prompted one young designer to come and ask him if he'd be in his next show. James had said he'd think about it but was secretly planning his new life tripping in Cindy Crawford's footsteps: Concorde, hemorrhoid cream for the bags under his eyes, no food. Ever. Just cigarettes. "It's every suburban girl's fantasy," he informed Liv. "But do you think I'll need a body double for advertising work? Like Claudia?"

"They'd be insane if they insisted on one," Liv told him honestly.

"Listen, babe, Dave and I are just off to the dunny for a bit of a buzz. Will you look after this stuff for me?" James put a pair of headphones on Liv's ears and whistled Dave over from across the room.

"What do I do?" Liv yelled too loudly.

"Slip the Fat Boy Slim on next and look cool." And James and Dave vanished into the loos.

As she stood there looking like a mad hag with her headphones on, Liv tried to spot Ben. Just so she could gaze upon him. Watch him in action. Work up an appet.i.te for the time when they'd be together. But he was nowhere to be seen. Still, at least Helena and Amelia were accounted for in the corner where they appeared to be gazing at their own reflections in each other's shiny cheeks.

"Here-you first," James said as he proffered his perfectly chopped lines on the back of the loo.

"Cheers. I'm proud of our girls out there. Doing pretty well, hey?"

"Yeah. So how was Liv's weekend away?"

"Dunno, I haven't spoken to her yet, but have you checked out the cheesecake ex-fiance?" James took his turn. "She swears he doesn't so much as light her touchpaper anymore, though. Shame."

"Yeah, well, Amelia's bloke hasn't taken his eyes off her all night. How's that for dog handling? She played the game and reeled him in. And he fell for it, the stupid mutt. I wonder when she'll tell him he's been had," said Dave.

"Personally, I can't believe he was such a sucker to fall for it. I mean didn't he see that she was leading him on? I'd have seen it coming from a mile away-all that blowing hot and cold and not returning his phone calls. Do you reckon all straight blokes are so clueless?"

"Dunno. She did have the best tuition, though. I was pretty spot on with all my dog-handling advice-naughty, naughty, bad, bad dog." Dave laughed.

"I reckon she should lose him soon, though-it's pretty bad karma to keep him hanging on for too long when she knows she's just gonna kick him to the curb. Still, it's been pretty entertaining."

"Are you gonna have that last line or me?" Dave muttered as he rolled his stash back up and put it in his pocket.

"All yours, mate."

Outside the toilet cubicle Ben stood stock-still and listened. Then he turned and walked back into the party. Looking for Liv.

In the corner of the room (well, now more the focal point of the room as the voices and emotions scaled new heights) stood Rob, in his usual muddy boots, denim shirt, and moleskins, waving a can of Foster's around in his hand to emphasise his point.

"Okay, I know that you were only trying to be honest with me and I know that Charlie has so much more to offer you than me, but I love [kind of came out as "lubb," but everyone knew what he was getting at] you, Alex."

"What's going on, mate? You all right?" Charlie had approached Rob now and was trying to placate him. Liv looked for Alex, but she was attempting to crawl behind a Paris in the Springtime mural.

"f.u.c.king oath I'm all right. Just that I love [again, "lubb"] your woman here and she won't have me. She's having our baby, you know?" Rob said as Alex disappeared completely behind the Seine. Charlie nodded calmly, for which Liv thought he deserved a few brownie points, or was he simply about to erupt like a dormant World War I bomb discovered in a garden in Streatham?

"Listen, mate, why don't we just go outside and talk this through." Charlie put his arm out towards Rob, but he shook it off.

"Come out here!" Rob yelled to Alex.

A foot appeared, then a chandelier-type earring emerged, and then a shamed-looking Alex. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Oh, this is b.l.o.o.d.y ridiculous," Charlie said, and Alex slid her glance down to the floor to avoid his eyes, "Do you love Rob?" Alex looked petrified as he asked this. Liv gulped down more air like a goldfish out of water and even the dance music was having a bit of quiet time. Then Liv remembered. Hadn't Amelia said something about Rob not being a stable hand at all? Liv cast her mind back to her rival's earlier hilarity. Then she remembered. Rob was rich; he was loaded.

In fact, it suddenly dawned on Liv that Rob was the catch of the decade that everyone had been nattering on about for ages. Jesus, she really should tell Alex before she went any further and stuffed up her whole life monumentally by choosing Charlie because she thought he was the rich one who could help her support her brothers. Liv twitched her arm towards the back of the scenery, hoping to be able to take Alex to one side and explain so that she could be fully informed before she made this decision, which would affect the rest of her life. Alex barely noticed Liv. What else could Liv do to attract her attention? She pondered a rugby-scrum-type head-to-head but was too attached to her earrings to risk them. Instead Liv just opened and shut her mouth some more a la goldfish.

Alex looked soberly from one man to the other. She took in Rob, all strapping six-foot-two with mud on his boots and beer on his breath, and she took in Charlie, swish shirt, calm and in control and promising all she could want for the future of her child and family if he'd still have her after this embarra.s.sing scene.

"Well, Alex, are you in love with him?" Charlie asked again, more gently this time.

"Yes," Alex said as she took in the oafishness of the father of her child.

Liv nearly leapt in the air and yelled, "Correct! That is the correct answer! Yippee! Score one, pink team." But only nearly.

"All right. And, Rob, you're in love with her, right, mate?" Charlie continued as Liv watched his steely eyes for the moment when he banged their heads together like a livid schoolteacher.

"Guess so," Rob said, breaking the mates' code of honour and risking eternal exile from the horsy set. But still Liv felt thrilled. Except for poor Charlie. His girlfriend was in love with someone else. And poor Rob, even though he was rich, he still thought Alex had preferred Charlie to him, and poor Alex, in fact, most poor Alex. Because Alex was now looking at Charlie with the fear of G.o.d etched across her face and her head filled with thoughts of her future in penury with penniless Rob.

"But what about you, Charlie? I'm so sorry," she said as she remained frozen to the spot. The dance music was now no longer as James was perched high on Dave's shoulders at the back of the crowd, his Shirley Ba.s.sey makeup petrified into a look of expectation along with the rest of the crowd.

"Me? Oh, sweetheart, I'm all right. I don't deserve someone as clever as you-you're wasted on me-and I'm certainly not ready for a kid yet. No, you and Robbie go off and make sure I'm G.o.dfather to the little bloke, won't you?" He went over and put a rea.s.suring arm around Alex, who gave him a huge and grateful hug. "Anyway, I've been rooting this weathergirl for a while now, so don't worry too much about it." He laughed lecherously and all was returned to normal.

Well, not exactly normal. Alex and Rob hugged and snogged and patted the baby b.u.mp and the fashion crowd turned back to their complimentary bags of knickers and it occurred to Liv that maybe they should launch a perfume to go with the knickers. She was about to tap Alex on the shoulder to remind her to remind Liv tomorrow she should tell her about the great idea she'd had.

"Alex, just a quickie," she said but couldn't be heard. She tapped again.

"The thing is, I love you even though we're going to have to struggle through. I love you even though I'm going to have to sell my flat in London to pay for my brother's college fees. Because I do. I just b.l.o.o.d.y well love you, Rob, and I love our baby and I'm so glad it's not going to be spoiled rotten and given silver rattles from Tiffany for its christening and have a nanny and stuff because, well, I didn't and you didn't and look at us. We're great. We're dirt-poor and we're wonderful and we know the value of love." Alex was clearly on a roll and Liv thought it rude to interrupt her. Instead she scribbled the perfume idea on the back of her hand in lip liner and tiptoed away, thinking that very soon indeed Alex would be finding out the value of true love and it was around the billion-dollar mark.

"Liv, we need to talk." Ben tapped Liv on the shoulder and she whipped around.

"Ben, sweetheart . . . do you think we should be-?"

"Sweetheart?" Amelia screeched. "What the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l is going on here? Since when has my boyfriend been your sweetheart?"

The music, now accustomed to such excitement, was trained to turn itself down automatically and the crowd resumed their places and faces of expectation as the promise of another scene beckoned. And they thought this was just some little launch party and that they'd all leave at seven-thirty and go to dinner. No way, this was better than de la Guarda. In fact, the editor of Vogue vowed that she'd sponsor Greta's Grundies' next party if it was going to be this entertaining. Liv looked at Amelia, who was looking at Ben, who was inspecting his shoes.

"Well?"

"Millie, I think we should go outside and discuss this one," Ben said as he shifted uncomfortably and shot Liv perhaps the filthiest look she'd ever received. What on earth was going on? Was he suddenly blaming her for all this? Oh h.e.l.l, why had she let slip that "sweetheart"? How could she have been so slack?

"What, and disappoint our audience?" Amelia shimmered again. But with rage this time. "We'd all really like to know what you and thingy have been getting up to. Wouldn't we?"

Liv took "thingy" to be her. Each audience member stared at the dandruff on the shoulders of the person in front of him or her-the well-bred equivalent of baying for blood. Liv wondered if she were about to be lynched.

She contemplated crawling under the legs of the crowd, between the sea of stilettos, the ma.s.s of Gina mules, beneath the Christa Davis skirts and bias-cut hemlines. But then she looked up and realised that she was being watched. Not by the ma.s.ses who were much more curious to see the beautiful ones arguing than to gaze at the cause of the tiff, i.e., Liv in the borrowed dress and now-wilting hair. She was being watched by Tim. And she suddenly felt very embarra.s.sed to be in this situation. Here she was, reduced to playing the Other Woman, in what amounted to a barroom brawl. So she looked away quickly and ducked down low, taking her first option and crawling under the legs towards the door.

As she stood up by the door and rubbed her aching knees she came face-to-face with-h.e.l.l, how did he get here first-Tim.

"Ha," she said.

"Ha?" Tim asked.

"Ha. Interesting evening." Liv looked nervously over her shoulder in case the crowd were about to drag her bodily into the stocks.

"Interesting choice of boyfriend." Tim smiled enigmatically.

"You know I don't really have time for this right now, Tim. I may be about to die." Liv moved into an alcove in the church porch, out of harm's way.

"You didn't tell me you were seeing somebody." He looked offended.

"And neither did you." Liv wondered what Tim had done with the Glamazon this evening. Was she all alone in her hotel room watching Debbie Does Dallas on cable?

"That's because I'm not."

"Oh, and who was the 'we' who were here?" Liv asked. "And who was the girl you were seen with in Sainsbury's by Alex's hairdresser?"

"I'm not seeing anyone. I may have had the odd miserable one-night stand here and there and may have popped to the supermarket with one of them to buy the Sunday papers and a carton of orange juice, but nothing more serious than that. I told you, Liv, I've missed you. There's n.o.body else."

"Oh, come on; you said you were here with someone from Freuds. Was it that Sophie Barker with the nutcracker thighs who wore stockings and suspenders even in winter? Had you swapped phone numbers with her in case you ever managed to lose me? You know: 'Sophie Barker, why don't you keep in touch with me in case one day I leave Liv behind on a bus or something?' Like an umbrella."

"I came over with George from Freuds. The guy with the pale eyelashes."

"George George?" Liv asked. Her hair now matched her spirits and was leaning, Marge Simpsonlike, in Tim's direction.

"George George," Tim confirmed.

Liv winced. "I'm sorry. I just a.s.sumed."

"S'okay. So what happened with that guy? He was giving you some pretty dark looks. You in trouble?"

"With Ben?" Liv peered back to see how the drama was unfolding in the hall. "No. But I wasn't completely honest with you when we were out on the beach the other day. You see-"

"Being dishonest's a bit of a habit then, is it?" Ben had appeared from nowhere and was now standing in front of her. And if she wasn't mistaken he was shaking.

"Ben, what on earth's going on? Did I really land you in it? G.o.d, I'm so sorry to leave you in there, but I thought that it was probably for the best and-"

"So when were you going to break it to me, Liv?"

"What?" Liv looked at Ben, then at Tim. "Oh, you mean Tim. I should have introduced you. Tim's just my ex-fiance. He's here on holiday. Ben, meet Tim." Liv smiled.

"Liv, cut the bulls.h.i.t." Ben was deathly pale as he stood in the doorway. "I know what you were playing at. I know about your game."

"Ben, what on earth are you talking about?" Liv asked, but of course deep down she knew exactly what he was talking about. There was only one game. He had to mean the dog handling. She had no idea how he knew, but she suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

"Jesus, and I thought Amelia was immoral and shallow." He looked at her with undisguised contempt and walked down the path away from the party.

"Ben!" Liv called. "Wait a minute. I can explain. Please." Liv ran after him. "Please let me-oh s.h.i.t-please just listen to me."

"Leave it," he snapped at her, and she stopped running.

"I listened to you!" she called out after him. "When I thought you'd been a s.h.i.t and didn't understand the truth I heard you out. That's the least you owe me."

"I've had enough." He carried on walking.

"Tomorrow. I'll come and see you. Explain. You have to let me. Please, Ben."

He stopped, turned around, and looked at her with a coldness that made her feel so small and ashamed she could have cried.

"Four-thirty at mine. Then I'm going on a dig for six weeks. Thank G.o.d I won't so much as have to look at you again. And whatever you have to say better be an awesome reason or don't bother coming," he spat, and walked away.

Had Liv had a G-string handy at that moment she just might have hanged herself from the church doorway. The fashion editors and fractious couples would have had to bend under her dangling shoes and floppy body in order to leave the party. And let them look up her skirt if they wanted. She had nothing left to lose. Least of all dignity. No. There was no hiding place from the wretchedness that was her life.

"Been looking for you everywhere. You're a bit of a star, aren't you? Causing all that trouble. Wooh, baby. Go." It was James. He came equipped with a bottle of neatest, purest, most inviting whisky.

Liv looked at it and felt a longing in her heart. Here was a solution to her problems. "I can't tell you how much I need this right now." She yanked the bottle from James's grasp. "Ben knows everything, you know. How in h.e.l.l's name did he find out is what I want to know? Do you think Amelia knew somehow and told him? I mean absolutely n.o.body knows apart from me and Alex and you and Dave . . ." Liv took a swig from the bottle. "What do you think? Where do you think he could have heard about it?" Liv looked at James with bewilderment and shock. Ben had just walked away and G.o.d knows whether he was ever going to forgive her. She should have told him about all this when she had the chance. At the house. Now she wondered if he'd ever believe her. "What am I going to do, James?" she pleaded. But James was gone. Scotch mist.

"Tim, I'm sorry. I should have told you about Ben the other day. I guess I just didn't quite find the moment. Story of my b.l.o.o.d.y life." Liv banged her head in frustration. How many people could she alienate in one day? She slid, followed by a concerned-looking Tim, out of the porch into the vestry. Well, what had been the vestry. It was now the resting place of a few down-and-outs, a lot of rats, and what looked suspiciously like a dead fashion editor but turned out on closer inspection to be a pile of clerical robes in lurid purple.

"Oh, it's fine. I forgive you. Now do you want to tell me all about it, my love?" asked Tim as he put his arm around her shoulder.