Page 4 of Happily Never After
‘Yeah. I don’t think he’ll be making that mistake again. Criticise me all you like – Lord knows I’m not perfect – but come for Maison Olivia and I’ll take your head off.’
‘Noted. Not that I’d have dared anyway.’
‘I still miss you in the shop. I know you’re a super-duper novelist these days, but are you sure you can’t fit in a few hours per week behind the counter? We did have some laughs, didn’t we?’
This is a familiar refrain from her, and one that I normally shut down swiftly. Before Angus left, I’d have told her that I absolutely loved the freedom that being a full-time writer givesme. However, I have to confess that I am struggling with being on my own all the time, and the idea of the odd shift at Maison Olivia is becoming more appealing. There’s just one problem.
‘What would I do with Meg?’ I ask as Liv hands her a chew from the tin.
‘She might be a selling point, like the cat in that bookshop you spend so many hours in. As long as she stays in the customer area and out of the kitchen, I don’t see a problem.’
‘Yeah. Good luck explaining the no-go zones to her,’ I remark wryly as Meg jumps up, placing her front paws on the kitchen counter and giving Liv the full puppy-dog eye treatment in the evident hope of securing a second treat. ‘Plus, I’d only need to turn my back for a minute and she’d be gone.’
‘You wouldn’t run off, would you, darling,’ Liv coos as she hands Meg another chew.
‘You’d have to set up a treat dispenser to keep her occupied, and then she’d be so fat she wouldn’t be able to wander off.’ I lean over to push Meg’s feet off the counter, to her evident disappointment. ‘That’s enough, Meg,’ I tell her firmly. ‘Stop hassling.’
‘Darjeeling OK?’ Liv asks as she diverts her attention from the dog to the teapot. She’s fastidious about the process of making tea, warming the pot before adding loose leaves and hot water. In the shop, every pot of tea is accompanied by a sand timer so customers know precisely how long to infuse each blend for. She roundly condemns teabags as ‘common’ and, to my amusement, she actively recoiled on the one occasion Angus offered her a mug of a well-known supermarket brand.
‘I stole these from the shop,’ she says with a smile as she opens a container to reveal beautifully golden madeleines, placing them on a china plate.
‘I’m not sure you can steal from yourself,’ I observe as I take one and bite into it. ‘Mm. This is seriously good, Liv.’
‘Of course it is. I’m the best pâtissière in Margate, as you well know.’ She brings delicate china cups and saucers out of the cupboard, along with a silver tea strainer. ‘So, what’s up? Still missing knobhead?’
I sigh. ‘I don’t know if “missing” is the right word. I just wish I could understand why he didn’t feel he could talk to me before he left. How am I supposed to get closure when I don’t know what was making him so unhappy? I’m also starting to wonder if his sudden burning desire to work on a cruise ship was because he knew I wouldn’t be able to track him down or contact him.’ I can feel tears pricking the back of my eyes and I swallow to try to suppress them. I’m really bored of crying.
‘Laura.’ Liv’s voice is soft. ‘You can’t torture yourself with this. That’s the path to madness. What’s the mantra?’
‘I’m not sure the mantra is working,’ I tell her ruefully as she starts to pour out the tea.
‘Hmm. OK, let’s turn this on its head and assume the breakup is all your fault. Why?’
‘I’m not saying it wasallmy fault. But I must be partly to blame. These things are never simple.’
‘Nonsense. He’s a man and they’re not capable of being complex. If a man is being complicated?—’
‘He’s hiding something simple,’ I finish for her. Liv has a seemingly never-ending stock ofbons motslike this. She calls them her ‘lessons for life’ and trots them out with total conviction.
‘I do have another theory, if you’re interested,’ she says once we’ve settled ourselves in her enormous, squishy sofa and she’s taken an appreciative sip from her cup.
‘Go on.’
‘Insecurity.’
‘What? Angus may be many things, but I wouldn’t describe him as insecure.’
‘He’s a man, isn’t he? They’re all insecure, trust me. I reckon it comes with the penis. As soon as they discover they have one, they have to compare it to everyone else’s and boom. Insecurity. Before you know it, they’re buying some enormous car or a houseful of shiny man gadgets to compensate. That’s why I prefer women, on the whole.’
Unlike her opinions, Liv’s sexuality is best described as ‘fluid’. In the time I’ve known her, she’s dated both sexes but never found ‘the one’. Her current attitude to men is completely normal given that she’s just broken up with one. If her last relationship had been with a woman, she’d be complaining about how complex their needs are, and saying she just wants the simplicity of dating a guy.
‘I’ll bite,’ I tell her. ‘What’s he insecure about?’
She takes a chunk out of her madeleine before answering and, when she does, her tone is thoughtful.
‘I’ll answer that with a question of my own. Were you earning more than him, do you think?’
This isn’t something that I’ve ever thought about, and it takes me a while to do the sums in my head. Liv watches me, sipping her tea and absentmindedly stroking Meg, who has climbed onto the sofa and is resting her head adoringly in her lap.
