Page 5 of Happily Never After
‘Not to begin with,’ I tell her. ‘I mean, the publisher can’t have had as much faith in the first book as they said they did, as the advance was tiny. But of course that meant the royalties kicked in quickly when it surprised us all by becoming a bestseller. Advances on books two and three were much better but so were sales. I guess I probably do earn more than him. Why?’
‘Think about it. All the time he’s earning more than you, he’s Mr Breadwinner providing for his woman. That’s going to stroke his ego and make him feel manly. Then you overtake him and he’s no longer Mr Big. Bitter pill to swallow. Maybe he couldn’t,and that’s why he left. It would also explain why he couldn’t tell you what the problem was, because he knew it would make him sound petty.’
‘Angus isn’t that shallow.’
‘I refer you to my earlier point. He’s a man. They’re all that shallow. Trevor certainly was.’
‘I’m sensing some transference here. Angus is nothing like Trevor.’
‘Maybe not on the surface, but deep down they’re all the same, trust me. Another madeleine?’
As Meg and I make our way back through the pouring rain a couple of hours later, Liv’s words are echoing round my head. Angus wouldn’t have walked out over something as silly as me earning more than him, would he? I mean, I never mentioned it and it certainly never occurred to me that he might be struggling. I did pay for more than my fair share of dinners out, I suppose, and I liked to buy him gifts, but that’s what you do when you love someone.
Did he secretly have an issue about my income and resent my generosity? If so, what kind of person does that make him?
2
Unlike Liv, who meets most of her conquests online, Angus and I met in real life, during freshers’ week at Edinburgh university. Having made my bid for independence by deliberately choosing to study about as far away as I could get from my parents’ home in Kent, I was determined to immerse myself in all things Scottish. I wouldn’t have noticed Angus on the Economics Society stall had he not been wearing the most ridiculously garish kilt, and I couldn’t help stopping to ask if that was his clan’s tartan. It wasn’t; he was wearing it specifically to get attention but, before I knew it, he’d invited me to join him and the other new society recruits for a drink that evening. I made it clear that, as an English literature undergraduate, I had no interest in joining the Economics Society, but he was undeterred and suggested it would be a great way to broaden my horizons and meet people from other courses. In the end, he wore me down and I have to admit it was a very pleasant evening. He walked me back to my hall of residence at the end and, somewhere along the way, I seem to have agreed to go on a date with him.
The weird thing is that he really wasn’t my type, physically at least. He wore his long, dark hair in a ponytail, which has always given me the ick on men, and his wardrobe appeared to consist solely of black ripped jeans and a selection of black T-shirts advertising various thrash metal bands that I’d never heard of. To complete the cliché, he had an electric guitar that he used to try to serenade me with. I’m no princess, but even I struggled to find the screeches and feedback howls romantic. He was, however, enormous fun to spend time with and I slowly found myself succumbing to his charms. By the time he graduated, a year before me, we’d mapped out our future in Scotland together. He was going to secure a job in the Scottish parliament, and I’d offer private tuition so I could have flexibility to write the novel that I hoped would launch my literary career.
Of course, life never works out the way we plan, does it? Not only did the Scottish parliament fail to spot that Angus was indispensable and offer him a job, none of the other companies in Edinburgh he applied to were interested in him either. By the time I graduated, a year after him, he’d been forced to move back home to Glasgow, where his father had given him a role in the family carpet business as a fitter. Although it was reasonably well paid, it wasn’t really making use of his talents and he spent a fair amount of time complaining to me about how boring it was. Undeterred and in love, I relocated to Glasgow as well, where his mother welcomed me like a long-lost daughter, much to Angus and his brother’s amusement. However, my own search for work was also fruitless. Although nobody said it out loud, my Englishness definitely counted against me and I ended up working a number of zero-hours waitressing jobs while my writing went nowhere.
Thankfully, Angus never stopped applying, progressively widening his search until it pretty much encompassed the whole country. Ironically, his chance of escape from his father’s sphereof influence came when he was offered a job as an employment coach in Margate, just over thirty miles from my own parents. I was surprised how relieved I felt when he decided to accept it; although I’d been made very welcome by his family and still look back on my years in Scotland with affection, Kent has always been my home and I was ready to return. It felt like this was going to be the fresh start we needed and I was delighted to see Angus throwing himself wholeheartedly into his new life.
And then, of course, I met Liv.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she says as I don one of the dark blue aprons with the Maison Olivia logo embroidered in white. It’s a week or so after my visit and I’ve left Meg at the flat to do a trial two-hour shift.
‘Always dangerous,’ I quip. ‘Dare I ask what about?’
‘You, actually. Well, you and me, to be precise.’
‘Are you propositioning me? I mean, I love you to bits and everything, but?—’
‘Of course I’m not propositioning you. Apart from the fact that you’re totally not my type, you’re my best friend, and I wouldn’t want to risk messing that up.’
‘Now I don’t know whether to be relieved or offended!’ I reply with a laugh. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘Nothing. You’re beautiful, even if I sometimes worry about some of the dark stuff that comes out of your mind when you’re writing. I just prefer curvy women, that’s all.’
‘You know what they say: crime writers are safe because they let all their dark thoughts out onto the page. It’s the romance writers you need to worry about.’
She laughs. ‘I’ll have to add that to my lessons for life.’
Our conversation has obviously distracted her from the train of thought that started it, as she turns her attention back to glazing some strawberry tarts. This gives me a dilemma. On one hand, Liv’s thoughts can often be direct to the point of brutality and they’re sometimes best left unexpressed, but how am I meant to know whether this is one of those unless she shares it?
I sigh. ‘So, this thought…’ I prompt.
‘Oh, yes! You got me so far off topic I completely forgot. Here’s the thing. You and Meg are rattling around in that flat without Angus and, not to put too fine a point on it, I think you’re lonely.’
This is one of the more brutal ones then. To be fair, she has got a point. The whole reason for me doing this trial shift is to give me time away from being on my own. Meg is lovely, but I miss conversation and I’ve probably leaned on Liv more than usual since Angus left.
‘I see,’ I tell her.
‘Don’t be cross. You know it’s true. Anyway, my spare room is massive, as you know, so I thought…’ She tails off.
‘You thought…’ I prompt again.
