The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

“We’ll do it anyway. It doesn’t depend on money,” he replied, and gathered her in, kissing her as though they were alone, not sitting on his father’s worn car rug, amongst seagulls and dog-walkers, and children puddling in the shallows. As he tangled his fingers in her hair and pressed her close, she felt the irresistible shift inside and knew, again, that she had hopelessly and deliciously given in.

  * * *

  When Livi and Rob announced their engagement, their parents wanted to know if they’d set a date. His friends wanted to know when the party would be. And her friends wanted to know when the ring would be on her finger.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted to Gemma and Bex, her two best friends from school days, as they sat under feathery palm trees outside their favourite seaside café. “Everything’s on hold until this damn show is done with.” She dropped a marshmallow into her usual hot chocolate and forced it under with her spoon.

  Over their coffees, they both looked sympathetic.

  “It’s not too long, I suppose,” said Gemma. “But could you start making a few plans in the meantime? We could help you.”

  “You don’t need an excuse to buy bridal magazines, Gem,” Bex said, stirring sugar into her cup. “You can just walk in and hand over the money.”

  Gemma went pink, and Livi reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. She had broken up with her last boyfriend a few months ago and was still single, but her wedding obsession was no secret.

  “That’s sweet Gem, thank you. Of course I’d love your help. It’s only a short time, really, then we can start. It’s just hard for him to concentrate on anything beyond the show, and I want him to be involved.”

  “How involved is he going to be, though?” asked Bex. “I mean, I can’t see him going out to buy bridal magazines.”

  Livi and Gemma laughed at the idea. “Okay, point taken,” Livi said. “I suppose it’d be enough to feel like he’s involved, even if he’s just nodding and smiling.”

  “Yeah, men are good at that.” Bex rolled her eyes. “The clever ones, anyway.”

  “You’re too young to be this cynical,” Gemma said. “It’s not like you’ve had bad luck with men.”

  “No, just with one man,” she replied, with a grin.

  Bex and Nick had been together practically since the beginning of high school, and despite—or maybe because of—a competitive and sometimes combative relationship, they were plainly meant to be. After a few drinks at Gemma’s last birthday, Bex had confessed that the backwards and forwards battles kept things interesting for her, and making up was the best part of all. Both being chefs, they were guaranteed to have a tempestuous time.

  “Speaking of men, what did Cam say when you told him?” Gemma asked.

  Bex leaned in. “Yes, what did Cam say?”

  “You mean about the show?” Livi occupied herself with her second marshmallow.

  “No, the getting engaged!”

  “Well, I haven’t told him yet. Don’t look at me like that! He’s still away on that bike trip.”

  “He’s going to be disappointed,” Bex said. “He always thought he’d be the one.”

  “No, he didn’t. And he doesn’t.” She shook her head. “You know nothing’s ever happened between us.”

  “I don’t know why,” said Bex. “If it wasn’t for Nick, I would’ve been in. You seem oblivious, but he’s flat-out handsome, you know.”

  “He is,” agreed Gemma. “And so tall. And clever. Oh, and that motorbike…”

  Of course she knew. You could hardly miss it. He was unarguably handsome, and tall, and clever. Amongst other things. But he was Cam. Their families lived opposite each other in their little street, and socialised together, so as kids the two of them were thrown together almost every weekend. And even though he was two years older, they’d always been happy in each other’s company.

  But when it came to budding romance, there was such a thing as knowing someone too well. She’d walked his dog, and stood on Lego in his hallway. She was there when he mastered the nine-year-old armpit fart, and years later when his mother told him off about the teenage wasteland that was his bedroom. And he’d seen her fall off her bike, and cry over the birthday kitten that came to grief in the street. When she cut herself to pieces, on her first attempt at shaving, he’d made no comment about the sticking plasters all over her legs.

  On long summer evenings, they’d lain on his old trampoline, talking about everything and nothing, while their parents drank too much wine and burned sausages on the barbecue. She still tried not to think about the night just after she turned fourteen, when they stole an experimental bottle of chardonnay, and she’d had to throw up behind the garden shed.

  They saw each other across the road practically every day until he moved out of home, the first one of them to go. It wasn’t that familiarity bred contempt—just too much familiarity. They were as good as family. In fact, with their almost matching hazel-green eyes and dark hair, they had occasionally been mistaken for brother and sister.

  Now she raised an eyebrow at Gemma. “Well, it’s not too late, Gem, if you feel that way.”

  “No, I think Bex is right,” she replied. “I think he’s quietly in love with you.”

  “Well, he’s had plenty of chances to do something about it. We’ve known each other forever. If you’re right, why hasn’t he said something?”

  “You never gave him an opening—look at all the boyfriends you’ve had,” Bex said.

  “Not that many!” she protested. “No more than anyone else. Anyway, there was never any need for an opening. We’re friends.”

  “He probably thought there was no rush,” Gemma added. “You’ve always spent a lot of time together. When he came back from his time overseas, it was like he’d never been away. And then, this whole Rob thing did happen pretty quickly, you know. It was all go from the first day you met. I remember you bringing him to the Frigate that night. That was only, what, eight months ago?”

  “I suppose so…but when things seem right…” she faltered.

  They’d met at the beach, on the wild west coast. She and Gemma were sitting on towels laid out on the hot black sand, lazing in the sun, when Rob came up from the surf, running his hand through his saltwater hair, droplets falling from his lean body. He stopped to talk to them, and it was Livi he held a hand out to. He pulled her up, and she stood there in her retro one-piece, amongst all the long-legged, bikini-clad girls he could have chosen, and was captivated. And from that moment, it was all on.

  Now Gemma sent a frown in Bex’s direction. “Livi and Rob will be fine,” she said. “I mean, it’s true, we were all a bit surprised when you guys got together, but you obviously have a lot of fun and that’s really important.”

  “Yes, we’re all aware how much fun you two have.” Bex wiggled her eyebrows at Livi, making her blush. “Why do you think we let you have the downstairs bedroom?”

  “Oh my God.” She buried her face in her hands, mortified.

  “Bex, don’t tease,” Gemma said. “You’re working nights at the restaurant anyway! She’s only joking, we never hear anything.”

  Livi re-emerged, relieved. “Actually, we haven’t been seeing each other as much as usual lately. He’s had a lot of work on, and they’ve started meetings in town about the show.” She watched an old ferry chug past on its way to the city. “It’s all he can talk about. Which is fine, of course! I mean, I shouldn’t begrudge him his fun, just because I’m not convinced about it.”

  “It’s understandable, though,” said Gemma. “Reality TV isn’t everyone’s thing.”

  “No,” she said. “But I’ll just have to get my head around it. There’s a lot more to come yet.”

  Rob was keen to tell her all about it, which was good—but she was starting to feel like she’d scream if she heard ‘Therese says’ one more time. Therese, the director, was apparently the font of all television-related knowledge.

  “Fifteen minutes of fame,” Bex mused. “You might as well enjoy it, it�
�s what everyone wants.”

  “It’s not my fifteen minutes.”

  “But it could be. Don’t they always do publicity and celebrity appearances for these things? You’ll be going to the opening of an envelope and all that.” She struck a pose.

  “It might be fun,” Gemma suggested. “Something to tell the grandchildren, anyway.”

  “Grandchildren! Gem, slow down there.” Livi made a stop sign with her hand. “No, I’m just not convinced about reality TV, full stop. I mean, people have killed themselves after bad experiences.”

  “That’s true,” Bex said. “Some of those shows are brutal.”

  “Oh, stop!” Gemma exclaimed. “Now you’re being melodramatic. Obviously Rob is not going to be killing himself. He’ll have a fun time, hopefully win a nice car and some money, buy you a gorgeous ring, marry you, and have children and grandchildren and live happily ever after, the end.” She picked up her coffee but put it down again with a clatter, looking flustered.

  “Sorry hon, don’t worry, of course you’re right,” Livi soothed. “I should be more positive. I will be.”

  She smiled at her friends, one sensible, one feisty. It was good to have back-up. The sun shone, the gulls wheeled, and they had chocolate cake. Everything would be fine.

  Five

  In the weeks before the show filmed, Rob was swept into a whirl of preparation, rehearsal, and promotion. Livi saw him less and less in person, but more and more in the media. It began as a story in the community paper about him being selected as a contestant, a sweet kind of ‘local boy does good’ piece. But by the time the publicity machine went national, Rob had been pegged as the sexy one, the ladies man—he had the looks, but would he have the moves to match? Livi was unimpressed, her positive resolve broken, but Rob was still enjoying the joke.

  After one article in a women’s magazine that asked readers to speculate on which of the twenty contestants might get together, Livi lay in his bed, officially engaged but without the diamond, and seethed.

  “They know you’re not single. Why do they write that stuff?”

  Of the two women picked out for him, one was just pretty, but the other was stunning—blonde hair down to her handspan waist, a bust to compete with Barbie, and a face of cosmetic-company perfection.

  “Don’t worry, babe,” he said, tracing circles around her belly button in the dark. “It’s just their imaginary world. You know I love you.”

  She grabbed his hand and put it down on the sheet, too annoyed for fondling. “I know. I’m just not loving being invisible.”

  “I could take you with me to the next interview. Therese has organised it with the City Standard.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to be in the papers. God, no.” She felt panicky at the thought. “It’s just, you are engaged, they shouldn’t be finding you a romance.”

  “The trouble is, I wasn’t engaged when I signed the contract, and Therese says that was what they really wanted.”

  There was silence as they both lay looking at the ceiling.

  Livi cursed his friends for their great idea, cursed Therese, cursed the whole damn show. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go, in bed or out. She didn’t want to be an unwelcome hanger-on, cramping the style of a dancing heart-throb. Hell, was she the only one who remembered that Rob couldn’t actually dance? Although, after a few weeks of lessons with the show’s instructors, maybe he could. The thought made her feel even worse, and she rolled away to get up.

  But he rolled her back over towards him, winding his legs around hers and tucking her head under his chin. “Don’t let it be more than what it is,” he said. “Let’s just play the game. It doesn’t matter what some journalist writes.”

  She let out a long breath into the side of his neck. Once in a while, he surprised her by sounding quite wise. “Okay. But I don’t have to like it.”

  “That’s fine. Just remember to like me,” he said, and ran his hand down, around her belly button once more, and then further down, until she was holding her breath again. This time she didn’t take his hand away.

  “I think every part of me likes you,” she managed, before words escaped her.

  * * *

  Rob did say something to the show’s publicists, and the next article talked about his fiancée and their romantic beach proposal. Livi was pleased to be acknowledged, and decided she wouldn’t point out that it wasn’t all that romantic.

  By now he’d taken leave from work and, with a week to go until filming started, was all but swallowed up by the show. Some nights he let himself into the house after she was asleep and crawled into her bed, too tired to do anything but snore. In the morning she went off to work leaving him tangled in blankets, regretfully remembering the mornings they used to spend tangled together themselves. Once she heard him on the radio in the car on the way home, charming the female drive-time DJ, and had to smile. He was charming. And handsome. And sexy and funny. She decided to just be proud of him and let him enjoy the experience. If she was doing something so big, she knew he’d support her all the way. So when the publicists asked if she would join him for part of an interview, she said yes.

  Bex and Gemma pulled out armfuls of their nicest clothes for a trying-on session. In the end they all agreed on a red dress of Bex’s. It was cut so beautifully that somehow it made her waist look smaller and her bust look higher, and even managed to make her legs look longer.

  “I know why that is,” said Gemma, as they all considered Livi’s reflection in the mirror. “I read that all skirts should finish at the point just below your knee, where your leg goes in a little. That’s the most flattering spot for everyone.”

  “The other reason is that this is the most expensive dress I’ve ever bought,” Bex said. “I got it last time I went to Sydney. It’s a bit shorter on me, though.”

  “I do feel really great in it,” Livi said over her shoulder, turning this way and that on black strappy heels. “And I love any outfit that makes me seem taller.”

  “It’s perfect,” Bex said. “Classic and just sexy enough.”

  “Classy,” added Gemma.

  “All good things,” Livi laughed. “Thanks, you guys. You’re going to make the best bridesmaids ever.”

  A moment’s silence was followed by two cries of “Bridesmaids!” and Livi was sandwiched in a double hug that almost knocked her off her feet. For a few moments they rocked together, laughing, until Gemma exclaimed, “Wait! We’re crumpling the dress.”

  After a flurry of smoothing and straightening, Bex said, “Livi, that’s really special. Thanks for asking us.”

  Gemma nodded. “It is. I can’t believe you’re going to be the first one of us…” She wiped shining eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Gem, it’ll happen for you,” Livi said softly.

  “You’re not the kind of person who’ll be single for long,” Bex added.

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” Gemma said. “I just can’t believe how grown-up we’re getting. It only seems like the other day we were sitting around on the school field tanning our legs, and now look at us. We’re adults.”

  “Apparently,” Bex said. “But I’m still waiting for the grown-up feeling to kick in.”

  “Me too,” said Livi. “Maybe the diamond will do it.”

  And they looked at their reflections, and wondered.

  * * *

  Sitting in the makeup chair the following day, stylists buzzing around with hair straighteners and lip liner and kabuki brushes, Livi thought she looked as much like an adult as she ever had. But although the red dress gave her confidence, it couldn’t squash the butterflies in her stomach. She tried to distract herself by watching E! on the television in the corner, but the parade of red-carpet beauties didn’t help much.

  Then a battleship of a woman strode into the room, all in black, including her sharply spiked hair and crayon eyeliner. Over-glossy orange lipstick was the only concession to colour. Livi tried not to stare at h
er distractingly juicy lips as she spoke.

  “Hel-low, you must be Liddy.” Before Livi could reply, she continued, “I’m Therese. I’m getting everyone more or less in order for our filming today. You know what’s happening, we’re just doing a little piece on the background of each of our contestants, and you, of course, are background.”

  She smiled thinly, and Livi could only nod. So this was the famous Therese.

  “Now, let’s have a look at you then.” She waved a hand at a stylist and he sprang into action, whipping the cape from around Livi, helping her to her feet and making a last hair adjustment. She tried a smile.

  Therese narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips. “Mmmm.” And, after what felt like a very long pause, “No, okay…that will have to do.” Then she turned her back on Livi, leaving her decidedly wilted. “Five minutes, everyone,” she announced to the room. And then she was gone.

  Livi looked at the stylist in despair.

  “No, you look great,” he said. “She’s always like that.”

  “I feel sick.” Her butterflies had turned into bats.

  But despite the horror of Therese, she felt a little better when she went into the studio and saw Rob sitting there, with his permanently beachy hair. He gave a low whistle at the red dress, and surreptitiously squeezed her bottom as he showed her to her seat. The shiny-suited interviewer was bouncy and enthusiastic, and sitting between him and Rob she almost managed to forget about the cameras as she answered questions.

  When she went back to the makeup room to get her things, she gave her stylist a relieved smile. “Not so bad,” she said.

  An older woman who had taken her place in the chair looked up hopefully. “Really?”

  “It’ll be fine,” she replied.

  * * *

  Later that week, Livi and Rob went to her parents’ house to watch the finished programme. Full of nerves again, she stood in the hallway and peered around the door frame for their segment.