Livi could only laugh from behind the box of smoothing serum she was unpacking. “Honestly though, how do you stay friends, when you live together, and work together?”
“Oh, no, sweetheart, we’re not friends.” Will shook his head. “We’re lovers. A friend would never stand for what he puts me through. There has to be a greater reward.”
Aidan looked apologetic. “It’s true. I’m a nightmare. But I’m so worth it.” He gave Livi a wink. He was so handsome, she believed him.
“So you do have disagreements, and fights?” she asked, putting down the inventory form she’d been ticking off.
“Oh, I love to start a fight, just so we get to do the making up,” said Aidan. “It’s the best fun getting him hot under the collar, I can tell you.”
Will tutted, trying to maintain a stern look, but his smile won out.
“Of course,” Aidan continued, “you have to get your fight started early enough in the evening, to allow plenty of time for all the making up. Never go to bed angry.”
“To sleep angry, you mean,” Livi corrected him.
He nodded. “You’re right, those are two different things,” he said. “It’s the advice every mother should give before the wedding.”
She sighed. “I wonder what my mother would have told me.”
“Relationships are like hair care,” Will said, holding up one of the bottles of serum. “You have to use the right products to keep everything healthy, smooth, and shiny.”
Aidan clapped a hand to his forehead. “Please don’t go into advertising,” he pleaded. “That was terrible.”
“No, it’s true,” Will said. “It may cost a bit more, but without it you’re left with nothing but frizz.”
“And split ends,” Livi added, taking back the serum. “He’s right.”
Will took up his scissors from the plush cloth they’d been nestling on. “Well, I should know, you couldn’t calculate the extra I’ve put into you.” The scissors flashed under the salon lights as he pointed them at Aidan.
“And who was it that bought you those custom-made, monogrammed, top-of-the-line beauties?” Aidan asked.
“We’re not talking about material things,” Will said. “Don’t you have more depth than that?” But then he smiled as he tenderly polished away an imaginary blemish on the blade. “You did.”
Aidan was satisfied. “Well, then.” He turned to Livi. “And don’t worry, your mother will have her chance,” he told her. “Someone will snap you up.”
“I don’t know if she wants to be snapped up,” Will said. “She’s not looking for true love with a crocodile. But sweetheart, you are a catch.”
“Thanks, you two,” she said. “I can’t really say I’m looking for true love at all, at the moment. But I suppose I’m starting to think I could dip my toe in the water again. Even if it might be crocodile-infested.”
“Just the fact that you’re looking for something—well, someone, the American—is a good sign,” Aidan said. “Hopefully he won’t turn out to be a crocodile.”
“He’d have to be an alligator, I suppose, being from over there,” Livi pointed out. She went to the door and turned the heavy placard to show ‘Open’. “Anyway, all I’m trying to do is give his bag back, remember.”
Aidan and Will exchanged a look. “Okay,” Aidan said. “If you want to rationalise it like that. But I heard he was an absolute honey.”
It was true. He was. Since their Saturday night encounter, the American had lingered in her mind. He was a teasing reminder that she was still the same Livi who’d once run hot, night after night, a tinderbox to the touch. Her wayward mind kept returning to the moments when they stood close together in the crowded carriage. In the aftermath of Rob, she’d almost forgotten that deliciously blurry, heated sensation—but the American had made her feel positively combustible.
Then the first client swept through the door, shaking raindrops off her umbrella, and they swung into action.
Livi hadn’t had any salon experience before Nicolette hired her for Peach. But she was born to organise, and her experience in the family company had given her all the business skills she needed. She quickly learned the salon side of things. Officially she was the receptionist, but the longer she was there, the more duties Nicolette handed over. She answered the phone, ordered stock, managed the computerised appointment system and coordinated rosters. She looked after the junior staff, analysed salon turnover, kept up with all the new retail products, and maintained their Instagram and Facebook accounts. Nicolette came in less and less, and Livi did more and more.
Probably the trickiest job of all was molly-coddling their clients, who came on a spectrum from fussy to high-maintenance to hissy-fit. The fashion designer, the property developer’s wife, the backing singer with ambition, the viscount’s daughter, the TV presenter…they were hard work, but she’d started to think of them as from another species—they had their own characteristics and quirks, it was just how they were. They were so far removed from her own reality, it made her feel reassuringly normal. From this semi-detached view, it wasn’t too hard to be patient with their obsessions and (mostly) unfounded anxieties.
Although she and the others were sometimes irritated by how little involvement Nicolette had in her own salon, there was a plus side. Livi made sure that the business was thriving, and then, within reason, she could organise things to suit them all.
She was leaving early that day, driving with Cass and their friend Mia to Hartfield, near Cotchford Farm—the first, and possibly last, stop on the trail of clues they’d discovered in the American’s bag. She had no idea whether they’d find him, or even if they were on the right track with the dates. But once Cass and Mia got involved, the search was going ahead no matter what. They looked for the adventure in any situation, and if they couldn’t find one, they’d make one up. With or without the American, she knew she’d enjoy the hunt.
* * *
Livi had never known Mia to be late. In fact, she was more likely to arrive early for any occasion, so she could sit and chat companionably while she waited for everyone else to get there, or be ready to leave too. So as the clock worked its way nearer to three, Livi kept glancing out to the cars hissing past on the wet street, expecting her to pull up with Cass (who was having a day off) at any moment.
But as she returned to the front desk after asking Katie, their most junior stylist, to sterilise some equipment, Aidan came and stood close alongside.
“Livi,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, maintaining a casual expression. “Crisis alert. Client hysteria.”
He flicked his eyes towards the salon’s consultation area. Huddled on the dark leather settee was a young woman who must have been immaculately groomed when she left home, but was now obviously in the process of falling to pieces. Puddle water had crept up the legs of her jeans, and her red coat, unequal to the weather, was clinging heavily to her body.
“Nothing I say seems to be the right thing,” he said. “Can you try? We could be in for a major drama if we don’t get her defused.”
Livi nudged him. “I thought you liked drama.”
“Well, who doesn’t?” he replied. “But I can’t get any sense out of her, it’s heartbreaking. Livi, please, be a sweetheart.”
“I can’t stay later than three,” she warned him, reaching under the reception desk for a box of tissues. That morning she’d tucked the satchel under there too, keeping it safe until they set off to find its persistently distracting owner. For now, she pushed aside thoughts of whether the reunion might bring another round of flirting, or something more than that...
“Thank you, thank you,” Aidan stage-whispered as she turned to go, relief obvious on his face. “I owe you one.”
She made her way over to the crumpled figure and sat down. Holding out a handful of tissues, she said, “Hi, I’m Livi. Is there anything I can do to help?”
The young woman turned to her, with a tear-streaked face. Despite red eyes and smeared makeup, she
was very pretty, and didn’t look much older than a teenager.
“Do?” she repeated. “Help? I must look beyond help.” She took the tissues and scrunched them to her face, shoulders heaving. “What could possibly help now?”
“Well, we’ll do whatever we can,” said Livi gently. “Who was doing your hair today?”
“I already had my hair done,” she replied in a rising voice. “And now, just look.” She put her hands in her hair and flung the damp, dishevelled blonde curls upwards, letting them fall again any which way. A tissue drifted to the floor, landing next to her sodden suede boots, and she started to cry again.
Aware of curious looks from everyone else in the salon, Livi took her hand and levered her up. “Come on, let’s go out the back and get you a cup of tea.”
“Tea?” She shook her head but went along with Livi. “What good is tea, when my life is ruined?”
Here was drama to match Aidan any day. Livi steered her into the staffroom and asked Katie to take over at reception. Then she shut the door behind them, took the girl’s coat as she peeled it off, and found a seat for her at the lunch table.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t find out your name,” she said, putting tea bags into mugs.
“Helena,” came the snuffly reply, followed by a resounding nose blow. “Although my name will be mud now, thanks to him.”
Livi came and sat with her at the table. “Him? What happened?”
“We organised this fundraiser together, for charity, you know. For cancer. It was his mother’s idea really. She had cancer, you see.” She blew her nose again.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“That’s okay, she’s all clear now. Anyway, he—Edwin—he’d got into trouble at university, drinking too much, stupid pranks, and then he was caught plagiarising in an essay. And they said he was in danger of being expelled. So his mother made a deal with the head of department.”
“To do some good works,” Livi said.
“That’s right,” Helena replied. “But I ended up doing most of the work, while he got to look good. And now…” The tears flowed again.
“Now?” Livi prompted.
“Now, today, I went and had my hair and makeup done, then we met up for coffee, just, you know, to go over the final details. And he broke up with me, and he said I shouldn’t go tonight. But most of the people will be there because I invited them, or convinced them, to go. I can’t just not be there. But I can’t go and face him. I’m such a wreck.” She paused for breath and wiped tears and eyeliner from the top of each cheek. “He just wants to take all the credit. Damn it, why should he win?”
Livi reached out and took her hand. “He shouldn’t,” she said. “And he won’t.”
She managed a wavery smile. “I’m so sorry to make such a scene. I just had to get away, I just walked and walked and didn’t look back, and then I realised what a mess I was, and then I looked up and saw your salon.”
“Well, you came to the right place,” Livi replied.
There was a hesitant knock, and Aidan peeked around the door. “Livi, just to let you know Cass and Mia are here.”
She looked at her watch. Ten to three. Then she looked at Aidan. A plan was crystal clear in her mind.
“You know how you said you owed me one? I’m calling it in.”
Ten
By ten past three Livi was in the car with Cass and Mia, heading for Hartfield. Helena was at a shampoo station having a wash and deluxe head massage, and Will was ready to give her a knock-out up do. Livi had convinced a makeup artist from the spa along the road to come at short notice, with the promise of a free colour in return (figuring Cass wouldn’t mind when she knew why). And she’d rescheduled Aidan’s last client so that he could race home and pick out his most stylish outfit, befitting the dashing companion of a successful young society fundraiser. All Helena had to do was put on her party dress and hold her head high. Livi hoped she could carry it off.
“I’m sure she will,” said Mia, stopping the car to let a soggy backpacker scurry over a pedestrian crossing. “Aidan is so gorgeous, with him on her arm she’ll be flying.”
“I hope you told him not to play up though,” Cass said over her shoulder. “He’s great at coming out with inappropriate comments.”
“It’ll be fine,” Livi replied. “He’s under strict instructions. And Helena’s so sweet, he really wanted to help when he heard the story.”
“She’s not the only one with a story about appalling man behaviour,” Cass commented, raising an eyebrow in Livi’s direction.
She looked out at the endless-seeming streets of London going by in the drizzle. “I just thought, yes, why should he get to treat her like that and come out looking like the winner?”
“I’m glad Rob didn’t get to be the winner. Karma. You had that satisfaction at least,” said Cass.
“I don’t know if satisfaction is the right word exactly,” Livi replied. “But I probably would have lost all faith in human nature if he’d won.”
“Did he get any votes at all after that?” Mia asked. Cass had told her the basics of Livi’s brush with fame, but Livi hated talking about it.
“Some. I would have preferred none.” Ideally, she would have preferred him to have choked on a stray sequin. Or been struck by a bus on the way home. Or by lightning. Or a meteorite. She was flexible. Just as long as he didn’t win.
If he had, she wouldn’t have been there to see it, anyway. By the time Rob was doing his last night of shooshing around the dance floor, she was on a plane to elsewhere. Because once footage of her humiliation screened on Newsnight Tonight—that same night—every other TV channel, website, radio station and newspaper in the country picked it up. Even she could see it was too juicy a story to leave alone, but it was no fun being the one in the spotlight.
The next day, the phone rang incessantly, and Gemma and Bex stepped in to fend off reporters, shocked friends, and women’s magazine editors, while Livi wished she hadn’t volunteered to put her name on the phone account, making her number so easy to find. She left her mobile turned off.
Mid-morning, reporters started turning up at the house, knocking and calling out inane questions. “Livi, how do you feel?” She hardly needed to answer that one—the photographic evidence said it all. “Livi, what do you want to say to Rob?” Well, nothing that wouldn’t be peppered with beeps (or asterisks). “Livi, will you be at the show tonight?” They seemed undeterred by getting no response. She supposed they could whisk up a dramatic story out of that, just as well as they could from any actual answers.
The girls sat with her to watch Dance ’til You Drop that night. They didn’t think it was a good idea, but she felt compelled to find out what they’d show, so they ignored the intermittent door-knocking and turned the volume up.
First, there was the usual recap of the previous day’s events. A tightly edited montage of clips showed the contestants relaxing on their day off. Then there were scenes from the dinner (although none of the complaints), and the faux-Hollywood red carpet walk. Livi was pleased to see that she was only just visible in the crowd.
But then everyone was suddenly walking in slow motion on the screen, and the shot came in close. A little oval of light appeared around her, while the rest of the significant others were in shadow. The voiceover became more dramatic.
“Livi Callaway is engaged to Rob, one of the show’s hottest contenders. She has no idea that her night is about to take a turn for the worse…”
Then, an ad break. Livi leaned back in her chair.
“Maybe we shouldn’t watch,” said Gemma.
“No,” she said. “I want to see it.”
But when the moment arrived, and she saw herself walking away from Janet Walker, towards her unpleasant surprise, she picked up the remote and switched the television off. “Actually, I don’t want to.”
Gemma nodded. “Good call. There’s no point in torturing yourself.”
Bex fetched a bottle of wine, the most expensiv
e one in their small collection, and three glasses. “I think you’ve earned it,” she said. “And we’ll keep you company.”
Eventually, the last reporters gave up and left, and the neighbours stopped twitching their curtains and started turning out their lights. They sat in the living room with their wine, and a bit of peace at last.
But then there was one more knock at the door.
“For God’s sake,” Livi said. “Don’t they ever sleep?”
Bex got up and twitched their own curtain back a few millimetres. “It’s not another reporter,” she said. “It’s Rob.”
Livi started to get up, but Bex had other plans. “No,” she said. “You stay there. He should work for it.”
She went out of the living room, and they heard her open the front door. “What took you so long?” she asked.
They couldn’t help smiling at each other. She obviously had no intention of going easy on him.
When he replied, Livi could hear the change in his voice. “You know why. I had to dance during the day, then I had the show.”
“Right, the show.”
There was a long silence. The girls imagined Bex giving Rob her steely-eyed look. That fierce face could stop a bear in its tracks. Finally, Rob said, “So…can I see her?”
She must have relented, because in a moment she appeared, Rob following behind. Livi stood up.
“We’ll leave you to it,” Gemma said. “Come on, Bex.”
They went out, closing the door behind them.
Livi looked at him. His hair was full of product and his face still bore traces of the stage makeup. His t-shirt was a white v-neck, made from cotton so fine she could see the outline of his muscular, newly waxed chest. Where was her rough and ready builder? She missed the old Rob. The Rob whose work-roughened hands could also work gentle magic. Whose idea of dressing up was a scalding hot shower, aftershave balm, and his best jeans. And who would have laughed a hairless, v-neck-wearing builder off the premises.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That wasn’t meant to happen.”
The Near & Far Series Page 62