Happily Never After, page 5
‘You’re assuming I’ll be listening. Anyway, you have the place to yourself all day most days. Now, do you have any other weird hang-ups you’d like to discuss before I get back to my Crème Pàtissière?’
‘I’m not repressed or frustrated,’ I repeat sulkily.
‘How would you describe it then?’
‘I’d say I have a healthy, normal attitude to sex.’
‘If that’s the case then not getting any would definitely cause some frustration. Think of it this way. If we look at your sex life with Angus as a pastry, it would be a jam doughnut. Unfortunately, the jam doughnut has buggered off so, until you find a new supplier, you have a choice.’
‘Which is?’
‘You could try to style out the doughnut famine, but I think that’s making you miserable, probably in danger of getting some kind of wrist injury and affecting your writing.’
‘Or?’
‘Or you could satisfy your need for sweet treats with the custard doughnuts of Goliath there. Does that make sense?’
The honest answer to her question is no, she’s not making any sense at all with her doughnut analogy, but I can see she might have a point generally. Goliath is way too intimidating, but perhaps I should do some research of my own and see if there’s something less likely to injure me that I might enjoy.
6
Thankfully, after our discussion in the kitchen of the pâtisserie, Liv seems to have given up trying to micro-manage my sex life. I don’t know whether she’s accepted that her gift just wasn’t for me, or whether she’s assuming that I’m spending every hour she’s out of the house in some kind of battery-powered state of bliss with Goliath, but I am enjoying her not going on about it any more. We obviously have wildly different attitudes to this subject, but I would argue that mine are fairly normal compared to Liv’s, which I think most people would describe as extreme. Goliath is still in the box, which I’ve shoved under my bed and done my best to forget about, but I have done a bit of online research of my own. After reading the product descriptions with mounting incredulity – who do they get to write this guff? – and looking at the surprisingly frank reviews, another box arrived yesterday. It’s also under the bed with Goliath, waiting for the right moment.
‘Is there anything you need to tell me about before we get to your parents’ house?’ Liv asks.
‘Such as?’ I ask her.
‘Oh, you know. The usual. If Great-Aunt Maude has fallen off a ladder and broken both her legs, it’s probably not the best idea to ask how her marathon training is coming along.’
‘Great-Aunt Maude won’t be there.’
‘Have you actually got a great-aunt called Maude then?’
‘No. That’s why she won’t be there.’
‘Phew. I thought for a moment that I might have forgotten one of your relatives. Are there any other family things I need not to mention?’
‘I think you’re reasonably safe. Steer clear of the usuals and we’ll hopefully get through without any issues.’
‘The usuals?’
‘Sex, politics and religion.’
She grins. ‘Damn, that’s my whole set of conversation starters out of the window.’
‘Ha ha.’
She smiles. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing your brother.’
Liv has never made any bones about the fact that she fancies my brother Michael rotten. Thankfully Debbie, his wife, has either never noticed or doesn’t feel threatened by it. I suspect the first, as Debbie has been so totally focused on her children since they were born that I sometimes think Michael could dye his hair green and cover himself with tattoos and she wouldn’t notice.
‘I’ve never understood what he sees in dull-as-ditchwater Debbie,’ she continues after a moment.
‘She’s not that bad.’
‘Oh, come on. She’s hardly the most thrilling person to be around, is she?’
I laugh. ‘And you’re not biased at all, I suppose.’
‘It could be the plotline for your next book,’ she says suddenly. ‘A married man embarks on a passionate affair with a voluptuous pâtisserie owner, who opens his eyes to how boring his wife is. He’s desperate to leave her for the new love of his life, but she’s got some kind of hold over him. What could it be?’
‘Probably financial,’ I suggest, entering into the game. ‘Maybe she’s got family money and he’s reliant on her.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’ Liv is warming to her theme. ‘Have you ever considered doing this professionally? Anyway, he’s trapped in this loveless marriage but the voluptuous pâtisserie owner—’
‘Who doesn’t look at all like you, I suppose.’
‘Who might look a bit like me,’ she admits with a grin. ‘Anyway, the pâtissière gives him an ultimatum. Leave his wife or she’s off. What’s the guy to do?’
‘I’m going to hazard a guess that he’s going to kill his wife.’
‘Bingo. How would he do it though? He’s no murderer, so maybe he hires a hitman.’
‘Too complicated.’
‘Why?’
‘One, how’s he going to find one? You can’t just Google something like that.’
‘The dark web. I’m sure there are loads on there.’
‘OK. How do you get on the dark web?’
‘No idea.’
‘Precisely. Most people don’t, which is why it’s called the dark web. So we’re stretching the reader’s credibility. However, let’s say – just for the sake of argument – that he knows how to do that and finds his hitman. How much do these people charge?’
‘Again, no idea.’
‘Me neither, but we’ve got to assume it’s going to be several thousand pounds. Given that we’ve established that the wife holds the purse strings, how’s he going to get hold of that kind of money without her finding out?’
‘He only needs half the money up front. Isn’t that how these things work?’
‘With the second half due as soon as the job is done. I don’t think hitmen tend to offer payment plans, annoyingly.’
‘Yes, but he’s got access to her money as soon as she’s dead, hasn’t he, so that’s not a problem.’
‘Sorry, but you’re stretching the reader’s credibility again, Liv. Let’s say the hit costs ten grand all in. First of all, we’ve already established that he’s got to find the first five without his wife knowing.’
‘Short-term loan. DodgyCash4U dot com or whatever.’
‘OK. So he borrows the initial five grand, that’s what you’re saying.’
‘Yup.’
‘And when the poor unfortunate woman is dead, he’s now got to pay the lender their five grand plus interest, plus the second five to the hitman. Let’s say twelve thousand in total.’
‘Which he takes out of his wife’s estate.’
‘That’s where your plot falls down. In order for that to work, the whole twelve grand would need to be lying around in a joint account, and that doesn’t sound very likely, does it? Anything that’s solely in her name, such as savings, investments and so on, would have to go through probate, and the hitman isn’t going to wait that long. And even if she were foolish enough to leave that kind of money in a joint account, a big cash withdrawal within days of her demise is going to look suspicious as hell.’
‘Bollocks. I think I’ll stick to pastries and leave the murdering to you.’
I smile. ‘It was a good try. Oh, and Michael’s potty about Debbie, so I don’t think he’s going to leave her for you any time soon.’
‘I don’t do married men anyway. That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate him from afar.’
‘Just don’t piss Debbie off. Seeing my family is fraught enough without you adding to the tension.’
She grins again. ‘I’ll be good, promise. Ah, here we are.’
Unsurprisingly, my brother’s people carrier is already parked outside the house as Liv swings onto the drive. He and Debbie live just the other side of Ashford, so haven’t had nearly as far to come. I do have a key to Mum and Dad’s house, but it feels weird just letting myself in having not lived there for years, so I press the doorbell, setting off a frenzy of barking from the other side.
‘Yes, Rufus,’ I can hear my mother saying firmly. ‘You’re a good boy for letting me know there’s someone at the door but I’m dealing with it, OK? Go in the kitchen. Shoo.’
‘Hello, Mum,’ I say as she eventually swings the door wide, having successfully banished the dog.
‘Laura!’ she exclaims as if my visit is a complete surprise to her. ‘How lovely to see you.’ She doesn’t hug me immediately, standing back to appraise me first.
‘You look pale,’ she observes. ‘Are you eating a balanced diet? We were watching a documentary the other night about the obesity crisis. Apparently, all these people are so fat because junk food is much cheaper than eating healthily. You don’t look fat, at least. Olivia, darling, welcome. Oh, you shouldn’t have!’
Liv hands over a stunning Tarte aux pommes that she spent hours yesterday making and, while Mum fusses and acts like she wasn’t expecting it at all, I’m certain she was. I’d be amazed if she’s even prepared a pudding herself, knowing that there was no way Liv would turn up empty handed.
‘I’ve brought some cream to go with it,’ Liv says, handing over a small bag. ‘It’s from the local dairy that supplies the pâtisserie, so it should be good.’
‘You’re a darling,’ Mum tells her as she ushers us inside. Meg and Rufus, my parents’ enormous fox-red Labrador, promptly block the hallway as they embark on an elaborate ritual of bottom-sniffing, making the process of getting through to the sitting room where everyone else is positively hazardous.
‘Laura, you made it,’ Dad says in the kind of tone that would make you believe we’ve come from the South Pole rather than a few miles up the road. ‘Olivia, lovely to see you as always.’
‘All right, Loz?’ Michael asks me, punching me on the shoulder. This has been his standard greeting for as long as I can remember, so I’m braced for it.
‘I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘You?’
‘Yeah, you know. Debbie’s a saint, the kids are a nightmare. Nothing changes.’
‘Don’t listen to him, he loves his boys to bits,’ Debbie scolds as she crosses the room to hug Liv and me. ‘I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages, Laura. I’m so sorry about Angus, but I gather you’ve moved in with Olivia now?’
‘I’m renting a room in her house, yes,’ I say carefully. Communication in my family operates like a game of Chinese whispers. You can feed an accurate piece of information to one person, but the version you get back from someone else is so garbled it’s unrecognisable. So, despite making it very clear to Mum what my living arrangements are, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Debbie were to think she ought to be picking out hats for Liv’s and my upcoming nuptials.
‘Well, as long as you’re OK, that’s the main thing,’ Debbie says soothingly. ‘When we heard about the whole Angus situation, Mike’s and my immediate reaction was that you should move in with us until you were back on your feet but, on reflection, we thought it might be a bit much for the boys to have to share a room. George is at a sensitive age and needs his own space.’
I glance down at George, who is sprawled on the floor staring at his phone. He doesn’t look sensitive to me, but what would I know?
‘It’s fine,’ I tell her. ‘Meg and I are very happy with Liv.’
‘Oh, goodness,’ she says, looking shocked. ‘I completely forgot about your dog. Yes, we couldn’t have had her at all. Well, I’m glad it’s all worked out.’
Debbie’s faux concern is starting to grate and I need to get away. I’m pleased to see that, rather than ogling my brother, Liv appears to have roused the supposedly sensitive George from his screen and is chatting with him. Michael and Dad are deep in discussion about something, so I head for the kitchen on the pretext of giving my mother a hand.
‘Are you sure you’re all right, darling?’ Mum asks as I busy myself washing up the pots and pans she’s no longer using. ‘Your father and I have been worried about you.’
Uh-oh. Maybe this was a mistake.
‘I’m fine,’ I tell her, keeping my voice neutral. ‘Why?’
‘You’ve been through a lot. The whole Angus thing, moving in with Olivia and so on. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Olivia is a charming girl and I know she’s your best friend and everything, but I’m not sure she’s always good for you.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘She’s a little… how can I put this… unconventional. And I know it shouldn’t matter in the modern age, but she’s from a very different background. I worry she sees you as a charity case.’
‘Hang on. Are you saying that Liv is bad for me because she’s a posh bisexual who looks down on me?’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite as bluntly as that, darling. You’re free to be friends with whomever you please, and whether we like them or not. But when that friend is also your landlady and your employer, well…’
I’m flabbergasted but, before I can think of a suitable reply, we’re interrupted by Michael.
‘Is lunch nearly ready, Mum?’ he asks. ‘The boys are getting restless.’
‘Yes, you can tell them to come to the table if you like. I’m about to start dishing up. Laura, go and tell your father to sort out everyone’s drinks, please.’
From the tone of her voice, it’s clear that our conversation is over as far as Mum is concerned. She’s said her piece and I’m just supposed to accept it, even though she couldn’t be more wrong. As I carry the dishes of vegetables from the kitchen to the dining room, I notice Liv is now sitting next to my dad and making a real effort to engage him in conversation. As I think about the times I’ve been to visit her parents with her, and how welcome they’ve always made me feel, I realise something that makes me seethe inside. Yes, she may be from a very different background, but it’s not Liv or her posh parents that think I’m a charity case. It’s my own mother.
7
‘That was intense,’ Liv remarks once we’re safely in the car heading back towards Margate.
‘Thanks for going in to bat for me,’ I reply.
‘Why is your father so completely adamant that you’re living on the breadline? It doesn’t seem to matter what anyone tells him, he won’t listen. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I told him you were probably better off than me, and he took that to mean the pâtisserie was about to go out of business.’
‘I think it goes back to when I was first starting out. He read this article online that said most authors earn an absolute pittance and sell fewer than three thousand copies of each title. He tried to put me off so many times by trotting out the statistics that I think they’ve got hard wired in his head.’
‘But your last two books were top ten bestsellers! Surely even he must realise that’s going to net you more than a few quid.’
I sigh. ‘Welcome to my life.’
‘And the way your mum kept thanking me for “taking you in” as if you would have been homeless otherwise! I’m sorry, Laura. I know it’s not the done thing to be rude about your friends’ parents, but honestly.’
‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘What do your parents think of me?’
‘They love you. Why?’
‘I was just curious.’
‘No. That’s a weird question to come out of the blue, so I’m guessing there’s an agenda behind it. Come on, spill.’
I wasn’t going to say anything to Liv about the conversation I had with my mother before lunch, but it’s been playing on my mind.
‘Well,’ I begin, unsure how to broach the topic tactfully, before realising this is Liv I’m talking to. ‘Your family is much posher than mine, isn’t it?’
She glances over at me, her expression suddenly serious. ‘What’s brought this on?’
‘On second thoughts, forget it. You’ll think I’m being paranoid.’
To my surprise, her face lights up. ‘Oh, I see what this is,’ she says with a grin.
‘What is it?’
‘Fine. It’s time to come clean. I haven’t said anything before because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but my parents think you’re a terrible chav and can’t understand what I see in you.’
I’m horrified. ‘Really?’
She laughs. ‘I knew it was that! No, of course not, idiot. They absolutely adore you. Nobody cares about how posh anyone is any more, do they?’
‘Only someone truly posh would say that.’
That’s enough to stop her laughter in its tracks and she looks, if anything, slightly hurt. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nobody has ever looked down on you socially, have they?’
‘I’m sure plenty of people have,’ she tells me earnestly. ‘But it’s bollocks, Laura. There are always people who are posher than you or richer than you, just like there are people who are less posh or poorer. Who cares? The only person I can think of who got hung up on stuff like that was my grandmother, and she was a terrible old witch. Did you ever meet her?’
‘No.’
‘She’s dead now, thank goodness. She didn’t bat an eyelid when I told her I thought I was a lesbian, but hold your knife the wrong way and she’d positively twitch with disapproval. She’d say, “The Queen won’t invite you to tea if you can’t eat nicely, Olivia.” Mum went for her in the end.’
‘Did she?’
‘Yes. She pointed out, among a lot of choice words, that none of us were likely to have tea at the palace and, unlike dear Grandmama, the Queen probably wouldn’t give a shit how we held our cutlery because she had better things to worry about.’
‘I can practically hear your mum’s voice saying that.’
‘Grandmama used to drive her nuts. I don’t think there was a lot of love lost between them, if I’m honest. Anyway, the point is that my parents love you. In fact, I think they might wish you were their daughter rather than me.’
