Dog Handling (28 page)

“Bye then,” Liv threw behind her, glancing one last time over her shoulder and catching Ben’s eye for the first time that night. God, he did look sad sitting there on his own. She almost felt bad. Almost.

“Liv, this is Ben. I’d really like to take you to lunch if that’s okay. I think perhaps we should talk.”

“I cannot believe it. Can you believe it, Alex? Can you believe that he’s doing this?”

“You’re not supposed to be outraged, Liv; you’re supposed to be delighted that everything’s going according to plan.”

Alex and Liv were at Liv’s the next afternoon indulging in a bit of MTV after their week of baby-sitting Amelia. Laura had gone up the coast with Jo-Jo, so they were taking advantage of the flat because Alex was feeling a bit of creeping guilt for staying at Charlie’s mum’s house given her present condition.

“But am I meant to call him or what?” Liv asked. “What’s the dog-handling procedure on this one? I should call Dave.” Liv picked up the phone. “Dave, can you talk?”

“I have two seconds to spare. So tell me, how was last night?”

“Perfect. Prawns. I munched them all down and listened to him droning on about the illegal trade in AK-47s for a few minutes, then ran off to the loo. I did method acting and was thinking about what it would be like to have him lying on top of me twisting my nipples again and I think I went a pretty convincing shade of green, because he took me home straightaway.”

“And you didn’t feel guilty?” Dave asked.

“I did a bit until he made me hang my head out of the window all the way along the Pacific Highway in case I puked inside his silver Jag.”

“What a tosser. Okay, so now all we need to do is sit tight and wait for number-one dog to call.”

“He just did. But I don’t know what to do next. Do I call him?” Liv was beginning to feel a bit queasy about all this.

“No. More subtle. You haul your backside down to where he works. The museum, right?”

“Yup. Aboriginal artefacts until next week, when he has a dig in Bermagui. Amelia filled us in.”

“Great. Well, off you toddle with a nice frock and no knickers—adds to the vibes—and just sort of bump into him. It doesn’t matter if he believes it’s a coincidence or not. But just be there and be aloof and then if he asks you out be a bit cool and then agree grudgingly. Like god, I have a million and one tastier fish to fry, but I guess it’d be rude not to. That kind of aura.”

“What if he doesn’t try too hard to persuade me?” Liv sounded worried.

“He’s on the trail, Liv. You’ve got the ball again and you have to hold onto it this time. Comprendez?”

“Yeah, I think so. Okay, well, thanks, Davo. I’ll check in later.”

Liv wandered through the cool portals of the museum trying to look riveted. She stared closely at the delicate wood carvings covered with hundreds of colourful dots and then did a surreptitious head swivel every few minutes to see if she could see Ben anywhere. But for heaven’s sake he was the archaeologist, wasn’t he, not a beady-eyed security guard who sat out on view all day just waiting to be bumped into by some girl on a mission. She might as well go home now. The only people in evidence were a group of schoolchildren who were much more interested in one another’s nits than the exhibit and some desiccated pensioners who had probably been around longer than the dots on the wood carvings. Liv had one last glance around her and then slung her bag over her shoulder to leave.

“Would you mind taking a photograph of us, dear?” one of the pruney pensioners asked.

“Not at all.” Liv took the very swish and high-tech camera from the old man and stood back. “Smile, all of you,” she said, and wished she’d put on some knickers. Imagine what they’d have thought if they knew, she thought in horror and deference to their pacemakers and frail hearts.

“Cheese.” The prunes all put their arms around one another and smiled.

“Excuse me, the sign says that all flash photography’s forbidden in here. Would you mind putting that away?”

Liv had already committed a crime by pressing the button. “Whoops, I’m really sorry. Have I done loads of damage?” She turned to the security guard to face the music only to find that they were playing her song. “Ben,” she yelped, and nearly dropped the camera.

“Liv.”

“God, I’m, erm, sorry.”

A prune appeared beside her and tapped her on the shoulder. “Thank you so much, dear. Very kind of you.” He retrieved his camera and scuttled off, not even attempting to stop her from being arrested.

“I was, er, just, well, I was having a wander round and—”

“I had no idea you were interested in stuff like this, Liv. I put this exhibit together, you know. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” said Liv. Thankfully she’d had nothing else to do for the past hour other than swat up, so she could quite honestly say that. “The Eora—they were the indigenous people of Sydney, right?”

“Yeah. Would you like me to show you around? Give you some of the inside info, as it were?” he asked eagerly.

Liv knew that she was supposed to be here to smoosh him into an emotional pulp, but what was the harm in looking when he was clearly so excited about sharing this stuff with her? She could smoosh him later.

“So it could have been as long as a hundred thousand years ago that they landed here really. We have to say fifty thousand to be conservative, but when the first settlers came it was the ice age. Their whole culture was based around the sea—bit like Oz now really; pretty much everyone still lives on the coasts.” Ben had his hand on the small of Liv’s back as he guided her to the last display. “God, I’m sorry, are you bored?” He turned to look at her.

Liv shook her head. She’d hadn’t been bored for a single second. “No, I feel privileged. I can’t believe that you actually discovered some of these things. What an incredible job. Truly.” Liv looked more carefully at one of the dotty plates and thought it the most beautiful thing she’d seen almost ever.

“Anyway, I suppose I should be getting off. It’s lunch break and if I hang around here I’ll get roped into translating for Japanese tourists or something,” said Ben.

Liv suddenly remembered that she was here as a stalker and not a genuine art appreciator and felt fraudulent. Then she remembered that Ben had slipped his leash and she was meant to bring him to heel. He’s a shit, she repeated in her head a few times, and drew herself up to full height. “I have to go, too. Thanks a lot, Ben.”

“You could always come and have a sandwich with me. I mean maybe you’ve got heaps of other stuff to do, but—”

“Okay. I’m actually starving.” Was that too eager? Liv wondered. No. Dave had told her that she had to get a date with Ben. And what was this if not success on a plate? Liv took a reality check and thought of her Sunday by the phone waiting for Ben to call her and clicked back into dog-handling mode. He’d done it once and you could bet your pants he’d do it again. Bad dog.

Okay, so it wasn’t Doyles or Hugo’s or some wonderful seafront watering hole where he would try to seduce her over Chardonnay and she’d resist and leave him panting. It was the museum canteen with plastic tables and wedges of carrot cake and bread baskets filled with bananas by the tills, but Liv figured it would do the trick just as well if all she had to do was lead him on and make him want her. They’d been chatting perfectly pleasantly about art and television and travelling and how they both wanted to drive across America someday, eat beignets in New Orleans at four in the morning, and nice stuff like that, and she was just psyching herself up to be mean to him when he threw her off balance.

“Actually, Liv, I don’t know if you got my message this time, but I called you. I really wanted to talk to you about something.” He put down his fork and looked thoughtful.

“Really?”

“Do you think we could go somewhere a bit more private and have a chat? There’s a bunch of stuff I want to tell you.” Ben looked very serious. God, he was good; she had to give him that. He really had that earnest baby-I’m-not-joking-I-really-feel-deeply-about-this thing down to a fine art. He was making her feel like she was the only girl in the world and that nobody else mattered. And he had the cheek to not seem too confident of her response, just reveal a ripple of doubt so she couldn’t accuse him of being arrogant and cocky. Clearly he wanted another shag. But Liv wasn’t quite prepared for this yet. Though she was pretty much easy access all areas without her knickers, she hadn’t got round to discussing with Dave what happened after the date yet. She knew that she was supposed to tear Ben limb from limb emotionally and make him feel as used and cheap as he’d made her and Laura Train Wreck feel, but she hadn’t a bloody clue how to do it.

“I’ve got to go.” She suddenly looked at her watch.

“It won’t take long,” Ben said.

Oh, even better, Liv thought. He’s not even pretending to be in the market for anything more than a very quick one. There’s a sharing, caring kind of guy for you.

“In fact, I’m late for . . . something.” She picked up her bag and her postcard of the Eora pottery and stood up. “Thanks so much for the sandwich. And the exhibition was lovely. I’ll see you around.” Liv walked away without so much as a backwards glance. Well, if she
had
cast a nonchalant, uncaring look over her shoulder she might have melted into a big knickerless puddle of longing, because he’d looked decidedly sexy with his cheese-and-ham baguette in front of him. But how convincing had he been? Wow. She was amazed at what a fantastic lying, deceitful bastard he was capable of being. Was there no depth to which he wouldn’t stoop to make her want him just so he could pee up her leg all over again? Metaphorically, of course.

On the bus back to Bronte, Liv stopped herself from thinking what a nice bumping-into situation that had just been and focused instead on the idea that life never really turns out as you planned. A snack in the work canteen of the guy who’d fucked and chucked you and whom you were now responsible for reprimanding on behalf of women everywhere wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind all those months ago when she told Alex she dreamed of a knickerless lunch with a sexy man. But things had changed. Back then Liv had been a card-carrying romantic with a head full of pink slush. A stranger to thrilling and illicit things. Sadly, now she knew the truth. That thrilling and illicit was just like hopping aboard a handcart to hell, so the most that could be hoped for in a knickerless situation was that you didn’t catch a draught or have a brain haemorrhage or anything that would mean going in an ambulance and being exposed as a cheap floozy. Grim but true. And how strong and controlled had she been by not sneaking off into a dark corner with him for a quickie? Very, she told herself. Ubergirl that she was turning out to be.

Chapter Seventeen

Best of Breed

F
antastic. You’re going to be agent provocateur. You’re going to be Mata Hari.”

It was Saturday afternoon at the market and Liv was tidying up the lingerie on the front of the stall—now that she was the owner she didn’t want a bra strap out of place. Alex was sewing silver Greta’s Grundies labels inside the underwear. Dave had come by to throw his shareholding weight around.

“I thought I was supposed to be Barbara Woodhouse. Anyway, I’m not Mata Hari. Clearly. Because he hasn’t called back yet. Did calling Mata Hari back score so low on men’s lists of priorities? Somewhere beneath darn my football socks and get my ears syringed?” Liv asked. Could she have finally bored Ben to death by running out on him once too often? Drumroll—here she is, the Incredible Buggering Off Girl.

“I’m so glad you didn’t just leap at the invitation and go home with him. So much better that you catch him off guard when he’s all naked and vulnerable and then make him suffer.”

“Dave, you’re really sick, do you know that? What has poor Ben ever done to make you so cross?” Alex asked.

“Oh, you’ve just gone all fluffy bunny because you’re preggars, haven’t you? I haven’t forgotten the days of hard-bitten cynicism when you’d have revelled in some wanker being taken down a peg or two.”

“Dave just likes to imagine Ben naked, that’s all.” Liv laughed. “Anyway, I don’t want to make him suffer so much as have my ego massaged by knowing that he wants me and that it’s my call. So, Saint Alex, when are you going to do the dirty deed and dump Charlie?”

“Soon enough.” Alex concentrated on her needle threading so she didn’t have to talk about it.

“Do I detect denial?” Dave asked.

“He’s having an affair with some soap star now. I’m just waiting for her to leave a long dark hair in his bed and then I can confront him.”

“Sounds like an avoidance tactic to me. The baby’s going to be seventeen before you know it.” Dave picked up a G-string. “Can I have this? I’m Miss Pussy Whiplash tonight and need a bit of a charm to wow my boys with in the Albury.”

“All yours. Is James coming to the party, by the way? I haven’t heard a peep from him.”

“Too right he’s coming. He’s been raiding my CD collection all week. You do still want him to DJ, don’t you?” Dave pocketed the G-string.

“We’d love him to.” Liv broke off to serve a customer. They only had to sell one more vest top and they would have broken even today. And it was only ten-thirty. Business was looking good.

“Okay, sweeties, I’d better get home before my
pain au chocolats
start to melt in the heat. Livvy, I’m on standby for you. Call me the minute anything happens. And, Alex . . . do the decent thing, honey, before it’s too late.”

No sooner had Dave left with his G-string than the only other person in the entire city who would look as good in it as he did strolled up to the stall.

“Ah, girls, just thought I’d put in a personal appearance.”

“Amelia.” Liv and Alex looked up at precisely the same moment.

“Oh, and Ben. Hi,” Alex added because she knew Liv wouldn’t.

“Hi,” Ben said, and looked slightly cowed and shy.

“Actually, we were just shopping for a wedding present for a friend and started discussing marriage. Wondering what vows we’d take.”