The Way We Were (6 page)

‘It's all right for Liv,' she'd said crossly to Chris. ‘She has no responsibilities. No wonder she docs as she likes.'

‘It's not that,' he'd answered – he always defended Liv. ‘It's just that Liv, unlike the rest of us, doesn't hanker after things. She doesn't want to possess and she doesn't need to own or control. She likes to sit light to the world.'

‘It's a good job that we don't all think like that,' she'd answered sharply.

Chris had shrugged, pulled his mouth down at the corners. ‘Oh, I don't know. Perhaps we'd be better off if we did. It's not as if she doesn't pay her way. She's always had some kind of job. It's just that she doesn't set the same store that most of us do by possessions. And she doesn't get upset if other people have other views about life that are different from her own. She believes in live and let live.' He'd laughed suddenly. ‘That's why her name suits her so well.'

Val hadn't responded to his joke; she'd been silent, thinking it over. She'd suddenly realized that Liv's rejections of her, Val's, values irritated her. Chris was right: Liv didn't crave a house of her own or a new car or the latest fashions. She seemed to be too busy simply enjoying life.

‘I don't know why you split up if you think she's so wonderful,' she'd said sulkily.

‘Oh, give it a rest,' he'd replied wearily.

Now, raising a hand in response to Liv's wave, Val wondered what it was about her that she liked so much. However much Liv irritated her, Val still continued to need her friendship. To be fair, it was only in the last few weeks – since she'd been so stressed out – that this irritation with Liv had arisen. To begin with, making plans for Penharrow, moving down to Cornwall, had all been fun and Liv had been such a strength: she still was, of course. Perhaps she, Val, should be anxious that Chris might feel attracted to Liv again but she never seriously considered it: ten years was a long time and Liv and Chris never behaved other than as good friends. It was only occasionally that she felt a tiny dart of jealousy Like now, for instance, when she felt exhausted and weepy and irrational – but she mustered a smile as Liv advanced towards her, though reproving words were forming in her mind.

‘Aren't they pretty?' Liv proffered the flowers before Val could speak. ‘Camellias from Aunt Em's garden.'

Even as she nodded, acknowledging the prettiness of the spray, Val fell a spasm of irritation at Liv's affected pronunciation of their name.

‘I thought they were called ca
meel
lias,' she said.

‘Not if you'd known Uncle Archie,' chuckled Liv. ‘Aunt Em sent them with her love and said, “Come to tea sometime when you're not too busy'”

She whirled away, leaving Val holding the flowers and wondering if she should say that she didn't have the time to go off for lea just because she fell like it; but Liv had already gone into the shop and wouldn't have heard her.

Having seen the exchange, Chris tensed slightly as Liv came in. He wondered if Val had been tactless – or even just plain rude. Liv gave no sign of any altercation; she smiled at Debbie and raised her eyebrows at Chris.

‘Learning to cook?' she asked. ‘Aunt Em loved the cakes, Debs. She says she'll be over to see you soon.'

Debbie looked pleased. ‘I like your Aunt Em,' she said. ‘We sold one of her paintings this morning. Did Val tell you? Gary's ill and Myra's had to go and fetch him from school. Chris is helping out.'

‘Shit!' said Liv. ‘Poor Myra. Never mind. I'll carry on here, Chris, if you want to get on.'

‘I'm rather enjoying it,' said Chris. He was relaxed again: relieved that Val hadn't challenged Liv and made oddly happy by her presence, which both comforted and energized him. He realized with a shock that he wouldn't want to be tackling this project without her; that she was necessary to him. ‘I like meeting the punters,' he said. ‘But I ought to be in the office, I suppose. End-of-month accounts and the VAT return.' He made a face. ‘It's more fun in here.'

‘Tough,' said Liv firmly. ‘You know that Marx thing? To each according to his need. From each according to his ability. You do the accounts because of your ability and Debs and I eat cake and chat because of our needs.'

‘What about my needs?' he demanded indignantly.

Debbie laughed. ‘He's already had some cake,' she told Liv. ‘And as for chat,' she rolled her eyes expressively, ‘you should hear him with some of the customers, especially a couple of girls who were in just now.'

‘Too much information,' said Liv severely. ‘Go on, Chris. Back to the treadmill.'

He shook his head mock-complainingly and went away.

‘He's nice, isn't he?' said Debbie, watching him cross the yard. ‘Great legs. It's a pity Val doesn't lighten up a bit. She makes real hard work of it.'

‘It's early days,' said Liv placatingly ‘Bit scary for her till it's all up and running properly. She'll be fine when she sees it's going to be OK.'

CHAPTER THREE

2004

After Liv had gone, Em pottered for a while in her greenhouse; tweaking up some weeds, pinching off unwanted leaders, thinning out a tray of seedlings. She relaxed in the humid warmth, liking the sensation of the crumbly earth between her fingers, and snuffing up the sharp, green, vegetal smell. All the while she was thinking about Liv. There had been a luminosity about her, as if she'd been lightly dusted with a glittering of happiness. Liv was usually good company; quick with a jokey response, intuitive, ready with some amusing little anecdote about her life. Yet this morning there had been an extra quality that had made the simple act of drinking coffee and eating cake a celebration.

The obvious deduction was that Liv was in love. Pleased with this idea, Em began to invent the scenario, allowing her romantic imagination free rein; she pictured a handsome fellow coming into the café for coffee, chatting with Liv. coming back the next day. He might invite her to go for a walk on the cliffs, or to the pub for a drink, or to Rick Stein's. Perhaps he'd be a bit older than Liv, late thirties, mature but not stuffy. He'd been in a long relationship (no children), which had now fallen apart – not his fault, of course – and he was looking for a career change. Em fretted over this point for a while: he mustn't be unstable nor yet a stick-in-the-mud, and she couldn't quite decide what career he might pursue in Cornwall. Liv didn't want to leave Cornwall. Em pictured the handsome fellow: dark-haired, not over tall, with a nice twinkly sexy appeal.

Realizing that quite unwittingly she'd cast Chris in the role of this desirable man, Em put down her little watering pot and went into the courtyard, sitting down again at the table feeling rather dismayed. Of course, she'd always been far too romantic. Quite suddenly she remembered how she and Tiggy had once laughed together on this very subject. Tiggy had told her how she'd longed for a tough, strong-jawed Georgette Heyer-type male to save her from her loneliness, and Em had described how, through all those years of aching boredom caring for her elderly aunt, she'd daydreamed of the handsome war hero who would rescue her.

‘It worked for you, Aunt Em,' Tiggy had said.

And so it had: on a fine winter afternoon Archie had turned up at one of those interminable bridge parties so beloved by her aunt and she, Em, had fallen in love with him and he with her. She and Julia often discussed the possibility of Liv meeting someone and falling in love.

‘Of course, nobody will ever be good enough for Pete,' Julia had said. ‘You know how he adores Liv. I worry about her working so closely with Chris again after all these years, Aunt Em. I know she says it's all over but there's something so dangerous about the whiff of nostalgia, isn't there? Chris represents Liv's youth. Oh, I know she's only thirty-two but, even so, there's something special about the late teens and early twenties. And then, if you've had a fling with someone and they come back into your life, you might wonder if things would have been better if you'd stuck with them. Can you really be entirely indifferent to someone you've been to bed with?'

Em hadn't answered; she had no experience to call upon. Neither of them had mentioned Angela Lisburne but Em knew that Julia had been thinking about her.

Now, despite the warmth of the late April sunshine, Em was aware of a tiny chill shivering her skin. It would be terrible if Liv were to undermine Chris and Val's relationship in the same way that Angela had once tried to destroy Julia's marriage. Em reviewed the morning's conversation, anxiously looking for tell-tale signs or explanations of Liv's condition. She'd talked easily about Chris and Val, as well as Debbie and Myra, but had there been anything particular that denoted a renewal of that past love? Em thought not, but her daydream had ceased to bring her pleasure; all she could think of was Angela's sly, secret smile, and Julia stumbling up the garden steps with tears on her cheeks, one cold February day nearly thirty years before.

‘I think Pete's having an affair with Angela,' she'd said.

Sitting in the April sunshine Em was filled with a sense of frustration. The joy that Liv had brought trailing in her wake diminished a little: Liv and Andy, Julia and Pete, Charlie and Zack. They were all her dear children and she wanted them to be happy. She was reminded of how much Liv had looked like her mother; the young Julia, Zack astride her hip, the twins with Charlie between them, helping him up one step at a time. Now Charlie was married with two children of his own and Zack's wife, Caroline, was expecting a baby in the summer. Where had the years gone?

‘Do you remember the way we were that long hot summer of ‘seventy-six, Aunt Em?' Julia had asked her not so long ago. ‘How careless we were about our happiness! We took so much for granted. Oh, I know that there were all sorts of problems but when I look back it seems to have had a special magic that whole time Tiggy was with us. I remember her arriving in the snow and the twins building a snowman the next morning. And that glorious spring and all those jollies in the camper van. How the twins loved it. Do you remember that summer? It seemed to go on for ever. We didn't know how lucky we were. We didn't appreciate it.'

‘I think Tiggy did,' she'd answered. ‘She'd lost her lover and I think she'd learned exactly how ephemeral happiness is and treasured it accordingly. Whatever guilt you still feel, Julia, try to set it against the comfort and happiness you gave Tiggy. You provided her with a family and a home at a time when she had nothing. No wonder it was a special time for all of you.'

The breeze fell away and the sun was hot. Em closed her eyes, breathed in the heavenly scent of the narcissi. The warm sunshine and Liv's visit had given her new vitality and courage: the summer lay ahead and there was work to be done. To begin with she must give consideration to painting some new cards, perhaps even a bigger canvas.

Yet still she sat in the sunshine, thinking about that first meeting with Tiggy twenty-eight years before.

1976

‘Damned cold out there,' Archie says at breakfast one chilly morning. ‘Shouldn't be surprised if we had some snow. Isn't Julia's friend arriving today? Funny name, Tiggy.'

Buttering her toast, Em looks at him rather vaguely; she hasn't been concentrating. A few days earlier she had a rather startling idea and all through breakfast she's continued to brood on it; conning it over in her mind. Last week she received a letter from an old friend; no, not a letter but a notelet, that was the name for it. On the front is a pretty painting of a butterfly, a very accurate depiction of a marsh fritillary and Em is beginning to wonder if she might be able to design a cover for a set of these little cards – perhaps several different covers – and offer them for the next RNLI fund-raising event. She's already decided that the first painting should be a montage of spring flowers: daffodils leaning almost protectively over the smaller blooms; violets and snowdrops and primroses, all set against a pale blue sky. Her thoughts speed forward: the cliffs in summer, cushioned with pink thrift, and the rich purplish colour of the heather …

‘Snow,' repeals Archie loudly, as though Em has become suddenly deaf. ‘I think snow's on the way.'

She nods intelligently, trying to look alert, but her reaction both startles and amuses her: she's had a horrid stab of anxiety that the prospect of snow might prevent him from going out. Her one ambition is to go up into her little room and get to work, and she knows from experience that it is much more difficult with Archie around. He tends to hover, offering coffee, or wondering how she is getting on with the work in progress. Em reaches for the honey.

‘I doubt it will amount to much,' she says cheerfully. ‘It's a glorious day. Wonderful to see the sunshine after all those endless weeks of rain.'

‘Heard the early forecast,' he tells her triumphantly, ‘and it's more than possible later on. Make a shopping list and I'll get a few extra supplies while I'm in Bodmin. Just in case.'

Em is almost shocked at the extent of her relief. ‘Good idea,' she says warmly.

She pours more coffee thoughtfully, her mind straying back to her project, wondering if she will be able to strike a good deal with the printer in Bodmin. Archie has spoken again.

‘Sorry, darling.' she apologizes. ‘Just thinking about that shopping list.'

When Archie has gone she sits on for a little longer with her mug of coffee, still brooding. She is pretty certain that the printer in Bodmin will give her a good deal once he knows that the notelets are for charity, and if she is lucky she'll be able to sell the original paintings.