2004
At Penharrow, Val and Chris were having another row.
‘She must see that it's just not on to dash off whenever she feels like it.’ Val's face was pinched with frustration. She thrust her short dark hair away from her face with thin fingers. ‘The trouble with Liv is that she's never grown up. She sees herself as a free spirit who isn't subject to the ordinary rules that other people live by. And you encourage her.’
Chris sat at the table, his eyes on his empty plate, gently pushing the fork handle to and fro. He felt irritated: after all, he could have hardly ordered Liv to slay and work.
‘She does more than her fair share,’ he said coolly. ‘We'd never have got Penharrow up and running without her and, just occasionally, she needs to let off steam. She'll probably work until late this evening.’
‘You always stand up for her.’
‘Oh, for God's sake,’ he said impatiently, ‘I'm simply saying that this isn't some nine-to-five office job. It's a twenty-four seven project—’
‘You're telling me. And if I'd realized what a strain it was I'd never have let you talk me into it.’
‘Talk you into it? Come off it!’ He shoved the plate to one side. ‘You were just as keen as I was. It was you who wanted to live the good life, if you remember.’ A little pause. ‘And it was you who'd lost your job.’
She stared at him angrily, arms clenched and folded tightly beneath her breast. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Thanks for that.’
He made a gesture of conciliation. ‘I'm sorry. But—’
‘Always a “but”. Never just “sorry”.’
Chris stood up quickly, snatched up his plate, but then stood for a moment, considering.
‘We asked Liv to help us,’ he said at last. ‘We both wanted to try this holiday letting business and Liv was here, on the spot, knew the area and the locals. All of that. She's had a great deal of experience in getting new projects off the ground. Don't forget she's got a very good reputation for it and we were very lucky she agreed to help us. She found Debbie and Myra for us, talked to the local craftspeople about stuff for the shop, designed the layout for the café. She takes a very small wage because she knows we need time to build things up, and she grafts damned hard and doesn't mind what she does. Every now and then she freaks out and dashes off to go surfing or to the pub with her mates. She told us she would and we accepted it because we both know how Liv operates. She worked her way round Australia; she temps; does odd things because she doesn't like to be tied down. But you know as well as I do that she is putting in much more than she's taking out and neither of us is in a position to tell her what to do. It's not that kind of set-up. We'd have looked a right pair of tools without her, I can tell you that much.’
‘And meanwhile who's going to help Debbie this afternoon now that Myra's got some kind of drama at home?’
‘I will,’ he said briefly. ‘It's fine. I can manage.’
Val was silent, fingers balled into fists, out of her depth for the first time in her well-ordered life. Chris watched her, his irritation dissolving into compassion.
‘Val's finding it hard,’ Liv had said to him privately. ‘She always needs to be in control and it scares her when she isn't. She's too high-handed with Myra and Debs because she's frightened that they'll take advantage but she'll have to learn to trust them a bit more. Meanwhile she needs lots of hugs.’
Chris thought: The trouble is I don't feel like hugging her at the moment. Right now I don't even like her very much.
The thought shocked him into action. He went round the table and put an arm round Val's stiff, unyielding shoulders.
‘Come on, love,’ he said. ‘Let's not make a drama out of a crisis. Or is it the other way round?’
She wouldn't look at him or acknowledge his feeble joke, but he sensed a wavering and he bent and touched his lips lightly to her temple.
‘I'm going over to help Debbie out,’ he said. ‘I enjoy it actually, chatting to the visitors. What do the locals call them? Emmets? It's good fun. Part of why we're doing this. Don't lose sight of that, Val.’
‘I'm so tired,’ she said defensively, ‘and these headaches are wearing me down.’
‘It's just the stress of getting everything in full working order in time for Easter,’ he told her. ‘And we've done it. The units are booked up way ahead and the café is picking up lots of passing trade. I know we can't sit back and put our feet up but we can try to enjoy parts of it.’
‘I'm not so good at fooling about with the staff as you are.’ Val moved slightly away from him. She picked up his plate and began to load the dishwasher.
He watched her dispassionately: she'd lost weight and this new thin tautness didn't suit her, made her face look too sharp, rodent-like. And for heaven's sake, did she have to call Debs and Myra ‘the staff’?
‘Well, it's a good job that one of us is,’ he said lightly. ‘Helps to get the work done. See you later.’
He went out, crossing the yard to the café, reacting with pleasure to the warmth of the sunshine and the crying of the gulls. The small kitchen was clean and smelled delicious. Myra and Debbie were conferring together and looked up anxiously at him as he came in.
‘I'm ever so sorry,’ Myra said at once. ‘It's just the school's phoned. Gary's been sick and they want me to collect him. I've been trying to get hold of Mum but she's not answering.’
‘It's fine,’ Chris said reassuringly. ‘Not a problem, Myra. You dash off and I'll give Debbie a hand. We can manage, can't we, Debs?’
‘Course we can.’ Debbie beamed at him. ‘I was just telling her to get off.’
Chris went through into the high-raftered room and looked around. Four of the six tables were occupied and two women were lingering at the far end amongst the shelves and tables that held hand-painted cards, delightful pieces of pottery, guidebooks and a display of silk scarves. Everything was made locally; all the food products locally sourced. Chris felt a great surge of pride and smiled at a woman who was now approaching to pay her bill.
‘That was scrumptious cake,’ she said appreciatively, taking out her purse.
‘Glad you enjoyed it,’ he said, ‘and here's the cook,’ as Debbie came out of the kitchen.
‘How do you manage to stay so slim with all this temptation about?’ asked the woman saucily, looking him up and down as he rang up the till. She winked at Debbie. ‘I expect you keep him busy.’
‘Oh, I do,’ agreed Debbie promptly. ‘Night and day. Never let up for a minute.’
They all laughed, enjoying the simple joke and the sunny day. Through the window Chris saw Val crossing the yard. Head bent, lips pursed, she seemed unaware of the sunshine; preoccupied with anxiety and weighed down by care. Another woman approached the counter; she carried a pretty hand-painted silk scarf, two cards with scenes of Port Isaac and a pottery candle-holder. He totted up her bill whilst an elderly couple came in and ordered two cream teas from Debbie: more jokes, more friendly chatter. When he looked again Val had disappeared.
Val checked out the laundry-room, wiped down the machines and swept the floor. It was important that it should be spotless at all limes; everything must be tidy. Debbie or Myra were supposed to give it the once-over each evening after the shop and café had been cleaned but she wondered if they always remembered it. Liv usually gave them a hand; she often heard them laughing and exchanging backchat; Liv never minded helping out with the most menial tasks.
As Val came out into the yard she saw Liv climbing out of her car, bag over her shoulder, holding a spray of flowers. It occurred to Val that Liv was so often carrying something – a bag of cakes, flowers, a bottle of wine – something received or to be given.
Watching her waving a greeting, her face flushed by the sun, Val resentfully wondered why Liv should be the recipient of so much generosity. There was a lightness about her; an air of spontaneity to which people responded with delight.
‘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 cameellias,’ 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.’