Chapter 6 Liv
Chapter 6
Liv
Oh God, I think I’ve made a fool of myself in front of Anna and Margot, two people who barely know me. Hardly a great start. I’m grateful they don’t appear fazed by my tears. But I want to start as I mean to go on, and that’ll only happen if I’m being myself. Not the version I have been, because I’m not that Liv anymore. Margot and Anna don’t need to know who I was or what I’m capable of doing to get what I want.
‘How did you deal with leaving London, Margot?’ I ask. ‘You mentioned before you once lived there.’
She rises to her feet and makes her way back from the bed and on to the chaise longue.
‘Oh that’s all such a long time ago now, I barely remember,’ she says dismissively.
‘I remember you well,’ Anna says to her. ‘You were everywhere when I was a teenager.’
‘What am I missing?’ I ask, genuinely confused. I have no idea who Margot is or was.
‘I used to be in a pop group,’ Margot says. ‘But like you, that version of me feels like light years away.’
I sense a contradiction here. Part of her clearly wants to tell me about it, but there’s another part that’s reticent. Regardless, this time, I bite. ‘Oh really? Which group?’
‘The Party Hard Posse,’ Anna pipes up. ‘You must remember “Never Stop (Yeah Yeah)” and “Get Up On The Dancefloor”?’
I look at her blankly.
‘Four boys, three girls?’ she adds. ‘Margot, sing something.’
‘No!’ Margot replies, aghast.
‘Then I will,’ says Anna and launches into the chorus of a song I vaguely recall. Margot looks as if she’s fighting to swallow down bile.
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘I think I know that one.’
‘They toured with Britney Spears, Enrique Iglesias and Will Young,’ Anna continues as if she’s written their Wikipedia entry.
I’m slowly beginning to decipher their dynamic. I think Anna enjoys having someone to look up to and Margot delights in the applause.
‘Why did you give it up?’ I ask.
‘It ran its course. Singer-songwriters fell into favour and there wasn’t any room in the charts for bands like us.’
‘But if they ever got back together, you’d rejoin, wouldn’t you?’ Anna asks.
‘If the right offer came along, maybe,’ she concedes. ‘It might be fun to be back on stage.’
There’s more to her story than meets the eye and I make a mental note to look her up online later. There’s nowhere to hide on the internet. Unless, like me, you hide behind a paywall.
‘I suppose I should venture downstairs and start playing hostess again,’ I say as I top up their glasses with the rest of the Veuve. I raise mine up. ‘But first, here’s to new friendships.’
We clink glasses. Margot knocks hers back so quickly it barely touches the sides.
We’re re-entering the garden when Anastasia, one of my soon-to-be-former London friends, appears, tinsel draped around her neck and a piece of mistletoe wedged under a hairband. Going by the way she sways as she stands, she’s making the most of the bar.
‘Margot Ward!’ she cries at the sight of her, eyes ablaze.
‘Not for a decade,’ Margot tells her. ‘It’s Rosetti now.’
‘My little brother used to have the biggest crush on you. He used to say that when he grew up he was going to marry you. He’s gay now.’
None of us are sure how the two are linked.
‘So did you stay with that dancer?’ Anastasia asks.
Margot’s face hardens. ‘Yes, we’re still together.’
Something tells me I should be steering Anastasia away from this conversation, yet I can’t help but want her to drive towards it. So I say nothing.
‘You two were always on the covers of the celeb mags, weren’t you?’ Anastasia persists. ‘What did they call you? “The Homewrecker”?’
Anastasia momentarily loses her footing. I grab her arm to stop her from falling. The distraction provides Margot with an excuse to remove herself from the situation.
‘It was lovely to have met you,’ she says, ‘but I need to check on my kids.’
And with that, she slips her sunglasses back on, throws her head back and walks away, every inch the star she apparently used to be.