Chapter 2
2
After a fitful night’s sleep, Liv woke with a dull pain in her head, thanks to the Prosecco, and an acute ache in her heart, thanks to Fraser.
She also had a whopping great dent in her already battered ego. She huffed and flopped back on her pillows. Reality was not being particularly kind: she was living in her sister’s spare room, driving a clapped-out Fiesta, working her backside off at a job that never quite took off, and to make matters even worse, she had a love life worthy of any agony aunt column. She felt like a complete and utter loser. She really wanted to believe everything Charlotte and Abigail had said last night; it wasn’t her fault, it was men being horrible, and she wasn’t a shit magnet. Being ghosted once was clearly bad luck. But to have it happen twice – it was hard not to conclude that she was the common denominator.
She wasn’t the prettiest but she also didn’t look like a cow’s backside. She frequently received lovely comments about her long, auburn hair. The remarks were somewhat in contrast to the teasing she’d endured at school – where she had been called everything from ‘ginger nut’ to ‘Ron Weasley’, none of them very original. She was a bit of a talker, perhaps that was what put them off. She wished she knew because all she could see stretching ahead of her was an endless cycle of her being dumped and having no idea why. Actually, being dumped would have been a whole lot better than being ghosted. When they just disappeared she didn’t even get the chance to ask why, or to vent her anger and hurt.
There was a tap on the bedroom door and Charlotte’s face appeared.
‘Hey, you. I made you some toast and a large cuppa.’ She put the offerings on the nightstand and sat down. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like I’ve won the grand prize for biggest loser in the world – ever.’
‘Seriously? It’s not that bad. It’s just some random bloke. What does he know?’
‘Apparently the same as Pierre.’
‘He was another idiot. Liv, you are better than them. You need to pick yourself up, dust yourself down and get on with your life.’
Liv harrumphed from her pillow. ‘I think I’ll be doing some wallowing first. A day in bed is probably what I need. I’m owed some wallowing time surely?’
‘That won’t make you feel any better,’ Charlotte said, sounding all school-teachery.
‘I sure as hell can’t feel any worse.’
‘I’ve just been to the gym so I’m going to have a shower, then I’ve got a work call for an hour or so. After that I’m expecting to see you up and dressed.’
‘Why?’ asked Liv.
‘Because life goes on, little sister,’ said Charlotte, and she almost skipped from the room.
Liv grabbed a slice of toast and munched on it in her horizontal position. Then she started to choke and had to sit up. It would be just her luck to die from choking on toast. It wasn’t exactly a life-flashing-before-her moment but if she were to die, what had she achieved in her twenty-five years? Bugger all . She finished her toast, had a swig of tea, lay back down again and snuggled under the covers. She was feeling sorry for herself and bed was the best place to do that. Even losers deserved a day off.
A couple of hours later she was scrolling through her phone having rebooted the app and searched the database for Fraser. Still no sign of him. It turned out her low point had a few more levels down than she’d realised.
‘Are you not up yet?’ Charlotte’s less understanding face poked around the door.
‘I said I’m not getting up today. I’m busy wallowing.’
Charlotte came in and put her hands on her hips – never a good thing. ‘Now listen to me. This man is not worth it. Dwelling on what’s happened will only make you feel worse. You need to seize the day.’
Liv would have quite liked to have seized Charlotte by the ponytail and slung her into next week. ‘I appreciate the pep talk. I do. But I’m going to get over Fraser my way.’
Charlotte pulled a number of different facial expressions. None of them boded well. ‘Get over him? You’ve not even met him. What is there to get over?’
‘We met online,’ said Liv trying not to sound niggled. ‘I thought we had potential. We were a good match because we liked the same things. He was always there with a text when I needed him. And I liked him.’
‘But you know nothing about him, apart from the fact that he allegedly likes Mariah Carey.’ Charlotte rolled her eyes – she wasn’t a fan. ‘And he says he’s a chef in Scotland. It’s probably all lies. Did he even say where in Scotland he lived? It’s a whole other country.’
‘Yes,’ said Liv. ‘He lives on the banks of Loch Lochy.’
Charlotte belly laughed. ‘Loch Lochy? And you didn’t think that was a made-up place?’
‘Not until now.’ Liv was feeling like a proper fool.
‘Chalk it up to experience and move on. Hey?’ Charlotte had that ‘I’m so clever’ big sister look about her – it was very annoying.
‘You can’t just delete someone from your mind like an unwanted computer file. Relationships don’t work like that.’
‘Apparently you can because that’s exactly what he’s done to you,’ said Charlotte. ‘And it was hardly a relationship. You probably couldn’t pick him out of a line-up. And if you’d been in touch with him anymore that may have been the next place you’d have seen him. He’s most likely a con man.’
Liv could feel that familiar sense of going into battle that she only ever felt with Charlotte. Was it a stubborn sibling thing? She wasn’t sure but it was a definite sensation reserved only for her sister.
‘Online relationships are still relationships you know. We had feelings for each other. I know it was early days but there was definitely something. We had a connection.’ Charlotte gave a derisory snort and Liv was further riled. ‘He was kind and thoughtful and I’m going to miss him.’
‘Sure. It was definitely kind and thoughtful of him to ghost you like that.’
‘Before that part he was really nice to me. Not that you would understand because you’re too busy for a boyfriend. You barely noticed when Ricky buggered off to Ibiza.’
Charlotte gasped. ‘That’s unfair, Liv. I love my job. And I couldn’t give a shit about Ricky.’
‘He owns a bar in Cyprus now,’ shot in Liv.
Charlotte’s expression changed to interested.
‘Does he? When did…’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t care about Ricky. But I do care about you. We don’t need men in our lives. Look at Mum. She’s happier now than she’s ever been.’
It was true their mother did seem to be happy being single but it had taken countless tears and a lot of useless men for her to finally embrace it. ‘But Mum’s in her fifties. I don’t think I’m ready to be permanently single.’
‘Take my advice. Forget about Fraser and focus your energy on something else.’
Liv puffed out a breath as she lay in her bed. ‘What energy? I don’t have any.’
‘That’s a hangover. Get some juice and a vitamin C tablet down you and you’ll be right as rain.’
‘Why are there so many men with arsehole tendencies in this world? Why can’t someone gather them all up and send them off somewhere like an island?’ said Liv.
‘Maybe they did. We are on an island after all. Perhaps someone needs to invent a dating version of TripAdvisor so you can leave one-star reviews to warn the next woman. Anyway, worse things happen in Wetherspoons.’
‘Why are you always so bloody jolly?’ asked Liv. ‘It’s zapping the last of the energy I actually had. Look I’m going back to sleep. That’s your fault.’
‘Liv, don’t be ridiculous. Liv!’
‘Zzzzzzzz.’
‘You are such a child sometimes,’ said Charlotte and she stomped out of the room.
Liv barely left her room for the next few hours, only to forage for a pot noodle and scoot back to the safety of her pit. She must have nodded off because she was woken by the sound of high-speed chatter, and that could mean only one thing. She sat up in bed just as Charlotte let herself in. She was not alone. Liv pointed at her accusatorially. ‘You called Mum!’
Her mother came bustling into the room and immediately began straightening the bedcovers with Liv still under them. ‘Of course she did, Olivia. What else was she to do? Hmm? You’re refusing to get out of bed. Mithering about some lad who probably doesn’t even exist. They set up fake accounts on the internet just to get your money. Marjorie at number seventeen was scammed by an Elbonian prince. Awful business. You’ve had a lucky escape. Now you hop in the shower and I’ll get you out something nice to wear. Okay?’
It was very much not okay but when faced with her mother’s wall of words it triggered a deep desire to flee, so a shower was a safe alternative. Liv slunk out of bed and glared at a smug-looking Charlotte as she left the room.
When she came back her mother had put out the only dress she owned. She would not be wearing that. She brushed her hair and gave it a quick blast with a hairdryer, threw on a long-sleeved top and her favourite jumpsuit. Feeling marginally better, she went to face the verbal equivalent of a firing squad.
‘Ah, here she is,’ said her mum, getting up to wrap her in a hug. She squeezed far too tight, as if she hadn’t seen her for ten years rather than the ten minutes she’d been in the shower. ‘I’ve made you a nice brew. Now come and tell me all about it and we’ll work out what to do.’ Her mum tilted her head as she ran an eye over what she was wearing. ‘That’s not what I put out. Maybe you wearing boiler suits all the time gives people the wrong impression.’
Charlotte tried to hide a laugh with a cough. She was sitting at the dining table pretending to work on her laptop. Liv scowled at her.
‘It’s a jumpsuit, Mum. And it’s fine. People wear them all the time.’
‘Do they? I know you do, but other than workmen, I can’t say I know anyone else. Anyway, let’s not dwell on the overalls. Tell me about this chap and what’s happened.’
Liv went over the whole sorry situation again whilst sipping her tea in between rants. Her mum did make the best cuppa going, and she listened attentively and didn’t butt in. Liv concluded with: ‘I know it’s not the end of the world and I’ll be fine and all that. It was just a bit of a blow it happening again. I was taking the day to recalibrate.’
‘Uh, men are the worst,’ said her mum. ‘Look at your father. He was gone before I’d even brought you home from hospital. The placenta stuck around longer than he did.’
‘Eww, Mum!’
‘My point is, you need to know this really isn’t about you. You are a beautiful girl and whoever he is, or was, he doesn’t deserve you.’
‘Thanks. I’d not go that far but I know I’m not Quasimodo.’
‘You can’t say that love, it’s racist,’ said her mum.
‘It’s not racist, Mum.’
‘I think you’ll find it is. He was French and you know first-hand what they can be like. Odd race. But never mind. What we need to work out now is what you do next.’ Her mum looked at her hopefully.
‘There’s nothing I can do, Mum. He’s ghosted me. It’s like it sounds. He’s now a ghost. Gone, no trace of him anywhere.’
‘I don’t believe that.’ She got out her ancient mobile phone. ‘What was the restaurant called?’
‘Um something Scottish, I think. It’s in a hotel.’ Liv couldn’t remember any details. She wasn’t even certain that he’d shared that much.
‘Where was it again?’
‘Loch Lochy,’ said Liv in a small voice; she glared over at Charlotte, willing her to snigger. ‘But that’s obviously a made-up—’
‘Here it is,’ said her mum turning her phone screen around to show her. ‘Bonnie Scott’s Restaurant, Lochy House Hotel, Great Glen Way, Glendormie, Inverness-Shire.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Charlotte coming from behind her laptop. ‘He does exist.’
‘Of course he exists!’ Liv threw up her hands. Charlotte was infuriating. Although a little part of her was hugely relieved as she had been starting to think Charlotte was right.
‘Well, the place where he works is real. Him we don’t know about. Why don’t you call and ask to speak to him. Tell him what you think of him and put the phone down,’ suggested her mum.
‘Tempting but it’s likely as soon as I start ranting he’d hang up.’
‘Definitely,’ said Charlotte. ‘Forget about it, Liv.’ She shrugged. ‘Do what you usually do – dodge the difficult situation and carry on with your life.’
‘What does that mean?’ Liv glared at her sister.
‘It wasn’t a dig. I simply meant that you are more carefree than me, and while I couldn’t stand by and be treated badly you are able to pretend it’s not happening. It’s a good thing.’ Whilst it was hard to hear, Liv did know this about herself. She loathed conflict. Whether it came from the many shouting matches she’d witnessed as a child between her mum and countless useless boyfriends, she wasn’t sure. But she did know that the very thought of challenging someone brought her out in a sweat.
‘Oh well,’ said her mum, intervening before things turned into an argument. ‘Now did you want to come to mine for tea? I could do your favourite: tinned beans and sausages. You can help me wrap your nanna’s presents if you like. Now your birthday is over we can start getting full-on Christmassy. You should immerse yourself in all things festive and forget about that nasty boy.’
But it wasn’t that easy. Besides, an idea was forming in Liv’s mind, charged by a bubble of anger that had taken hold in her gut. She wasn’t going to wallow in tinsel and eat beans and processed sausages, no. She was going to do something about it.
‘No thanks, Mum. I’m going to Scotland.’
*
Effie was sitting on the window seat and scrolling through messages on her phone. This was her favourite place. It was peaceful but it was also warm and had a smidgeon of a phone signal, unlike the rest of Lochy House Hotel, apart from the middle of the kitchen, which was the most inconvenient place to use your phone. The view out of the window was stunning at any time of day but she liked it the most at midday, when the sun was high in the sky, assuming it was making an appearance at all. The lawns and the run of stone steps drew her eye down to the water’s edge and the hills beyond. The light was just perfect, the way it created a halo around the clouds that scattered a glow on Loch Lochy.
Her cousin walked in and she hastily put her phone away. ‘What are you up to?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ Effie plumped up the cushion next to her, somewhat alarmed by the puff of dust it released. ‘Up to implies I’m doing something that I shouldn’t be doing, which I’m definitely not because I’m allowed to sit here and look at the view and check my messages. And you can’t stop me.’ She glared at him. She didn’t have any siblings, so he was the closest thing she had to a big brother.
‘Euphemia Douglas, I’ve known you your whole life and you are the world’s worst liar.’
‘That’s not a skill I’d want to be good at anyway. And who says I’m lying? People can have secrets, can’t they?’ She knew as soon as she’d said it that it was the wrong thing to say.
His eyebrows arched. ‘Oh now I’m interested. What’s the secret?’ He sidled over and tried to get a look at her phone screen.
‘You need to get a life of your own. I thought you said you were crazy busy. You can’t be if you’re wandering around bothering folk. Anyway, some of us have important things to be getting on with.’ And with that Effie left the room. She’d walk around for a bit and then sneak back to the window seat and see if any new messages popped up. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do.