I remembered what she’d said about her husband’s son, and saw what she hadn’t said about the man she presented as her husband. Marvin Lawrence was a man I was familiar with. You couldn’t spend regular time on the island, have money and not be known.
“Lawrie, this is Tommy.” She introduced me, pointing over toCòctels,telling him about the bar and sounding as if she was bursting with pride at just knowing me.
But it wasn’t the bar Lawrie looked at; it was me.
“Tommy,” he said, sitting down next to Livi. “I’ve heard about you.”
I smiled, gave a nod. “I’m sure you have.”
The conversation changed to her parties that she’d planned and I finished my coffee, paying for it myself before heading back with apologies, that I had to get to work.
Santa Gertrudis and its people continued to centre around Livi, and I became one of the satellites, watching from a distance, listening to that laugh that sounded like a good witch, casting her spells for the good of her people. I didn’t watch her though; I watched him.
I’d seen him before, with my uncle.
No one completely walked on the side of the good, and I wasn’t sure that Marvin Lawrence walked there at all.
Chapter Eleven
Jameson
Puppy love was something I’d experienced once or twice in my early teens. There had been a boy who lived on the same road as us in London, a boy with blonde floppy hair and brown eyes like my grandmother’s Labrador. He’d been a couple of years older than me, and had that cool boy vibe that reminded me of surfers and guitar players.
I’d watched him from afar, spied on him when I’d hung outside with Lara, even built up the courage to speak to him once or twice. He hadn’t known I’d existed, or at least that’s what I’d thought until I found him French kissing my sister in our porch one evening. His hand had been under her top, and her face had been flushed.
I’d run away before either of them had seen me, scattered into the garden and up to the tree house that we’d abandoned when we thought we’d been too cool for it. I’d cried, half hoping that Lala would find me and I could make her feel bad when she asked why I was upset, but she hadn’t found me.
She hadn’t looked.
Tommy hadthe same sort of swagger to his walk, the sort of movements that exuded confidence and assurance that the world was just right and he was the master of it. He didn’t react to how women looked at him, and his eyes didn’t linger back. He took orders and mixed the drinks with ease, smiling and laughing when he needed to, commanding his bar like it was his ship, which it was, and he was the captain, which he was too.
Lala had noticed him now, because how could she not? Her smile was the same she’d given the blonde boy neighbour and she preened when Tommy came to our table.
But it wasn’t Lala he looked at. It wasn’t her his eyes lingered on. She wasn’t the woman who looked up to find him watching her.
I’d never resented Lala. If she knew I was interested in someone, she’d back off, when we were younger at least. She’d had no idea I’d crushed so hard on the blonde neighbour; she had no idea how much I’d cried when I’d seen her with him.
But she knew I liked Tommy. She knew we’d kissed. Even when Carl was next to her, she’d send flirtatious eyes at him, but he never looked back at her, only at me.
“Your bartender is hot for you.” She whispered the words in my ear. “I can’t even get a smile.”
“Stop trying then.” My annoyance was weaved into my tone.
Lala shrugged. “I don’t want you to get hurt by some man who has his head turned easily.”
“So that’s what you were doing?”
She laughed and looked at Carl. “Yes. He noticed but he doesn’t care. It’s you he’s interested in.”
We were sitting with Carl and some of his friends, Monty and co having headed off to the mainland for a couple of nights. Livi’s yoga friends had dispersed following a weekend of vinyasas and sun salutations, some of them hanging around for the parties that were fast approaching.
I hadn’t gone on the date with Monty. It seemed unfair when after he’d been so attentive, I’d let myself be kissed by another man. A man I hadn’t been able to push out of my mind. Hadn’t wanted to.
I’d grown up in a world that had more issues than a weekly gossip magazine. Livi had been associated with more rock singers after she and Gav had split up, and if they weren’t a singer, they played guitar. Lara and I saw pictures of them in magazines, Livi smiling as she left a night club or a bar, a familiar man with an arm around her waist. We learned early on that just because she was in a photo with someone, it didn’t mean that he was going to be coming to our house, unless we already knew him as a friend. Usually a friend of Gav’s.
But what we did learn was that Livi rarely made headlines for anything other than who she was linked to. It didn’t matter if she’d donated books to a school, or started a scholarship for underprivileged children, what mattered to the press was who she was fucking. Because a woman’s worth was measured by who she was sleeping with.
Lara didn’t care. She was thick skinned from day one, and she decided that any publicity was good publicity. Inches in the gossip columns meant more clicks on social media, which equalled more collaborations. She learned how to work it, and she enjoyed it too, while I cringed when my name was linked to someone else, the heat of embarrassment regularly causing third degree burns.
