Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [82]
‘Walk? How far is it?’
‘Only about fifty yards.’
‘OK. Shall we take a taxi?’ Liv deadpanned. ‘Oh! I did a joke! Did you hear me, Tara? I did a joke!’
‘Good girl yourself.’
‘It’s a French letter day when I do a joke.’
‘Red letter.’
As they made their way to the Fox and Feather, Liv said, ‘I don’t do this often.’
‘What? Get buckled on a Sunday?’
‘No. Walk.’
Three doors down from the pub was the Beauty Spot. It still had the big sign in the window saying, ‘TONING TABLES! FREE TRIAL!’ With a leap of hope, it crystallized for Tara that there were other ways to get slim, aside from exercise and starvation. Maybe she’d call in next Saturday and find out how much it cost.
The pub was crowded and noisy, with people eating, drinking and playing darts. Good humour abounded.
‘What do you want to drink?’ she asked. ‘Wine? G and T?’
‘No,’ Liv said, firmly, ‘I want a pint of lager.’
‘Oooooh, that’s my girl.’ Tara clasped Liv’s shoulders, and shook them affectionately. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
‘Will we eat now or later?’ Liv asked.
Tara was torn. Obviously food was always welcome, but alcohol had a strong effect on an empty stomach, and she really wanted to get twisted drunk…
‘Exactly!’ Liv agreed. ‘So when it’s safe and we’re very drunk, then we’ll eat.’
Tara fought through the crowds at the bar, and came back with two brimming pints of lager. Then immediately went away again, but returned in moments bearing two more pints. ‘Might as well. We’re on a mission.’
She set them down and produced a selection of savoury snacks from about her person. ‘Can’t drink pints without crisps to keep them company.’
They clinked glasses, ‘That’ll put hair on your chest,’ Tara said. ‘No, no, not literally!’ she added, to Liv’s appalled face. Liv spoke better English than Tara, but her knowledge of colloquialisms sometimes let her down.
As they caught up on their week, their conversation automatically and comfortably slipped into My Life’s More Of A Disaster Than Yours – a game for two or more players.
‘Here we are in Self-pity Corner, where I’m fatter than you,’ Tara said.
‘No, I’m fatter than you,’ Liv retorted.
‘Well, I’m poorer than you,’ Tara insisted.
‘No, I’m poorer than you,’ Liv replied.
‘Yes, but I owe more money than you,’ Tara elaborated.
‘No, I owe more money than you,’ Liv countered.
‘I smoke more than you.’
‘No, I smoke more than you.’
‘Liv, you don’t smoke.’
‘Yes, but if I did, I’d smoke more than you. I’m very self-destructive,’ she added proudly.
‘Point taken. Now where were we? Oh, yes. My flat is messier than yours.’ Tara was adamant.
‘No, my flat is messier than yours.’ Liv defended herself valiantly.
‘Well, my boyfriend is a bigger bastard than yours,’ Tara insisted.
‘No, my boy – Just a moment, you’re right, your boyfriend is a bigger bastard than mine,’ Liv agreed. ‘You win that round.’
‘Oh.’ Tara was upset. She’d only said it so that Liv would contradict her.
‘Was that a bad thing to say?’ Liv asked, in a little voice.
‘Oh, Liv.’ Tara sighed, taking a big swig of lager, then lighting a cigarette. ‘Something’s wrong with me and Thomas.’
Tell me something I don’t know, Liv refrained from saying.
Though she was frightened of talking about it, because it made it more real, Tara found herself blurting, ‘We had an… um… conversation last Saturday…’
She paused and Liv remained silent and compassionate-looking.
‘… and he said that if I got pregnant he wouldn’t stand by me. Not that I’m planning to or anything, but it scared the life out of me. I’ve tried my best not to think about it and I know he loves me. But all week, under the surface, I’ve been expecting something terrible to happen.’ She took a shaky drag from her cigarette. ‘It’s not like we’ve had a particularly bad week – in fact, a couple of times he’s been lovely to me – but I just have this awful feeling hanging over me. And I’m so narky! I lost my temper with him on Monday night, and I wanted to again when I got home from the hairdresser’s yesterday. I can’t understand it.