The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [16]
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