Free The Finishing Touches by Hester Browne

suspicion of foreign water? I balanced myself against the huge table and kicked off my crippling newshoes. I’d forgotten to soften the heels with Vaseline. “I thought he hated abroad.”
    “Yeah,” said Liv. “I thought that too. But you know what he’s like…Maybe he’s found some villas going cheap. Oh, sorry, the oven’s not working,” she added, seeing me putting plates in to warm up before the takeout arrived.
    I turned it on at the wall switch, where Erin had probably turned it off for safety reasons. “When’s he back?”
    Liv stared at the oven as if I’d performed some magic trick on it, then shrugged and opened the wine. “Dunno. He just said, ‘off to the sun for a few weeks, princess,’ then handed me the usual roll of fifties.” She did an eerily accurate Ken O’Hare wink, then smiled, untroubled. “Told me not to get into any trouble, or get engaged to anyone he didn’t know. Tsk! As if!”
    I frowned, my imagination already running amok. Liv was Ken’s princess, and Ken usually left his princess with very detailed instructions about his whereabouts, in case she needed Emergency Dad Assistance. “But I thought he’d just been away for Christmas? Did he leave a number?”
    “He’s got his mobile! Honestly, Betsy, you’re such a drama queen. You should know us better by now: ‘Don’ arsk,’ that’s the O’Hare family motto.”
    I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again. Apart from the stream of suitors and the handbag collection, that was the main difference between me and Liv. I was constantly wondering whether I was doing the right thing, or imagining what could go wrong next, whereas Liv never did. She had faith in things sorting themselves out, or at least someone leaping in to sort them for her.
    Then again, I reasoned, if I had men falling over themselvessending me trees with necklaces on them, I probably wouldn’t waste time worrying about stuff either.
    Liv saw my brow furrow, and she did what she always did when she saw me worrying—she rolled her huge eyes goofily and changed the subject. It made her look like a duck with killer cheekbones. “God, what am I like? I should know how to turn the oven on, shouldn’t I!” she said. “Do you have any idea where Erin left the manuals for the…kitchen stuff?”
    “You don’t need manuals, Liv,” I said. “There are pictures on the appliances. You just need to get some practice.”
    “Is that something they teach at that Academy, then? Ovens and whatnot?” She poured us each a big glass of Chablis. “Maybe I should go there for a bit. Get myself some stirfry skills now that Erin’s packed up her work and left me to the mercy of Takeout Alley. Will you let me in, now that you’re in charge?”
    “It’s all canapés, really,” I said, trying to remember what exactly they had taught in the cookery classes. I’d learned my proper cooking from Kathleen, downstairs. It involved a lot of potatoes and had been my savior during many a budget-strapped week at uni. “Meringue swans and hard-boiled eggs in aspic…Nothing you’d really want to eat . I mean, I don’t know what they do now.” I took a sip of wine. “Besides, I’m not going to be in charge . I’m just going to…look round. And…advise.”
    “You’ll have to be a bit more executive than that,” Liv retorted. “Didn’t you tell Kathleen and Nancy you were going in there to hit them with your shiny consultancy stick?”
    “Well…yes.” I cringed and took another, bigger sip of wine. “Don’t remind me.”
    “Look, you could just tell him the truth,” said Liv gently.“Come on, Betsy, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and you don’t even lie on your car insurance.”
    “No!” I said at once, spluttering wine everywhere. “No, I can’t. It’s gone on too long. I mean, it’s bad enough that Franny died thinking I was some hotshot business guru instead of a shop assistant—”
    “Now that’s just stupid!” Liv flapped