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Ballet’s “Gold” was one of her all-time favourite songs and that she fantasised about wearing A-line skirts in a wartime bunker. Christ, she hadn’t even confessed that to Tim and he was, as she now knew, the only man she would ever love in her entire life. “So I’m going to help you.” Oh god, Liv just didn’t want to be Fay’s latest mission. She wasn’t a Bosnian war child. She wasn’t keeling over with chronic alcoholism. And she didn’t
think
she needed recycling. Why couldn’t Fay keep her North London worthiness for another cause?
    Liv contemplated slinking away, but her boss was not to be thwarted in her crusade.
    “You’re in pain right now. Your ego’s been bruised, and you feel betrayed. You don’t think you’ll ever get over it,” continued Fay. A tremble assaulted Liv’s lower lip; this was almost as accurate as a telly shrink. “But the truth is that your relationship with Tim probably suffered because you were harbouring unfulfilled dreams of a life outside your relationship with him. You wanted out of the wedding as much as he did. Only now you’re making yourself into the victim, which is fine for a moment or two, but then you have to tell yourself that this happened for a reason and the reason is that you have shit to get out of your system, young lady.”
    “I do?” Liv asked. She felt a flash of strength. “I do!” she repeated. Then she realised that actually, she would never utter those words while gazing lovingly into Tim’s eyes and went a bit floppy again.
    “You do.” Fay didn’t notice the collapse of spirit. “Which is why I’m sending you on a sabbatical.”
    “You’re firing me?” Liv squeaked.
    “I’ve watched you practically crawl into work every day for the last week; you’re wretched and pathetic” (Liv would have told Fay to go easy had she not caught sight of her stringy-haired, baggy-eyed reflection in Fay’s computer screen) “and I know that if I don’t persuade you to go somewhere, anywhere, then I won’t be passing on the benefit of my feminine wisdom. You need to get off your bum, stop dreaming, and start living. Now blame it on the fact that I went to university in an era of ludicrous idealism and hope, or blame it on the fact that I still wonder what would have happened to me if I’d married Gus the cowboy I fell in love with in Arizona in ’73. But please. For me, Liv, go. Go anywhere. Just for a while. You’re a free woman.”
    “You want me to go away?” Liv was having trouble comprehending. Did
sabbatical
mean “bugger off” in Greek?
    “How about France?” Fay was resting against the bookshelf now with her hand on Liv’s shoulder.
    “The French resistance thing was just because they all had great forties hairstyles and pretty noses.” Liv felt a dash to the ladies’ for the sob-bash-splash routine coming on but resisted.
    “Anywhere, then. Do it for me. Go somewhere amazing; then come back and tell me all about it over a glass of wine, eh?” Fay pleaded.
    “That’s okay for you to say,” Liv sniffed. “Your life’s all sorted and you’re amazing.”
    “But I never rode bareback with Gus.” Fay smiled softly. Liv remembered what Alex had said about getting back in the saddle, and thought about Australia—it was the last place she wanted to be right now, but it was as far as she would ever, ever get from Tiny Tim (as he’d come to be known on account of his small-minded-not-able-to-love-Liv ways).
    “Australia. I might be able to go there, you know. If you like.” Liv wiped her snotty hand on her skirt and stopped crying for a moment.
    “Australia.” Fay looked as though she’d just had a mouthful of especially delicious chocolate cake. “Perfect.”

Chapter Five
    New Horizons
    L iv climbed out of the taxi in front of her new address. The first thing she learned about Sydney was never to trust a taxi driver to know the way. They’d already visited 34 Seinfeld, Sussex, and Dillon Streets, taking in