Valerie Page 6

  The words stretched into the silence and Amy focused on the flickering candle to avoid eye contact. Her stomach was quivering at the images this conversation was unearthing in mind – Tim in his armchair, Tim carving the turkey, Tim falling against the window ledge. It all blended together until the flame blurred in front of her.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said,’ continued Valerie finally. ‘About giving away his clothes – do you remember that? When Rob was here.’

  ‘Why do you keep talking about him? Are you seeing him again?’

  ‘No, of course I’m not. It’s just that was when you said it, remember? You know, those clothes were something I couldn’t part with, not immediately. I think it was for your sake more than mine. I hated having them in the house sometimes, but I tried to consider your feelings, the way I did with the study. I didn’t want to take everything away, I wanted you to have something to come back to. They’re still in the wardrobe, sweetheart. They still smell of him.’

  Tears prickled at Amy’s eyelids. ‘Right.’

  ‘I think – I think the time’s come, don’t you? So, what I wanted to ask was whether we could do it together. He’d have liked that.’

  The words hung over the room. Amy had to mentally heave herself away from the memory of leather and sandalwood whirling around her brain before she understood what Valerie had said. Then her whole body began trembling.

  ‘You want to get rid of his clothes? What about his books?’

  Valerie winced. ‘The books are yours, sweetheart, of course they are. I just meant that –’

  ‘Do you want to move someone in? Is this about that John Foster again?’

  ‘It’s not about John.’

  ‘So, what? You just want the extra space in the wardrobe, is that it?’

  The flame on the mantelpiece flickered against the marble as her voice bounced off the white walls. Amy squinted at the candle then flinched as Valerie jumped up to blow it out.

  ‘This was a mistake. We’re obviously not ready for this. I want you home, I don’t want to push you further away.’

  Amy rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t think that’s possible, do you?’

  ‘You’re never going to forgive me, are you? No matter what I do, you find it cathartic to hate me. I mean, I understand – I hate my mother, remember? She was never there for me, she abandoned me when I needed her more than anything, but I didn’t do that to you. You forget everything I’ve ever done, how much I love you. It had nothing to do with you, nothing at all. It was between me and your father, and we dealt with it.’

  ‘Nothing to . . . God, Mum, are you serious? Look, you know what? I don’t care anymore. You go and move your fancy man in. It’ll give me another reason to stay away.’

  Valerie shook her head. ‘That’s not the way I want to do this. If – and this is a big if, sweetheart – something developed to that stage, I’d want us to be a family, the three of us.’

  ‘We’re not a family,’ Amy snapped. ‘You don’t treat family like you treated him.’

  Colour flooded into Valerie’s face and her eyes narrowed. Amy squared her shoulders, ready to flare back, but Valerie drooped and twisted out of the room like a wounded animal. The front door slammed and silence ruptured the house as Amy wondered where Valerie’s flight instinct had materialised from. It wasn’t like her at all.

  Any residual anger drained away during Saturday, leaving the air stagnant.

  Amy decamped to the library during the day and returned to find Valerie monopolising the kitchen table with piles of documents. They scraped through dinner with the driest conversation about road maintenance then Amy retreated to her room and wondered how she could escape from the house on Sunday.

  She settled on slipping away into town while Valerie was in the shower, calling for a taxi from a leaflet she found on the hall table. Nostalgia took her towards a cosy café she’d visited with Tim for their Saturday morning cake trips. It was empty when she walked in, not even a waiter in sight. The door thudded behind her and she hesitated in the doorway until the allure of a wooden chair facing into the precinct won her over. She sat down and gazed at the cluster of shoppers swaying across from one side of the street to the other, all talk and smiles.

  ‘It’s Amy Smythe, isn’t it?’ a voice asked suddenly. ‘Tim’s daughter?’

  She jumped and looked up to find a young man towering above the table. With the mop of brown hair, thick eyebrows, and fuzzy goatee, he looked more like a scruffy mutt with piercings than a human being. She couldn’t say she recognised him, although he obviously worked here from the apron hooked around his waist.

  ‘I’m sorry about your dad,’ he went on. ‘I would’ve said that before, but you haven’t been in since. I bet you don’t remember me, do you?’

  Amy gestured to the chair opposite. ‘Ed, right?’

  ‘You read that on my name badge,’ he replied as he sat down.

  ‘Yes, but I do remember coming in here with him, he was actually really religious about it. Every morning for a year, we’d sit over there and read.’

  ‘Him the paper, you some thick book. He never told you why he came in, then?’

  ‘Well, I know he liked the coffee, though it did seem a bit far to come every week.’

  Ed twisted a dishcloth from his belt and began twirling it around his hands. ‘He bailed me out, gave me a loan to stop us going under after my dad passed away. They were old mates from school so he took a punt on me when no bank’d look twice.’

  ‘He loaned you money? But you can’t have been more than . . .’

  Now she remembered him. He’d been clean-shaven a few years ago, still gangly, but a bit of a klutz. Her coffee had ended up on the floor more than once and, though she hadn’t minded, he couldn’t stop apologising. Tim seemed to find him endearing, and they spent ages talking over at the counter while she was reading. It was always classics she brought with her, the books Tim encouraged her to read like A Tale of Two Cities. She’d been halfway through that when the oncologist had dropped the final bombshell and she’d never finished it.

  ‘I was eighteen,’ Ed continued, ‘and I’d never paid a bill, let alone run something like this. Your dad, he came to the funeral then came by here after. I was going through the motions – you know what it’s like – but he wouldn’t bugger off and leave me to it. Ended up telling him everything and he offered me a loan to tide us over the sticky patch. Me and Mum, we had the funeral to pay for and all the suppliers were kicking off. The money might not have been a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it took me a while to pay it all back. Your dad said that coming in here every weekend was protecting his investment and supporting a local . . . Hey, are you all right? I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  Tears were dribbling along her cheeks. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologise, it’s okay. I get it. Here, wipe your . . .’

  Instead of a tissue, he pressed the dishcloth into her hands. A chuckle gurgled in her throat as she took it and dabbed at her face. It came away lathered in mascara.

  ‘You didn’t upset me,’ she answered with a weak smile. ‘I like hearing good things about him. You just surprised me, that’s all.’

  He clicked his fingers. ‘I know the remedy for that. Don’t move.’

  She dug out her make-up bag to assess the damage as he bounded off to the counter. Sure enough, her cheeks were puckered with dollops of black and she rushed to scrub them away with cleanser. Ed returned just as she finished and deposited a plate in front of her.

  ‘Double chocolate cheesecake with cream.’

  ‘My favourite,’ Amy murmured.

  ‘I know. Tim suggested I put it on the menu because of that. All homemade, local ingredients and all that.’

  She took the spoon he waved at her. ‘Homemade by you?’

  ‘Hey, you should try my soufflé. I’ll leave you in peace, but that’s on the house, yeah?’

  ‘I can’t accept that. You’re trying to run a business.’
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  ‘Which I wouldn’t be doing if it wasn’t for your dad so humour me. Which reminds me – have a look upstairs when you’re done. Something else Tim suggested.’

  He left her with that cryptic comment and wandered off into the kitchen. She wolfed down the cheesecake then climbed the rickety staircase to see what all the fuss was about. Her foot caught on the top step as she looked around.

  What used to be an overspill area with broken chairs stacked in the corner had been transformed into an eclectic cavern. The walls bled with film posters and faded gig notices, illuminated by multicoloured spotlights while the windows onto the street were blacked out. Mismatched armchairs and sofas were boxed around low tables laden with art materials and books of every kind split into genre. In the left corner, behind the staircase, there was a hollow with drapes and bean bag chairs and a wooden sign saying, “Read Here”.

  A smile crept onto Amy’s face. She circled the tables until she came across a spiral tower of familiar titles then she plucked out Great Expectations and dropped her jacket across a chair. The bean bag gobbled her up as she flicked open the cover and settled down to read.

  It was about twenty minutes later when Ed appeared with a large cup in one hand. He managed to bend without spilling the coffee and pushed it into her hands.

  ‘Skinny latte,’ he said.

  She let the book rest on her lap. ‘You’ve got a really good memory.’

  ‘Until it comes to the accounts,’ he replied. ‘Great Expectations – nice choice.’

  ‘You’re a Dickens’ fan?’

  ‘I’ve read a couple, I’m up for the classics. Most of the books up here are mine or my dad’s, not that I’ve read them all. Picked them up and put them away for when I had a chance. Not much time for reading these days. Anyway, I’ll see you in a bit.’

  Her eyes lingered as he returned to the staircase then she glanced down into the coffee. There was a leaf embossed into the froth that she was reluctant to destroy. She reached for her phone to take a picture of the cup before she finally relented and took a sip. The coffee was almost as gorgeous as the leaf.

  A text from Valerie disturbed her reading an hour later. She’d latched herself onto a political event in Leeds so, in her words, it was safe to go back to the house. That only reminded Amy that she had the Sunday trains to contend with to get home to Biddy’s so she put Great Expectations back onto its table then gathered up her belongings and headed downstairs with her cup.

  Ed was mopping the floor. He gestured for her to stop then motioned for her to jump over the damp section by the staircase. Instead of landing gracefully, she overshot and skidded into his arms.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said as she sprang away. ‘I didn’t –’

  ‘I nearly kill you, I catch you. Company policy.’

  She grimaced as he took the cup from her hand. ‘I’m such an idiot.’

  ‘You’re not,’ Ed assured her.

  ‘How much is the bill?’ she questioned.

  ‘Amy, no. That was on the house, I told you.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Just come back,’ he interrupted. ‘I could do with the customers.’

  Her shoulders relaxed and she finally looked at him again. There was so much of the spindly teenager left that she could see him as Tim must’ve seen him – anxious and eager. No wonder he’d liked him.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ she promised. ‘Thanks, Ed.’

  Chapter 9

  ‘Pick up from the precinct, next to the Pink Lady. Heading to Geith Place.’

  Max scrambled for the radio. ‘I’ll take that.’

  A garbled reply came over from Pauline, but she wasn’t listening. She was already easing the cab off the kerb and scuffing her fingers through her hair to persuade it to lie flat. Once she was blared at from behind, she gave it up and focused on weaving through the erratic Sunday traffic until the fountain came into view.

  She craned her neck as she pulled up then cracked her head on the side window when the rear door opened. A young woman, blonde hair flung around her shoulders, was slotting into the back.

  ‘Sorry,’ Max muttered, settling down into her seat. ‘Taxi to Geith Place, was it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  It only took ten minutes to get there instead of the usual twenty. The passenger was fair enough – no trouble, not eager to chat, pretty much an ideal pick-up in the normal way of things. They were just drawing into the cul-de-sac when the woman cleared her throat.

  ‘Is there any chance you could wait? I just need to pick up a bag then I’m going straight to the train station.’

  ‘Sure, no worries. What number is it?’

  ‘The one on the left here with all the trees.’

  Max’s foot skidded off the clutch. ‘This one?’

  ‘That’s right. Thanks a lot, I’ll only be a minute.’

  The car lurched to a halt and Max twisted around. ‘I had a drop-off here a while back. Your aunt or something?’

  ‘I wish. No, that’s my mum, I found your number on the fridge.’ She slipped out of the car. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, I really don’t want to keep you.’

  A mumble came out of Max’s mouth that didn’t make sense to her, let alone anyone else. Her eyes followed the woman up the canopied drive and she watched her fumble with her keys, swinging her head back in a familiar way. Looking at her like this, there was no doubt they were mother and daughter. Before Max could clear the fog that caused in her brain, the daughter was back.

  ‘Thanks for that, I really appreciate it.’

  Max blinked and started the engine. ‘Local or central station?’

  ‘Local’s fine, thank you.’

  Ten minutes on the road this time was more like a marathon. Max kept shooting glances into the rear-view mirror, trying to get a read on everything from how old this girl was to whether she was anything like her mother. Even when she bumped the car up onto the kerb outside the station, her mind was still finding fresh questions. She couldn’t help but turn around.

  ‘Your mum’s somebody, isn’t she?’ she asked.

  The girl rustled in her bag. ‘Likes to think she is. Sorry, that was uncalled for. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Erm, call it a straight fiver.’

  ‘Really? Here, keep the change and thanks for waiting.’

  Max pushed the £10 note back into her hands. ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘Please keep it. You’ve been fantastic.’

  She had no choice but to take it, smiling as the girl jumped out of the cab. Only when her blonde hair had bobbed through the snicket into the station proper did Max exhale and crumple the banknote into her fist.

  The rest of her shift blurred into a mush of faces and street names. She clocked off when she couldn’t see straight, stopping off at the shop for a pizza and a pack of beer. It was knocking on for 9pm when she turned onto her road.

  A BMW was parked up on the verge leading to her flat. Until the door opened and Valerie stepped out, red coat flashing under the streetlights, Max hadn’t decided to stop. She was forced to slam on the brakes and pull in behind the BMW, but she didn’t unbuckle her seatbelt. Valerie strode over and dropped into the passenger seat with a thud.

  ‘I’ve left you five messages. I was worried about you.’

  Max shifted away. ‘No need.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem that way to me.’ Valerie stretched a hand to her thigh. ‘What’s wrong?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Max?’ Valerie pressed.

  ‘Let’s not do this,’ she replied.

  ‘Do what? I don’t understand. What’s happened?’

  ‘I just think –’

  ‘You’re going cold on me again. Why?’

  She brushed Valerie’s hand away. ‘It’s run its course, that’s all. You go back to your politics, I’ll go back to my life. We’ve had a good run, but we said it wasn’t going anywhere.’

  ‘I don’t accept that. You can’t tell me you haven’
t been enjoying this. Look at me.’

  ‘Let’s just –’

  ‘If you’re breaking up with me, you can damn well look at me. Now.’

  Max crunched her thighs together. The last of the sunlight was draining from the cab, creeping over the dashboard then the bonnet. She followed it out until fingers circled her wrist.

  ‘Talk to me,’ Valerie insisted.

  ‘I’m not getting dragged into it,’ she answered, yanking her arm free. ‘All the politics. I told you – it goes straight over my head. Best to let it fizzle out now.’

  ‘And what happens if I don’t want that, hmm?’

  All Max could do was shrug.

  ‘I see. You’ve taken the decision of my hands. Unilaterally, you’ve decided that –’

  ‘You’d better go,’ Max cut in. ‘Best you’re not seen with me, not now.’

  Valerie stared at her then finally let out a snort and forced the door open. Her coat skimmed the paintwork as she turned around to lean back into the cab, her eyes narrowed.

  ‘Yes, you’re right. I certainly wouldn’t want it known that I’d wasted my time on someone who obviously doesn’t give a damn.’

  Chapter 10

  The house was still when Amy let herself in on Friday night. No lights were lit, although the door had only been on the latch. She pushed it closed behind her, but she didn’t reach for the light switch. The idea that Valerie was occupied with another toy boy prickled at the back of her mind.

  ‘Mum?’ she called.

  Nothing. She swallowed then stepped towards the kitchen, leaving her bag at the bottom of the stairs. Part of her expected to find clothes strewn over the floor or incriminating wine glasses in the sink, but, instead, Valerie was sat at the table in front of her laptop. Its screen was dark and her eyes were directed into the sunset stretching across the fields.