Free Novel Read

Valerie Page 7


  Amy hesitated then flicked the lights on. The dazzle brought Valerie straight to her feet, lips curling into a synthetic smile.

  ‘You’re later than I expected,’ she said. ‘There’s a pasta bake keeping warm. Why don’t you take your things upstairs and I’ll serve?’

  She swept over to the counter and fiddled with the CD player. As the sound of Sarah Vaughan filtered through the kitchen, Amy turned and climbed the stairs to her bedroom with her bag limp against her hip. She’d dropped it onto the bed before she realised there was something out of place, even though it took her a moment to pinpoint what it was.

  A ragged owl was nestled underneath her bedroom lamp, his beak resting on a mosaic jewellery box. Neither of them had been there last week. Amy hadn’t seen Wilbur since Valerie’s big renovation and she’d just assumed he’d found his way into the skip. He’d been a present from Tim during a visit to an owl sanctuary in North Yorkshire, while the jewellery box was something he’d given to Valerie for an anniversary one year. From what Amy remembered, Valerie had never placed it prominently in the house, not seeming to have any sentimental attachment to it even before she’d decided to rip the place apart.

  ‘Amy? Are you ready?’

  She shook herself and returned to the kitchen, surprised to find bowls of pasta and side salad on the table.

  ‘We’re not eating in the dining room?’ she asked.

  Valerie settled into her chair with a glass of red. ‘You invariably complain about that. I thought this would be easier, quite frankly.’

  The smell of tomato and chilli curbed Amy’s mistrust to the point that she devoured the meal with the accompaniment of jazz and nothing from Valerie. Once she’d set her cutlery straight, though, the sight of Valerie picking at her lettuce piqued her interest.

  ‘Where did you find Wilbur?’ she questioned.

  ‘Hmm?’ Valerie raised her chin. ‘What do you mean? Who’s Wilbur?’

  Amy opened her mouth then stifled her response. She’d been trapped too often inside Valerie’s machinations to allow herself to get caught again. So, she changed tack.

  ‘How are things politically?’

  ‘Fine, fine.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Right.’ Amy paused. ‘Only –’

  ‘How were things at the office this week?’ Valerie queried.

  She shrugged. ‘Fine.’

  ‘I’d hoped they might be better.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, frowning.

  ‘I know you like to think I don’t pay attention, but I do. I know you’ve been finding it difficult there, I understand why.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me you were trying to spare my feelings in the first place, are you?’

  Valerie smiled faintly. ‘I wouldn’t insult your intelligence, darling. I’ve only been there twice since it happened, you know. Once to say thank you for the funeral flowers and then . . .’

  ‘To talk about my internship,’ she murmured. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Well, you made it clear what you wanted.’ Valerie speared a cherry tomato onto her fork. ‘And what you didn’t. Anyway, where did you go last week when you sneaked out of here? Please don’t tell me you bought any more clothes. I’m not sure Clarice’s wardrobes can cope.’

  ‘Erm, no, I didn’t.’ The expectant expression on Valerie’s face spurred her on. ‘I wandered around, that’s all. It was pretty quiet so I got a taxi and . . . Mum, are you all right?’

  Valerie’d jolted against the table, rattling the frame back and forth. Nothing had tumbled then she raised a hand to her hair and it overshot, knocking over her glass of wine. The waterfall cascaded into a puddle on the floor and bubbled through the grooves until it ran out of energy. Valerie leapt across and began mopping up the mess with her napkin.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Give me a minute, I don’t want it to stain.’

  ‘Then get a proper –’

  ‘You got a taxi, you say? To here?’

  Amy stared at her. ‘Why does that matter?’

  ‘I’m interested, darling.’ Valerie rested back on her heels and licked her lips. ‘What company was it? Who was the driver? Did you talk?’

  ‘What do you mean – talk? About what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps about me –’

  ‘You’re unbelievable,’ Amy growled as she scraped her chair along the floor. ‘Everything has to be about you, doesn’t it? For the record, Mum, I don’t go around gloating about being related to the great Valerie Smythe. I’m actually ashamed to be your daughter, not proud of it.’

  ‘Wait a minute, Amy. I didn’t –’

  She snorted as she made for the stairs. ‘No, you never do.’

  Another Saturday hiding in the library gave way to an evening of tiptoeing around the house. Valerie didn’t even insist they ate together, leaving a pan of casserole warming on the hob while she took a lengthy bath. On Sunday morning, Amy slipped out of the house again, eschewing a taxi this week in favour of walking into town. She regretted that decision when she stopped outside the café and realised her jeans were sticky against her legs. It was only Ed glancing over and spotting her that propelled her through the door.

  Her entrance didn’t attract the attention of the older customers huddled in the corner with empty cups. She crossed to the counter and tried to focus on the menu hooked to the wall.

  ‘Morning,’ Ed said.

  She threw him a polite smile. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Do you want a skinny latte?’ he asked.

  ‘Please.’ Nothing on the menu was making sense, it was all a jumble of words. ‘And, erm . . .’

  Ed planted both palms on the counter. ‘Breakfast or snack? I can do anything. Want an omelette without the mushroom or scrambled eggs without the scrambled bit?’

  The clammy sensation around her collar was intensifying. She drew in a long breath and managed to study the menu in a way that meant the letters didn’t blur into gloop. Ed was watching her; she could see that from the corner of her eye, and maybe the other customers were too by now.

  ‘I’ll just have poached egg,’ she said finally. ‘But could I have it on a brioche bun instead of toast?’

  He grinned and pressed a few buttons on the till. ‘Coming up.’

  Once she’d passed him a £5 note and received change, she took the stairs two at a time. It was empty up here again, with the copy of Great Expectations just where she’d left it. Her makeshift bookmark of a train ticket was still lodged inside and her shoulders relaxed. She took the book back to the reading nook and continued where she’d left off.

  Ed arrived ten minutes later, balancing a cup in one hand and a plate in the other. He must’ve seen the question in her face.

  ‘More of a challenge keeping it all steady,’ he explained as he set it down on the side table between the bean bag chairs. ‘My dad used to have a right go at me, said I was costing the place a fortune.’

  ‘With respect, you were always dropping things when I was here,’ Amy said.

  He coughed. ‘Well, I’m getting better at not doing it.’

  ‘Why not just use a tray?’ she questioned.

  ‘Keeps things interesting. I love this place, yeah, but if I didn’t have a few things to keep me on my toes, I’d go mad.’

  ‘That’s what my dad used to love about his job. Every case was different and it taught him something new, mostly about people and what they could do if pushed. It fascinated him.’

  ‘But not you?’ Ed scratched his neck and winced. ‘Sorry, that’s a bit –’

  ‘Not as much,’ she interrupted. ‘Not yet, anyway.’

  He nodded then tilted his head to the side. ‘What about politics then? Does that go down in the same book?’

  ‘You know who my mum is,’ she muttered.

  ‘Figured it was her from the name and I saw her round the precinct a few weeks ago. She’s been talking to local business owners.’

  ‘Really? Has sh
e talked to you?’

  ‘Now, be fair, does this place look like it’ll be around by the time the election comes up?’

  Amy’s eyes strayed around the room and she bit her lip. ‘It should be. You should be overrun with customers.’

  ‘Well, you came back,’ Ed answered with a shrug. ‘That’s good enough for me.’

  Chapter 11

  A pair of black heels had been tossed onto the carpet.

  Max halted halfway up the stairs. Her eyes raked up from the dangling ankles to the thighs pressed together on the windowsill and she swallowed hard. Her impulse to touch nearly took her over, so she knotted her hands behind her back to be on the safe side.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  Valerie hopped down, landing on her toes. ‘I thought of going to the office, but I didn’t want to do this somewhere you can run from. If I called, you would’ve ignored me, so I took decisive action and caught the door downstairs when someone was leaving. Only it’s been a long day and my feet were hurting, so I had to make myself comfortable. Oh, come on, Max. Say something.’

  ‘You’ve laddered your tights.’

  ‘That’s better, that’s interaction. I like it.’ Valerie glanced down at her legs. ‘Even if these were fresh on this morning.’

  An image of her dressing suddenly lodged in Max’s mind. She’d seen her rolling her tights back on, leaving her underwear nestled under the passenger seat for someone else to find. Cheeky, but Max had relished it, and had left them there most of the time. She blinked away the memory and crossed her arms.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘A glass of wine?’ Valerie suggested. ‘A cup of tea? Or a glass of soda water? Please, Max. Do you really want to have this conversation on a landing where all and sundry could hear?’

  ‘Fine.’ She gestured to the door. ‘Two minutes.’

  Walking into the flat, she couldn’t help but see it through Valerie’s eyes. The hallway was littered with dirty trainers and lumps of newspapers that hadn’t made it as far as the bin. A spotlight had blown months ago in the kitchen, but it only pointed to the cooker so she hadn’t bothered replacing it. She even had to shift a stack of rugby mags from a stool to give Valerie space to sit. Then she spun and kicked a pizza box clean across into the lounge before twisting back to put the kettle on.

  ‘I appreciate the opportunity to talk,’ Valerie said.

  Max tugged two mugs from the cupboard. ‘I can’t see we’ve got anything to talk about.’

  ‘Well, I think we have. I understand why you pushed me away again, I’ll admit I deserved it. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t plead for a chance to explain. At least give me that.’

  ‘I’ve said all I need to. How do you take your tea?’

  ‘A little milk, no sugar.’ Valerie paused. ‘Just like Amy.’

  One of the teabags in Max’s hand sailed to the floor. She dumped another one into the mug and focused on the gurgling of the kettle, ignoring the figure behind her.

  ‘It’s unforgivable that you found out the way you did,’ Valerie went on after a few moments. ‘I should’ve told you about her when I told you about Tim –’

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘In all honesty, I was frightened. You were already skittish about –’

  ‘I’m not a pit pony,’ Max cut in.

  Valerie rubbed her forehead. ‘I didn’t say you were. Only you didn’t want a relationship and I thought the idea of Amy might push you away completely. Besides, it isn’t as simple as you might think. She doesn’t – she doesn’t live with me.’

  The kettle clicked off and bubbled itself into silence while Max surveyed her face. All the emotion was raw, but she’d made it a rule not to be done in by people showing her what they wanted her to see. That said, she couldn’t drag her gaze away from Valerie’s eyes flicking around all over the place, looking everywhere except at her.

  ‘How old is she?’ Max questioned.

  ‘Seventeen, eighteen in a few months.’

  ‘So, why isn’t she living with you?’

  ‘After Tim died . . .’ Valerie laced her fingers together on her lap, drawing flesh up around her knuckles. ‘Well, she stayed for a matter of weeks before she moved in with her grandmother – Tim’s mother. It’s closer to her college, nearer to her friends. We have dinner once a week and I’ve managed to persuade her to stay weekends with me over the summer by helping her get an internship at Tim’s firm. If it sounds transactional, that’s because it is.’

  Max frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘Grief does funny things to people, I suppose,’ she replied with a shrug. ‘Look at me – I went into politics. I’m sorry, Max. I wanted to be honest about the situation, but if we were only ever going to be a temporary thing, just a bit of fun . . . I was trying to keep it all light, keep you interested. It was control in a way. I wanted to control everything, control how you were going to react, how Amy would react to it. And, you know, if I had an ounce of sense, I wouldn’t be here. I would’ve walked away after that first time.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you?’

  A shriek echoed through the kitchen when Valerie jumped off her stool. She wandered across to the lounge, looking over it like an estate agent would a demolition site, then grasped a wrinkled shirt that was slung over the sofa. It crumpled into her hands as she turned around.

  ‘Most people I meet are . . . boring. If I’m officially there to listen to them, fine, but many of them just assume I am anyway. And, Max, they’re honestly boring. Little men in their offices doing what little men in offices do. Then you’ve got the women – now, they won’t deviate from their scripts, especially not with me around in case I take it for ammunition further down the line. I love talking to what they call “ordinary people”. That’s where I come from, that’s what I understand. But the rest of it . . . Sometimes, it’s just like dealing with a mob of suited robots. Do you know why I originally went into hospice care, hmm?’

  Max shook her head, attention fixed on Valerie’s hands kneading her shirt.

  ‘I wanted to feel something, properly feel something. You know, I was never any good at natural responses; normal responses, Amy calls them. If there’s a wrong thing to be done, I’ve always done it. I love her, of course I do, but I’m not what you’d call an emotive mother. My mother wasn’t, I was never taught how to be. I think it’s easier, actually, to open your heart to people you barely know. In the end, it all comes down to love and pain. I saw that every day at the hospice, I was privileged to be a part of it. Share in all those endings, make things slightly more bearable where I could. And then I lost Tim . . . I mean, cancer – it was the universe’s idea of a sick joke. I had to detach from it – from him and Amy – just to get through. I couldn’t do my job anymore. I needed something new, something that was mine and didn’t remind me of him.’

  The jittering that Max had taken at first to be mild shivers had turned into shaking. She stepped forward, waving to the sofa.

  ‘Sit down or something,’ she said.

  Valerie crushed the shirt into her stomach. ‘I don’t want to sit down. Just listen to me.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ she answered and Valerie nodded a few times.

  ‘Since Tim died, I’ve thrown myself into politics and one-night stands with men I knew wouldn’t expect more. I enjoyed the attention, I thought I was as happy as I was going to be. Then I nearly knocked you out with that jack handle and something changed. That night, I felt it – didn’t you? It was though everything slotted into place for the first time. I learned to love Tim and, trust me, he was more of a husband than I ever deserved. But with you . . . Max, you could’ve carried on driving that first night and I wouldn’t have complained.’

  Max shifted her weight. ‘I don’t –’

  ‘Don’t want to hear it, I know.’ Valerie straightened her spine, tossing the rumpled shirt onto the floor. ‘It’d be better for you if I walked away, wouldn’t it? If I had any self-respect, I wo
uldn’t do this to myself. I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t need you to touch me, but I do.’

  ‘Valerie –’

  ‘I love you,’ she interrupted. ‘I know you’d rather not believe it, but I love you.’

  The words sucked the air out of her then hovered in the room like a grenade. Any movement would detonate the damn thing, so, as long as she stayed still, she’d be safe.

  ‘Max . . .’

  It was the quiver that did it. She couldn’t help stepping forward and gathering Valerie up in her arms. Everything from the way she burrowed into her chest down to the pressure of their legs as they slotted together hit her all at once. It was natural to press a kiss to her hair, natural to sweep a tear away from her cheek. She almost heard the click when their eyes met.

  Valerie rested their foreheads together. ‘What was I meant to do, hmm?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Max asked.

  ‘There I was, falling for you, and you just seemed to be in it for the sex. You wouldn’t even hold me for a few minutes in the backseat of my car when I was drifting off.’

  Max stroked her cheek. ‘I held you for twenty minutes, maybe a half hour.’

  ‘You told me you woke me up straight away,’ Valerie murmured, drawing back to look at her. ‘Why did you lie?’

  ‘Seemed easier,’ she replied.

  ‘Than what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Valerie gripped her wrist until the skin bunched up. ‘No, you can do better than that. Talk to me, explain what’s going on in that head of yours so we can fix it.’

  ‘I don’t do relationships,’ she muttered.

  ‘That’s not a response, that’s a manoeuvre. If you don’t want a relationship then there’s a reason behind it, there’s some logic. Don’t come out with any rubbish about you being thick either. You’re not and I’m sick of the implication you are.’

  Max managed to peel away, making it as far as the counter before a hand yanked her back.

  ‘Don’t run,’ Valerie warned. ‘It won’t solve anything. You’re afraid of something, just be honest with me.’