The Valentines

by Holly Smale

  I run to the window.

  This is a classic romance scenario – I can’t believe I didn’t see it immediately. We’ll find a way. This is just the inevitable obstacle Jamie and I have to hop over for the sake of drama. The sun is still warm, the flowers are still glowing, the grass is still green and life is still full of happy endings.

  ‘As they say, it’s a doggy-dog world,’ I tell the garden. ‘Which reminds us that there are always dogs in the world, no matter how bad it gets. So, if there’s love, you fight for it. You trust in it. You find a way.’

  ‘Hope …’ Faith says quietly behind me.

  ‘That’s my point,’ I nod, turning round with a bright smile. ‘There’s always hope. Hope is who I am.’

  I forgot it for a while back there, but I’ve remembered now. It’s what I stand for and what’s inside me – what has always been inside of me. And I’ll never lose myself again.

  ‘Don’t worry, guys.’ I smile, lying back on the bed and holding my hands up like a rectangle. ‘We’re taking a different direction, people. The curtain’s up, the camera’s rolling. Everything’s going to be awesome.’

  Cancer: June 21–July 22

  A triple conjunction of the sun, Venus and Pluto means it’s time to make a decision that will turn a long-cherished fantasy into reality.

  Take that leap and make it official!

  WEDNESDAY MORNING: HOPE sits in the back of a large silver car, driving on a winding road through green fields. She has headphones in, and is watching a video on her phone.

  The camera focuses in on the phone screen. JAMIE and HOPE are lying in a park, her head resting on his chest. JAMIE looks straight into the lens, then leans over and kisses HOPE’S nose. He freezes for a few seconds.

  HOPE

  (tapping him and laughing)

  It’s a video.

  JAMIE

  My bad.

  He grins and waves.

  JAMIE (CONTINUED)

  Hey – my first big interview!

  HOPE

  (holding out her hand as a microphone)

  Tell us, Jamie Day, how are you enjoying your cheese-fest in this nation’s great capital city?

  JAMIE

  It’s awesome. Check out my co-star. Does it get any better than this girl? Look at that FACE.

  HOPE beams up at him, adoration written all over her face like subtitles.

  HOPE

  So you like it, then? Is that what you’re saying?

  JAMIE

  (looking at her)

  No. I’m saying I love it.

  With a thrill, I move the cursor back for the sixty-billionth time.

  JAMIE

  Does it get any better than this girl? Look at that FACE.

  Then forward.

  JAMIE

  No. I’m saying I love it.

  Then back.

  JAMIE

  … I love it.

  Back.

  JAMIE

  … I love … love … love

  ‘This is not a productive use of our congregated time,’ Grandma says from the car seat opposite. ‘Put that mobile device down, Hope, and learn to socialise appropriately.’

  I glance up, still beaming.

  This video has really helped every time I need a boost of positivity. I’ve been watching it every day, along with trawling through photos of Jamie and I, printing out the best ones and sticking them next to my bed. He’s texted quite a few times already – he’s basically pining away without me – so that’s helped too.

  Unfortunately, my plan to make another little video for him today has been disrupted by the unexpected arrival of Genevieve and my grandmother in Full Battle Mode, followed by the marching of me and Eff into the back of her limo. It was supposed to be all four of us, but Mer and Max managed to hide in the laundry room until we’d gone.

  ‘I’m just watching a short film I made last week,’ I explain to my grandma happily, holding it out. ‘You know, preparing for my future.’

  ‘Valentines don’t make films, darling.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘Valentines are the films.’

  I glance at Effie and she flares her nostrils and wiggles her ears. Giggling, I look back at my phone.

  After a lot of consideration, I’ve decided my favourite photo of Jamie and I is the one where we’re snuggled up under a red-bus umbrella in Trafalgar Square. I’d just said something funny and we’re both laughing with our eyes shut.

  It’s my new screen saver, obviously. Although I might change it to the one of us kissing in Covent Garden, or maybe a cute one of Jamie sticking his tongue ou—

  ‘Put. It. Down.’ Grandma hits the floor next to me with her stick three times. ‘And sit up straight, Hope. I require your full attention, both of you. This ridiculous situation with your mother has gone on quite long enough and it stops today.’

  The limousine slows to a smooth stop outside familiar electric gates and I stare in surprise at Faith. She pulls an I don’t know face. I was so busy with my phone, I hadn’t even realised where we were.

  But … it’s not Sunday.

  ‘Don’t you dare ask for my passport,’ my grandmother snaps as the tinted window rolls down and the security guard opens his mouth. ‘I’m Dame Sylvia Valentine and you are not Spain.’

  The rehab gates open immediately.

  We park directly outside reception and Grandma opens the car door before the driver has a chance to. ‘I don’t have time for this laissez-faire attitude,’ she tells the chauffeur. ‘Stay in the car, please, Genevieve. This is an intensely private matter. I need to ensure there are no lurking media. Girls, with me, please.’

  Faith and I jump out of the car – still staring at each other – and my grandmother hits the cottage front door hard with her stick.

  It swings open smoothly. ‘Good mor—’

  ‘It is demonstrably not. A good morning would be spent drinking fresh orange juice and perusing a Henry James script in silence, not attending a facility dedicated to exploiting those who are desperate enough to let them.’

  The receptionist blinks. ‘I apologise if—’

  ‘Don’t apologise to me.’ Grandma marches straight past him, me and Faith scurrying silently behind. ‘As you can see by the fact that I am in control of my own agenda, I am not the one being taken advantage of.’ She raps on Mum’s door with her walking stick. ‘Juliet? This is your mother. Open the door.’

  There’s a short pause while Effie and I stare at each other in terror. Then the door opens with a slow creak.

  ‘Mum? What are you—’

  ‘Putting an end to this nonsense.’ Grandma bustles in and perches herself on the chaise longue, walking stick upright between her hands. ‘This is quite enough. You are still a mother, Juliet. You don’t get to hand the role over to an understudy when it gets too much for you to handle.’

  Mum blinks a few times, pale and distant.

  Then she lifts her chin coldly and stares out of the window. ‘I am taking much needed respite, Mother. My work schedule over the last two years has been relentless. The last film was exhausting. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, yes you do. And you’re coming home today. Now. This little scene you’re making is over.’

  My phone has just buzzed. Turning subtly away – nobody has noticed that Effie and I are here anyway – I slip it out of my sleeve.

  I really miss you. :( xxx

  My heart bounces into my mouth, and a jaunty piano solo kicks in: Jamie da-da-da Jamie-da-da Jamie—

  Glancing over my shoulder, I quickly type:

  I really miss you too. But it’ll be ok, I know it will. xxx

  Then I turn back.

  ‘Juliet—’

  ‘My schedule is already arranged,’ Mum’s saying in a faraway voice. ‘I have a chiropractor appointment this evening – he’s doing wonders for my back. All those late nights on set … I really do need a professional on hand to—’

  ‘Juliet.’

  ‘And then there’s
music therapy. I’ve started a course that’s actually proving very—’

  ‘JULIET. STOP.’

  You can say what you like about Dame Sylvia Valentine, but she certainly knows how to make herself heard.

  Grandma stands up slowly.

  ‘My darling, nobody said this would be easy. God knows if it’s not the hardest thing in the world. But you have to be stronger than this. If not for yourself, then for—’

  My phone buzzes again. Twisting quickly, I duck behind a giant vase of white flowers and click on it.

  I wish you were here in LA with me. xxx

  I kiss my phone. Then – wait just a minute. Quickly, I glance to the side. Grandma’s still monologuing – I’ve got time. As fast as I can, I click on my horoscope app and read Cancer a little more carefully. Triple conjunction yada, decision yada, long-cherished fantasy into reality yada.

  Take that leap today and make it official!

  Effie tilts her head at me so I hold one finger up. Then impulsively I click on the voicemail Dad left for me at some point last week. I forgot to listen to it because I was very preoccupied with finding and then losing my soulmate: it’s been a busy week.

  ‘Hey, sweetheart.’ Dad sounds rushed. ‘I’ve been trying to get through, but we keep missing each other. Call me when you can.’ Someone says something in the background. ‘Tell him he can take the cheque or walk. I don’t have time for his bull— Sorry, Po. LA is madness. I gotta go. Love you.’

  Frowning, I click on Jamie’s text again.

  I wish you were here in LA with me. xxx

  Then I turn slowly to face the room.

  ‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ Mum is saying, gazing rigidly out of the window. ‘I have a shiatsu massage in twenty minutes; there are knots in my neck and you’re making me very tense.’

  Grandma’s mouth tightens.

  ‘If that’s not enough to persuade you, Juliet, consider your own personal career and the reputation of the Valentines, now in tatters. Or, if that no longer means anything, I’ll add that from this moment forward your behaviour will no longer be supported.’

  ‘Fine,’ Mum snaps, still facing the other way. ‘Don’t.’

  I glance at Faith – she’s flushed and wide-eyed – and at Grandma: steel and fire. Then I stare at Mum’s poor skinny back: brittle and pale and unhappy.

  This can’t go on. None of the massages and acupuncture and yoga and eye-movement desensitisation sessions seem to be working. Everyone said they would, but it’s been fourteen weeks and nothing’s changed.

  Mum’s not getting what she needs because the man she loves, her chosen life co-star of nearly twenty years, is not here. She needs love. And, the longer this temporary separation drags on, the worse she’s going to get.

  Mum doesn’t have the hope inside her that I was born with.

  She doesn’t have the strength.

  ‘It’s going to be OK,’ I say suddenly, running over and wrapping my arms round her waist. ‘I’m going to make everything better, Mum. Just you wait and see. I am going to fix everything.’

  Mum blinks, puts a pale hand on my head for a moment and gently kisses my hair. ‘You can’t, little one.’

  Then she straightens her back and extricates herself to stand by the window once more.

  ‘It was such a pleasure to see you all today,’ she announces, clearing her throat. ‘But I’m afraid I have auricular acupuncture in a few minutes and it’s far too late to cancel. It would be terribly impolite, I’m sure you understand.’

  Grandma’s face goes purple. Without a word, she marches out of the room. You can hear her walking stick rapping all the way down the corridor.

  ‘I’ll see you on Sunday,’ Faith says gently, kissing Mum’s blank face. Then she glances at me with large, pained eyes and leaves the room. For a few seconds, I watch Mum’s tensed back in silence.

  Then I make a decision.

  ‘Bye,’ I whisper, because I know what I have to do, for me and for her.

  I have to be enough hope for both of us.

  ‘Hey there. This is Michael Rivers. If your call is work-related, try my agent at First Films. If not, go right ahead and leave your message after the beep.’

  Beep.

  ‘Hey there. This is Michael Rivers. If your call is work-related, try my agent at First Films. If not, go right—’

  ‘Hey there. This is Michael Rivers. If your call is work-related, try my agent—’

  ‘Hey there. This is Michael Rivers. If your—’

  ‘Hey there. This is M—’

  ‘Hey th—’

  ‘Hey—’

  ‘Hello? Hello? Hope?’

  I pause – oh, hang on. ‘Dad? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, of course it’s me, sweetheart. You’ve just rung my mobile eight times. What the hell is going on? Is everything all right? Has something happened? Are you OK? Your sisters, your brother—’

  Wow, parents can be so dramatic sometimes.

  ‘No, no,’ I say quickly. ‘Everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you, Dad.’

  There’s a silence.

  ‘Hope,’ Dad says in a measured voice. ‘Baby, I love you very much, but I just shut down an entire shoot so I could take this call. I stopped my actor halfway through his scene. Do you know what that costs?’

  ‘Oooh.’ I think about it for a few seconds. ‘A hundred pounds? No, it’s American. Three hundred dollars. Per second or per minute? How long have we been talking? Wait, let me set a timer.’

  Dad laughs. ‘It’s a lot of money, Po. So, in future, if it’s not urgent, like actually urgent, you have to leave voicemail and I’ll call you back, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ I nod happily. ‘That seems reasonable.’

  Then I stare around my bedroom.

  As soon as Grandma dropped us off – still silent with metallic fury – Effie left to see Noah and I raced upstairs, plonked myself in Dad’s director’s chair and made the call.

  Calls.

  Eight calls.

  There is no longer time for any more of my famously nuanced subtlety.

  ‘You know, I have been trying to get hold of you all week,’ Dad points out in a warm, deep voice. ‘How are your lessons, little one? Are you studying hard? What about your siblings, are they behaving?’

  ‘Uh …’ I fired my tutor, Max keeps skipping work and Mercy’s all over the newspapers. ‘Faith’s being pretty perfect.’

  ‘Obviously. And Mer? Is she OK? You’re all looking after her, aren’t you?’

  The British gossip pages obviously haven’t reached America yet. I think the people who need looking after are the ones my sister targets on a nightly basis. ‘Mmm-hmm.’

  ‘What about your mom? How’s she doing?’

  I glow triumphantly at my dancing couple poster. ‘She’s going to be fine, Dad. Don’t worry. She’s just very tired. And she needs you. Are you still not finished with this stupid film yet?’

  ‘Hope.’ There’s a long pause. ‘Not quite, sweetheart. It’s turning out to be a lot more complicated than we thought. The budget’s gone to hell, my lead’s being a nightmare … I need to be here, on set. I’m sorry.’

  I nod. That’s what I figured he’d say.

  Which means it’s time to shift roles. It’s not manipulation or lying because I am an artist. It’s just me performing the truth with creative conviction.

  ‘Mike!’ somebody yells in the background. ‘We’re gonna need you back here now, please! Or you-know-who is going for an extended break!’

  ‘Hope,’ Dad says quickly. ‘I know you’re disappointed, but I really have to g—’

  Taking a deep breath, I make my voice wobbly. I don’t need to bother with tears: he can’t see them.

  ‘But I miss you.’

  ‘I miss you too, baby, but—’

  ‘Please, Daddy.’ A little bit more wobble. ‘Please come home.’

  ‘Michael, come on!’

  ‘All right!’ Dad yells. ‘Calm your pants!’ Then he sa
ys patiently, ‘Po. Look, I’m snowed under … but wherever I am is always your home too, OK? So, when your exams are done and things have calmed down, maybe—’

  Jackpot.

  ‘Great,’ I say brightly, dropping the wobble. ‘Now, please.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Now. I’d like to visit now. Tonight.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My visit. I’ve taken you up on your very kind offer and I’ve decided I shall leave right now. With the time difference, I’ll be there yesterday. Although I’ll have to leave very soon or I won’t be able to catch up with tomorrow.’

  Admittedly, I’m not entirely sure how international time zones work.

  ‘Hope,’ Dad says slowly. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Well, you said your home is my home so I’m coming, bad luck. Also, I happen to have a holiday from school so it’s perfect timing. Otherwise, I’ll have too much time on my hands and it’ll feel like I’m just adding for night’em.’

  ‘You’ll be adding for what?’

  ‘I’ll be adding for night’em. You know, where things go on for so long that it feels like you’re up all night, doing maths. I’ve never been sure where the em comes from, but I guess it’s from the olden days when people were super polite.’

  A boom of laughter. ‘It’s ad infinitum, which is Latin for to infinity. What on earth is Mr Gilbert teaching you?’

  Literally nothing as of yesterday. ‘Well, I obviously can’t speak Latin. I’ve never even been to Italy.’

  ‘Italians speak Italian.’

  ‘Italian, Latin, potato, potato.’

  ‘Hope,’ Dad says when he’s finally stopped chuckling. ‘Little one, it’s seriously boring out here. There’s nothing for a teenager to do. It’s LA. You can’t drive so you’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere, without any friends, without anything to do—’