The Valentines

by Holly Smale

  I nod, delighted. ‘Thank you.’

  Then I beam at him softly, tilt my head at an angle and give him a quick kiss on the lips underneath his cap: making-up session complete, bonding done. It was over very fast, but we’re just that little bit closer now, I can feel it.

  The van has turned off the main streets and is starting a much slower drive up a small, pretty, secluded, tree-lined hill. Behind towering hedges and walls to either side of us, we see tantalising glimpses of roofs, garages, a window here or there, a flash of shiny cars in between gated entries. Excitement is steadily growing.

  With every pointed roof, every giant gate, every flash of sunshine through the trees, my heart lifts a few more notches. Just think of the cinematic history, the fascinating lives going on behind these massive walls, the movie stars, the stories—

  ‘And thissss is Beverly Hills!’ Dominika cries into her microphone. ‘Thisss is where much of the biggest and most famousest people in the world are living! You have the money, you are living here, for sure. England! What you think of it?’

  I blink at the other people in the van – there are at least twelve of us, mostly young, mostly American, a few couples – and they all slowly spin round.

  Wait, is she talking to me? Am I England?

  ‘It seems very nice,’ I say as clearly as possible from the back of the van. ‘Very green and quiet.’

  ‘Yesss!’ Dominika nods enthusiastically. ‘Celebs are my friends. So nice. They are waving at us, and we are waving back sometimes! Charlize, she lives over there …’ She points to her left. ‘Over there, we had Keanu. In the distance you see Johnny and, if you look right, you see where Jen and Brad are happy together once, so sad.’

  All I can see is terracotta wall and an electronic gate – nothing else is visible – but, if I stare hard enough, I can just imagine their fascinating conversations, the laughter, the romance …

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Jamie sighs, slumped down in his seat with his cap pulled down. ‘We can’t see anything. We’re paying to look at chimneys. And why would we want to see anything? Who gives one about these people? They’re no better than me.’

  I look at Jamie in surprise. ‘Nobody said they were.’

  ‘Yes, they did. The implication is that they’re better than me. We’re staring because the entire world believes that the rich and famous are somehow superior. They’re just ordinary people. In their big houses. Probably pooping or something.’

  ‘Of course they are.’ I laugh loudly. ‘Nobody’s found a way to outsource that yet.’

  Jamie rewards me with an unexpected smile.

  ‘I’m just saying,’ he says, relaxing slightly. ‘There’s an enormous divide between rich and poor. There’s no difference between me and them, and yet somehow they get the swimming pools. Where’s the fairness in that?’

  ‘Very true,’ I agree. ‘It’s not fair.’

  The van drives further up the hill and more giant walls and tiny slivers of roof are unveiled: Katy, Orlando, Kurt, Al …

  ‘Except,’ I add, turning back, ‘I guess we choose to elevate them like this, and we choose who to elevate. We’re voting with our fascination and our money. So it’s probably more of a systemic societal problem that needs to be addressed universally rather than targeting individuals, right? Especially when making and enjoying art is generally accessible to everyone and therefore relatively democratic.’

  Huh, where did that come from? Ooh, I wish Mr Gilbert could hear me right now. If I hadn’t fired him, he’d be so proud.

  Jamie smiles. ‘OK, it is so cute when you try to sound clever. Did you get that off the internet?’

  I blink. ‘No?’

  The tour van has turned a corner and now we’re at the top of the hill. A gorgeous vista of beautiful sunlit countryside is expanding around us: dry and beige, with pops of bright green and fluorescent flowers. Below us Los Angeles is sleepy and dusty.

  ‘Darlinks!’ Dominika trills as I stare at the incredible view of Hollywood. ‘To our right we have super-special house, design by big sixties architect, name not important, but this house belong to A-list, major actor we know from films like—’

  There’s an intake of breath from almost everyone in the tour van. With a simultaneous movement, they’re suddenly tense and buzzing and craned towards one side.

  I lean too.

  ‘Ooooh! Getting your cameras ready, spotters! The gate is opening! We have a celeb sighting! I am telling you, this is number-two tour in Hollywood! We see famous all the time!’

  Except … Hang on. Where exactly are we?

  I recognise that gate. I recognise the hedges on either side of it. I recognise the tiny gold postbox and the gold water hydrant on the road outside. And I definitely recognise the big black sedan nudging slowly out into the road.

  ‘It is!’ Dominika cries triumphantly. ‘It’s Mister … Wait. No. This is not actor! It’s …’ She gets her binoculars out and peers more closely. ‘Yes! This is his friend, fame black film director, Michael Rivers! You know him! Everyone – quick! Wave!’

  Dad and Roz are in the front seats, talking animatedly. Slowly, they stop talking and turn to stare speechlessly at the red MEGA HOLLYWOOD TOURS van.

  Dominika has haphazardly parked and is standing on the driver’s seat, waving vigorously while her passengers wave and take photos excitedly.

  ‘Coooool,’ one girl sighs, looking at her phone. ‘Michael Rivers? Oh my God, I love his movies. What a legend.’

  Eyebrows raised, Dad lifts his sunglasses up and leans forward with a deep frown to stare directly at me in the back of the bright red van.

  I’m waving too, obviously; it would be rude not to.

  His mouth falls open slightly.

  ‘Tourists! You may know,’ Dominika exuberantly announces, ‘my boo Mikey is currently divorcing megastar British actress wife Juliet! You know her from Hearts of Us. She is crazy now, in England. Locked away, haha! Too old, I think. Maybe not enough care of yourself, you lose your man. Rumours that he is having affair and thissss must be his mistress!’

  Umm, excuse me?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say loudly, standing up and putting my hand in the air. ‘I don’t want to be rude, but that’s straight-up rubbish. Juliet’s not crazy or locked away. She can get out any time she wants – it’s voluntary. His name’s not Mikey – it’s either Michael or Mike – and he’s not having an affair. That’s his secretary, Roz.’

  Everyone turns to stare at me.

  ‘Which is … what I read on the internet,’ I clarify vaguely, sitting back down again and continuing to wave. ‘TMZ. Big fan. Mega.’

  Everyone refocuses on the black car once more.There’s a brief pause, then Roz pokes Dad and starts waving at us. With a completely shell-shocked face, Dad waves too.

  ‘Yess! Wave, guys! What am I telling you? Celebs, so nice!’ Dominika pushes her chest out. ‘And Mikey baby is super hot-cake, no? Mmmm. My type, for sure. Maybe if he’s looking for new girlfriend I will meet him, you think?’

  I will jam that microphone into a nostril if this woman comes within a five-metre radius of my father. Also calling my dad a hot-cake is horrifying.

  ‘OK! Everyone sit!’ Our van starts pulling slowly away again. ‘That is result! What did I say? I am great, great friend of many celebrities.’

  I mean, I had kind of hoped we’d see a celebrity who I wasn’t already related to coming out of a house I didn’t currently live in with the woman who didn’t drop me off half an hour ago, but just look how happy everyone else is.

  ‘Seriously,’ the superfan in front of us sighs tearfully, scrolling through her photos and kissing her phone. ‘That’s my entire life basically made. Michael Rivers just waved at me.’

  Smiling, I turn to Jamie. ‘See? Look how much pleasure people get from films and—’

  His entire face is a series of big circles: eyes huge, nostrils flared, mouth open.

  ‘Hope,’ he says slowly. ‘Is your mother Juliet Valentine?’


  It’s not that I didn’t tell Jamie.

  I merely avoided the topic of mothers so it never really came up. And I never mentioned my surname, maybe because for once in my entire life I wanted something that wasn’t handed down to me by my family.

  For once, I wanted something to be mine.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your mother is the movie star Juliet Valentine?’ Jamie’s eyes are getting rounder. ‘Oscar-winning Juliet Valentine? Millionaire Juliet Valentine?’

  Multimillionaire. ‘Yes.’

  ‘The woman on the front of that magazine right there?’

  He points to a shiny gossip rag poking out of a handbag in the seat in front of us. Mum’s pale face is pictured gazing bleakly out of the rehab window. In big letters underneath, it says MORE HEARTBREAK FOR THE VALENTINES.

  The media’s at it again. Poor Mum.

  I nod.

  ‘But—’ Jamie’s visibly spinning out. ‘We’ve just been riding around in a van that says MEGA HOLLYWOOD TOURS on it, taking photos of houses and walls that belong to your friends and neighbours. Don’t you have any pride at all?’

  ‘Of course I have pride,’ I say indignantly. ‘I’m incredibly proud of my family. But their achievements are not my achievements. I haven’t earned any of it. And the people who live here aren’t my friends; they’re friends of my parents. I haven’t seen any of them for years and years. I genuinely don’t think they’d even remember me.’

  There’s a sudden memory of a glorious party at our house in Richmond. Music playing, soft lighting, giant orchids and lilies everywhere, a white marquee in the garden, waiters with silver trays of delicious tiny vollyvonts. Mum and Dad with their arms round each other, laughing and dancing; the rooms filled with beautiful, sparkling people I recognised from the big screen.

  All five of us children giggling at the top of the stairs.

  Being sent firmly back to bed by Maggie before sneaking out again to listen, to watch, to inhale every second of the glamour.

  A lifetime ago …

  ‘Hope,’ Jamie frowns. ‘You’re literally Hollywood royalty. Why the hell did you tell me your surname was Rivers?’

  ‘I didn’t. I said my dad’s surname is Rivers. But in my family the Valentine surname gets passed down, what with my great-grandmother and Grandma already being so famous. And when you said that you didn’t like films …’

  ‘I’ve heard of the Valentines – I don’t live under a rock. Although …’ Jamie peers at me more closely. ‘I suppose I can see a similarity between you and Juliet now I’m looking for it. Same eye shape.’

  I glow at him. ‘That’s so kind of you.’ I lean forward to kiss him gently. ‘Thank you.’

  Then my phone beeps, and I pull it out.

  DID YOU STEAL MY NEW STELLA MCCARTNEY PYJAMAS?

  Mercy always knows how to ruin a moment.

  By ‘pyjamas’ do you mean ‘black satin two-piece’???? Hope x

  A few seconds later, a beep.

  NO, I MEAN THE PYJAMAS I WEAR IN BED, YOU TOTAL DOUCHE-BAGUETTE. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? KEEP THE DOOR LOCKED BECAUSE THIS IS WAR.

  Oh, for the love of— I was running around Dogtown in sleepwear? No wonder Roz was reluctant to let me out of the car. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh about the Bunny Bag Man and Tinfoil Head Woman; they were probably thinking the same thing about me.

  There are also three unread messages from Faith:

  Baby, if you need me I’m just across the corridor, OK? F xxx

  Leaving food outside your door. EAT HEALTHY. Your heart needs to HEAL. F xxx

  Getting anxious. No boy is worth this. Text back. F xxxxx

  Frowning, I consider my options.

  I mean, I could tell them where I am … as a team, we could definitely persuade Dad to come home immediately.

  But … nope.

  I deliberately put the phone back in my pocket. A bit of worrying won’t do them any harm. It might make my sisters appreciate me more when I’m actually there. Also, their observational skills are shockingly bad. They should definitely never be allowed pets.

  ‘OK, darlinks!’ The tour van pulls to an abrupt stop at a light. ‘And here we have Walking Fame! It is over two thousand six hundred stars on the floor. So you are hopping out here, I think! Today we have seen our celebrities. You can leave review on website, and also big tip in pocket, haha!’

  With a flush of delight, I swivel in my seat. I didn’t realise the tour ended up here.

  The Hollywood Walk of Fame.

  Without a second’s delay, Jamie clambers out and tosses his red cap back into the van; it whacks me in the stomach by accident.

  I take off my cap and shrug off my MEGA HOLLYWOOD TOURS T-shirt, then cram it into Mercy’s Gucci bag.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ I say with decidedly fluffy hair, handing Dominika forty dollars of the Emergency Cash Roz gave me. ‘You are an extremely talented guide. I wish you much success with men who aren’t my father.’ Then I hop out on to the pavement.

  ‘Come on.’ I grab Jamie’s hand and smile encouragingly. I’ve had an excellent idea. ‘There’s something very cool I want to show you.’

  I know what I’m looking for.

  I’m just not entirely sure where it is, so I hold Jamie’s hand and together we wander slowly along the crowded Hollywood Boulevard. We stare down at each of the engraved bronze stars set in red marble on the pavement.

  Halle Berry … Bruce Willis … Charlie Chaplin …

  To our right, Spider-Man and Snow White are flirting, giggling and winking at each other. Indiana Jones and Han Solo are eating hot dogs together. Superman is standing by a cash machine, clearly trying to remember his pin number, and Cinderella is handing out gym membership flyers. Marilyn Monroe is pulling faces at children, who scream and hide behind the Terminator while Fred Astaire sits on the kerb, blowing his nose.

  It’s as if the sky has been zipped open and all the stars have tumbled out.

  ‘HEY, BABY!’ Donald Duck yells as we pass. ‘NICE BOOTY! YOU WANNA—’

  Not him, he doesn’t count.

  Hearts thumping, we walk across the stars – over Bugs Bunny, Morgan Freeman, Audrey Hepburn and Winona Ryder – until we find a slightly quieter stretch of street.

  ‘Here!’ I exclaim with joy, pulling on Jamie’s hand. ‘Here they are!’

  Directly below my feet is a plaque that says:

  To the right of it is another star:

  And to the left is:

  Three generations of Valentine women, immortalised forever. I can’t help wondering how they managed to get their stars gathered together. Maybe it’s a bit like a graveyard – you can apply for some kind of family plot.

  With an unexpected tightness in my throat, I bend down.

  The tips of my fingers touch each star, hot and glowing in the sun. Hi, Mum. Hi, Grandma. Hi, Great-grandma I never met.

  It’s easy to forget how hard they must have worked; how much talent they had. What kind of determination and courage they’ve shown. A burst of pride whips through me. I am part of this dynasty of incredible women.

  And Dad. He should have a star too.

  Although – I glance up the pavement – there are only three blank stars left, so once my father has nabbed one it’s going to be a race between Mercy, me and Max to see which of us is immortalised. Effie’s obviously a dead cert.

  For a brief second, I can hear Mercy’s voice in my head.

  ‘Just try it, Poo-face,’ she snaps. ‘I’m the talent, that’s my star and I will bite your grabby little fingers off.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I tell her. ‘And please go away – you’re totally gatecrashing my brain.’

  Then I let myself picture my name on the pavement:

  And I see the red carpet; the paparazzi gathered; the cameras flashing; the cheers as my plaque is unveiled; my humble yet poignant speech; the delighted faces of my loved ones all around me; Mum’s joy, Dad’s pride. And Jamie’s there too, gazing at me with
unabashed admiration: he’s stood by me throughout the whole journey; he believed in me from the start; we faced the trials and tribulations of rising fame together …

  That star is mine. I know it is.

  Feeling deeply emotional, I stand back up.

  ‘You know, this really is my deepest dr—’

  ‘Hmmmm?’ Jamie’s staring at his phone. ‘Man, my buddies are having the best time in Mexico.’ He scrolls down the screen. ‘Abi just wrote the funniest thing about guacamole. Seriously, she’s such a character.’

  Wasn’t it supposed to be a boys’ trip?

  Also Jamie’s feet are plonked directly on top of Grandma. If she ever finds out a boy stood on her, she’ll hunt him down and beat him to death with her walking stick.

  ‘How is this girl not snapped up already?’ Jamie chuckles, typing. ‘She’s so cool. We’ve got so much in common. Great legs.’

  I look down at mine. Then I swallow hard as something over Jamie’s shoulder catches my eye. It’s an enormous, oriental-style theatre, glowingly white, with huge red pillars and spiked black dragon heads, a tall, narrow green roof and an enormous carved stone dragon plaque in the middle. In front of it, I can see handprints, shoeprints and autographs in the cement pavement …

  Oooh. It must be Grauman’s Chinese Theatre!

  I have always wanted to come here. It’s the most famous cinema in the entire world! It’s where Star Wars and The Wizard of Oz premiered, where multiple Oscar ceremonies have been held! I’m pretty sure it’s even where that old red-carpet photo of Mum with Grandma was taken.

  Then I look up. Hanging from the wall is the most enormous film poster I’ve ever seen. Nine metres tall, a backdrop of pale blue skies and towering mountains, with PINNACLE sketched lightly across the snow in footprints in the foreground.

  My stomach lurches. The universe knew we were coming; it has always known.

  Find your happy place.

  ‘What?’ Jamie sighs, finally glancing up. ‘What are you looking at me like that for?’

  This is exactly what we need. A classic romance to inspire us – true love triumphs! We can defeat the odds! Confirm our relationship status so I know where I stand! Plus, maybe a little bit of darkness to hold hands and kiss in.