The Valentines

by Holly Smale

  Casually, I lean against the door frame with one hand.

  ‘Oh, hello there,’ I puff as a glamorous couple nod at the bouncer and are immediately waved through. ‘I’m afraid I can’t give you my real name right now –’ another sparkling couple glide past me, followed by an old man I know from action films – ‘but let me assure you –’ a girl a few years older than me pushes past – ‘that I am in no way banned from this party. Relax in the knowledge that you can totally let me—’

  A shout of laughter. ‘You flaming little mousebear.’

  I freeze.

  ‘Why are you breathing so hard?’ Max steps out from a dark corner and puts his phone back in his pocket. ‘Did you run after us, Poodle? Ears flapping, tongue trailing in the wind?’

  A really gorgeous boy with a Mohican walks past and winks at me. Then he disappears through the door.

  I automatically stretch after him – a wink! He’s The One! – and get pulled back by the shoulders. Max is wearing a new black felt hat. His new hat is dumb. The hat is dumb and my brother is dumb and I hate them both.

  ‘Actually,’ I tell the bouncer desperately, shoving my hand in Max’s face. ‘I’m afraid this is just a maniac fan of mine who wants to ruin my life. I’ve got a restraining order so if you could escort him out of the area and into the river that would be very helpful.’

  ‘Is this one being a nuisance, Mr Valentine?’

  ‘Usually,’ Max grins at the bouncer, dragging me by the arm towards the exit. ‘Almost always, actually.’

  Another beautiful A-list couple swish past us, disappearing into the Magical Kingdom of Party filled with All the Hot Boys. A pulse of alarm ripples through me.

  My Love Destiny is happening in the other direction.

  ‘Oh, please.’ Bending my knees, I shove my heels into the floor, tense my leg muscles and grip on to a snowflake-covered cloth hanging from the wall. ‘Please, Max, you don’t understand. Tonight is so important. I’m already late! It’s in my stars, Max – it’s my fate. The universe needs me to be here – it told me, Max. VENUS IS MOVING.’

  To our left, there’s loud music and chatter.

  Glasses are being clinked and flashes of light glint through the edges of the door. Every time the door opens, I see slices of life: beautiful clothes, beautiful food, beautiful people, beautiful conversations. Mum’s in there being beautiful with Dad, Faith and Mercy and Grandma, and photographers, and olives on sticks, and loads of boys I have the potential to fall in love with.

  I stretch towards it again.

  ‘The universe needs you to be here?’ Max frowns at me. ‘Hope, you have got to stop doing whatever those horoscopes tell you. They’re not instructions – they’re random lines made up by a loser sitting in a cupboard somewhere.’

  ‘You’re made up by a loser in a cupboard somewhere.’

  ‘That doesn’t even make sense. Do you know how much trouble I’d be in if I let you in, Poodle? I’m already playing a dead person every night as it is.’

  To our left is the clink of champagne glasses.

  ‘Please, Max.’ My voice is wobbling, which is weird because I’m telling it to be confident and assertive. ‘Please. Life is happening in there, but I’m always out here. I don’t think I can wait any longer. I’m so tired of always, always, always being on my own.’

  My brother blinks. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

  ‘The point is— Max?’ He’s staring blankly at my forehead. ‘Max.’ I pull hard on his tux sleeve. ‘Hello? Listen to me! I am talking to you, Max.’

  ‘Pipe down, Poodle. I’m thinking.’

  Before I know it, there’s a hat on my head.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I snap in irritation, taking it off again. ‘If you want to look like a fashion-tasteless idiot, that’s up to you, but don’t destroy my Look.’

  ‘You’ll have to look like an idiot too if you want to go to this party.’

  I stare at him. What the hell is that supposed to—? ‘Oh my GOSH, REALLY? If I wear the hat, you’ll take me in? Do you really mean it? Really, truly? Inbu— Inbudi—’

  ‘Indubitably? Yes.’ Max smiles. ‘You need a night out. Possibly a mindfulness app. Definitely a dictionary.’

  With a happy squeak, I spin in a circle.

  I love my brother! He’s the best big brother that ever lived and I retract everything I just thought about him.

  ‘Do me a favour, though,’ Max says, grabbing my shoulders. ‘Keep a low profile and stop with the twirling. Bring anyone you meet to see me first. Anyone. Avoid Granny, Mer and Faith, keep your head down, stay quiet and stick to the edges of the room. You’re a phantom this evening, understand?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ I nod passionately, holding my hand in the air. ‘Nobody will see me. I’ll be invisible. A ghost. I will make an absolute spectacle of myself. I won’t even say hi to Mum and Dad when I see them, I promise.’

  ‘It’s spectre, mousebear.’ Max frowns slightly and puts his arm round me. ‘Remember, Po, you make your own destiny, OK?’

  I roll my eyes. What does he think I’m trying to do?

  ‘This one’s with me.’ Max grins at the bouncer, plopping the wide-rimmed hat back on my head. ‘Who doesn’t like a bit of trouble, eh?’

  With an unnecessarily grand gesture, my big brother bows and flings the doors of the party open with an attention-seeking bang.

  ‘It’s time to party.’

  And the hunt is on.

  ‘Hi there!’ I beam at the cute skinny boy offering me a welcome drink, pushing Max’s hat back so it frames my face properly. ‘So tell me, what’s your star s—’

  ‘At least get through the door first,’ Max laughs, handing me a shimmering glass of blue crushed ice and pushing me firmly into the room. ‘For crying out loud, sis. Try to be cool.’

  My brother is so wise. I don’t want to accidentally pick a terrible soulmate just because he’s holding a tray of – I take a sip – admittedly delicious beverages.

  Grinning, I gaze around to get my bearings.

  The lower floor of the Tate Modern is vast, with ceilings a hundred metres high hung with enormous white icicles. Real-looking snow crystals sparkle on the floor, there are overstuffed white leather sofas to lounge on and blue lasers criss-cross the air above us. At this end is a circular bar – lit blue and covered in frost-covered glasses – and at the other a DJ is bopping up and down with one hand on his outsized headphones.

  Around us, IMAX-sized photographs of mountain peaks have been projected on to the walls, and Mum’s flickering in tiny filmed fragments between them: a graceful arm, a swish of blonde hair, a flash of grey eyes.

  I glance quickly across the crowd, but there doesn’t appear to be any sign of my parents yet, though it’s pretty late.

  Told you they’d be cool; they are total professionalists.

  ‘Max!’ A man swings in front of us and a camera starts flashing. ‘Max Valentine! Can I ask you a few questions? Max, over here!’

  ‘Go,’ my brother whispers to me, pulling the brim of my hat down low and pushing me away. ‘Run like the wind in what actually used to be the Turbine Hall, little Poodle. You’re freeeeeee.’

  Buzzing all over, I clutch my frosty drink and deliberately head into the deepest, most crowded and therefore most interesting part of the party. Beautiful people I recognise but have never met are twinkling, laughing, drinking, chatting: radiant and lit vaguely blue.

  There are so many hot boys I’m light-headed.

  ‘Some ridiculously basic theming going on here,’ a woman says loudly in a South African accent, lifting a heel up and staring at it in disgust. ‘Tacky as you like. This fake snow is ruining my shoes.’

  Her friend laughs. ‘You wanted subtle from Juliet Valentine?’

  ‘True. Guess that’s what happens when you’re too old to be a romantic lead. You have to produce schmaltzy mountain movies yourself. I haven’t seen it yet but I bet Pinnacle is a flop.’

  I swallow hard. My mum is the ult
imate romantic lead and Pinnacle is going to be the ultimate romance film. But Valentines Always Act With Class so, as a future icon, I’m going to rise above it.

  Be the Orange, Hope.

  ‘Hey there,’ I say as a really good-looking waiter with big brown eyes and brown hair in little tufty peaks offers me a goat’s cheese vollyvont. ‘So … what’s your star sign?’

  He stares at me. ‘… Aries.’

  ‘Ah,’ I nod knowingly. ‘The Ram. I should have guessed from the hair and the snacks.’

  Honestly, it’s not a great love combination – Arians can be aggressive, competitive and prone to smashing things with their heads – but I’m sure we can work through his flaws together. ‘And … do you come here often?’

  ‘… Every Friday night. It’s my job.’

  ‘How lovely.’ I shove a vollyvont into my mouth. Although this does mean we won’t be able to go out on Fridays, which is traditionally a Date Night. ‘And tell me, do you work on Saturday nights, Valentine’s Day, Christmas Eve, New Year’s Eve or July the second, which happens to be my birthd—’

  Faith and Grandma are moving in my direction.

  Weirdly, Effie seems to now be wearing a simple white dress and has a completely bare face again; maybe she fell in mud on the way and had to remove all my styling or something, poor thing.

  Quickly – before they see me – I pull Max’s hat low over my face and hand the waiter one of my pre-signed photos. ‘I’d very much like to continue this fascinating conversation later. Check the zodiac calendar for an auspicious time!’

  Then I swing away behind a column.

  Straight into yet another handsome boy standing directly behind it. It’s like a free-range hot-boy farm in here. This one has shiny black hair, green eyes and smells like a coconut. I recognise him from a TV show about … wolves. Vampires. Angels. Doesn’t really matter: they’re all basically the same.

  ‘Crikey,’ he says, looking up from his phone and smiling widely. ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘Richmond,’ I beam back at him. ‘Where did you come from?’

  He laughs. ‘Stevenage. And where are you going?’

  ‘Such a good question,’ I say in delight, flipping my hat to the side in a thoroughly charming manner. ‘Hollywood eventually, but that’s more of a long-term plan. My mum says it’s important to build a prestigious stage career in England first so that everyone knows you’re a serious actor – maybe a key role in the West End first, then an award-winning British indie film, at which point I’ll move to Los Angeles where I’ll—’

  My arm is grabbed and I’m pulled away.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Hey, Max,’ the wolf-vampire-angel boy laughs. ‘How’s it hanging?’

  ‘Round your neck if you try that again, dude. That’s my baby sister, she’s fifteen and I’ve read the papers, so hop it.’ Max spins me round, pats the top of my hat so it falls over my eyes and pushes me back into the crowd. ‘Try again, Poodle. Try better.’

  Disorientated and partially blind, I wade further into the crowd.

  There’s still no sign of my parents – their coolness is really quite mesmerising – but there’s another tasty-looking Potential Hero standing over by the—

  ‘WOOOOOOO! WHO’S HERE TO PEE AY AR TEE WHY IN A MODERATE, BORING AND UPTIGHT FASHION!’

  Person by person, the whole party stops talking and turns to stare at the far end of the room. My entire body has gone cold. Slowly, I turn too.

  ‘Oh, LOOSEN UP, GUYS!’ my big sister screams into the DJ’s microphone. ‘We’re rich and famous and lucky, remember? We’re the happiest people on earth! Happy, happy, happy! HAPPY. So WHY AREN’T WE ENJOYING IT?’

  Wobbling dangerously, Mercy climbs on top of the DJ’s decks.

  ‘Get off,’ she adds, kicking the poor guy with the toe of her high-heeled leather boot. ‘Anyone would think you’re not being paid ten times what you get in McDonald’s.’ Then she whacks the top of the microphone with her rings. ‘Time to dance!’

  Silence.

  ‘I SAID TIME – TO – DANCE!’

  Bending down, Mer hits a button and music starts thumping.

  ‘Wooooo!’ a few of what I assume are her friends shout awkwardly, waving their arms. ‘Yeah! Bring it!’

  ‘Those poor Valentine kids,’ somebody mutters, shaking their head. ‘What a mess that family is.’

  Pulling Max’s hat firmly over my face, I slink round the edge of the hall towards the DJ booth. Mer’s arms are in the air and she’s wiggling her bottom violently, straightened hair flying in all directions.

  No wonder Grandma never invites her anywhere.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Effie has suddenly appeared at Mercy’s feet and is tugging urgently on the hem of her trousers. ‘Mercy, get down.’

  ‘I am getting down,’ my big sister crows wildly. ‘Look at me, I’m getting down like nobody’s business.’

  ‘You’re not doing this tonight.’ Faith’s face is rigid. ‘Down. Now.’

  Mercy tries to kick her away too, but Effie nimbly dodges Mer’s foot and takes off the heels I put her in. She clambers with bare feet on to the DJ table, grabs Mercy round the waist and hauls her back to the ground again. My beautiful sister is surprisingly strong.

  ‘Sorry, everyone,’ Faith murmurs into the microphone, holding Mercy in an effortless headlock. ‘Page six is alarmingly short of content for tomorrow and my sister is nothing if not altruistic.’

  A few people titter uncomfortably.

  Then – as the DJ clears his throat, puts his headphones back on and starts playing music again – Effie drags a still struggling Mercy into a private side room.

  And I slip after them.

  Sometimes it’s easy to forget that, while your big scene plays out in one room, other people’s lives are unfolding in the room next door.

  Because all we really see of people are when their stories cross ours.

  Especially when they’re not supposed to.

  Silently, I flatten myself against the door.

  ‘What the hell?’ Mercy spits furiously from the other side. ‘What gives you the right, you stupid, smug little—’

  ‘Enough.’ Faith’s voice is almost unrecognisable. ‘That is enough, Mercy. You do this every single time, and I’m done.’

  Mercy gives a nasty bark of a laugh. ‘Oh no, have I embarrassed you, Eff? Am I ruining your perfect future and flawless reputation? Please, allow me to lie down quietly and disappear into the carpet so I don’t get in your illustrious way any longer.’

  ‘You’re getting in your own way, Mercy. You’re a selfish, self-destructive mess. You’re ruining your life and frankly I’m no longer sure I give a fish.’

  Except Faith doesn’t say fish. My eyes widen.

  ‘Oh, as if you ever have, Effie. You pretend to be so sweet and gentle and kind – oh, I’m Faith, look at this beautiful face. I’m so perfect and skinny I have to wear big jumpers and crummy old leggings just to hide how pretty I am. Don’t pay attention to little old me. But you know what you are? You’re a fake. A liar. I see the real you and you can’t handle it.’

  ‘As opposed to being what? An angry, bitter witch with an attention-deficit disorder? If people don’t look at you constantly, you crumble, Mercy. Oh, see me, listen to me, notice me. Me, me, me, me, ME.’

  Except Faith didn’t actually say witch, either.

  My heart is starting to thump and my hands are sweating. Where on earth is all this hatred coming from? How long has it been there? How have I never noticed it before? We’re sisters. We love each other. We’re part of the same team, aren’t we?

  ‘Oh, please,’ Mer snarls. ‘At least there’s something to listen to, Faith. You’re so boring I want to cry every time you open your mouth. Yes, Grandma, no, Grandma, three bags full, Grandma … All you have is a pretty face you got through luck and, once that fades, you are over.’

  ‘Well, at least I’m not an entitled, wannabe It Girl with a giant nose!’

>   ‘COW!’ Mercy screams. ‘YOU CAN’T ACT!’

  ‘AND YOU’RE A SELF-ABSORBED, SELF-OBSESSED NIGHTMARE!’

  I’m taking tiny steps away.

  This is a smoking pit of rage I had no idea was there. I’m scared of getting too close in case they suck me in too. Why can’t they just be happy? I think I’m just going to go back to the waiter with the vollyvonts and the floppy hair and the—

  ‘We all are,’ Mercy snaps into the silence. ‘I mean, look at Hope.’

  I stop edging. Hello?

  ‘Leave Hope out of this.’ Faith’s voice crackles. ‘This has nothing to do with her. She’s just a baby – we need to—’

  ‘Hope isn’t a baby,’ Mercy snorts dismissively. ‘She’s a bimbo – too dumb to have a single original thought in her whole fluffy, empty head. She’s a walking cliché. Face it, our little sister doesn’t even pass the Bechdel test as a human being. Plus, she’s not even smart enough to remember—’

  ‘Which is a good thing,’ Faith interrupts quietly. ‘And you know why Hope is the way she is. For heaven’s sake, Mercy! Isn’t there enough to deal with, without having a go at each other too? This family has imploded, the divorce is about to get as messy as hell—’

  ‘No thanks to some blonde, twenty-year-old wannabe with a perky nose and tiny feet and a too-small bikini and an eye on a lead role she can’t handle.’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure, Mer. And, yes, maybe we’re all biding our time until we can take our trust funds and go our separate ways. But this party wasn’t about you. Why can’t you see that?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Mercy says in a low, tired voice. ‘This party wasn’t about me, Faith. Or you or Max or Hope. It’s never about any of us.’

  There’s a long silence and I want to run away, but I’m frozen, heart hammering. I need to leave, I need to get out, but I can’t move I can’t move I can’t move I can’t—

  ‘I didn’t mean what I said about your nose,’ Faith says softly. ‘I’m sorry, Mer. I love your nose, I do. It’s unique and beautiful and dignified and it suits you perfectly.’