Marrying Mr Valentine

by Laura Barnard

  After the day I’ve had I can’t be beating around the bush with bullshit.

  ‘Jesus, Anna. Just spit it out.’

  Her face falls. Oh well now I feel awful. I forgot how sensitive teenage girls are.

  ‘Well if you don’t want to know!’ she cries, turning to storm off.

  I grab her arm softly to stop her. ‘Sorry.’ She turns back. ‘I’m sorry, Anna. I’m just having a bit of a hard day.’

  She sighs. ‘That’s okay. Trust me, I know how that feels.’

  This poor girl is going through the biggest challenge of her life and here I am snapping at her just because I’ve had to deal with an arsey client.

  ‘So, what did you want to ask me?’ I smile, forcing myself to appear cheery.

  She looks around to check no-one is within hearing distance. ‘I wondered if you’d come with me for my scan,’ she whispers.

  My mouth drops open. Her baby scan? Surely, she’s not that far along yet, is she?

  ‘Are you twelve weeks already?’ I ask, my voice barely audible, my mouth is so dry.

  ‘I will be next week,’ she confirms, tucking more hair behind her ears. ‘According to the midwife woman, who totally judged me by the way.’

  ‘No way?’

  ‘Yep,’ she nods. ‘She kept asking me if I was sure I wasn’t interested in a termination.’

  My hackles rise, my nostrils flaring in a fresh wave of rage. ‘She what? How bloody dare she!’

  She nods, her big brown doe eyes staring up at me. ‘And then when I said I was keeping it, she just assumed I’d be giving it up for adoption. Started giving me leaflets about it.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ I almost shout, anger coursing through my veins. ‘Who the hell is this midwife? Talk about a bitch. You should put in an official complaint.’

  She shrugs in despair. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  I’m already googling it on my phone.

  ‘But anyway, would you come with me?’ Her Bambi eyes look up at me hopefully.

  ‘Of course. I don’t want anyone else being a dick to you.’ I can’t believe how protective I feel for this girl in such a short time of knowing her.

  She snorts. ‘Thank you. I just... I don’t think I can trust one of my mates to keep it a secret, and it’s not like I can ask my parents.’

  So, she hasn’t told them then.

  I bite my lip. ‘You are going to have to think about telling them though, you know? You’ll start showing soon.’

  She shakes her head. ‘I can’t think about that right now. I want to get this scan out of the way. Make sure everything’s alright before I think about what I’m going to do.’

  Jesus, another anxious pregnant woman to deal with. Only this one isn’t even a woman yet, she’s still a girl.

  She gives me her number and promises to text me the full appointment details.

  I find Hartley practically pulling his hair out during the rehearsal. His glossy blonde locks are spilling from his top knot from the amount of times he’s run his hands over it in despair.

  ‘No!’ he shouts. ‘How many times, Harry? The line is Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk’st of nothing.’

  Harry shrugs. ‘Is it really such a big deal?’

  Hartley bristles. ‘Oh, of course not,’ he grunts sarcastically. ‘In fact, why bother with the lines at all? Why not just make it up as we go! It’s only Shakespeare, the most influential writer of all time. In fact, why bother with outfits when we can wear pyjamas?’

  Jesus, the man has lost it. For the first time I can see why he teaches drama. He’s a total queen.

  ‘Alright there, Mr Valentine?’ I ask behind him, trying hard to hide the smirk on my face.

  He turns, shocked at the interruption. ‘Great.’ he snaps, jerking his head back dramatically. ‘Bloody fantastic.’

  I raise my eyebrows, unable to hide the snicker on my lips. ‘I really think you should calm down.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he snorts. ‘Because we all know the way to calm someone down is to tell them to bloody calm down. You might as well piss on a burning building, for all the good it’ll do.’

  I look back at the kids. They seem exhausted, leaning on the props just to get some sort of rest. Shakespeare’s hard to understand at the best of times.

  ‘I’m taking Sir for a coffee break. You guys relax for a minute.’ I start leading him away, pushing against his shoulder. It’s hard when he’s such a tree.

  ‘Or read your lines!’ he shouts back. ‘Something that could actually help.’

  I roll my eyes at the kids, causing a few to laugh.

  ‘Jesus, Hartley, you need to calm down. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.’

  He clenches his jaw. ‘Don’t you go starting on me. I’ve already had Clara on the phone screaming that you told her to calm down.’

  I grimace. ‘Yeah... that was a mistake.’

  ‘Well someone here has to bloody care about this play, otherwise the whole thing will go to shit. And it’s my name against it.’

  Jesus, it’s a school production, not a show in the West End.

  We make it to the deserted staff room where I fill up the kettle and press boil.

  ‘But really... it is just a school play. It’s not like this is the West End. Parents are only going to expect so much.’

  He shakes his head. ‘You have no idea. We have talent scouts coming. This could be the difference between some of my talented students getting a scholarship to a drama school, or them ending up doing drama at a mediocre college.’

  I smile back at him, shocked and impressed at his passion.

  ‘You really do care about these kids, don’t you,’ I state more than ask.

  He rakes his hand through his hair. ‘Of course, I do. I wouldn’t be in this job unless I did.’

  I smile. ‘Yeah, the pay and the hours aren’t the most appealing otherwise,’ I admit with a chuckle.

  ‘Do you ever miss it?’ he asks seriously, his eyes holding me in place.

  I think back to those adorable little faces I left behind. After losing Belle my heart was no longer in it. Looking at those beautiful happy little faces used to uplift me, but it quickly turned to sadness. My Belle would never make it to reception class. She’d never go on to secondary school. Have a prom. Get married. Have a child of her own.

  God, just thinking about it again has the hurt twisting inside me, making my eyes tear up.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, his eyes darting from side to side in panic. ‘I didn’t realise something happened to make you leave.’

  I force a laugh. It comes out sounding bitter. ‘Nothing happened. At my work, anyway.’

  He frowns. ‘Oh. So... why are you upset?’

  I think about telling him, but I can’t. I don’t know him well enough and I like the idea of him knowing a version of me that isn’t drowning in her own grief.

  ‘Something happened in my personal life that made me look at work differently. Made me look at everything differently really.’

  He looks me in the eye, holding eye contact for longer than is necessary. It feels impossible to look away, as if our eyes are magnets drawn together by a force stronger than us.

  ‘I can see the pain in your eyes.’

  I blink, as if I can dislodge the connection between us. I shake my head. ‘I’m fine.’

  He smiles, his forehead wrinkling. ‘I never said you weren’t. Doesn’t mean you haven’t been through shit in your life.’

  God, he really needs to stop saying such honourable things in front of me. It’s not helping my crush. But God, when he talks to me it's as if nothing else in the world exists.

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s part of the reason my heads all over the place at the minute,’ I admit. ‘I’ve been trying to reduce my anti-depressant dose and... well, it’s not going well.’

  God, why am I telling him this? What is it about him that makes me want to spill my secrets?

  ‘Shit,’ he says, clasping my hand w
ith his giant one. God, it’s warm. I feel it all the way down my spine.

  ‘I mean, don’t worry or anything!’ I quickly say, throwing my hands up to break the contact. No good will come from him touching me. ‘I’m not some nutter that’s going to freak out and kill everyone.’

  His eyes soften with concern. ‘I’d bloody hope so too,’ he chuckles.

  The door suddenly bursts open, Harry out of breath.

  ‘Sir, Karl is fighting with Ben!’

  ‘Oh, for fuck's sake.’ He rolls his eyes at me. ‘Back to work.’

  Chapter Nine

  Saturday 20th January

  Today is Lydia’s wedding. I still have no idea how this day crept up on me so fast. Or how my baby sister is getting married before me. She didn’t want to get married at The Duck and Goose so is instead getting married at a local manor house.

  As I look up at the columned building, the gravel crunching under my feet, I wonder again how our parents afforded this. My mum’s a dental nurse and my dad’s an accountant. Hardly millionaires. I dread to think if they’ve put this on a credit card. But nothing's too much for Princess Lydia.

  I carry her dress bag into the reception, following Lydia up the sweeping staircase and into the enormous bridal suite. I place the dress hanger on the curtain rail, hoping it’s not creased. I brought my portable steamer just in case.

  Lydia’s already getting set up, with her friend doing her make-up. Mum’s fussing around her, taking room service orders. I busy myself with steaming her dress (it needed it), topping up the glasses of Prosecco and placing the room service order.

  We’ve just settled down with our food when Lydia bites into her flatbread, shrieks and covers her mouth.

  ‘My tooth!’ she shouts. ‘Ah, motherfucker!’

  ‘Language, Lydia!’ Mum shouts, like she’s still fifteen.

  ‘Jesus, Lyds. What’s happened?’ I shriek. I know the girl is dramatic, but this is ridiculous.

  ‘That bread is rock solid. Has it chipped my veneer?’ She opens her mouth to show me her front tooth, chipped just like the day she first got it from the piggy back I gave her on her twenty first birthday.

  ‘Fuck.’ She looks like a homeless person.

  Her eyes widen. ‘What? What?’ She starts running around searching for a mirror.

  Mum looks at me, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets. I know she wants to say, ‘What the hell are we going to do now?’, but she’s attempting to remain calm.

  A piercing scream comes from the bathroom. I wince.

  ‘Well, she’s seen it,’ I say to mum, with raised eyebrows.

  She comes running out. ‘I look like a fucking monster. What the hell are we going to do?’ She’s looking at me like I have all the answers.

  I walk to her, attempting to play it calm. ‘It’s fine. I’m going to get you an emergency dentist and they’re going to fix it all.’

  Her nostrils flare. ‘Nadine, I get married in three fucking hours! I’m never going to get this sorted by then!’

  ‘Not with that attitude,’ I snap, tempted to slap her in order to calm her down. ‘We literally don’t have time for your tantrum right now.’

  I get my phone out and update my Facebook status.

  Emergency dentist needed! If you know one, please let me know ASAP

  I quickly Google emergency dentists nearby and start calling them. I’m getting nowhere. They keep saying they’re fully booked and referring me to each other.

  I check back on Facebook and see that someone has recommended an uncle of theirs. I call the number, tapping my foot impatiently.

  ‘Hello, Paragon dental,’ a cheery lady answers.

  ‘Hi, I have an emergency. I'm a friend of Sarah Lomas. My sister is getting married in two-and-a-half hours and she’s just chipped her veneer. She needs a new one put on before the wedding. Sarah recommended you. Is there any chance you can fit her in?'

  ‘Oh dear,’ she says, tapping loudly on her computer. ‘Okay, if you bring her straight in we can move some things around and see her straightaway.’

  ‘Oh my God, I could kiss you! Thank you so much!’

  I hang up and turn to a hopeful looking Lydia. ‘We’re going to the dentist now.’

  She throws on some jogging bottoms and a jumper and grabs her bag. ‘Let’s go.’

  We race towards the Harrow based dentist, parking hastily outside.

  A man with hairy nostrils welcomes us and looks into her mouth. She’s squirming every time he touches her and a fine sheen of sweat sits on her forehead. I forgot she’s scared of the dentist. The baby.

  ‘Right, we’ll only be able to give you a temporary crown today. I’d suggest you contact your regular dentist after the wedding to get a cast made for your new permanent tooth.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever. I just want it done now.’ She says stroppily. ‘I can’t get married looking like a crack addict.’

  ‘Please,’ I add, with a sweet smile. It must help that my teeth are perfectly brushed and flossed.

  ‘Wait,’ Lydia says standing up. ‘I remember it last time. The filing down hurt. I need some gas and air.’

  ‘Okay,’ he nods. ‘If you feel it would relax you, I can give you some.’

  ‘Yes please,’ she says nodding frantically.

  She gladly lies down now, taking the small nose mask and helping it be attached. She sniffs in slowly.

  ‘Agh, I’m already feeling calmer.’

  ‘Good.’

  He starts trying to file the tooth, but she screams. ‘Wait, I need more!’ She inhales a few strong deep breaths.

  The dentist turns to me. ‘Maybe it would be best if you waited outside.’

  ‘Sure.’ You didn’t have to tell me twice. I didn’t want to witness this shit show.

  I go to the waiting room and take call after call from concerned family and friends asking if she’ll make it. I bloody hope so. We only have two hours left.

  An hour later the dentist finally appears. About bloody time.

  ‘There’s been a bit of an unforeseen problem,’ he admits with a grimace, his eyes unable to meet mine.

  ‘Ri...ght?’

  Oh Jesus, has she got no tooth at all now? The trauma from it damaged the nerve and now she’s toothless? We’d have to cancel the wedding.

  ‘I managed to fit the temporary crown.’

  ‘Oh, thank the Lord,’ I say sighing in relief. ‘So, what’s the problem? Do you not take credit cards?’ I dread to think how much it has cost.

  ‘No, we do.’ He wrings his hands together. ‘It’s your sister. She seems to have had... quite a reaction to the gas and air.’

  I frown back at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ he grimaces rocking from foot to foot, ‘I can’t get her off the chair.’

  I stare back at him, dumbfounded. I follow him back into the room. Lydia’s sprawled on the chair, smiling back at me, looking happy as Larry.

  ‘Nadwine,’ she slurs. ‘My twooth is all better.’

  Oh Jesus. She’s bloody shit-faced on the stuff.

  ‘Yes, all better,’ I agree, speaking to her as I would a child. ‘Let me just pay the dentist and we’ll get you back to the manor house.’

  ‘You’re the bwest.’ She smiles, exposing her new perfect looking tooth. Well at least that’s something.

  I drag the dentist out. ‘How much did you bloody give her?’

  He puts his hands up in surrender. ‘I’m sorry, but people don’t normally react this strongly to it.’

  ‘The woman’s getting married in an hour,’ I hiss. ‘When will she go back to normal?’

  He shakes his head, scratching the back of his neck. ‘It’s impossible to tell. It differs from person to person.’

  ‘Jesus, what kind of back street dentist are you?’ I shriek in horror.

  ‘I’ll have you know that I’m fully qualified!’ he says, quickly, in a furious tone.

  ‘Well I’m not paying you until she’s been able to go throu
gh with her wedding. Let me assure you that it cost a hell of a lot more than this appointment and took my parents a year to save for.’

  ‘Fine,’ he says through gritted dentist perfect teeth.

  He somehow manages to help get her up out of the chair and into my car, amused builders across the road laughing the whole time. Yeah, thanks for your help fellas. Who says chivalry’s dead, hey.

  I drive back while she snoozes in the car occasionally shouting out random words like "condom" or "mango". I’m hoping the sleep will help it wear off quicker.

  When we finally arrive at the manor house we’ve only got thirty minutes until the wedding ceremony starts. I have to call Carolyn, her bridesmaid, to help me get her out of the car as she’s not waking up. I’d be more worried she was unconscious if she wasn’t snoring so loudly.

  We loop her arms around our shoulders and walk her into the grand lobby. Some guests are milling around.

  ‘Lydia. Congratulations.’ One lady shouts.

  Jesus, can she not see that Lydia’s feet are being dragged along the floor?

  ‘Lydia’s a little unwell right now,’ I say with a tight smile. ‘Hurry along inside and she’ll be down soon.’

  She gives me a strange look but disappears, thank goodness.

  We drag her up the sweeping staircase, the whole time me swearing how ridiculous it is for a big venue like this not to have had a lift installed. Grade II listed buildings are impossible. Move with the times people!

  Mum opens the suite door, her eyes bulging out of their sockets when she spots Lydia.

  ‘What the hell did you do to her?’ she accuses.

  ‘Nothing.’ I snap. Jesus, at least I’ve been trying to save the situation. ‘It’s gas and air from the dentist.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness' sake. She can’t handle gas and air. I remember she had it when she was twelve and she was giddy and talking rubbish for days.’

  ‘Days?’ I squeal. ‘He said it should start to wear off.’

  ‘Pineapples are strange,’ Lydia says with a giggle.