Valentine

by Rebecca Farnworth

  When they'd broken up she managed six weeks without speaking to him, resisting all his texts, calls and emails. She had been trying to build up the core of steel as directed by Lauren, but maybe not hard enough, because one night when he'd called begging her to see him and she was missing him particularly badly she'd given in. And after that time it became even harder to resist him. And so began the exquisite torture of being the other woman again, seeing him once or twice a month and always on his terms. Finn kept promising that he would leave Eva when the time was right, but the time never was. He couldn't leave her while she was in such and such a play as she'd be devastated; her dad was ill or something else. Thinking about it did not make Valentine feel good about herself and she knew if one of her girlfriends was behaving in such a way she would really think that they had lost the plot. The trouble was she loved Finn like she had never loved another man. Their affair had been so intense and passionate. She sighed. Thinking of the past always made her feel blue. She wished Finn would wake up, hold her, tell her that he loved her, but he was out for the count. She traced a finger along his shoulder hoping he would wake up, but he batted her hand away in his sleep and turned over. She, on the other hand, wasn't at all sleepy; she felt totally wired.

  She sat up in bed, looking round the room for evidence of his life with Eva. Finn was always claiming things were rocky between them and that Eva had moved out, but she was never sure how much to believe. On her last trip to the flat Valentine had discovered a set of her exquisite black lace La Perla lingerie. The size six on the label was like a slap in the face. She was double the size of the woman! The subsequent downward spiral had been particularly bad. Now she crept off the bed. Ugh! She stifled a 'fuck' as her foot squelched on the condom. She threw it in the bin and headed for the chest of drawers where she could see Finn's phone beckoning her over. She just had to see if there were any new pictures of Eva or the SGF [skinny girlfriend] as she thought of her. She knew she shouldn't – it was borderline stalkerish behaviour and plain wrong, but she couldn't stop herself. She gave a quick backward glance at Finn to check he was still asleep and picked up the phone.

  A whole new set of pictures of Eva greeted her. She resembled a twenty-something Elle Macpherson, with her long limbs, waist-length honey-blonde hair, cheekbones and pouty sexy mouth as she reclined on the bed, giving Finn a come-hither look wearing the aforementioned skimpy underwear. Valentine was only slightly comforted by the next photo where the SGF was topless. Flat as a pancake. But Valentine's feeling of superiority lasted less than a few seconds as she reflected that these pictures did not show a couple on the brink of a break-up. Jealousy coursed through her and without thinking clearly she deleted the photographs. Regret swiftly followed. She was an idiot. If only she'd left them then every time Finn looked at the pictures he would be reminded of what the SGF hadn't got and remember Valentine's 'fantastic big tits'. It just showed that stalking did not pay.

  Suddenly her own phone beeped. She quickly put Finn's phone down, looking behind her guiltily to make sure he hadn't woken up, but he was snoring quietly now. She rifled in her bag for her mobile, praying the text wasn't from Lauren asking her where the hell she was. To her surprise the message was from Jack: Would it be wrong of me to tell you that I keep thinking of that kiss? Look forward to seeing you at rehearsal J x. That was unexpected. She was flattered that Jack had texted her again. He was very attractive and it was unusual in her experience for a man to be so open about his feelings. And he had been a good kisser. A very good kisser. But he was not for her. Valentine got back into bed next to Finn and curled her body round his. He hated being touched when he was asleep and always protested that he got too hot. Sure enough Finn immediately moved to the opposite side of the bed, eluding her even in sleep. Valentine tried not to mind too much. She was here, lying next to him on her birthday; that was all that mattered.

  She was woken the following morning by Finn sliding his hand over her breast and his insistent early-morning erection pressing into her back, 'I must clean my teeth!' she exclaimed, making a dash to the bathroom. 'Don't be long!' Finn ordered, pulling off the duvet to show off the good average standing to attention. Valentine hastily washed her face and cleaned her teeth. This time Finn was a more considerate lover, and took his time pleasing Valentine. And then he'd rounded off his performance by telling her he loved her. And that was exactly why, she reflected on the Tube journey home, her body still throbbing from their antics, she couldn't get him out of her head.

  But by the time she got home, the ecstasy had been replaced by the agony. She crept into her bedroom without waking Lauren, swapped her dress for her PJs, then headed for the kitchen and reached for the peanut butter. She was never going to be a size six, so what was the point of even trying?

  Lauren caught her as she shovelled toast into her mouth. 'I'd go easy on that if I were you, V, given the nipple-tassel situation,' she teased. Lauren never ate breakfast, only drank black coffee and smoked a cigarette. Who did she think she was, a bloody French existentialist?

  Valentine shrugged; she was well on her way to the familiar pit of misery that followed a meeting with Finn and nothing could stop her now. 'Where are you off to anyway?' she asked through a mouthful of toast, seeing that Lauren had her coat on.

  'I've got some modelling job; it's bound to be shit,' Lauren replied bitterly. She loathed modelling but it was good money and given her stunning looks she found it fairly easy to get work when she wasn't acting. She generally took her revenge by seducing the best-looking male model on the set. Lauren had the most amazing sexual confidence. She really did believe she could have any man she wanted, and her beauty helped her have her way. She was also a serial seducer, who couldn't see the point of relationships and turned her nose up whenever Valentine, a hopeless romantic, told her that she simply hadn't met the right man yet.

  'Stop porking out!' Lauren ordered, walking out of the kitchen.

  'Don't shag anyone I wouldn't,' Valentine called after her, trying to cheer herself up. So long as Lauren didn't bring back another model like her recent Russian conquest, whom both girls had called Dostoevsky behind his back. Trust Lauren to have the latest must-have lover. Dostoevsky was gorgeous, all high cheekbones, brooding dark eyes, raven-black hair, sculpted abs, and couldn't speak a word of English. That, of course, had been exactly how Lauren liked it. But Valentine had not enjoyed his presence in their flat one little bit. As he was Russian he was used to the biting cold and favoured wandering around stark naked, save for a large Cossack hat. She wouldn't have minded if he'd possessed anything to be proud of but the Russian had more of a party sausage than a saveloy.

  Valentine took another savage bite of toast. At least she hadn't fried it Elvis Presley-style with banana and white bread. Then again, maybe she should. What difference would it really make to her career if she got fat? The phone hadn't exactly been ringing off the hook with auditions now she was slim and she couldn't see her part in the Shakespeare leading to greater things, whatever spin Sylvia put on it. That was the thing about seeing Finn; it always made her doubt every area of her life, made her feel such a failure. But maybe if she porked up she might actually get some work. She'd have to get really fat, possibly morbidly obese, then she could corner the market in fat women roles – though she was struggling right now to actually think of any. There was the mother in the Johnny Depp film What's Eating Gilbert Grape who tragically dies. There was poor Shelley Winters in The Poseidon Adventure, who wasn't even that fat and what was her fate? She saved one of the other passengers, only to die of a heart attack. The message in the movies rang out loud and clear: fat people copped it.

  And what about Finn? He was hardly going to want her in that state, even if her fantastic big tits would probably get even bigger. OK, this would have to be the deal: after she became a wildly successful super-sized star she would slim down dramatically and then have surgery to get rid of all the flabby skin – maybe even become a size six – and Finn would realise that he
couldn't live without her; he'd leave Eva and they'd all live happily ever after . . . What complete bollocks!

  She threw her toast into the bin and crawled back into bed, alternately daydreaming that she and Finn were together and then tormenting herself with imagining what he was up to with the SGF. Late afternoon she finally emerged and reached for her laptop. No post-Finn misery fest was complete without stalking him on Facebook. He was too lazy to up load pictures on his site, except for his official Stage photograph in black and white, but the SGF wasn't. Eva just loved to show off her fabulous life and had made her profile accessible to everyone, so when Valentine logged on to her site there was all she needed to know for extra torture ammunition. Finn on a mini-break with the SGF in Florence, looking loved up; Finn on a stag weekend in Prague with his mates looking the worse for wear but still gorgeous; Finn staying with friends in the country.

  If she hadn't been so in love with him Valentine might have seen that actually Finn was selfish, narcissistic and always sought out people who would give him an easy life, even if he didn't especially like them. He had chosen many of his friends purely on the basis that they were wealthy and had second homes in the country or in Italy or wherever. Deep down Valentine knew that one of the reasons Finn couldn't bring himself to leave Eva was because she came from a wealthy family. Finally, with her head swimming with images of Finn's lovely life without her, she texted him. She always made herself wait as long as she could, a tactic which she hoped said My life is so full, I've hardly given you a moment's thought. And her message would be casual, cool and sexy. This time she went for: That was delicious; I can't wait to taste you again . . . Vx But sending the text brought no relief because now followed the agony of waiting for a reply, which sometimes came and sometimes didn't. Often Valentine wondered whether it would be better not to send the message in the first place, but she always did. She was truly Pavlov's dog.

  * * *

  She was still in her PJs an hour later, hunched over the screen, when Lauren stormed back from her modelling job, bitching about the photographer who had made her pose endlessly.

  'And why aren't you dressed?' Lauren exclaimed. 'You got the part, so what's the problem?'

  'I know, I know,' Valentine replied guiltily, switching off the laptop. There was no way she wanted Lauren to know about Finn. Usually she explained these blue periods as anxieties about work, but this time she had work. She'd have to lie, something she hated doing to Lauren of all people. 'It's just that I'll do the play and nothing will come of it.'

  'You don't know that. It might lead to something else, but it won't lead to anything if you carry on lying in bed and filling your face with peanut butter.' Lauren, although not unsympathetic, believed in tough love and pulling yourself together. Her dad had run off with her mum's best friend when Lauren was seven, hence her core-of-steel mantra. 'Anyway, aren't we supposed to be meeting your mum and Lottie for cocktails?'

  'Yes,' Valentine muttered.

  'Well hurry up and get dressed; I'm desperate for a drink.'

  Lottie, Valentine's bohemian and eccentric aunt, was easy to spot in the bar, as in the sea of little black dresses and suits she was wearing a bright-green velvet dress, purple suede boots, and her hair was a vibrant red, matching her red lips. As soon as she saw them she waved frantically, causing her many gold bangles to jingle loudly on her arm. Valentine's mum Sarah was already at the table, chalk to Lottie's cheese in a navy wrap dress, her curly chestnut hair uncoloured, subtle make-up on. Lottie, a former actress, was flamboyant in both the clothes she wore and in her personality. Sarah was calm and laid back. After the happy birthdays and exchange of gifts (Lottie had bought her a set of gold jangly bracelets like her own that Valentine was unlikely ever to wear and her mum had played it safe with Valentine's favourite perfume, Coco Mademoiselle) Lottie proceeded to bombard her with questions about her new role. Lottie had been the one who had encouraged her to go to drama school in the first place. She'd acted until ten years ago, when she'd finally abandoned her dream and had become a drama teacher at a sixth-form college in Barnet.

  'I should warn you that I might have to wear nipple tassels,' Valentine said grimly, the comment mainly directed at her mum.

  Lottie laughed uproariously. 'She's hardly going to be bothered by that, is she darling! She probably had her hand up someone's vaginal passage most of the morning!'

  Valentine rolled her eyes and said in a loud voice in case anyone had overheard, 'She's a midwife! Honestly, Lottie!'

  'So do you think anything will come of the play?' her mum asked when she could finally get a word in. There it was: the reality check, the icy bucket of water on her dreams. Much as she loved her mum, it was a real bone of contention between them that Sarah had never seemed to take Valentine's acting career seriously. Valentine couldn't help thinking that her mum would have been so much happier if she had followed her into nursing. She'd lost count of the times she'd tried to explain that an acting career was not like nursing – it did not follow a single trajectory upwards. It was up and down – mostly down in her experience to date – erratic and uncertain. She shrugged. 'I don't know.'

  Sarah sighed. 'I see all these actresses on the TV and I think, why isn't it you? You're just as talented. More so, I think. You as well, Lauren.'

  'You just have to accept it,' Lauren replied, used to Sarah's comments.

  Valentine hated having this conversation with her mum; they'd had variations on it for the last twelve years. From the moment Valentine had decided, aged fifteen, that she wanted to be an actress it had been like hitting a wall of resistance from her parents. They just didn't get it; in their world you got a job, followed a steady career path and ended up with a pension. The arts were for other people, not them. Thank God for Lottie, who had always been her champion and encouraged her in her dream.

  Valentine rolled her eyes, while her mum continued on the topic most likely to wind everyone up.

  'And why hasn't your agent lined you up with anything else, V?' She hesitated. 'You've had her for nearly five years, haven't you?'

  Valentine knew that her mum was only saying these things because she cared and because she worried about her not having a proper job and not having any money or security, but right now she wanted her to button it.

  'And offers of work haven't exactly been flooding in,' Valentine said bitterly, finishing the sentence for her. 'Isn't that what you were going to say?'

  'Not exactly,' her mum tried to pacify her. Valentine took a very large sip of her cocktail.

  'Now, this is not a helpful conversation, is it?' Lottie put in, 'Sarah, I have tried to explain to you about how the acting world works. You simply can't apply the same principles to it as you can to nursing!' Lottie was getting quite heated now. She hated it when Sarah appeared to have a go at Valentine and she always came to Valentine's defence, as if re-enacting scenes from her own life. She had also been hitting the cocktails, judging by the blast of pure alcohol she emitted every time she opened her mouth.

  'Well, at least with nursing you get a regular salary,' Sarah replied, also getting defensive now Lottie was involved.

  'Money isn't everything,' Lottie shot back.

  'You know how hard the acting world is, don't you! I just don't want Valentine to end up bitter and frustrated—'

  'Like me, you mean!' Lottie cut across her.

  Oh Jesus, not the full sister-on-sister row! Valentine looked around the bar and saw that they were attracting the attention of the other drinkers.

  'No, of course I didn't mean that! But can you seriously say that if you had your time again you would go into acting? You were so bright, Lottie, you could have done anything.'

  Lottie seemed to be turning pale with anger; her nostrils flared, she shook back her long red hair and slammed her fist on the table, causing her many gold bracelets to jangle furiously. 'Acting is what I was meant to do! I have no regrets about following that star, even if I didn't get to appear in Holby Fucking City or Pride and
Bollocking Prejudice on the BBC, which seems to be your only measure of success. I loved it! And I was good at it. And yes, I wish I'd had the career of Kristen Scott Thomas, but I didn't! And now I teach and I probably do have a bit of an alcohol dependency problem, but I am not bitter and frustrated. Je ne regret rien!' Another slam of her fist on the table and a frenetic jingle of bracelets. She was formidable in anger, and Valentine suddenly remembered seeing her play Martha in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf ? She really had been mesmerising.

  'And I would take this from anyone but you! You who have it in your power to set your daughter on the path to success.'

  Valentine stared at her aunt, wondering what on earth she was talking about. While her mum had never been exactly enthusiastic about her acting she had never stood in her way.

  'Don't you even go there!' Sarah hissed at Lottie, her eyes blazing, her normally calm – I'm a midwife you can trust me, and this won't hurt that much – expression replaced by one of pure rage. 'We're supposed to be celebrating V's birthday; this is not the time.'

  'Shall I get some more drinks in?' Valentine attempted to cut across the two women, but nothing was going to stop them now.

  'It's about time she knew the truth! It could make all the difference to her, and you know it!'

  'I said don't go there!' Sarah repeated. Valentine had never seen her mum look so impassioned.

  'Oh don't worry, I won't tell her now, but if you don't tell her soon, I will, because Valentine has a right to know.' Lottie took a deep breath as if trying to calm herself. 'V, I'm really sorry. We shouldn't have behaved like this; it was your night. I'm going now, but I'll see you soon,' and before Valentine could say anything else her aunt blew her and Lauren a kiss and swept out of the bar without a backward glance, her green velvet dress billowing out behind her.