by Kit Eyre
The words dangled in the air, inviting Max one way or the other. She let her hands fall loose to test how it felt. One flicker of Valerie’s eyelids and her arms wound around her neck instead, drawing her closer for a kiss that shuddered down Max’s legs. A groan gurgled up, meeting the moan that passed from Valerie’s mouth into her own. Fingers tightened on her belt, so suddenly that she had to pull away and search Valerie’s face.
‘Are you all right? Is this all right?’
Valerie ran a trembling thumb over her own lips then moved across to Max’s. ‘Perfectly. Believe me, you’ve got no reason to worry. I wouldn’t have invited you into my home if I didn’t want you to do just that.’
‘Just that?’ Max echoed. She twitched her tongue over the tip of Valerie’ thumb and felt the shiver ripple through her body. ‘What about more?’
‘You’re suddenly sure of yourself. What happened to the woman who wouldn’t get out of the car two minutes ago?’
Max shrugged and bumped her towards the staircase. She landed on the third step, chest heaving and legs askew. The aroma working its way into the air was enough to set Max in motion again. She yanked apart the cream blouse, hearing the buttons rattle against the banister, then unzipped the black trousers to probe her way inside while planting her knees in between Valerie’s. She caught her lips with her teeth before moving down to the hollow of her neck and teasing with her tongue. Valerie rocked against the stairs then stiffened. It didn’t clock straight away that she’d stopped responding altogether but, the second it did, Max fell backwards and landed with her head on the doormat.
She jumped up, though her eyes ran with colour and her skull was throbbing. Her hand went to her pocket for her keys, but they weren’t there. Valerie had them twisted around her fingers as she sat up with her lips swollen and her makeup smudged.
‘Don’t you dare,’ she said.
‘You’re not into this. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have –’
‘Honestly? Max – look at me. Do I look disinterested to you?’
‘No,’ she admitted.
Valerie rose from the stairs, more elegantly than she had a right to, and dropped the keys on the nearby cabinet. ‘You can go or you can sit with me and talk for five minutes. It’s your choice.’
Now that her senses weren’t overloaded, Max could look around properly for the first time. The whole place glittered white and chrome, from the elaborate mirror decorated with oblong patterns down to the three-tier shoe rack underneath the side window. Off to the left there was a long room lit by sunlight that stretched further than she could fathom, while the door a length ahead of her went through to the kitchen, judging by the smell of chicken coming from that way.
‘Max?’ Valerie prompted.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t belong here.’
‘The house? You mean the house?’ Valerie stepped closer. ‘Is that what this is about?’
‘We’re different, that’s all.’
‘That can be a good thing, believe me.’
‘Yeah, but . . . We don’t know the same lives.’
‘I haven’t always had money, Max. Besides, you came here knowing where I lived, you know more about me than I know about you. I’m not accustomed to comparing bank statements before I have someone over for dinner, but if that’s what you –’
Max dug her hands into her pockets. ‘I knew where you lived, but you never said what you wanted. I assumed that it was just working out an itch, something you had to do.’
‘Oh.’ Valerie pushed her hair behind her ear with one hand and pulled her blouse closed with the other. ‘Is that what this is to you then – just an itch you need to scratch? Because there are better ways to do it, especially for me. I’m risking public humiliation here.’
‘So, you’re scared of me selling the story to the papers or something?’ Max questioned.
‘No, I’m not. You didn’t stop in the middle of the night and push me away to sell me out now. But, the point is, you could’ve done and I placed myself in this situation anyway. I trust you too much to think you could do that to me – do you see?’
‘Not really,’ she muttered.
‘Don’t pretend you’re stupid,’ Valerie replied. She allowed her blouse to flutter open again, showing her nipples bristling through her bra. ‘You can get sex in seedy bars or online with no strings. Yet you’re here – because you want to be. There’s no other way around it.’
Max swallowed as the heat between her thighs increased. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’ Valerie repeated. ‘Is that acknowledgement or capitulation? Let’s be clear here.’
‘I want you,’ said Max after a brief struggle. You’re gorgeous, every bit of you. All I’ve wanted from the minute I saw you is to feel you come around my fingers and my tongue . . . That’s what I want. That’s why I’m here.’
Valerie licked her lips. ‘Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.’
Neither of them made a move. Noises began to filter into Max’s brain – the hum of music somewhere in the house and the gurgle of boiling water. It brought a smile to her face, one that made Valerie tilt her head to the side.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Just wondered if what we’re eating involves a pan boiling over.’
‘Oh, damn . . .’
She ran off into the kitchen, clutching her blouse to her chest. Max kicked her shoes off next to the shoe rack then followed her in. Valerie was over at the far side, beyond the breakfast bar, twiddling with the biggest cooker Max had ever seen. It took up a good portion of the left-hand wall, not that there was space lacking in here. So much stuff was glinting on the worktops under the down lights that she couldn’t catalogue it all, never mind figure out what that third thing that looked like a blender might be. She gave up and focused on Valerie mumbling to herself across the room.
‘Everything all right?’ she called.
Valerie held up a finger and sprinkled something into the pan of bubbling water. She then poured in a bowl of rice and stirred it with an oversized wooden spoon. Only once she’d shuffled everything around a few times did she put the spoon down and turn around. Her cheeks were still flushed and her bra exposed. She managed to find two buttons intact on her blouse and fastened them, though the tanned skin caught the light every time she drew in a breath.
‘There’s some white wine cooling,’ she said. ‘I hope that’s okay.’
‘I don’t really drink while I’m driving.’
‘Well, it goes very well with the dish. It’d be a positive waste of a meal otherwise. So, what do you say?’
Max dug her heels into the floor until they tingled. ‘Okay.’
She watched as Valerie turned to a cupboard, catching the smile on her lips even from the awkward angle. It was gone when she brought the glasses and the wine over to the breakfast bar, motioning for them to sit down. The stool was deceptively comfy, curving around her spine and putting them on a level.
‘May I ask your opinion?’ Valerie questioned.
‘What – mine?’
‘Unless I’m missing a third occupant of the kitchen.’
Max sipped her wine, feeling it tickle the back of her throat. ‘Go on.’
‘I’m currently in a debate of sorts with someone. She’s doing something I really don’t believe is right for her, aiming for a career I think she’ll struggle in. I’ve tried explaining why I feel that way, but she’s disinterested and combative. I’ve been given the chance to stand in her way somewhat and, at first, I wanted to. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘Why did you want to?’ Max asked.
‘Because I know I’m right.’ Valerie tapped her glass and chuckled. ‘Believe me, I know how that sounds. But I do know her very well, better than she knows herself.’
Max hesitated, but Valerie flexed her palm across the table.
‘No, go on. I don’t expect you to censor yourself, I need an honest answer.’
‘I just don’t get why you think you’ve got the right t
o judge. Who is it? Someone you work with or a relative or something?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘Well, are you close?’
‘Not really,’ Valerie replied. ‘We haven’t been for some years.’
‘Then it’s nothing to do with you, is it? Standing in someone’s way when they really want something’s not on. It’s selfish, the way I see it. Like Elena and her parents.’
Valerie frowned. ‘You mentioned that at the hospital. You said the relationship was bad.’
‘She lost her job and moved back in with them,’ Max explained, gripping the stem of her glass. ‘This was just after she met Drew and they didn’t like him, reckoned he was a freeloader trying to nick their money. They made her choose when they found out she was pregnant – him and the baby or them.’
‘It was brave of her to make the jump,’ murmured Valerie.
‘That’s what it takes sometimes. You know, they lost her and if – Andrew had – if he’d . . . They would’ve lost a grandchild as well. I mean, they did, but they don’t seem too bothered by it. They still haven’t got in touch and Elena went through hell after the stillbirth. She’s barely back on her feet now, and Drew’s still not right. What I’m saying is that imposing what you reckon’s right on someone only works harder to push them away.’
The room was quiet for a minute, with Valerie chewing on her lip and the only sounds coming from the rice rattling against the inside of the pan. Max shifted on her stool and tried not to gulp the wine down. She jumped when Valerie pushed her own stool back and slipped onto the tiles. She braced herself as Valerie swept towards her then her breath hitched when a smooth hand rested on her cheek.
‘Thank you,’ Valerie said.
Max cleared her throat. ‘What for?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She paused and stretched a finger the length of her ear lobe. ‘Drinking more than one glass of my wine tonight? It seems a shame to waste it.’
‘A shame,’ Max echoed. ‘Yeah.’
Another smile twitched over Valerie’s lips and Max couldn’t help herself. She leaned in to kiss her, growling when a knee pressed between her legs. Once she’d pushed herself from the stool, she reversed their positions and was only dimly aware of the wine glasses crashing to the floor as she hoisted Valerie onto the breakfast bar.
Chapter 6
The lawns in front of the college were deserted.
Amy dodged through the collared doves making a meal of a sandwich someone had crunched into the gravel and trudged towards the main road. Every limb felt heavy, just keeping her chin up was sapping her energy. She was so focused on reaching the gate that she didn’t spot Valerie until she stepped out in front of her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘Charming.’ Valerie gestured over her shoulder. ‘Get in the car.’
‘You’re not kidnapping me, are you? Only I’ve got library books in my bag and I don’t want to get fined while I’m stuck in a dark room somewhere.’
Valerie rolled her eyes and took her by the elbow. ‘Honestly, how you can claim we’re nothing alike is beyond me sometimes, sweetheart. Just get in.’
‘Look, you’ll be over tomorrow for dinner, can’t it –’
‘I’m afraid not. Get in.’
With two swift motions, she’d steamrollered her around the car and into the passenger seat. Amy narrowly escaped losing a fingernail as the door slammed, although she cracked her head on the rear-view mirror when she tried to dislodge her rucksack. She just managed to wedge it between her feet when Valerie slotted into the driver’s seat.
‘Mum, what’s going on?’
Valerie fiddled with the radio until something exuberant blasted out from Classic FM then lowered all four windows down as she reversed. The assault on her senses forced Amy to lean back against the leather and let the wind whip through the car to tangle with the violins for the fifteen-minute drive to Biddy’s. She sat up straight when they zoomed past the end of the track and headed for the dual carriageway.
‘You are. You’re kidnapping me.’
‘Now, don’t be so dramatic. Could you get my sunglasses out of the glove compartment? It’s getting a little bright. Oh, and there’s an ice box behind your seat if you want some water.’
‘An ice box?’ She twisted to check. ‘Seriously, Mum, what’s going on?’
‘We’re going on a picnic.’
Amy gaped at her. ‘Excuse me? Have you actually lost your marbles?’
‘I need those sunglasses, darling,’ Valerie said, flicking down her visor.
‘Stuff the sunglasses. Turn around – take me home.’
Brakes squealed as Valerie spun them onto the nearest verge. The car rocked against the bank and Amy grabbed at the dashboard to steady herself. Her heart was hammering in time to the music then, when Valerie jabbed that into silence, all she could hear was the drumming in her ears. She pressed her knees together and swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat.
‘You’re parked illegally,’ she murmured.
‘Listen to me – you may be living at Clarice’s, but that is not your home. Are we clear? Do you understand me?’
Amy tilted her body away, her hand still trembling out of sight. ‘It’s the closest I’ve got. Anyway, kidnapping me probably won’t help. Not unless you’re looking to play the deranged mother card, but that might not play well at the polls. You never know what the public’s going to go for, do you?’
‘I haven’t got the stomach for this, Amy. Not today.’
‘Then tell me what’s going on.’
‘If I do, will you come quietly? I need you to be a credit to your father this afternoon, I really do.’
‘When am I not?’ she demanded.
Valerie held up a hand. ‘That’s a valid point, I apologise. It’s just that we’re going to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park for a picnic with Graham Wilson and his young children. He wants to talk to you about an internship through July and August, only working a few days a week at the Leeds branch.’
‘W-what?’
‘Well, it’s what you wanted isn’t it, sweetheart?’ said Valerie with a soft smile. ‘Now, may I please have my sunglasses? All I can see at the moment at sunspots.’
Amy wordlessly retrieved them and watched Valerie as she manoeuvred the car back onto the road. It hit the tarmac with a thud then they were gliding along with the breeze rushing through the open windows. Valerie turned the radio back on and, by the time they reached the dual carriageway, she was almost conducting with her left hand. All Amy could do was fumble in the back for a bottle of icy water to make sure she wasn’t suffering from dehydration and the associated hallucinations.
‘The pair of you look exhausted.’
Amy levelled a finger at Valerie. ‘She pushed me down a hill.’
‘You fell,’ Valerie retorted, yanking them both down onto the sofa. ‘Honestly, Clarice, those tennis lessons went to waste. She can’t balance to save her life.’
‘Hey, I get that from you,’ Amy shot back.
‘I’ll have you know I could walk a tightrope if I wanted to. Although perhaps not in these shoes.’
Biddy chuckled and started to rise. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Stay where you are, I’ll do it,’ said Amy. ‘Do you want coffee, Mum?’
‘That’d be brilliant, darling, thank you.’
She didn’t hurry making the drinks. Companionable chatter echoed through the house as Valerie and Biddy exchanged news and anecdotes. Amy listened to the hum while preparing the coffee and digging out the strawberry creams. It was only when she noticed that she’d placed four cups on the tray instead of three that she realised where her mind had taken her. She could suddenly picture Tim sat in the corner waiting for her to deliver the biscuits, yawning behind his hand when he thought the others weren’t paying attention. That had been one of their secrets, just like the Saturday morning trips for cake and the late-night renditions of Louis Armstrong on the antiqu
e record player in the study.
The tray wobbled when she picked it up, though she steadied it as she carried it into the conservatory. Her back seemed to straighten of its own accord, so much so that neither Valerie nor Biddy glanced her way. She passed out their cups and sat beside Biddy.
‘What are we talking about?’ she questioned.
Biddy reached for a strawberry cream. ‘Thank you, dear. I was asking about John Foster, that’s all.’
‘Clarice . . .’ Valerie murmured.
‘Who’s John Foster?’ Amy asked, looking between them. Valerie lowered her gaze so she switched her attention. ‘Biddy? Who’s John Foster?’
‘Haven’t you heard of him? He’s Shadow Environment Minister, he’s got a very good reputation. From what I hear, he’s making quite a name for himself, and your mother’s spending a lot of time with him.’
Valerie coughed. ‘Behave, Clarice. There’s nothing going on, John and I are just friends.’
‘That’s a shame. Timothy would want you to find happiness, you know. He told me as much. I know it’s hard, but you shouldn’t feel . . .’
Her voice faded and Amy gently removed the cup from her quivering hands. She knotted their fingers together and squeezed until Biddy’s eyes lifted to meet hers. The deep hazel was another flash of Tim in the room.
‘I’m being an old fool,’ Biddy muttered.
‘No,’ said Valerie, ‘far from it. Listen, Clarice, Tim told me the same thing a hundred times and it still doesn’t feel right. I’m trying to respect his wishes, but, believe me, John is not someone I’m leaning on for emotional support. I’ve got you two for that, haven’t I?’
That provoked a watery smile from Biddy, although Amy’s incredulity snagged in her throat. The recollection of a stranger parading around in one of Tim’s dressing gowns was replaying on a loop in her head. She finally had to drop her hands between her knees to keep them from shaking.
Biddy’s mood had flattened and so had the atmosphere. The moment her cup was empty, Valerie made an excuse about an early start and scurried towards the door. Amy took off after her, grabbing her arm in the hallway.