Valentina: A Hauntingly Intelligent Psychological Thriller (40 page)

Davie opened the door. His face fell at the sight of me, his mouth recomposed itself into a grim, set line. I guessed he must be mirroring my own fallen features. I had collapsed on the outside
–
having nothing left inside to support the façade. The cold rain ran into my eyes.

“
Shona?”

“
Can I come in?” I said.

He shook his head, once, as if to break out of a stupor.

“
Aye, ’course.” He pushed open the door, helped me in with the pushchair. He went ahead then, through the hallway, into the flat. “Ma and Pa aren’t here, so. I’ll put the kettle on, eh? Actually, I’ll get you a towel.” He ran upstairs.

Only when he’d made tea, when he’d wrapped the towel around my shoulders and sat me down in the lounge, did we talk.

“
So what’s goin’ on?” He took Isla and bounced her on his knee. She sucked on her rusk and cooed. Ignorance is bliss.

I began to cry. Davie put his arm around me and told me to shush, to cry as much as I liked, that everything would be OK. When I’d calmed down, I told him everything.

“
So he wants you to be his second wife?” Davie asked. “What’s he starting, a cult? What have you told them?”

“
Said I’d think about it.”

“
And are you?”

I looked at him, met his eye. “What do you think?”

He got up and walked over to the gas fire and stood with his back to it. He shifted Isla in his skinny arms, nuzzled her nose with his, pretended to bite her rusk. She squealed with delight.

After a moment, he said, “I’m going to kill him.”

“
No, you’re not.”

For a moment neither of us said another word.

“
Davie,” I began. “Remember when I got on the train last time you said anything I need?”

“
Uh-huh.”

“
Well, I need.”

“
Anything,” he said.

“
I need a car that can’t be traced to me or you, can you do that?”

He screwed up his eyes. “What you gonna do?”

I shook my head. “I need you not to ask. I need you to look after Isla tonight and I need you to cover for me while I’m away up the road.”

“
Shona, what’re you going to do?”

I fixed him with a stare. “I need you not to ask.”

“
You’re not going to do anything mad are you?”

I shook my head. “I need to settle things up, that’s all. But I don’t want the jeep on any cameras between here and Aberdeen. I stayed here tonight, all night, if you get my meaning. Can you get me a car or no?”

“
Aye.” He nodded, frowned at his feet, bit his thumbnail.

“
What?”

He met my eye but only for a second. “I’ll need a ton.”

I gave him fifty quid, told him I’d get him the rest. We didn’t say much else. He’s my kid brother. We’ve never needed a lot of words.

I brought up Google maps on his phone and began fiddling about with the zoom.

“
Here,” he said. “We need a bigger picture.” He went over to the bookshelf and grabbed my dad’s RAC map of Scotland. He spread it out on the table and leant in beside me. I felt the heat from his head next to mine, smelled the tobacco on his breath.

“
I can leave the A90 here by Stonehaven,” I said, tracing my finger up the road.

“
On the way back,” he said, “you should take the road all the way out to Stonehaven then cut down and drive to Montrose. If you join the A90 later, maybe as far down as Forfar, that should be OK. But you’ll have to drive fast.”

“
Aye, right. And Davie,” I folded up the map, “we cannae even go near telling Mum and Dad. I’m just visiting, OK? Like last time. Everything’s peachy in my life, do you get me?”

He nodded.

“
Then when it all comes out tomorrow or the day after, if the police come here, I didn’t know he had a wife, let alone another child.” I stood up, began to pace about. “He told me he had a work dinner. That’s why I came down the road. Everyone here will back me up
–
that’s going to be my story. I was here all night. I was calm. I was normal.” I stopped, threw out my hands. “What d’you think?”

“
What are you going to do, Shone?”

“
Criminal damage will be involved, that’s all. I don’t want a criminal record.”

His head dropped.

“
Sorry, Davie, I didn’t mean ... I’m a mum now.”

“
It’s OK.”

I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “If I get found out, I did this on my own, OK? You cannae tell a soul.”

“
Let me get down the pub,” he said. “See if Dougie’ll let me have his van.”

“
I’ll chum you.” I stood up, took Isla from him. “I need to walk anyway. I need to get you your cash. And I need the hardware store.”

By the time my mum got home at six I’d prepared everything. I heard her key in the lock and was away to open the door for her, but by the time I reached the lounge she was already inside. One stripy carrier bag in each hand, she leant against the front door and closed her eyes. She only did this because she thought no one was looking. But I was looking, I was watching from the shadows, silently taking in the secrecy of her exhaustion. She looked tired, older. She lowered the carrier bags and let them fall the last centimetre to the floor. The thin striped plastic sagged, a can of baked beans rolled out and onto the carpet. I was flooded with love so deep it felt like shame. Every job she’d had to do to raise me and my brothers, every sacrifice she’d made and this, this crushing fatigue she’d kept hidden year after year. My father too, both of them good people, people who I had only ever trusted and loved all my conscious life. Outside this house I had been a fool to trust, yes I had, but why would I go into the world full of suspicion when I had been brought up by these good people, who had done nothing to disabuse me of trust? What was love if not total, blind, unquestioning trust? If my biggest failing was too much love then I would not apologise for that, not even to myself, since allowing even that small concession would be to let him, let them, change who I had been raised to be.

I know who I am, I thought. Who I am was never in doubt.

In this hallway I had whispered like a crook
–
to save face, to save him from my parents’ poor opinion. Here, with remorse running through me I had said sorry to him for my failure to imagine his hard life out in the wilds of the North Sea, when all the time the nearest he’d got to the ocean was the damn coastline. Just shy of the sands, behind the sea wall, he had sat and laughed and eaten and loved and argued and lived with his other family, his real family. What were Isla and me now? The lover and the bastard, that was all. The toys. He’d claimed himself a man trapped by circumstance, a Mr. Rochester striving to do the honourable thing in a difficult situation, thinking only of his two women who needed and loved him. He’d claimed so many things and I had believed him without question. It had never occurred to me not to trust. And now I was the mad woman, an inconvenience he’d hidden away, out of sight.

Funny, when you realise the central truth you have believed about someone is a lie, everything else you believed about them falls away too. Every puff of smoke, every rabbit pulled from a hat, every mirror. Charm? Manipulation. An easy smile? An assassin’s grin. You never saw Martin Amis on the bookshelf, never saw your husband read a single book. The past you shared, the present you live, the future you will share with each other? Nothing more than lies set to torment you for the rest of your troubled life.

With a groan, my mother bent to pull off her shoes while I stood, still watching her from the darkness, wondering how I would find my own lies, since lies were what I needed now to save her from the filth of my life.

I took a deep breath, thinking that, yes, people really did do this sometimes, people really did take a deep breath, draw back their shoulders and say things like –

“
Hiya! Y’all right? Thought I’d surprise you.”

At six thirty, Davie got back and gave me the smallest nod. His skin had a sheen to it, he smelled of alcohol and cigarettes but, judging by my parents’ lack of reaction, this was nothing unusual. At seven o’clock we had tea together in the kitchen. Don’t ask me what we ate, I can’t tell you. I can’t even tell you if I ate anything at all. I could think of nothing but the fact I had to get my parents away to their bed before eleven or I’d never make it.

Once Isla was down, I chatted to my parents about nothing while we watched the telly together. Again, don’t ask me what we watched. Infusing my voice with pride, I told them how well Mikey was doing, how they really must come up and visit soon, now that the cottage was all set up. It was wonderful up there, I said. A real idyll. I told them I’d be staying with them for a few days this time, as Mikey had this dinner and had said he’d have to work late all week. Like mucus the words thickened in my throat but I spat them out all the same.

At quarter to ten, I yawned. “You guys not going away to your bed? You’re usually in bed by ten, aren’t you?”

“
In a bit, aye,” said my mother. “Seems a shame to go when you’re here.”

I yawned again, for emphasis. “Aye well, I’ll be turning in just now. But I’ll let you guys use the bathroom.”

A quarter of an hour went by.

“
It’s after ten,” I said. “Go on, you guys go first ...” But they didn’t move. Time slowed, each second a minute, each minute an hour.

Eventually my mum glanced at my dad who said, “Aye, it’s nearly half past right enough.”

“
You go, love,” said my mother. “You’ll be tired.”

“
I’m fine. You go. Go on.”

At half past they finally went upstairs. I felt like I’d been through the shredder and I hadn’t even got started. Davie and me sat in the living room in silence, listening to the scrub of their toothbrushes, the splash of water hitting the sink, the flush of the toilet. The bass notes of muffled conversation.

When all was quiet, I stood. Davie nodded, and stood up too. A surge of nerves rose up inside me.

“
You get what you needed?” he asked.

“
Aye. I got cash too.” I handed him the fifty pounds.

He took it without a word, leant back to stuff the notes in the front pocket of his jeans. “I can do this for you, you know. Whatever it is.”

“
I need you here,” I said. “If Isla cries, you’ll have to get her quick. You’ll have to keep her quiet. Above all else, I was here all night.”

“
I’ll get her. I won’t sleep till you get back anyway.”

A little before eleven, I went upstairs and kissed Isla on her forehead. I took out my phone and switched it on, turned it to mute and laid it on my bedside table. I didn’t know much about phones, but I thought maybe it might prove some sort of alibi. Then, I took some old coats that were stored in my wardrobe and arranged them in my bed along with my spare pillow. I pulled the duvet cover over them, pushed and shaped the mass until it looked vaguely like a body. I stood back to inspect my efforts, wondering how long it had been since I’d sneaked out at night. I went into the bathroom, did a wee, flushed the loo and washed my hands. My own hooded eyes staring back at me from the bathroom mirror, I cleaned my teeth with the door open so my parents would hear. Once I’d finished my for-show bathroom routine, I walked back into my room, sat heavily on the bed and was gratified to hear it creak. My hands tightened into fists. I stood slowly, silently. I switched off my bedside light, crept out and pulled the door to.

Davie was waiting in the kitchen. He handed me a flask and silver Thermos cup.

“
What’s in the cup?”

“
Tea,” he whispered. “Extra sweet.”

We locked eyes. Then we did something we never do. We held each other tight; he swayed me from side to side and kissed my cheek. I knew he would taste tears and when I heard him sniff I knew he was crying too.

“
I won’t do anything too bad,” I said. “I’ll do enough.”

“
Just don’t get caught, all right?”

“
I won’t.”

When he let go we stood back a little from one another, wet-eyed, wet-faced in the dark.

“
I’d better get going,” I said.

He nodded and the two of us moved towards the hall.

“
If you’re not back by half seven,” he whispered, “I’ll take Isla out for a walk or something, tell them she wouldn’t sleep, tell them you’ve gone on into town. I dunno, I’ll think of something but don’t be late, eh?”

“
I won’t. But if I am, tell them I’ve gone for teething gel.”

We stepped out into the street. Davie walked me to the van, tapped the roof once I was inside. “Don’t break the speed limit.”

“
I’m not that stupid.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

After Shona flounced out all high and mighty, Michael and I left everything as it was and went to bed without exchanging so much as a glance. We did not touch. We did not speak, other than to ask if the doors were locked. You could say it was shock
–
if you don’t count the fact that the merest glimpse of him made me want to throw up.

In the morning, Michael woke with eyelids like pillows.

“
I haven’t slept a wink,” he said, his bottom lip pushed out and glistening revoltingly.

“
Oh,” I replied. Had I been awake at any point during the night, I guess I would have known that. But I’m a very deep sleeper and frankly, I was glad to have slept through the wailing and the hand wringing.

We ate breakfast. I put on Radio 1 to drown out the slop and crunch of him chewing. His eyelids had deflated; his beard had grown in ugly patches on his rather too large chin.