Valentine (6 page)

She hesitated.

'
Mum!
'

'Chris wasn't your father.'

'What?' Valentine exclaimed, her mind scrambling to
make sense. 'I don't understand.' She suddenly longed
for a cigarette herself. She really was in a Mike Leigh
film. Either that or
Mamma Mia
. But her mum didn't look
as if she was about to burst into an Abba song – she
definitely had more of an anxious Brenda Blethyn expression
than a I'm-still-hot-and-I'm-nearly-sixty Meryl Streep
look.

'Your father was someone I met before Chris. We had
a fling and I fell pregnant with you.'

Valentine was about to say something sarcastic about
contraceptives, remembering only too well her mum's
lectures on the subject when she was a teenager, but Sarah's
serious expression stopped her. 'I was only nineteen but
I knew I wanted to keep you. He – your father – moved
away before I could tell him. When you were a year and
a half I met Chris, fell in love with him and the rest you
know.'

Did she?
Valentine was reeling from the secret her mum
had kept from her for all these years.

'So who's my father then?' Valentine asked. She
suddenly felt very wobbly. She thought she knew everything
about her background and now it appeared she
didn't. Her mum clasped her hands together as if she was
praying before she replied. 'He's Piers Hunter, the film
director.'

Valentine let out a hysterical laugh; the news just
seemed too incredible. Piers Hunter was one of
Hollywood's most successful film directors. He'd made a
string of blockbusters which had grossed hundreds of
millions at the box office. 'Mum! That is just insane! Are
you feeling OK?' Oh God, perhaps her mum was going
mad – the stress of coping with Chris's death and
Valentine's brother Matt's recent drug conviction.

'I met him through Lottie, when he was directing a
play she was in. It was purely a physical attraction, to be
honest. I knew there wasn't going to be any future in it,
but he was very good looking and charming. Our fling
or whatever only lasted a couple of weeks.'

'I just don't understand why you didn't tell me before,'
Valentine said. It seemed very out of character for her
mum not to be completely honest.

Sarah fiddled with the sleeve of her jumper, clearly
not finding this conversation at all easy. 'You were just a
baby when I married Chris; he was to all intents and
purposes your dad. He was the one who brought you up,
who loved you like his own.'

'So he – Piers – knows about me then?' Valentine asked
slowly, trying to piece together the jigsaw of her life, which
suddenly felt wildly mixed up.

'I don't know. Chris thought that we should tell him
about you so when you were five, I wrote him a letter,
but heard nothing, but I wrote again when you were ten,
then fifteen, and finally when you were eighteen, but there
was no reply. I suppose I took his silence as his answer;
that actually he didn't want to know you. Don't be too
angry with me, V.'

'I'm not angry, Mum,' Valentine said, getting up and
hunting down Lauren's Rizlas and tobacco and quickly
rolling herself a cigarette. This definitely counted as an
emergency. 'Just completely and utterly shell-shocked.'
She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. 'Does Matt know?'

Sarah shook her head, 'Of course not!'

'So now I've got a father I never knew and my brother
is my half-brother and the man I thought was my dad
wasn't.' She felt on the verge of hysteria, but then looked
at her watch and sighed. She desperately needed time to
take in the news and work out her feelings, but in half
an hour her first rehearsal started; she couldn't be late.

She felt in a daze all the way to the theatre. She had
never even suspected that Chris might not be her real
dad. It was like being told that after all the world was
square. True, she and Chris had absolutely nothing in
common. He had never understood her driving ambition
to be an actress and at times that had been difficult, but
that wasn't such an unusual scenario between father and
daughter. And in all other respects he'd been a great dad,
easy going and warm. Valentine had been devastated
when he had died three years ago from a heart attack.
And now she had a famous dad. A famous dad who
apparently didn't want to know. Suddenly she understood
exactly why her mum hadn't wanted to tell her, as
an insidious feeling of rejection washed over her. She
tried to summon Lauren's core of steel, but found herself
silently crying. First Finn had rejected her and then she'd
found out that her real dad didn't want her either. She
was so lost in her thoughts that she completely missed
her stop. She ended up having to run to the theatre, late
again.

She walked into the theatre to discover the actors
sitting in a circle on the floor with Vince standing up
in the middle as if to emphasise his superior status. Shit!
She was hardly going to be able to creep in unobserved.
She hesitated at the doorway. Vince was in full flow.
Suddenly he noticed her. 'Ah, Titania! We were wondering
what had happened to you.'

'I was drugged by a fairy and then fell in love with a
donkey; you know, the usual scenario,' Valentine said,
walking towards the circle, aware of twenty pairs of eyes
on her and feeling like a naughty schoolgirl being ticked
off. Vince didn't crack his face.

'Sorry, the bus was late,' she mumbled, sitting down
next to an actress called Kitty, whom she'd worked with
before. She could hardly give the real reason: sorry, I've
just found out that my real dad is an internationally
famous film director. Emotionally I'm a bit shaken up
right now.

'Well, if you could try to be on time, Valentine,' Vince
said a little tersely. 'The rehearsal period is tight, with just
four weeks.' It was only to be expected. It was very rare
for companies to have a longer rehearsal period, especially
in off-West End productions where the actors were getting
paid a pittance.

'Sorry,' Valentine repeated, and looking up saw Jack
sitting opposite her, his long legs stretched out in front of
him. He grinned broadly when he caught her eye.
Suddenly she remembered the text he'd sent and the kiss
that had led to the text. She was surprised how disconcerted
she felt. Get a grip, woman! It was just a kiss
in an improvisation!

'Anyway, now we finally have our Titania we can do
the introductions,' Vince continued. 'You all know of
course that I'm Vince Powell-Lancaster.' Or VPL,
Valentine thought and fought the urge to giggle. 'So now
over to you. It's crucial that we bond quickly as a company
given that the play is going to be pushing the boundaries
and contain scenes of nudity.' Valentine noted that none
of the cast looked thrilled by that last comment; she
obviously wasn't alone in dreading it. 'So can we go round
the circle, tell us your role and three significant things
about yourself.'

'Cringe alert,' Kitty muttered.

'So who wants to start?' Vince demanded. There was
a pause, during which Valentine lowered her eyes and
made a thorough investigation of her shoe; please don't
let it be her! She hated doing this kind of thing.

'OK, I'll go first.' It was Jack. Valentine looked up.
'I'm Jack Hart,' he said confidently. 'I'm playing Bottom.
I'm Gemini. I hate bullies and my favourite film is
The
English Patient
.'

Valentine almost did a double take; that was
her
all-time
favourite film. She had been bitterly disappointed
when Finn had told her it was one of the most boring
films he had ever seen. She looked at Jack with a new
feeling of respect and again he caught her eye and smiled.
He really was very good-looking. Though possibly he was
too testosterone-charged for Valentine, who liked pretty
boys, and a little too hairy judging from the chest hair
visible from the v of his black shirt. She had one of those
repulsion/attraction moments as she tried to imagine the
extent of the body hair. Would he, horror of horrors,
have a hairy back? Like a beast? Like a sexy beast, it had
to be admitted. Finn had hardly any hair on his chest.
In fact Valentine sometimes worried that she was hairier
than he was and a phone call from him inviting her over
would always trigger a frantic deforestation of body hair
by razor, which was frankly annoying as she preferred to
wax.

Sexy, hairy Jack had broken the ice for everyone and
they all followed suit, giving their star sign, a pet hate and
their favourite film. Vince, or VPL as he would for ever
now be known to Valentine, probably wanted them to
say far more meaningful things – like when I read Chekhov
my life changed and the Stanislavsky acting method is
the only one to follow blah blah blah, but he couldn't expect
to get trust right away. Valentine tried to work out what
the actors were going to be like from their comments –
Toby, in his mid-thirties, was playing Theseus the duke and
Oberon, and sounded a sweetie. He disliked liquorice and
his favourite film was
Some Like It Hot;
Alexander, (or
Xander as he wanted to be called) the actor playing
Demetrius, one of the young lovers, sounded a bit of a
tosser. He hated the congestion charge and his favourite
film was
Top Gun
. Would he turn out to be the wanker
in the cast? Every company had one; it was practically
the law and was usually someone with a super-sized ego
who thought they were a much better actor than they
really were.
Xander,
Valentine thought,
it could be you
. . .
Or then again it could be Emily, the ravishingly pretty
girl sitting next to Jack. She was playing Helena, one of
the leads, and was straight out of Oxford; she hadn't
bothered with drama school. Valentine suddenly realised
why she looked familiar; she was the daughter of Tilly
Wilson, a very successful actress who was in practically
every single costume drama on the BBC. Doubtless Emily
would not be doing off-West End for long with those
connections. On top of that she sounded way too pretentious:
her favourite film was Ingmar Bergman's
The
Seventh Seal
(not exactly a barrel of laughs); Kitty, who
was playing Hermia, hated Starbucks and her favourite
film was
Pulp Fiction
– she even had the same stylish black
bob as Uma Thurman's character, but hopefully not the
same heroin addiction; Rufus, a boyishly good looking
black actor whom Valentine had met at a very unfortunate
casting for a music video, which gave both of them
carpet burns – enough said – hated four-by-fours and
his favourite film was
Reservoir Dogs
. He and Kitty were
bound to get along.

And that left Valentine. 'I'm Valentine, I'm Aquarius,'
she hesitated, trying to think what to say next. She could
hardly say that she hated red roses and Italian food – she
would sound like a total mentalist. 'I hate paying bills and
my favourite film . . .' – another hesitation, 'I'm really not
copying you Jack, but it would have to be
The English
Patient
.'

'It really is,' Kitty put in. 'She's watched it over twenty
times, haven't you?'

Now she really did sound like a mentalist. She caught
Jack's eye and he smiled at her again. Cue another
attraction/repulsion moment.

More input from Vince followed, inviting contributions
from the actors, but only every now and then. Vince liked
the sound of his own voice. A lot. Valentine still wasn't
wild about Vince's vision of the wood as a giant nightclub
and the fairies, herself included, as decadent,
pleasure-seeking nymphos. But Shakespeare was such a
genius that even if directors like Vince did go off on one,
the language and drama always shone through. Well, that
was the thought she would hang on to, she told herself.
And every now and then when Valentine found herself
looking in Jack's direction, he would grin conspiratorially
or roll his eyes if Vince was sounding particularly wanky
– which was quite frequently. Valentine arched her
eyebrow back in return, a gesture she was very proud of
having perfected. She decided that she knew exactly the
kind of man Jack was. There was always an actor like
him in a company as well as 'the wanker' – a charming
good-looker whom everyone lusted after. Well, good luck
to him and to the other women in the cast – especially
Emily, who could barely drag her eyes away from him,
and indeed to the men – Toby seemed pretty smitten also.
Jack was not Valentine's type and that was that. She was
here to work and she needed the part to go well. She
was not going to be distracted by a man, however
gorgeous, even if he did love her all-time favourite film
and had liked the way she kissed.

At one they broke for lunch, to Valentine's relief, as she
was freezing and had a numb bum from sitting on the
floor. Everyone headed off to the nearest pub, of the
traditional seen-better-days variety. Valentine found herself
next to Jack. He clearly did not believe in small talk. 'So
did your boyfriend take you out on a romantic
Valentine/birthday dinner?' A question guaranteed to
warm Valentine's heart – not.

'No,' she mumbled, 'I haven't got a boyfriend.'
Just an
ex who calls me for sex, whom I can't stop loving.
'What about your girlfriend?' she asked, wanting to
deflect his attention. 'Nope,' he shook his head emphatically.
'Don't have one. So did you get my text?' He looked
at her, his deep brown eyes serious, searching and very
lovely she had to admit. 'I meant what I said.'

'Meant what?' Valentine asked, deciding for once in
her life to play it cool. 'Oh, the kiss! I'd completely
forgotten to be honest.'

A sceptical look from Jack, 'Well I'm glad you got the
part, even if you seem to have selective amnesia. I just
hope you're OK at learning your lines.'

'Ha fucking ha,' Valentine shot back. 'And I'm looking
forward to seeing you in a donkey mask. And by the look
of the hairs on your chest . . .' she reached out and peaked
inside Jack's shirt, which was very forward but she couldn't
resist being cheeky, 'they could always be used to make
the donkey fur, given that the costume budget is bound
to be tiny.'

'What's the matter with you, Valentine? Never seen a
real man before?' Jack asked, doing up one of the buttons
on his shirt and laughing at her. 'I didn't have you down
as batting for the other side.'

Valentine curled her lip at the expression. 'Oh please,
what public school did you go to?'

Jack shook his head. 'Didn't. And anyway you should
be gentle with me, sweet Titania; this is only my second
role out of drama school. I may have seemed all cocky
last week but actually I was shitting it.'

'I'd never have known,' she replied slightly grudgingly,
remembering how he had oozed, yes bloody
oozed
confidence
and remembering her own dishevelled entrance.
'So how come you're only just out of drama school, given
that you're no spring chicken?' She was aware that she
was doing that thing of being rude to someone when
actually you quite like them, but was enjoying herself too
much to stop.

'I'm thirty, cheeky pants.' He gave her a considering
look and Valentine cared enough about his opinion to
flick back her hair, put her shoulders back and stick her
chest out. 'I'm guessing two or three years older than
you.'

'Three,' Valentine admitted, slightly peeved that he
didn't think she was younger.

Jack continued, 'I was training to be a barrister but I
hated it. Well, I liked the court bit. It was all that slaving
over the cases every night that got me, so I jacked it in.
I'd always wanted to act, anyway. So how about you?'

'Well, it's hardly been a glittering career since leaving
drama school,' Valentine said dryly. 'I mean, I didn't
expect overnight success, but Jesus, it's tough.'

'So what have you done?' Jack continued. She could
tell that he was fresh out of drama school – all these
questions. She felt like saying
Look I'm twenty-seven and
I'm in a frigging off-West end play, go figure!
Instead she
replied airily, 'Theatre mainly,' praying he wouldn't press
her further as she'd only been in small productions, with
the exception of a short run in the West End in
Jane
Eyre
. And I've done some TV and a film.' Another prayer
that he didn't press her as that included a non-speaking
part in an advert for low-fat oven chips (oh the glamour,
but at least it hadn't been for feminine hygiene products
like one of her friends), a part in
The Bill
as a heroin
addict and shoplifter – but as everyone gets a part in
The Bill
that didn't really count. Plus she had been a
murder victim in
Waking the Dead
. She was in two scenes:
one where she had to scream, just before she was strangled
(giving her quite a terrifying double chin worthy of
Jabba the Hut, she thought when she saw the episode)
and the other when she was lying on the slab, looking
blue – definitely not a good colour for her. And there'd
been her film role, where she played the wife of a brutal
drug dealer who was about to turn him over to the
police. It had been a fantastically gritty and demanding
part which Valentine had thought was easily her best
work, and so had her agent, but unfortunately the film
didn't get a distributor and so was only seen at film
festivals. She sighed and took a sip of her mineral water.
Just talking about her flatlining acting career depressed
the hell out of her.

'Well, I'm sure it's just a matter of time with your
talent and good looks,' Jack answered.

Valentine frowned at him, unable to work out if he
was being genuine or taking the piss, so she sarcastically
replied, 'Yeah right – in the meantime Keira bloody
Knightly has my career.'

'Um, she's very beautiful, but—' Jack gave her one of
his appraising looks again. 'You're much sexier and you've
got breasts. So you win.'

Valentine pulled a face of mock-indignation and put
on her best Southern Belle outraged accent. 'Why, Mr
Hart, you've only just met me and you mention my
breasts!'

Jack shrugged, 'We're halfway there as I saw your bra
at the audition and you've looked inside my shirt. I've
got to prepare myself for what will be the awesome
wearing of the nipple tassels. Far better if I get your
breasts off my chest, so to speak. In fact I think it would
be a good idea if you showed me them now and then
I can stop fantasising about them,' Jack carried on, his
eyes with a mischievous, naughtiest-boy-in-the-school
sparkle in them.

Valentine folded her arms protectively across her chest
and said, 'The tassels are still up for discussion.'