Valentina: A Hauntingly Intelligent Psychological Thriller (32 page)

When I waved away the post-coital joint he asked me why.

“
I think I’m pregnant,” I said.

“
What do you mean, think?”

“
I think therefore I am.” I smiled, decided to take a puff after all. How much harm could one toke do to it anyway?

“
I see.” He did me the courtesy of trying to hide his shock, of not asking if he was the father. And, as I explained, it wasn’t such a disaster as all that. We both had good prospects, we were in love and, for goodness’ sake, he and Shona had only just moved in together. Nothing that couldn’t be undone.

“
You can move back in once you’ve told Shona,” I said. “And don’t worry, I will be going back to work after it’s born.”

He was already pulling on his jeans. “It’s after seven,” he said. “She’ll be wondering where I am.” He knelt on the bed and leant over.

I pulled him onto me, kissed him hard on the mouth. “Tell me it’s going to be OK, Michael.” I let my voice crack, let the tears well in my eyes. “Tell me you love me more.”

He held my chin softly in his fingers. “I do love you, you know that. Don’t worry about any of this. There’s no one like you, Georgie. You’re a one-off.”

How was I to know she’d be waiting at the stove with news of her own?

I hadn’t seen that coming.

She had, I must confess, out-manoeuvred me. I almost admired her for it.

I considered a termination. But wasn’t that like throwing away my best card? And over the weeks that followed, Michael was, if anything, more attentive than ever. Flowers when it wasn’t even Friday, chocolates for no reason, a white gold necklace which must have cost the earth.

But he didn’t leave her. He just didn’t.

Whenever I hinted at him moving in, he changed the subject, suggested going to a movie, initiated love-making. It was like trying to catch a bar of wet soap. But I didn’t push. He wouldn’t do anything unless he felt it was his own idea. That’s the trick with Michael. Always flatter, never criticise. And always stay one move ahead. That’s what I mean about us understanding one another. So I didn’t mention her, I didn’t complain and was instead
–
perfect, I guess you’d say. Regular trips to see Frank at Toni & Guy, to this great manicurist he recommended who also, despite my burgeoning bump, gave me the rudest Brazilian wax I’d ever had. Drove Michael wild. Things were good between us. I relaxed in the knowledge that, even if he didn’t leave her straight away, he would tire of her soon enough, baby or no baby. She was, I felt
–
no, I knew
–
too small for a man like him. She was not
enlightened
. If there was, ultimately, to be a single parent in this
ménage à trois
, then it wouldn’t, I felt, be me.

But Michael isn’t like anyone I’ve ever known. Michael had his own plan.

It was a little after Christmas which, by the way, I spent alone. I must have been around seven months gone when he took me to dinner at The Grill Room.

“
You should have steak,” he said. “For iron. For the baby.”

I laughed at him. “Dear God, Michael. You’ll be offering to come to NCT classes next.”

“
I will if you want me to.”

“
Spare me the earnestness, please. You’ll get wrinkles on your lovely forehead. Even I’m not going to NCT classes. There’s one exit, as far as I understand. Pain relief is available. And I’ll be taking everything they have. I don’t think I need to sit in some draughty church hall listening to some woman with frizzy hair and bad shoes boring on about massage techniques for four weeks or however the hell long it is.”

“
OK,” he said, laughing. “No NCT classes. I’m having the sirloin, what about you?”

“
Fillet mignon,” I said. “Rare. And a large glass of the Bourgogne.”

“
Are you sure you can drink?”

I did not deign to reply.

He leant forward, his menu bending against the table edge. “I love that you always know exactly what you want. You don’t muck about, do you?”

I scrutinised him a moment and said, “If you want something, what’s the point in not getting it, frankly?”

We ordered, talked shop briefly, but only briefly. Our wine arrived, our steaks on rustic chopping boards
–
someone’s idea of a sophisticated plate replacement. The steaks were adorned rather alarmingly with twin tomatoes, blanched and peeled and sitting close together like googly eyes; at the top, a mop of watercress hair.

“
Everything OK?” he asked, seeing my hesitation.

“
I’m not sure. I think I might recognise this person.”

When he didn’t laugh, I should have known he was building up to something. Halfway down the bottle, he pitched.

“
So,” he said, placing his glass carefully on the dark, high sheen of the wooden table top. “I’ve got an idea. About how this is all going to work. You, me, the baby. Shona, the baby.” He picked up his glass, took a long slug, placed it back on the table. He exhaled heavily, looked up and fixed me with his cavalier spaniel eyes. “I reckon I can get Shona to give up work.”

“
We’re here to talk about Shona’s maternity arrangements? How nice.”

“
Let me finish.” He drank again, deeply, and topped up his glass. At this rate, I thought, he’ll have passed out before he’s finished his big speech. “So,” he said. “There’s a position for a Junior Drilling Engineer going at Maple Energy. I have a good chance. More than a good chance.”

“
Maple are in Aberdeen.” A flutter of concern
–
mild concern
–
passed through me. I’d pictured us somewhere a little more exotic, at least while the baby was little. “You’ll visit us at Christmas, is that it?”

“
Please, Georgie. Hear me out.” He reached for my hand, which I, naturally, withdrew. “You and I will end up in Aberdeen whatever. We can’t stay in Glasgow, there isn’t enough work here and you know that as well as I do.”

“
I’ve managed to pick up a contract. It’s you who’s working in a bar, darling.”

“
I know. But that won’t last. You know it won’t. My idea is that we all move up. I mean, you, me, and the baby, Shona and the baby too.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, waiting for him to point and say
gotcha
! but his expression remained the same ... perfectly serious. “You’re insane.”

“
Listen. Now here’s the plan. I tell her I’m going to work offshore. Except I don’t. I spend the two weeks she thinks I’m on the rig with you. She knows nothing. You get a job
–
possibly with me. We work together. I spend two weeks living with you, maybe even working with you, two weeks with her. You spend more time with me than she does because we’ll see each other at work. I’ll put her out of the way, in the country or somewhere, where she can’t bump into us.” He threw out his hands. “Everyone’s happy.”

I took a sip of wine and levelled my gaze at him. He was still earnest, his eyebrows twin arches of misguided optimism. It had a certain amusement value, I suppose, watching him set out his ridiculous argument
–
like watching an expensive lawyer defend a rich but guilty client.

“
You’re out of your mind,” I said.

“
No, I’m not. I’m very much in it. Think about it
–
but think about it carefully
–
with an open mind.” His eyes shone, his hands making clouds in the air. “You’re like me, Georgie. Unconventional. You can see the bigger picture. One, you don’t like being tied down. It bores you, you know it does, I know it does. This way, it would always be fresh between us. We’ll never end up like that couple who have nothing to say to each other
–
stale, bored to death, finishing each other’s sentences. That’s your biggest fear, George. This way you don’t have to settle.” Rather alarmingly, he had begun jabbing his finger into the table for emphasis. “Husband and two point four kids.” Jab. “DIY at weekends.” Jab. “Sunday roast.” Jab. “Two weeks in the sun every summer, getting fat and bored, bored, bored.” Jab jab jab. “Come on!” He sat back in his chair and pointed at me. “That’s death for you. Or am I wrong?” He leant forward
–
good God, the man couldn’t keep still. “Think about it, Georgie. This way, you’d have the freedom you need. But! You’d have security. You’d have me plus that little element of risk you
–
well, we both, love so much.”

I stared at him, again waiting, waiting for him to laugh. He didn’t. I felt for the napkin on my lap, screwed it up and threw it on the table. “You’re being ridiculous. Even if I agreed, which I obviously won’t, we’d never be able to keep it from her.”

“
Yes we will.” He held up his forefinger. Next he’d be repositioning the crockery by way of demonstration, making me the condiment holster, Shona the water pitcher, himself the wine. Please.

But I let him talk since he clearly wanted to so very badly and, as I said, it was entertaining.

“
I’ve figured it all out,” he went on. “Check this. I’ll give her a brand new iPhone. As a moving present. I’ll put Spyware on it. She’ll be a walking GPS system. I’ll be able to follow her every move. Her old iPhone’s buggered but she won’t buy a new one for herself
–
she’s not like that.”

“
What a perfect saint,” I said. “You’re making me cry.”

“
That way,” he continued, ignoring me, “I can locate her wherever she is.” His eyes widened. “It’s totally doable, Georgie. You and me. Freethinkers, risk-takers, visionaries
–
like all the great pioneers. We could have the life we actually want instead of the life we’re conditioned to think we want. You want freedom but you want me. I don’t want to lose either of my children.”

“
Or your women,” I added. “How big of you.”

He grinned. “Very bigamy, I say.”

“
Oh dear God.”

He shrugged, laughed at his own joke. “You’d be in the superior position. You would know everything. It’s not like I’d be cheating on you, is it? Honestly, this is what makes you so amazing. You’re the only woman I know with the vision to see that this is a brilliant idea.” He was back to jabbing the table.

I savoured my last mouthful of steak. I love meat. Love its fibrous, bloody taste. I drained my wine glass and got up.

“
Michael,” I said. “Call me when you have a real plan. And by real, I mean one which doesn’t come from a Hollywood film and which, more importantly, doesn’t include her.”

I walked out. He didn’t shout after me, didn’t chase me. In fact, I have no idea how he reacted. If I had to guess, I’d say now he probably poured himself the rest of the wine, maybe ordered the tiramisu.

I went home outraged.
Georgia doesn’t want me to herself. Georgia is only interested in a part-time lover.
This was what he believed. For Christ’s sake, I had only given him that impression so he would worry enough to give me more. More, not less! I had played it cool
–
a tactic that had never failed me before. Why are people such imbeciles? Why can they not do what we want, when we want, exactly as we want? He had believed my façade but, instead of worrying himself back into my arms like a wounded little fledgling desperate to be let back into the nest, he had flown off in a whole other direction.

That night I didn’t sleep. Michael’s plan was preposterous. I will admit I found the idea of having him around only half the time immediately appealing, so long as he spent more time with me than with her and so long as I could guarantee his regular return. The last few months had been exciting, the sex passionate, the arrivals and departures emotional, dramatic. There had been not one instance of dirty socks left on the bathroom floor. He was offering to leave me free to do what the hell I wanted while having all the advantages of a relationship. He would have his Shona, if I wanted a second lover to fill the gap, so to speak, he could hardly object. What? Oh, don’t judge. Don’t be so parochial. And don’t tell me you haven’t wanted the same, haven’t stared at the ceiling and wondered how much longer you can cope with the tedium of it all. A change, here and there, a little chilli in the dressing, we all want it, but most of us are too cowardly to take it. I was young, attractive, financially independent. Why should I have less than him? It was his plan, after all, not mine. All I was doing was securing a future for our child. I was simply not ready to enter a convent quite yet.

But even if I did accept, I thought then, we could never keep it up. Shona would see us together eventually. One heard about such secret arrangements but they took place with families in different cities, with men who travelled for a living. One heard about teenage children meeting up at university, discovering somehow that they’re actually half siblings. But Aberdeen was one city, and a relatively small one. The oil industry was a village. She would hear about us, at least about him, within months. No, it couldn’t last.

I rubbed my swollen belly and sighed to no one. Too late for a termination. What was I going to do?

I got out of bed, made hot milk with honey to try and abate the acid reflux brought on by the steak and the red wine. Pregnancy was playing havoc with my usual resilience. At the window, with the shutters open, I stood and sipped my milk. Below, the street shone black with rain. No cars, no one about. How quiet it was here, in the small hours of the night. From the dresser, I picked up the stork ornament he had given me, twirled its thin stem leg. Its plump body twisted this way and that. This kind of loneliness I liked: peace, sleeping when I wanted, drinking when I wanted, staring out at slick abandoned streets when I wanted. I could do whatever I pleased. Loneliness you can end isn’t loneliness, not really. If I called Michael, if I called him right now, he would come. Loneliness like this was control.