Valentina: A Hauntingly Intelligent Psychological Thriller (9 page)

Mikey swigged at his wine and came over to hand me mine. Apology wrote itself into the lines on his brow. “So. Saturday’s the day after tomorrow.”

“
Aye, I know.” I kissed Isla’s head.

“
You won’t be able to call me once I’m on the rig.”

“
You’ve told me that.”

He looked around the room before settling his gaze on me. “You could go and stay at your mum and dad’s.”

“
Ach, I’m not going to run to my mammy’s every time you go offshore. Sooner I get used to it the better.” I turned away, concentrated hard on making up the formula with the boiled water I’d kept from the kettle. I’d started substituting the five o’clock feed to try to get her to sleep better. I simply had to get more sleep. I was becoming tearful, incoherent sometimes. Like now.

He laid his hand on my neck, his soft, thick, warm fingers dipping beneath the rim of my t-shirt.

“
I’ve got you a present.”

As I turned to him he took a step back. He was holding a box-shaped parcel and smiling sheepishly.

“
I thought you were a long time in that stable,” I said.

“
Ah yes. By stable I meant shops.”

“
You drove into town? You’re kidding? My God, I didn’t even hear the car.” I handed the baby and the bottle to him and he swapped them for the present.

“
Go on, open it.” He went to sit with Isla in the crook of his arm and tipped the bottle to her mouth.

“
You don’t have to do that, you know. I don’t need presents. What is it, choccies?” I tore off the paper. Not chocolate. Not chocolate at all. An iPhone.

“
Mikey!” I gasped. “You
–
you can’t. These cost a fortune and we’ve only just moved.”

He grinned. “I know you miss your old one. I’ve set it all up for you. The camera’s really good. I’ve taken a photo of my knob so you can look at it while I’m away.”

I laughed and hit him on the arm, threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. I’d dropped my old phone down the loo in Glasgow when I was changing Isla one time. I’d been making do with my old Nokia brick ever since. “Thank you.”

“
I’ve put my number in there, under Mikey Offshore.” He pushed me away a little, took the phone, went into contacts and pulled up his number. “See? I can’t take my mobile out there but that’s the number for the rig. For emergencies only. But I’ll call you. Every day.” He looked into my eyes. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“
You sound so Scouse when you say ‘all right’. You sound like Ringo Starr.”

“
Shona?”

I waved my new phone at him. “Bring me some oil back, will you?”

We got back to the nursery twenty minutes late. I’m never late so I was panicking. But Valentina seemed to take it all in her stride.
I don’t give a flying fuck
, is exactly how she put it.

Once we got inside, the lass gave me a detailed rundown on the last two and a half hours. But I was distracted by Valentina talking to the manager.

“
I won’t book him in right this second,” she was saying. “But I’ll give you a call once I’ve spoken with my husband ...”

“
We dinna give them vegetables,” the lass had moved on to nutritional policy, which sounded less than promising. “Kiddies dinna like vegetables, ken?”

I opened my mouth and closed it again. No vegetables? Childcare costs more than money, I thought. No childcare at all and you pay with your mental health. Fabulous choice.

We made our way out and onto the Great Western Road.

“
So you’re taking Zac back there?” I asked Valentina.

“
Nah,” she said. “Truth be told, Zac already goes to Little Beans up in Rosemount.”

I stood up, shifted Isla up and onto my hip. “So how come you brought him for a trial?”

“
Free childcare,” she replied then looked away as if her attention had been caught by something. “I’m kidding. I guess I wanted to check out the competition.”

I offered her a lift home but she refused, said she would walk as she lived round the corner. I sensed she had grown cool with me. I’d been a stick in the mud about the speeding, I thought, she was bored with me already. But as we made to say our goodbyes, she seemed to change her mind.

“
Listen, why don’t we swap numbers? I teach on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays but I’m free the other days.” She inputted my number and sent me a text
–
no words, only a lobster emoticon with dancing eyes, a thumbs up and a glass of wine. “Maybe we can get together on Friday? Do you rollerblade?”

“
Rollerblade?”

“
Sure, you know, like skating? The promenade has heaps of space and the slopes are really fun.”

There was no trace of teasing in her face and I didn’t want to be a drip for the second time.

“
I know what rollerblading is,” I said. “I haven’t done it for ages, that’s all. I’m not sure my rollerblades still fit or if I’ve even still got them. Do we push the pushchairs as we roll?”

“
Oh, I chuck Zac in the sling. I figure if I fall, I can always put my arms out. Protect his head.” She crossed her fingers and pulled a silly face. “Hopefully.”

“
Right.”

Zac started to whine. Maybe he understood more than he was letting on.

“
Probably a bit crazy for you though, eh?” she said. “Mrs. Sensible.”

I was right
–
she did think I was boring. “Are you being serious?”

She held my gaze for another few seconds before leaning back, pointing at me and laughing. “Gotcha.”

“
Oh, very funny.” I laughed and shook my head. Couldn’t believe I’d fallen for it
–
and so easily.

That night I couldn’t wait to talk to Mikey.

“
I’ve made a friend,” I told him before he’d had chance to speak.

“
That was quick.”

“
I know!” My God, I was full of it. “She’s really cool and fun and she’s funny, Mikey. She actually made me laugh. And I made her laugh too. She came to the cottage!”

“
That’s great. Good for you.”

“
She’s got a little boy the exact same age as Isla so they’ll be able to play together.”

“
What did you say her name was?”

“
Valentina. She’s Australian. She’s a bit of a hippy
–
long skirts, long hair and all that, you know? She said something about crystals at one point. I thought I was going to laugh but she’s nice with it. Husband works in a vintage record store and she’s a yoga teacher. I might do one of her classes.”

“
Sounds perfect,” he said. “Can’t wait to meet her.”

My mobile buzzed. A text from Valentina. I smiled to myself. That morning I’d had no one. Now, I had my partner on the line and my friend sending me messages. Form a queue, people!

Hi Shona. Great meeting you today.

Will be in touch about Friday.

Don’t forget your rollerblades! xxx

“
Shona?” said Mikey.

“
Oh sorry, babe. That was a text. From her. We’re getting together again on Friday.”

“
I knew you’d find your feet.” He sounded delighted for me and I felt a rush of love. That’s what love was
–
nothing fancy
–
just two people rooting like hell for one another. “You’re amazing. I was only saying to Bob, he’s the Texan guy ...”

But I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy texting Valentina back:

Great to meet you too.

See you then. x

I tried to keep it low key. Didn’t want to put a load of kisses or exclamation marks or she’d pick up how excited I was to make one friend. Then she’d think I didn’t have any. I wanted to tell her I had lots of pals, but that they were in Glasgow. I wanted to tell her I was a safe bet. But friendship is pretty much like dating at first: no matter how compatible you know you are
–
it’s a dance.

SEVEN

The next day, almost happy to be on my own, I made my way up to the beach for a stroll. With Isla snug in the sling, I crossed the car park and headed into the funfair complex. Through the leaden rollings of the bowling alley I wandered, through the thick smell of sweaty shoe leather, the bloops and bleeps of the amusement arcade, through sugary pockets of candyfloss air, outside to the seafront, the tang of chip vinegar, the chill salt breeze. The wind blew the hair from my face like freshness itself, a spring-clean for the soul.

“
Come on, Isla” I said, all gung-ho, putting on an Ozzie twang. “Let’s seize this day by the bollocks.”

Who wanted to be friends with those women at the swimming baths anyway? I thought. See her in the park? Her loss. I’d found a friend now. I’d found Valentina. The cold wind ran like liquid down the back of my collar, the sky was still the palest grey. The North Sea pushed itself into smoked, glassy peaks, smashed them against the shore. Out, past the violent waves and the flat ocean beyond, I fancied I saw the outline of an oil platform, the silk ribbon of a gas flame rippling in the sullen sky.

“
Shout hello to Daddy,” I said, pushing my finger into the soft claw of Isla’s tiny hand. “Shout ‘haste ye back.’”

She said nothing. Babies are lovely, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes, when you could do with a bit of audience participation, they’re a load of rubbish.

I walked along the beach, clambered over the groynes. It felt good to climb up and over the ravaged barriers, to feel the pull of hamstring and tendon, the spread of my ribcage, the stretch of my arms.

Isla slept, rocked to a peace she had not known at night for months by the warmth of my changed mother’s breasts. I wondered if my body would recover, if the track marks on my belly would ever fade. I wondered, once I’d finished, what wreckage would be left of me. In bed, Mikey told me I was as gorgeous as ever, kissed all that damage with an unhesitating mouth. I wondered if he was lying.

At the end of the beach I climbed up the last set of stone steps and found myself at a collection of tiny houses. There was an official looking sign so I went over to investigate. Footdee, the place was called, also known as Fittie. Almost on the beach itself, the settlement’s only defence was a simple harbour wall. I remembered this place from a news story
–
it had been covered in foam from the sea a few summers back. The spume had settled on and amongst the houses like a thick, dirty snowdrift
–
comical as too much washing powder in a cartoon, freakish as a plague.

I skimmed the history on the sign: the houses dated back to the fourteenth century, built originally for the fishing community. The humblest of dwellings but, as with many humble things, time had ennobled them. In 1968, the whole place had been declared an Area for Conservation, thank you very much.

I stepped through an archway to walk along the path that linked all the houses together. In their shelter, I realised how strong the wind had been, how much I’d had to battle against it. The houses were narrow, some lower even than our own cottage. The pathway ran around the square and
cut diagonals through the centre. In a few of the gardens, junk sculptures struck poses and little gingham curtains hung in some of the windows. A curious community, permanent and makeshift all at once and unlike any I’d seen before.

“
Come on then, little one, time to go.” I held on once again to Isla’s wee gloved hand. As I turned to go back, I noticed an old woman sitting on one of the benches. A silk scarf was tied around her head, knotted under the chin in the old-fashioned way. Her red anorak was zipped up to her neck and her glasses were tinted. I suspected the lenses were the kind that darkened in the sun.

“
Bonnie loon you have there,” she said as I drew near, barely opening her mouth for the words to come out. Even I, a Scot, had a job to understand her.
Bonnie loon
, I translated for myself: nice-looking boy. She nodded, once, at Isla, who was wrapped up such that only her eyes glinted out like wet stones.

“
She’s a girl, actually.” I sat down at the far end of the bench. “Her name’s Isla.”

“
Isla.” She gave that singular nod again, her lips pursed with what looked like disapproval. “You settlin’?” she asked, after a moment.

Settling.
She was asking had I come here to live.

I told her I’d come for a walk, that I wasn’t living or planning to live in Fittie. “I have just moved up here though,” I said. “From Glasgow. We’re away towards Banchory.”

“
Affa pretty out that way, is it?” She turned her body a fraction towards me and I understood that she hadn’t finished with me yet. I didn’t mind. I was glad of someone to talk to.

“
I was having a stroll about,” I offered. “Bit of an explore, like. Get to know the area.”

“
I’m the last of the McClouds, ken?” she replied, as if that were the logical thing to say next. “My grandfather had number seven but I stay in number three. My daughter’s moved into the town now. English couple bought hers.” Her lips clamped again, as if she were suddenly embittered by this Sassenach invasion, before she went on. “She has a baby, like. Dinna know fit he does.”

…
Don’t know what he does
, I translated. It was my turn to nod
–
gravely. The thought flashed through my mind that I should call on her, this new mother who like me was not from around here. I could introduce myself. And maybe I would have, if I hadn’t met Valentina.