Chapter 5
TORI
The Wards’ house is stunning, set in the countryside across the water from Edinburgh.
The tarmacked driveway could belong to a castle, and the curved steps up to the entrance are at least as imposing as the high-ceilinged rooms. It’s a listed building, but the kitchen and bathrooms are bang up-to-date.
You can practically smell their money. No wonder, because this property is basically a form of advertising for them.
Val’s wearing a dark suit that fits his broad shoulders to perfection.
He greets me with a kiss on the cheek after shaking hands with my parents and nodding to Will.
It’s not until Mum, Dad and my brother have followed Veronica Ward into the drawing room and the housekeeper has hung up our coats, that he kisses me on the lips in the hallway.
‘Val,’ I murmur, pushing him gently away. I wouldn’t exactly call my parents prudish, but kissing in front of them feels out of place. ‘Not here.’
He eyes me with an arrogant smile. ‘Don’t want them to know about us? That’s kind of sexy – I like it.’
‘It’s not that,’ I say, in a low voice, as we follow the others through the high double doors.
My parents, Will and the Wards are standing in front of a large painting on one of the walls. It’s a Jean-René Matignon, which Mum bought at auction at Art Basel last year. She sold it on to Veronica Ward before it even got as far as her gallery.
‘You were right. It’s like it was made for this room,’ says Mum, declining graciously, as the waitress offers her an aperitif.
‘Oh, go on, Charlotte, don’t leave me drinking on my own. You too, George.’ Veronica beckons the caterer to come back and reaches for two champagne glasses. Mum hesitates and my heart sinks a storey lower as she takes one. Dad doesn’t comment, but his eyes rest heavily on her.
It’s a work dinner, she could hardly refuse. It doesn’t mean a thing. Relax.
Val hands Will and me a glass of orange juice each, then takes the last one from the tray.
It’s almost silly, considering the way he was swigging gin from the bottle and snorting cocaine at the New Year Ball.
Maybe he’s remembering that too, because there’s a hint of challenge twinkling in his eye as he raises his glass to me.
‘Nice to see you all,’ says Veronica Ward. ‘It’s been too long. William, Victoria, I hardly recognized the two of you.’
I smile politely and include Will in my thanks for the invitation.
Val stands beside me as our parents resume their conversation.
There’s no way they can see him put his hand on my back, but it still gives me goosebumps.
His fingertips stroke the black lace on my fitted dress, which I’m wearing with opaque tights and patent leather loafers.
‘You’re looking seriously hot,’ he whispers in my ear, before turning away and clinking glasses with Will.
It’s no secret that my brother can’t stand Valentine. But he answers his questions – how’s Kit? How’s tennis training going? When the caterers usher us through into the dining room, Will rolls his eyes demonstratively at me.
Fortunately, Val doesn’t notice. He’s sitting opposite me at the long table and next to his mother, who involves me in a conversation about school and my book blog.
She’s trying to sound interested, but the look in her eyes when I mention Instagram and TikTok tells me what she really thinks of my hobby.
Not a lot. Reviewing books and making entertaining videos is a waste of my time.
Mum and Dad don’t mind me being active on social media, but she plainly thinks it’s kind of beneath me.
I’d bet my signed Hope MacKenzie that Veronica Ward has no clue about her son’s Insta account.
Val had the sense not to set it up under his real name.
If his mother knew about Val’s fondness for topless mirror selfies after training or in the school gym (#shredded #noexcuses), she’d try to get it shut down on the spot.
His thousands of followers seem to like them, though, judging by their comments – sometimes seriously weird – beneath Val’s photos.
My social battery is almost drained by the time our starter plates are cleared away.
Val’s talking to my dad about the rugby season as the main course is served. I glance at Mum’s wine glass and Will looks at me. Our eyes meet. He’s clearly about as tense as I feel.
She doesn’t stop at one glass. By dessert, Mum’s on her third top-up.
She’s sitting up straight and talking animatedly to Veronica about Val’s sister Philippa.
Val plays no part in the conversation. He stares at his plate while his parents discuss Pippa’s university career and the various firsts she got last term.
‘You must be very proud of her,’ says Dad. ‘And of Valentine. Captaining the rugby team is a great honour.’
Veronica nods. ‘Philippa is so ambitious. She never would settle for second best.’
‘She gets that from you,’ Val’s father remarks.
‘Thank you, Augustus.’ She dabs her mouth with her napkin. ‘Philippa is focusing on European law. It’s a challenging course, but her hard work will pay off.’
‘What a shame she couldn’t be here this evening,’ says Mum.
‘I know, but it is term time after all. I’m always glad if my work takes me anywhere near Oxford so that I can have lunch with her.’
‘What are your plans for next year, Valentine?’ Dad glances over to him.
‘Hopefully economics at Cambridge. If I get the results.’
‘Of course you’ll get the results,’ says his mother. Her voice will tolerate no argument. ‘So long as you concentrate as much on your A levels as you do on sport, I don’t see the problem.’
‘There’s not long to go now, is there?’ asks Mum.
‘Only a few months,’ Veronica Ward nods.
Then she pauses. ‘Are you sure you’d like a second helping, darling?
’ She semi-smiles at the waitress, then looks at Val.
For a moment, there’s silence around the table.
The awkwardness creeps straight under my skin as I see Val freeze. He goes pale, then actually blushes.
‘No, of course not.’ He avoids my gaze as I try to make eye contact with him. I should say something, but it’s like my lips won’t move.
‘Val keeps in very good shape during the season, don’t you?’ Veronica says. ‘Even though it’s nearly over, that doesn’t mean you have to let yourself go as much as you have your grades.’ She laughs as if she’s made a hilarious joke.
Val’s ears go a fraction redder still. Then the cool arrogance returns to his face.
He reaches for his water glass and doesn’t take his eyes off the table.
But I can see his fingers shaking. Whether that’s with embarrassment or rage, I can’t tell.
I only know that I don’t think it’s right of his mother to shame him in front of us all like that.
I’ve seen Val turn down seconds often enough in the dining room, or come back late from the fitness centre.
He’s the last person I’d deny an extra helping.
Besides, it’s generally out of order for his mother to comment on other people’s eating habits or figures.
Not that it seems like anyone else here cares about that.
Sometimes I’m afraid that the tolerant bubble consisting of my friends and the people I follow on Insta and TikTok isn’t necessarily a reflection of reality.
Augustus Ward thanks the caterers and they vanish. I look up as Val murmurs his excuses and leaves the room too.
Nobody seems concerned by his disappearance. The conversation revolves around the Wards’ game stocks, and as I have no desire to hear about Val’s dad’s hunting exploits in their woodlands, I excuse myself as well.
Instead of heading for the toilet, I make my way upstairs. It’s years since I’ve been here, but I remember the way to Val’s room. His door is ajar. I’m about to knock when I hear quiet sounds from behind it. Cautiously, I push the door open.
The white shirt tenses over Val’s shoulders as he does furious press-ups on the floor, one per second. A floorboard creaks under my foot and his head flies up. Val stares at me. He looks hunted, then unapproachable as he sees that it’s me.
‘What d’you want?’ he barks, straightening.
I stand in the doorway and he turns to tug his shirtsleeves down.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask cautiously, as he buttons his cuffs.
‘Yes.’ Val won’t look at me.
It’s only as I step closer that he turns to face me. ‘Are you looking for the bathroom? Downstairs, second on the left.’
I’m surprised by how painful his rejection is.
This side of Val gives me stomach aches and sleepless nights because I can only guess at what I’m doing wrong.
Why he can’t open up to me. I’m trying everything, I’m attentive and considerate, but apparently that only gets on his nerves.
Just now, right at this moment, that’s more than obvious.
‘Val,’ I try quietly, ‘is it because of what your mum said?’
The spark of pain in his eyes shows me that I’m right. It’s only fleeting, though. Val laughs. ‘You don’t really believe that?’ He eyes me sharply. ‘I don’t give a fuck what she says, OK?’
I just stare at him, then find my voice again. ‘Yes, sorry. I thought . . .’
‘Don’t make an eejit of yourself,’ Val murmurs, before he walks past me out of the room.
He’s already halfway down the stairs before I realize that he’s actually just abandoned me here.
A sense of impotence and disappointment rises in my chest. And there’s something else: rage at the way Val speaks to me.
I was worried about him. I wanted to be there for him. And what thanks do I get?