Chapter 5 #2
For a few seconds, I stay standing there, thunderstruck, in the doorway to his room.
Then I give myself a shake and follow him down.
Or, at least, that’s the plan, but Val’s stopped on the stairs.
His shoulders rise and fall heavily before he turns back.
The pain on his face hits me right in the pit of my stomach.
I stir and walk towards him. Val holds out his hand.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to speak to you like that. ’
His voice is soft and my knees go weak.
‘It’s in the past,’ I declare hastily.
‘No, Tori, I—’
‘What your mum said wasn’t OK, Val.’
He looks up and there’s something vulnerable in his eyes, which I’ve never seen before. ‘She didn’t mean it like that,’ he says lamely.
‘It doesn’t matter how she meant it. What matters is how it affected you,’ I insist. ‘And maybe you should speak to her about it.’
‘About what?’ he asks, straight back.
His voice sounds sharper. I’ll have to be careful if I don’t want his defences to come down again. ‘The stuff about food?’ I suggest.
‘What about it?’
‘Val, do you think it’s healthy to spend hours working out every day and only eat protein and vegetables?’
‘If you want to play rugby at this level, then yeah,’ he answers coolly.
‘But do you do that because it’s fun or because it stops you feeling anything?’ I’ve hit a sore spot. I’m sure of that when something flickers in Val’s eyes. He wants to pull his hand away but I’m holding it tight.
‘I do it because I have to be the fucking best, OK?’ he hisses, but there’s something resigned in his voice all the same.
I’d like to say so many things, but I have the feeling that I’ll only hit resistance if I keep on now.
Val’s never let me see him so vulnerable before.
He must feel like he’s got his back against the wall, so I shouldn’t press him any further.
It takes time to admit that something might not actually be the way you pretend, and I’m not the person who should be spelling that out for Val. He knows it himself, I’m sure.
I pull back a little and feel the way the distance allows Val to relax a wee bit.
‘You can tell me anything. You know that, don’t you?’
His jaw muscles clench but in the end he nods. His eyes glide over my face and he takes a step closer to me. ‘I don’t deserve you, Victoria Belhaven-Wynford,’ he says, before kissing me.
I feel the banisters at my back and the butterflies in my tummy.
We pull apart as we hear footsteps downstairs.
It’s Will, going to the toilet; I’m sure that’s only an excuse, though, because he looks straight up to the gallery.
He doesn’t say anything when he sees me and Val, but he doesn’t disappear into the loo until I nod to him that everything’s OK.
Our parents don’t seem to have noticed anything when we sit down with them a while later. Val and I don’t talk much but there’s no need. Our stolen glances and feet touching briefly under the table say more than a thousand words.
When my family is ready to leave and Val comes out into the hall with us, he steps to my side.
Mum pulls on her coat and Dad holds out his arm to her.
Considering how much she drank this evening, she’s looking amazingly sober, and that hurts because it’s not a good sign.
Habituation effect, increased tolerance – shit, those are just fancy names for a phenomenon that tells me she’s drinking regularly again.
‘Hey.’ I turn round again as Val pulls me back once I’ve said goodbye to his parents. He glances over to them, but they’re talking to Mum and Dad as they walk down the steps.
‘Thanks,’ Val says, looking at me. ‘For coming and . . . for earlier.’
‘Anytime, you know that.’ I look away – I don’t know why, but it doesn’t feel right to kiss Val goodbye in front of our families. Either he thinks the same or he can read my feelings on my face because he bends down. His lips brush my cheek.
‘See you at school,’ he murmurs, then repeats the process on the other side. ‘I’ll text you.’
‘Do that.’
‘Safe journey home.’
He raises his arm in farewell as I’m finally sitting in the car. We left on good terms, but I can’t help replaying the moment I stepped into Val’s room.
What d’you want?
Don’t make an eejit of yourself.
He apologized. We had a good conversation. Val’s never shown me such a vulnerable side of himself before and that’s progress, which I should be glad of. I lean my head against the car window, my heart pounding anxiously. It doesn’t settle down all the way home.
SINCLAIR
The scriptwriting club meets on Tuesday and Thursday evenings in the old library and it always used to be fun, but since Lowell walked out, the mood’s been deathly.
Florence and Quentin seem glad he’s gone; Ho-wing and Amara, who usually agreed with him, are just pissed off with Florence for riling him so much that he quit.
‘OK, we’ll vote on it, or we’ll never get anywhere.’ Florence shuts her eyes and massages the bridge of her nose, then throws back her long, curly hair. ‘Who’s in favour of carrying on with our current version?’
Ho-wing and Amara immediately raise their hands. I feel their expectant eyes on me, but I don’t move.
‘Good.’ Florence nods. ‘And who’s in favour of starting again from scratch and giving the play a chance?’ Quentin and she raise their hands. ‘No abstentions,’ she adds, seeing that I haven’t voted yet.
I sigh. OK, it’s going to be a hell of a lot of work, but my gut tells me that this is the only way the play can live up to our ambitions.
Florence’s face brightens as I raise my hand. Ho-wing and Amara huff.
‘Guys, seriously?’ Ho-wing groans. ‘We’re already halfway done. It’s not as bad as all that.’
‘Yeah, but it isn’t good either. And our reputation’s at stake,’ says Quentin. ‘Last year’s play set the bar really high.’
‘So we won’t measure up either way,’ mumbles Amara.
‘What kind of attitude is that?’ Florence leans forward. ‘We’re going to rock this. And Mr Acevedo has agreed that we can push the deadline for the final text back to after the Easter holidays.’
‘After Easter?’ Ho-wing’s eyes open wide. ‘But that’s . . .’
‘A bit over eight weeks, yes.’
‘Have you forgotten that we’ve also got A levels to study for?’
Florence shakes her head. ‘I have not. But there are five of us. We can do this.’
The ensuing silence makes me anxious. Because there’s something else I should say.
I clear my throat and the sound is unbearably loud.
‘Erm, how does it work?’ Immediately I regret having spoken as the others look at me.
I see a hint of panic in Florence’s eyes as I keep on.
‘Is it OK to audition if you’re working on the script too? ’
‘You want to audition?’ God, she sounds despairing. ‘Sinclair, please don’t do this to me . . .’
‘No, it was just a thought.’ A thought that had taken on very real shape in my mind in the last few days.
Not because I’m desperate to get up there on that stage but because it could be a way to spend time with Tori.
Without that bastard Val. Maybe then she’d realize that true friends support you unconditionally in the things you like doing.
Florence sags slightly in her chair. ‘If you want to audition, you’d better say so right now. Then I can find a replacement.’
‘No, I . . . I wouldn’t go for more than a bit part,’ I assure her. ‘But I’d like to have a go. If that’s OK.’
The others look around and shrug.
‘I don’t see why it wouldn’t be OK,’ says Quentin. ‘You’d better ask Mr Acevedo.’
‘Yeah.’ I need to do that anyway to ask him for the lines for the audition. ‘I think I will. But either way, I’ll keep writing with you.’
I can see real despair in Florence’s eyes. ‘Or maybe we should keep our current version and just really focus on the beginning?’
Ho-wing’s face brightens.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘We can do this. Truly. Amara and I don’t have A levels this year so we can take on a load of the work, can’t we?’
To my surprise, Amara nods.
‘It’ll work out,’ I insist.
‘OK, thank you,’ Florence says. She’s looking a bit more confident now.
‘I think it would be better to wait for the cast anyway,’ says Quentin.
‘Maybe we can just sketch out the scenes and let the others improvise the exact words. That’ll make the play more natural, and we can be certain of creating something totally unique.
My sister’s lent me her script from the play three years ago.
I’m afraid Lowell was very inspired by it. Word for word, sometimes.’
Florence gasps. ‘No way?’
‘I can send it to you.’ Quentin shrugs his shoulders.
‘OK, that is totally rubbish,’ Ho-wing admits.
‘It’s Romeo and Juliet,’ says Amara. ‘We’re not exactly reinventing the wheel here.’
‘Of course not, but just doing the same old, same old isn’t the point either.’
‘Right, Quen.’ Florence looks at each of us. ‘OK, so are we agreed that we’re starting again?’
I nod. Quentin nods. Amara and Ho-wing eventually do too.
‘Then let’s get going.’ Florence pulls over her laptop. ‘Verona, here we come.’