Valentine (4 page)

'What? I'll be able to shoot ping pong balls from my
vagina? I don't think Vince has thought about that yet,
but give him time,' Valentine retorted, adding, 'Sorry
Frank.'

'No offence. Saw a great show like that in Bangkok
when I was on tour with the boys. Never forgotten it.
Never to this day.' Frank became unusually animated.
'She shot the balls right across the room, with such velocity,
nearly took my eye out with one. And that would have
taken some explaining to the missus, God rest her soul,
wouldn't it? Sorry love, some bird blinded me in one eye
with a ball she fired straight out of her—'

'Right, I think I get the picture,' Valentine intervened.

'I wish I had!' Frank replied. 'But my flash didn't work.'

Cue much giggling. Valentine picked up the now-empty
cocktail shaker. 'I need more alcohol to numb my senses.
Any requests? I'm going over the road.'

Fortunately (or unfortunately for their livers) the off-licence
was opposite their house. It stood defiant, painted a
poisonous shade of green in the middle of a row of
designer shops. On the right was a chi-chi shop selling
unnecessary accessories to pampered pooches, and on the
left a horrifyingly expensive clothes shop which was so
extortionate it only ever had one garment displayed in
the window, but you never knew how much it cost because
it carried no price tag. The off-licence owner had been
the victim of several armed robberies and had recently
turned his shop into a fortress where the wine and the
staff were behind bulletproof glass and you had to point
out what you wanted. Every time Valentine walked in she
felt like some kind of addict getting her fix. Still, it was
cheap, and the two students who worked there in the
evenings were such sweethearts. They were behind the
glass now, listening to XFM – Robbie, a tall, blonde surfer
type who was studying philosophy and Tom, a dark-haired,
chocolate-eyed Johnny Depp lookalike, who was
studying English.

As soon as they realised it was Valentine the two boys
went into one of their favourite routines of pretending
to be in a Texan jail on death row with Valentine as their
firm but fair female governor. They had a number of
scenarios they liked enacting with Valentine, mainly
inspired by films set in prisons – it really was very boring
working in the store. They'd spent the previous week
working on their homage to
Silence of the Lambs
, with the
boys playing Hannibal to Valentine's Agent Starling,
holding up bottles of Chianti and exclaiming how well it
had washed down the brains they'd just eaten. Valentine
really wasn't in the mood right now, but felt she couldn't
really stop them. They put their hands up in supplication
against the glass and assumed hangdog expressions.
'We've been real good, ma'am. Promise you'll put in a
good word for us at the parole board,' Tom said.

'And ma'am,' Robbie added, 'may I say how awful
pretty you look today.'

'You may not,' Valentine replied, doing her best Susan
Sarandon accent. 'You should only be looking at the
Bible.'

'But ma'am,' Robbie put in, 'respectfully we haven't
seen a female body in a real long time. Couldn't we just
look at you a while longer in case our appeal is rejected
and we get sent to the chair?' Robbie managed to put a
quiver in his voice and Valentine made a big deal of
putting her hand to her head, to show that she wasn't
unsympathetic, but she was also firm, so she said, 'Just
tell me if you still have the three for two offer on?'

'Oh yes ma'am, for you ma'am, definitely.'

'Very well then – I'll have a bottle of Pinot Grigio and
two bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon and step on it. I have
to go to church with my husband for evensong.'

'Yes ma'am!' the boys exclaimed in unison, then raced
round the shop collecting the bottles. As she paid they all
dropped out of character as Tom asked hopefully, 'How's
Lauren?'

'Do yourself a favour and forget about her,' Valentine
replied.

'I can't,' Tom said with feeling. Valentine smiled ruefully.
Lauren had a rule that she never went out with younger
men or arts students, so Tom failed on both counts. He had
even promised to switch from English and go to medical
school, a sacrifice indeed as apparently he couldn't stand
the sight of blood. But there wasn't much he could do about
his age. It was a case of complete unrequited love.

'And Valentine?' Robbie called out, just as she was
leaving the shop, 'You really do look pretty tonight.' In
turn Robbie carried a bit of a torch for Valentine.

'Thanks Robbie,' Valentine replied as neutrally as
possible – she liked him, but not in that way, and she
couldn't afford to upset him because of where he worked.
God forbid she might have to walk further to get her
liquor.

Upstairs Lauren had dealt out the cards ready for a game
of Hearts. The four of them regularly played and were
fiercely competitive. Lauren and Valentine had first got
into cards when they'd toured round Holland with a
student production of
A Winter's Tale
, staying in a number
of different Center Parcs. Even now, five years on, the
adverts for the British Center Parcs still had the power
to give both the girls nightmares. It was off season and
they were practically the only guests staying at the camps.
It felt a little bit like being on the set of
The Shining
–
well, there was no snow, no Jack Nicholson, no child saying
'redrum' every five minutes – but apart from that it was
exactly the same with the ominous feeling that they were
the only people for miles around and that any moment
one of their number might go stir crazy and get a bit
wayward with a bread knife . . . Cards was just about the
only thing that kept them sane as they had no money –
that and learning to drink very, very cheap wine. It had
been a joy to discover that Lily and Frank shared their
passion for cards.

They played a couple of rounds, Frank for once losing.

'You might have lost at Hearts,' Valentine told him,
'but at least you'll never have to wear nipple tassels!'

'Who says I don't, young lady?' Frank teased her.

Lily rolled her eyes. 'Honestly Frank, you'll give her
nightmares.'

'I'll let you know in the morning; I'm going to bed
now,' Valentine announced.

'To sleep, perchance to dream of sexy Jack,' Lauren
said wickedly, adding, 'The tassels are in the top drawer.
I've probably got some ping pong balls as well.'

'Pervert,' Valentine answered back, but waved sweetly
to Lily and Frank.

It was only when she was in bed at midnight that she
finally got the text she'd longed for.
Happy Birthday V. Can
you come over? x
. She didn't hesitate for a second.

'I was beginning to think you weren't going to turn up.'

It was after one, Finn was leaning against the doorframe
of his Richmond flat looking sexily dishevelled, his
white shirt unbuttoned showing his toned, tanned chest.
Valentine's heart flipped over in love and other relevant
parts tingled with lust. The rational Valentine thought
that not turning up was much more Finn's style. But then
Valentine the addict lightly kissed Finn on the lips and
murmured, 'I'm here now.'

'God, I want you,' he said, pulling her to him and
kissing her. A hard, passionate, hungry kiss. Clearly talking
wasn't on Finn's agenda. Valentine never knew how to
play these clandestine meetings. Sometimes (say four out
of ten) Finn wanted to drink wine, talk and then get down
to it; the other times it had been straight down to it. Now
he was undoing the buttons on her dress, the one Lauren
had just given her for her birthday, and when he got frustrated
he ripped them open, causing several to fly off and
the delicate silk fabric to tear.

'You've got such fantastic big tits V,' he said throatily.
This was possibly the only time Valentine liked hearing big
linked with her name. She didn't think her tits were that
big – a thirty-two D to be precise – but Finn's girlfriend
was waif-thin and flat as a pancake in that department.
Finn caressed her fantastic big tits, then ducked down and
sucked her nipples, igniting a white-hot fire in her Agent
Provocateur silk briefs. For a few minutes she enjoyed the
feeling of being so turned on, but she knew Finn too well.
She knew what was expected.

She slid down to her knees and, unbuttoning his fly,
released his stiff cock, or his 'fantastic big cock' as she
told him. A good average, in reality. Though saying that
would not go down well – definitely not as well as her. If
she was really honest she thought blow jobs were overrated,
but try telling a man that. She supposed it was a
turn-on feeling so powerful, knowing how much the recipient
was being aroused. But on the other hand there was
always so much to think about – watching the teeth,
making sure you didn't gag if they became too enthusiastic,
trying to avoid lockjaw if it was going on too long,
then the whole to swallow or not to swallow . . . She liked
it best if it was quick. But right now she wanted to make
love, wanted to feel the connection with Finn, wanted
him inside her. Sneaking out of the flat so Lauren didn't
know what she was up to, crossing London, giving him
a blowie and then going on her way (which had happened
twice out of the ten times) did not make her feel sexy
and empowered, but slightly sordid, as if Finn had
dialled for a delivery BJ in much the same way as a pizza.
He was enjoying this one a little too much. If she wasn't
careful it would go all the way. But suddenly he put his
hand on her shoulder and said, 'Come into the bedroom.
I've got something for you.'

He had spread red rose petals all over the bed, and
there was a bottle of champagne on the bedside cabinet.
'Happy Birthday V,' he said, leading her on to the bed.
Valentine winced at the sight of the red petals. The
rational Valentine wondered if he had remembered it was
also the anniversary of their break-up. But the addict
Valentine took over again, helping Finn pull off her dress
and stripping off his clothes. She lay wantonly back on
the bed, drank champagne with him, then writhed with
pleasure as he trickled it over her body and kissed and
licked it off, and by the time he reached her Agent
Provocateurs she really didn't care. And then he was inside
her and they were fucking. Everything else melted away
as waves of pleasure rippled through her and the thought
went through her mind that for now at least he belonged
to her. And oh, this was going to be so good, this was so
good, she was nearly there and it was going to be so good
coming together. But, hang on!
That was quicker than usual
,
she thought as Finn groaned and oh babied and oh Goded
to his climax. Maybe he had something else in mind for
her? But after the briefest of kisses he disengaged and
flopped down on the bed next to her.

'That was fucking amazing, V,' he murmured, peeling
off the condom and throwing it on the floor. Then to
Valentine's deep disappointment and frustration he fell
asleep. It had been four weeks; she had expected more.
She lay next to him for a while, enjoying the feeling of
his body next to hers. He was so gorgeous, his skin golden-brown
all over and without a blemish; his face was so
handsome, resembling Jude Law in
The Talented Mr Ripley
.
Some people, Lauren for instance, thought his looks were
too pretty-boy, but Valentine thought he was just perfect.
She couldn't resist him. Knew she should, but couldn't.

When they'd broken up she managed six weeks without
speaking to him, resisting all his texts, calls and emails.
She had been trying to build up the core of steel as
directed by Lauren, but maybe not hard enough, because
one night when he'd called begging her to see him and
she was missing him particularly badly she'd given in.
And after that time it became even harder to resist him.
And so began the exquisite torture of being the other
woman again, seeing him once or twice a month and
always on his terms. Finn kept promising that he would
leave Eva when the time was right, but the time never
was. He couldn't leave her while she was in such and such
a play as she'd be devastated; her dad was ill or something
else. Thinking about it did not make Valentine feel
good about herself and she knew if one of her girlfriends
was behaving in such a way she would really think that
they had lost the plot. The trouble was she loved Finn
like she had never loved another man. Their affair had
been so intense and passionate. She sighed. Thinking of
the past always made her feel blue. She wished Finn would
wake up, hold her, tell her that he loved her, but he was
out for the count. She traced a finger along his shoulder
hoping he would wake up, but he batted her hand away
in his sleep and turned over. She, on the other hand,
wasn't at all sleepy; she felt totally wired.

She sat up in bed, looking round the room for evidence
of his life with Eva. Finn was always claiming things were
rocky between them and that Eva had moved out, but
she was never sure how much to believe. On her last trip
to the flat Valentine had discovered a set of her exquisite
black lace La Perla lingerie. The size six on the label
was like a slap in the face. She was double the size of the
woman! The subsequent downward spiral had been
particularly bad. Now she crept off the bed. Ugh! She
stifled a 'fuck' as her foot squelched on the condom.
She threw it in the bin and headed for the chest of drawers
where she could see Finn's phone beckoning her over. She
just had to see if there were any new pictures of Eva or
the SGF [skinny girlfriend] as she thought of her. She
knew she shouldn't – it was borderline stalkerish behaviour
and plain wrong, but she couldn't stop herself. She gave
a quick backward glance at Finn to check he was still
asleep and picked up the phone.

A whole new set of pictures of Eva greeted her. She
resembled a twenty-something Elle Macpherson, with her
long limbs, waist-length honey-blonde hair, cheekbones
and pouty sexy mouth as she reclined on the bed, giving
Finn a come-hither look wearing the aforementioned
skimpy underwear. Valentine was only slightly comforted
by the next photo where the SGF was topless. Flat as a
pancake. But Valentine's feeling of superiority lasted less
than a few seconds as she reflected that these pictures did
not show a couple on the brink of a break-up. Jealousy
coursed through her and without thinking clearly she
deleted the photographs. Regret swiftly followed. She was
an idiot. If only she'd left them then every time Finn
looked at the pictures he would be reminded of what the
SGF hadn't got and remember Valentine's 'fantastic big
tits'. It just showed that stalking did not pay.

Suddenly her own phone beeped. She quickly put
Finn's phone down, looking behind her guiltily to make
sure he hadn't woken up, but he was snoring quietly now.
She rifled in her bag for her mobile, praying the text
wasn't from Lauren asking her where the hell she was.
To her surprise the message was from Jack:
Would it be
wrong of me to tell you that I keep thinking of that kiss? Look
forward to seeing you at rehearsal J x.
That was unexpected.
She was flattered that Jack had texted her again. He was
very attractive and it was unusual in her experience for
a man to be so open about his feelings. And he had been
a good kisser. A very good kisser. But he was not for her.
Valentine got back into bed next to Finn and curled her
body round his. He hated being touched when he was
asleep and always protested that he got too hot. Sure
enough Finn immediately moved to the opposite side of
the bed, eluding her even in sleep. Valentine tried not to
mind too much. She was here, lying next to him on her
birthday; that was all that mattered.

She was woken the following morning by Finn sliding his
hand over her breast and his insistent early-morning erection
pressing into her back, 'I must clean my teeth!' she
exclaimed, making a dash to the bathroom. 'Don't be
long!' Finn ordered, pulling off the duvet to show off the
good average standing to attention. Valentine hastily
washed her face and cleaned her teeth. This time Finn
was a more considerate lover, and took his time pleasing
Valentine. And then he'd rounded off his performance
by telling her he loved her. And that was exactly why, she
reflected on the Tube journey home, her body still
throbbing from their antics, she couldn't get him out of
her head.

But by the time she got home, the ecstasy had been
replaced by the agony. She crept into her bedroom without
waking Lauren, swapped her dress for her PJs, then headed
for the kitchen and reached for the peanut butter. She
was never going to be a size six, so what was the point
of even trying?

Lauren caught her as she shovelled toast into her
mouth. 'I'd go easy on that if I were you, V, given the
nipple-tassel situation,' she teased. Lauren never ate breakfast,
only drank black coffee and smoked a cigarette. Who
did she think she was, a bloody French existentialist?

Valentine shrugged; she was well on her way to the
familiar pit of misery that followed a meeting with Finn
and nothing could stop her now. 'Where are you off to
anyway?' she asked through a mouthful of toast, seeing
that Lauren had her coat on.

'I've got some modelling job; it's bound to be shit,' Lauren
replied bitterly. She loathed modelling but it was good money
and given her stunning looks she found it fairly easy to get
work when she wasn't acting. She generally took her revenge
by seducing the best-looking male model on the set. Lauren
had the most amazing sexual confidence. She really did
believe she could have any man she wanted, and her beauty
helped her have her way. She was also a serial seducer, who
couldn't see the point of relationships and turned her nose
up whenever Valentine, a hopeless romantic, told her that
she simply hadn't met the right man yet.

'Stop porking out!' Lauren ordered, walking out of the
kitchen.

'Don't shag anyone I wouldn't,' Valentine called after
her, trying to cheer herself up. So long as Lauren didn't
bring back another model like her recent Russian conquest,
whom both girls had called Dostoevsky behind his back.
Trust Lauren to have the latest must-have lover. Dostoevsky
was gorgeous, all high cheekbones, brooding dark eyes,
raven-black hair, sculpted abs, and couldn't speak a word
of English. That, of course, had been exactly how Lauren
liked it. But Valentine had not enjoyed his presence in their
flat one little bit. As he was Russian he was used to the
biting cold and favoured wandering around stark naked,
save for a large Cossack hat. She wouldn't have minded if
he'd possessed anything to be proud of but the Russian
had more of a party sausage than a saveloy.

Valentine took another savage bite of toast. At least
she hadn't fried it Elvis Presley-style with banana and
white bread. Then again, maybe she should. What difference
would it really make to her career if she got fat?
The phone hadn't exactly been ringing off the hook with
auditions now she was slim and she couldn't see her part
in the Shakespeare leading to greater things, whatever
spin Sylvia put on it. That was the thing about seeing
Finn; it always made her doubt every area of her life,
made her feel such a failure. But maybe if she porked up
she might actually get some work. She'd have to get
really
fat, possibly morbidly obese, then she could corner the
market in fat women roles – though she was struggling
right now to actually think of any. There was the mother
in the Johnny Depp film
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
who
tragically dies. There was poor Shelley Winters in
The
Poseidon Adventure
, who wasn't even that fat and what was
her fate? She saved one of the other passengers, only to
die of a heart attack. The message in the movies rang
out loud and clear: fat people copped it.

And what about Finn? He was hardly going to want
her in that state, even if her fantastic big tits would probably
get even bigger. OK, this would have to be the deal:
after she became a wildly successful super-sized star she
would slim down dramatically and then have surgery to
get rid of all the flabby skin – maybe even become a size
six – and Finn would realise that he couldn't live without
her; he'd leave Eva and they'd all live happily ever after . . .
What complete bollocks!

She threw her toast into the bin and crawled back into
bed, alternately daydreaming that she and Finn were
together and then tormenting herself with imagining what
he was up to with the SGF. Late afternoon she finally
emerged and reached for her laptop. No post-Finn misery
fest was complete without stalking him on Facebook. He was
too lazy to up load pictures on his site, except for his
official Stage photograph in black and white, but the SGF
wasn't. Eva just loved to show off her fabulous life and
had made her profile accessible to everyone, so when
Valentine logged on to her site there was all she needed
to know for extra torture ammunition. Finn on a mini-break
with the SGF in Florence, looking loved up; Finn
on a stag weekend in Prague with his mates looking the
worse for wear but still gorgeous; Finn staying with friends
in the country.