Valentina: A Hauntingly Intelligent Psychological Thriller by S. E. Lynes Page A

You’re amazing,” he said, and I remembered he’d said that on our first proper date. I liked that he was worried for me. I’d interviewed enough people by then to know that there were some, many even, whose sense of entitlement flowed in their veins. Hard work and gratitude flowed in mine, I think. So you might think I fell without a fight but I was … being practical. It wasn’t a question of man vs. woman, more of an arrangement to suit the larger thing, the more important thing: the family. You had to be a team in marriage, my mum always said. You’ve got to jump in with both feet or not at all. If you both dig in, where does that get you? I don’t know, thinking about it, maybe I wanted in that moment to be always and at all times the girl he’d chosen, the one he thought was amazing.
     
    A few nights after the Aberdeen announcement, Mikey went out for a few beers with some of his colleagues. I was barely back to my bed from feeding Isla and still awake when he came staggering into the bedroom, fell to his knees and sank his face in the duvet.
    I turned on the bedside light. “Mikey?”
    The clock said 3am. He rolled his head to the side and said, “Does it bother you we’re not married?” His voice was slurred.
    “ What? What are you asking me that for?” I stared at the back of his head, black against the white bedding. “Mikey, you’ve had too much to drink, that’s all. We can get married any old time. Hey. Mikey?” He didn’t move. “Come on, don’t be like that now, all floppy and maudlin. We’re going to make a life together, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” I tried singing to him – Joni Mitchell – all about not needing an official piece of paper to keep us together. But it didn’t work. He groaned.
    I budged across the bed to him and took his head in my hands. “Hey, stupid.” His lovely brown eyes were as sad as a street urchin’s. “You’re my old man, aren’t you?”
    I can’t say it worked.
    “ You’re my kindred spirit, Shone,” he droned, tears filling his eyes. “My soulmate. You get it, you really get it, do you know what I mean? You get me.”
    Typical pished-up conversation, except it was one-sided because all I’d had was one can of stout at teatime and a hot chocolate before bed to help with milk production. Sacred cow, me.
    It had rained while Valentina and I had been indoors. In the front garden, the grass shone, giving off that fresh, cleansed smell you get after a good downpour. We climbed back into the jeep.
    “ So, how did you meet your fella?” I asked once we were on the road.
    “ I met him in a club in London,” she said, drawing finger pictures in the steam on the car window.
    “ London? How come you were there?”
    “ I was travelling and one of my backpack buddies had this friend who was in a band. They were playing in some pub so I went along. Red was lead guitar and yes, I let him pluck my strings.”
    I smiled. “Red?”
    “ Because of his red hair. I guess that’s one thing we have in common.”
    “ Wow,” I said. “I met Mikey in a smelly pub in Glasgow. He was wearing old lady foundation and had a very dodgy beard.”
    “ Oh, don’t be fooled,” she replied, still drawing on the car window. “I thought he was so cool. It was only after he’d knocked me up and put a ring on my finger that I found out his real name was Graham.”
    “ Would you still have married him if you’d known?” I joked.
    “ Never.” Her laugh, when it came, was hollow.
    I didn’t say any more but after a moment she stopped with the window art and went on. “I thought he was so genuine, you know?” Her voice had become louder, too loud for the car, the anger in it palpable. “I thought he was this free spirit, but he’s not free, he’s lazy. Smokes his dope, talks about ... oh, he talks and talks and smokes and smokes and talks about all the things he’s going to do. All of it future tense. He’s a man with plans.” She turned to me