“Absolutely not. I forbid it!” Valery raged.
It was Tuesday evening, and Oliver had put in a full day at work, dealing with one crisis after another. Coming to see his ex-wife to ask that she allow their daughter to stay at his for the summer was the last thing he wanted to deal with.
When he’d mentioned the possibility of Jools coming to stay, Felicity had been apprehensive. “I don’t think she likes me, Oliver,” his girlfriend said. “It’s all very awkward. However,” she’d taken a deep breath and mustered a smile “she’s your daughter. We’ll manage. Somehow.”
“Thank you, darling,” he’d said, and cupped her beautiful, doubtful face between his hands. “You’re amazing. And sweet. And incredibly sexy.”
They hadn’t even made it all the way upstairs; they ended up making love on the landing. It was passionate and spontaneous and they’d both ended up with rug burns. Oliver smiled slightly at the memory. No more of that once Jools came to stay with them.
But despite his own doubts – because he knew that Valery would never allow it – he’d promised his daughter he’d try.
Oliver got up now and closed the doors to the study, glancing up the stairs as he did. Jools had wisely elected to wait for the verdict in her room upstairs. He envied her that.
“Val,” he said, his words calm but firm as he turned back to face her, “Jools is miserable living here. She says all the two of you do is row and shout and slam doors.”
“Yes, because she defies me at every turn, Oliver. She had a curfew; she broke it, and she broke it with the very boy I told her I didn’t want her to see. She’s grounded for the rest of the summer. I don’t know what else to do with her,” Valery added as she got up to make herself a drink, “short of throwing her in a convent or sending her off to a military academy.”
“She’d do well at Sandhurst. I’ve no doubt Jools would put those officers through their paces.”
His attempt at a joke fell dismally flat. “She has the school term still to finish, Oliver,” Valery pointed out, ice cubes clinking as she made herself a stiff gin and tonic. “Had you forgotten that?”
“It’s only a few more weeks. I can drop her off in the mornings, and—” he stopped.
“And your girlfriend can pick her up in the afternoon?” she finished, her brow raised. “Oh, that’s right – she’s a teacher, isn’t she? And not much older than Jools, from what I hear. Perhaps they can swap each others’ clothes and go to Topshop together.” She returned to the sofa and sat down.
He chose to ignore the comment. He wouldn’t be drawn into another useless argument about Felicity. “I’ll arrange something,” he said tightly. “You needn’t worry.”
“But that’s just the point, Oliver, I do worry. One of us has to. Since you’re far too busy working, not to mention shagging a girl who’s young enough to be your daughter, it’s left to me to be the responsible one—”
“Goddamn it, Valery!” he shouted, and crashed his fist down on the coffee table.
She stared at him in shock, her G&T raised halfway to her lips.
“I’ve never asked you for a bloody thing, not once, since the divorce,” he went on, “have I? No, I fucking well haven’t! I gave you this house, I agreed to pay a generous sum for child support, I’ve respected your visitation demands – I even let you keep the Mercedes. Not to mention I work a gruelling schedule in order to make it all possible. How dare you call me irresponsible.”
She said nothing.
“I’m tired of rolling over and giving in, Valery.” His eyes raked over her with contempt. “Perhaps I should speak with the judge, tell her how much Jools hates living here with you and how badly she wants to leave. Perhaps I should petition the court for full custody.”
Her fingers tightened around the glass in her hand. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said. “And the judge would never grant it.”
“Fight me on this, and we’ll find out.”
Valery drained the rest of her drink. Her hand was unsteady as she lowered the glass.
Oliver thrust a hand through his hair. “Look. All I’m asking for is to let my daughter – our daughter – stay with me for a couple of months. It’s what she wants, Valery. She called and begged me to get her out of here, away from you. She said –” he looked up and fixed accusing eyes on her “– she says if you don’t, she’ll run away.”
There was no sound but the ticking of the clock on the mantle and the clink of ice in Valery’s glass as she set her drink down on the coffee table.
“All right,” she said finally, “if that’s what she wants, she can go. I’d no idea Julia was so miserable. Of course I want what’s best for her.” Her voice hardened. “But I won’t have your girlfriend there.”
“Felicity only comes over at the weekend.” Oliver stood up. “At any rate, Valery, I needn’t remind you that we’re divorced. You have your celebrity chef, Marcus Russo; he’s often here at the weekend. I’ve never said a word about that, have I?”
She hesitated. “No. No, you haven’t.”
“Jools is practically a grown woman – I think she can handle my relationship with Felicity, just like she handles yours with Marcus. If not, she can come back here.”
And with that, he went across to throw open the study doors, and made his way up the stairs to tell his daughter to pack her things.
It was late when Valery finally laid her reading glasses aside and got up from the sofa. With Oliver and Jools gone, she’d wandered from the study to the kitchen and back again, bereft, then gone upstairs to stand in her daughter’s doorway.
As she’d looked at the taped-up posters and discarded trainers on the floor, at the jumble of cosmetics Jools had left behind on her dressing table, Valery saw the once-familiar surroundings as if they were someone else’s.
Her own life had become unrecognizable.
She stared into the mirror in the bathroom. Who was this poisonous, bitter woman staring back at her?
‘She called and begged me to get her out of here, away from you.’
Valery sighed and turned away. Work. Work was her refuge, her salvation, the one thing she could count on. She went back downstairs and began making corrections to the magazine’s mock- up and flagged them with red Post-Its.
Now, she yawned and put the book aside. Pity Marcus was working; she could’ve done with his company tonight. He always made her laugh. She missed him.
But he was off on a jaunt to Ibiza, doing location filming and research for a new cookery book he was writing.
On impulse she picked up her phone and rang him. “Marcus.”
“Valery? This is a surprise,” he murmured, and yawned.
“What time is it?”
“Half-past midnight. I’m not the least bit sleepy. I miss you.” She felt her throat close.
“I miss you too. What’s wrong?”
She hesitated. “Nothing,” she said, not wishing to go into it over the phone. “Just feeling a bit down.”
“You’re probably just tired. You never stop working,” he scolded.
“You’re a fine one to talk.”
He laughed. “Fair enough. I can’t win that argument with you, can I? Listen, I’ll be back in a couple of days. We’ll spend some time together this weekend.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Now, get some sleep, and put that damned mock-up away. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
It was her turn to laugh. “All right. Goodnight, Marcus.” She rang off, smiling once again, and made her way upstairs to bed.