Valentina: A Hauntingly Intelligent Psychological Thriller Read Free Page B

had made on the mirror. Slowly, they vanished, a fading imprint of where I had been.
     
    I got to The Blue Moon at five to two on the Monday. The sunny promise of the morning had given way to cold sky, heavy, graphite clouds. I’d caught the forecast in the car on the way in: rain, they’d said, possible thundery showers.
    And there on the step, baby clinging koala-like to her hip, was Valentina.
    She struck me the way women can strike other women – because she was pretty, I suppose, and dressed in a pink cheesecloth maxi skirt. At her waist, she’d knotted a plain white t-shirt, thrown a green woollen shawl over the top. I remember thinking she was one of those women who get away with throwing on any old thing and, running in luscious waves down her back, she had this magnificent auburn hair. Titian, I think it’s called, not the classic redhead you see more commonly up here.
    “ Hey, I like your haircut,” she said – before either of us had even said hello. She seemed to have an accent: Australian, possibly New Zealand. “It’s cute, what is it, a pixie cut?”
    “ Thanks,” I said, rubbing my head in embarrassment.
    “ Suits you. Very gamine. This is Zac by the way.” She swung the baby closer to me. I noticed, couldn’t help but notice, her wedding band, the glint of diamond in her engagement ring. Incongruous somehow, given her hippy style.
    “ Hello, Zac,” I said, smiling at the baby who said “ahwa” before burying his face in his mother’s arm.
    She rolled her eyes and stuck out her hand. “Ignore him, he talks bollocks. I’m Valentina by the way. We’re here for a trial if anyone ever answers the frickin’ door.”
    I managed to introduce Isla and myself but I was still laughing at her saying bollocks, especially in front of a child.
    “ Don’t laugh,” she said, laughing herself now. “I’m afraid of what his first word’s gonna be. His seat belt doesn’t work and every time I try to fasten the bloody thing I end up dropping the F-bomb right in his face. My ma’s coming to stay in a few months for Christ’s sakes and I know the moment he sees her he’s gonna come out and say it: f-u-c-k.” She sighed, a little theatrically, and fixed me with an emerald green stare. “I need to clean up my act.”
    We laughed. After so long cooped up alone, the release of it felt good.
    As no one had yet come to the door, I reached up and pressed the bell. The first ding dong repeated itself three times and when it finished we looked at one another and smiled, expecting perhaps to continue our conversation. But the melody, such as it was, repeated itself and, while we stood there waiting for the interminable ding dongs to end, unsure of where to look, I examined her red shoes, which were flat and looked hand-stitched. I thought the bells had ended and opened my mouth to speak, but they hit yet another repetition. Our eyes met again and we raised our eyebrows at each other and smirked. At last the chimes stopped, but not before rounding off with two prolonged dongs.
    Valentina was rolling her eyes.
    “ For whom the bell tolls,” she drawled. “Christ, I thought it would never end.”
    “ Doorbell with delusions of grandeur,” I said. “I like your shoes by the way.”
    “ These things?” She stuck out her foot, pointed her toe. “They’re really old actually. But thanks.”
    “ Did you buy them here?”
    “ God, no, you’re joking. Got them in ... back home, actually.”
    “ Back home?”
    “ Australia.” A shark smile, two great white rows of teeth, a jagged canine snagged on her bottom lip. Her skin was pale, but creamy pale not pasty like mine, creamy and uniform, apart from a spray of tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose.
    “ Australia,” I said, “whereabouts?”
    The nursery door opened and I felt a twinge of disappointment that our chat had been interrupted. A spotty lass of no more than sixteen gave us a dreary hello and led us up the dark stairs. Inside, babies