Black Valley (3 page)

She got out of the car, went round to the boot, took out the shopping, and locked up. Then she walked up the drive to the front door and pressed the bell; one of the girls would answer it, she
thought, so she wouldn’t have to put the shopping down. There was no reply, so she pressed again. Again, no reply. Irritated, she balanced the shopping bag against the wall, on her knee, and
fiddled with the key to get it into the lock. As she did, she saw the outline of her eldest daughter through the glass of the door, coming up the hall.

‘Sorry, Mum.’ Nella opened the door. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

Nella was looking particularly scruffy that day. She was wearing a loose sweatshirt, a pair of leggings and worn black ballet flats. Her hair was piled up on top of her head in a messy knot, and
yesterday’s mascara clung to the skin around her eyes, as if she’d just got out of bed and hadn’t yet washed her face.

She kissed her mother on the cheek, took the shopping, and went off down to the kitchen. Jess took off her coat in the hall, then followed her. She noticed that the fabric of Nella’s
leggings was very thin, so much so that you could see the outline of her thong beneath them. I hope she hasn’t been walking around the streets like that, she thought. She looks like a tramp.
However, she kept her opinion to herself; Nella was seventeen now, and didn’t take kindly to criticism of her appearance, to say the least.

‘Where’s your sister?’ Jess asked, going over to the kettle, filling it, and putting it on to boil.

‘Upstairs.’ Nella started to unpack the shopping, found a packet of biscuits, and opened them. ‘Doing her homework, I think.’

‘How was your day?’

‘Shit, as usual.’ Nella took out a biscuit and munched it. Jess busied herself with getting cups, teabags and milk from the fridge, and trying to hide her irritation.

‘Tea?’

‘OK.’

Jess made the tea, brought it over, and they sat down at the table together.

‘Got any plans for this evening?’

‘Gareth’s coming over. Then we’re going out to a gig in town.’

Gareth was Nella’s boyfriend. The two of them played in a band together, and seemed to have forged a stable relationship. Jess was fond of him; he was open, kind and affectionate, and he
seemed to adore her daughter, which had thoroughly endeared him to her.

‘Have you handed that essay in yet?’

‘No.’ Nella gave a deep sigh. ‘I need a break from it. I’m very stressed.’

Once more, Jess tried to hide her irritation, reminding herself that although Nella appeared to have been hanging around the house all day doing nothing, half dressed, she might indeed be
stressed in some way.

‘I can’t bear going to college every day.’ Nella sighed again. ‘My heart’s not in it. I just need to concentrate on my songwriting.’

They’d been through this before. After her GCSEs, Nella had wanted to leave school, get a job as a waitress, and work on her music. She’d been persuaded to stay on at sixth-form
college but so far she’d hardly attended, and had been late with most of her assignments.

Jess gave a sigh of frustration. ‘Nella, you’re perfectly capable of getting three decent A levels, as well as writing a few songs. You’re a clever girl. You just need to
organize your time a bit better.’

‘That’s what Dad said.’ Nella took a sip of tea and reached for another biscuit. Jess was relieved to hear that Bob was backing her up, but all the same, at the mention of his
name her resolve weakened, and she took a biscuit too.

It had been three months since Bob had moved out of the family home. Nothing final, of course. They had simply decided that a trial separation was in order. It had been a long, hard struggle for
both of them to make the decision. Over a year ago, Bob had told Jess that he’d had a one-night stand. She’d tried to be magnanimous about it, but she hadn’t found herself able to
forgive him. On top of that, he’d used some information about a client that she’d told him in private to further his own career. That had been the final straw, undermining her
professional as well as her personal life. They’d carried on for a while, both doing their utmost to make amends, for the sake of the girls, but also because in many ways there was still a
great deal of affection there. They had built a good partnership together over two decades, and it still caught Jess by surprise that they were now separated. She hadn’t quite got used to it,
and neither had he.

‘Well, maybe Dad and you and I should get together and talk about all this,’ Jess said, finishing her biscuit. ‘But in the meantime, get that essay in. OK?’

‘OK.’ There was a pause. ‘Do you want me to finish helping you unpack the shopping?’

Since the split, Nella had been much more helpful in the house. Indeed, she’d become quite protective of her mother. Jess was touched, but Nella’s new-found solicitousness also made
her feel guilty at times.

‘No, you get on.’ Jess got up and carried the cups over to the sink. ‘See if you can get your work done by suppertime. You can go out after that. Tell Rose I’ll be up in
a minute.’

Jess tidied the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, cleaning the sink, and wiping the countertop. The girls were supposed to do it, but inevitably their efforts were somewhat erratic. When
she’d finished, she went upstairs and looked in on Rose, who was lying curled up on her bed reading a book.

Unlike Nella, Rose hardly spent any time at all on the computer. She seemed to prefer reading to surfing the net, pen and paper to tapping on a keyboard, and visiting friends to social
networking. She was eleven now, but she seemed younger. She’d grown her hair down to her shoulders, but continued to wear it held back in an Alice band, and her clothes were still neat, tidy
and modest. True, she no longer wore sweaters with cuddly animal designs on the front, or socks with frills on the cuffs, but Jessica sensed that she would have liked to, had it been socially
acceptable among her peers.

‘How was your day?’ Jessica came and sat down on the end of the bed.

Rose didn’t reply.

Jess leaned forward and gently tapped her on the shoulder. Rose lifted her head, a distracted look on her face.

‘How was school today?’ Jess persevered.

‘Fine.’

‘Got much homework?’

‘Just some reading.’

Jess glanced at the cover of the book. It was an old edition of
I Capture the Castle
that she’d had as a child.

‘I’ve got to give a talk about my favourite novel in class tomorrow,’ Rose explained.

‘D’you want to try it out on me, once you’ve done it?’

‘Maybe.’ Rose put her nose back in her book.

Jess took the hint and got up. ‘Supper in an hour or so. OK?’ Rose didn’t reply, so Jess left her to it. Then she went into her room, got undressed and had a shower, hoping
that the warm water would wash away her fatigue. It did, to a certain extent, though while she was soaping herself, she found herself mulling over Elinor’s story again. What had
Elinor’s mother been doing at the house when the break-in happened? Would the theft of a painting like that really warrant murder – or had the thief killed her in a panic at being
discovered? How had she been killed? And why hadn’t the police come up with any leads, after four months? Were they just being incompetent, or could there perhaps be something that the family
was hiding? Elinor hadn’t insured the painting; nobody outside the family would have known it was there, would they?

She turned her face up to the shower head, letting the spray spill over it, before turning off the water. Then she stepped out of the shower, and began to dry herself. When she finished, she
looked at herself in the mirror. She’d lost a bit of weight, especially around the waist and hips, she thought. All that lying awake at night and worrying, probably. She decided not to bother
with underwear, pulling on a pair of loose patterned silk trousers and a baggy cashmere jumper, and went downstairs to cook supper.

It wasn’t easy, these days, finding something that everyone in the family would eat. Rose had become a vegetarian, since she disapproved of killing animals. Nella was on a permanent diet,
when she wasn’t stuffing herself with chocolate biscuits. Jess herself was fairly flexible, although she tried to keep an eye on her weight. In the end, she decided to make roasted vegetables
and couscous, sprinkled with grated cheese and pine nuts for protein. That, she hoped, would keep everyone happy.

She and the girls ate their supper in front of the television, watching an episode of
Downton Abbey
on catch-up. The girls adored it, and she quite enjoyed it too. She’d heard it
was very successful abroad, and she could see why. The characters simply spoke the plot, and the dialogue was so straightforward that even someone with the most basic grasp of English could
understand it. ‘Darling, I’m divorcing you because you can’t have children.’ ‘But that’s not fair.’ ‘I know, I’m so sorry. But it has to
be.’ ‘Well, then, I’ll leave in the morning.’ The terse dialogue meant that the story galloped on at a cracking pace. No waiting around for nuance or conjecture – it
was full steam ahead all the way. Rather the way she felt her own life was going at the moment, to be honest.

That night, Rose crept into her bed. Jess woke, confused for a moment, feeling a warm body lying next to her.

‘What is it, love?’ Rose was sniffling.

Jess put her arm out and touched her daughter’s cheek. It was wet with tears.

‘I miss Dad.’

‘I know.’ Jess drew her close. She wanted to say, Never mind, you can go and see him any time you want, but she knew that wouldn’t help. Rose needed her sadness to be
acknowledged, not brushed away.

‘Do you think . . . do you think you and he . . .’ Rose let her words trail off.

Jess sighed. ‘Well, we’re trying our best. But whatever happens, your dad will always be around. He loves you. You know that, don’t you?’

Rose sniffed.

‘We both love you. You’re safe. OK?’

She sniffed again. ‘Can I sleep in here for the night?’

Jess closed her eyes. She was exhausted. Recently, her nights had been disturbed by Nella’s comings and goings, and now Rose had taken to waking her up, too.

‘All right. Just for tonight.’

Rose turned over, and within minutes, Jess could hear the regular sound of her breathing as she fell asleep. She herself lay awake, wondering how much longer she could shoulder all this on her
own. Maybe it would be easier to ask Bob to come back. It was the girls who mattered most, after all. Perhaps they could live together until both of the children left home, then look at the
situation again. After all, they were still friends. And plenty of couples lived like that, didn’t they, as friends, not lovers . . .

She heard footsteps outside, a low murmur of voices. Nella and Gareth. She checked the clock beside the bed. It was one a.m. She heard them let themselves in, and creep down the corridor to the
kitchen. This was ridiculous. Nella had college tomorrow. She’d said she could go out, but not until the small hours.

She turned over, pulling the duvet up over her ears. Things were getting too lax in the house. Some male authority was needed.

She closed her eyes. An image came into her mind. A woman was groping her way along a dark cave, holding a golden thread. Ariadne, a voice told her. The minotaur. She felt exhaustion overcome
her, and drifted off to sleep.

The following week, Elinor Powell began her course of therapy. Jess had suggested they meet once a week, but Elinor had been keen to come in more often. Jess had warned her
that this might not necessarily speed up the process, but Elinor had been adamant, so in the end they’d settled on twice-weekly sessions, on a Tuesday and a Thursday.

On the Tuesday, Jess saw two patients, then went over the road and got herself a cup of coffee from the deli opposite her consulting room. When she came back, she logged on to the website of the
Journal of Phenomenological Psychotherapy
, looking for the most up-to-date papers on claustrophobia. She ran her eye over the latest explanations. One, rather obviously, that it arises when
a person suffers a traumatic experience in an enclosed space, such as getting stuck in a lift, or being shut in a cupboard as a child. Two, rather intriguingly, that it’s caused by individual
differences in the perception of ‘near space’ – the space around oneself that a person considers to be a safe, no-go zone. Three, rather obscurely, that it’s a vestigial
evolutionary survival mechanism; four, rather familiarly, that it’s connected to trauma during the process of birth; and five, rather alarmingly, that it’s very often triggered by
undergoing an MRI scan.

As she read, she wasn’t looking for solutions – more for clues. Had Elinor perhaps discovered her mother’s body in a small, cluttered room, triggering a connection between the
traumatic experience and the place in which it occurred? Or could the claustrophobia have a more symbolic meaning, indicating that her mother had repeatedly invaded her privacy in some way, been
clingy, suffocating, unable to let her daughter grow up and go out into the big, wild world?

There was a knock at the door.

For a moment, the image of the woman, the cave and the thread that Jess had seen the previous night just before she fell asleep came back into her mind. She’d learned, over the years, not
to dismiss such passing thoughts. They were messages, codes, there to tell us something, as Freud had noted long ago.

Let Elinor feel her way back to safety, away from the minotaur, she told herself, rather than leading her down to it.

When Elinor came in, she looked dejected. She barely acknowledged Jess; simply gave her a quick nod as she took off her mac. She hung the mac on the hat stand near the door, then walked over to
the couch. Jess had opened the window a crack – and turned the heating up slightly in the room – in readiness for her.

Jess went over and sat down in the chair behind the couch.

There was a silence. During it, Jess cleared her head of all her thoughts. Well, no, not cleared them exactly, but tried to watch them float by, without intervening, as the images passed: Rose,
and her tears for her father; Nella, lying in bed with Gareth, missing her lessons; Bob, getting off a train somewhere, his mobile clamped to his ear; the windscreen wipers that needed changing.
They all filed by, one by one, and she let them go. It wasn’t hard to do; it was a pleasure, a joy even, to leave them all to their own devices while she got on with the job in hand, which
was to attend to her client.