Black Valley (8 page)

‘Well, text me if you stay at Gareth’s, won’t you.’

‘Course.’ Nella came over and planted a wet kiss on her mother’s cheek. ‘I may stay over at his place for the weekend, though.’

Jess couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Nella could be moody, but more often these days she was a cheerful, affectionate presence around the house. When she wasn’t there, Jess
missed her, and she sensed that Rose missed her too, although she’d never have admitted to such a thing.

Nella went off to get ready. Just as she left the room, the phone rang. Jess picked it up.

‘Hiya. How’s things?’

It was her friend Mari.

‘OK. Kind of.’ Jess hesitated before continuing. Mari had been a pillar of strength during the split with Bob, but now that the drama was over, she tried not to offload on her every
time they spoke. Besides, there was nothing particularly wrong at the moment.

‘You don’t sound very sure. What is it? Bob again?’

It was no good trying to hide her worries, Jess realized. Better to tell all, and then move on.

‘Well, I had lunch with him in the week. He says he’s seeing this woman’ – Jess tried not to sound censorious as she said the word – ‘and he wants her to meet
the kids.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Tegan Davies. She’s a newsreader.’

‘Tegan? Never!’ Mari had a weakness for gossip, but rarely of the malicious kind.

‘So you know her, do you?’

‘Not well. But I see her around quite a lot.’ Unlike Jess, Mari was immensely sociable, and knew everyone in Cardiff’s media and arts world.

‘Well, I wouldn’t worry about that,
cariad
,’ Mari went on. ‘I doubt it’ll last.’

‘Why d’you say that?’

‘She’s a nice girl, Tegan.’ Jess remembered that Bob had said the same thing about her. It had struck her as odd at the time, faint praise from a man supposedly in love.
‘But from what I hear, she’s high maintenance. She’ll start stamping her foot, and wanting it all her own way, and then Bob’ll be off. You’ll see.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ Jess hesitated, knowing that she shouldn’t pry. Then her curiosity got the better of her.

‘How old would you say she is?’

‘Late thirties, probably. But it’s hard to tell. She’s had a bit of work done – they all do.’ Mari paused. ‘Anyway, she hasn’t got kids. So the old
biological clock will be ticking pretty loud by now. And that’ll scare Bob off, too.’

Mari had a cheerfully pragmatic view of life. An actress who was always in work, mostly in Welsh-language TV, she was thoroughly enjoying life as a single woman now that she was divorced and her
children had grown up. She and Jess were like chalk and cheese – Mari flamboyant and impulsive, Jess reserved and reflective – but they were close, sharing a strong bond of affection
and concern for each other.

The mere thought of Bob going on to have a new family with Tegan upset Jess, so she quickly changed the subject.

‘How are things with you, then?’

‘Pretty good. I’ve got a fabulous part in a new theatre production,
Sexual Perversity in Chicago
. I’m playing a bitter, twisted, man-hating bitch.’ Mari spoke the
words with relish. ‘I’ll tell you about it when I see you, but I’m in a bit of a rush now.’ She paused. ‘I was just ringing to ask if you want to go to a party with me
at the museum tomorrow evening? It’s a private view for this trendy new artist, Hefin Morris.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘He’s a total mystery, apparently. Like Bansky. A bit of a firebrand. Doesn’t want to be part of the whole art circus.’ Mari warmed to her story. ‘The rumour is,
he’s an ex-miner living somewhere up in the valleys, but no one knows where. He paints these massive canvasses showing the insides of abandoned mines. The terrible destruction wreaked by
capitalism kind of thing.’

‘Sounds a bit grim.’

‘I know. But they’re really pushing the boat out for this exhibition, I’m told. It’s going to be a big event. Champagne, canapés, the works.
Le tout
Cardiff
will be there. And it’ll be full of incredibly pretentious people from this London art gallery where his work’s being sold.’

‘That’s hardly a plus, is it?’

‘Course it is. Listen to this.’ She heard Mari scrabble for a piece of paper, and then she began to read. ‘“Hefin Morris explores the potential of peripherality, in a
series of works that create tentative dialogues within an abstract, non-summative space, circumventing representation to question the notion of painting as a fully realized practice and reimagining
it as a continuous reconfiguration, enigmatically subverting the concept of political and artistic agency by distorting and mutating the idea of authorship and originality.”’ She
paused. ‘Come on, Jess, what’s not to like?’

Jess laughed.

‘But we might have to listen to hours of speeches like that.’

‘No way. If it gets boring, we’ll just skip off for a drink in town.’

Jess thought about it. Rose had arranged to go over to her friend’s for a sleepover on Saturday night. She herself had made no plans, other than catching up on some reading.

‘Why not?’ she said, making up her mind. ‘Though I might not stay for long.’

‘Whatever you like.’ Mari paused. ‘Six thirty at the museum, then. I’ll be in the lobby.’

‘Fine. What should I wear, d’you think?’

‘Something glam. Or arty. Whatever it is, don’t look too matchy-matchy. Unless it’s tops and bottoms in the same fabric.’ She paused again. ‘But then again, maybe
not. It might look as if you’re wearing pyjamas.’

‘Right.’ Jess was slightly nonplussed. Mari’s rules about fashion violations never made any sense to her. ‘Well, I’ll do my best.’

‘Till tomorrow, then,
cariad
. Ta-ra.’

Jess clicked the phone off, wondering whether she should have accepted Mari’s invitation. She’d rather cherished the idea of an evening alone on the sofa with a book. Still, she
thought, it was time she got out and about again, as a single woman. It would be a strange feeling, being on her own again in that kind of situation, without Bob at her side; but nothing ventured,
nothing gained.

She got up off the sofa and went to find Rose.

She was in her bedroom, the door open to the landing. When Jess went in, she saw she’d laid out her clothes on the bed.

‘Packing for your sleepover?’ Jess came over and stood beside her.

‘No.’ Rose seemed preoccupied. ‘More for the future.’

‘The future?’

‘When I go and stay with Dad.’ She paused. ‘And Tegan.’

Bob had picked Rose up from school earlier that day, taken her out to tea, and told her about Tegan. Jess had been surprised at how quickly he’d done it, but she could hardly complain,
having given her permission for the visit to go ahead.

‘I just want to make sure I’ve got everything I need.’ Rose picked up a pink washbag covered in dancing hippos, and frowned at it.

‘I’ll buy you a new one.’

‘Thanks. Now, which do you think, Mum?’ She held up a pink cotton nightie. Then she gestured towards her favourite pyjamas, which featured a Moomin design on the front.

‘I suppose the pyjamas would be warmer.’

‘But the nightie’s more . . .’

‘Mmm.’ Jess paused, realizing for the first time that Rose was thinking about what would impress Bob’s new girlfriend. When she’d come home, she’d told Jess that
Tegan was her favourite TV newsreader, and that she was excited to meet her.

‘Well, wear whichever you feel more comfortable in.’ Jess realized this was beside the point, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

‘And for the boat trip, I thought . . .’ Rose reached over and picked up a woollen varsity jacket with the letter ‘R’ appliquéd on one side. ‘With my denim
shorts and black tights. And my Converse. Do you think?’

Jess nodded. ‘Lovely, darling.’ She paused. ‘I’ll plait your hair before you go, if you like.’

In the last few days, Rose had taken to wearing her hair in a French plait, which involved a complicated operation of plaiting plaits into other plaits, and necessitated Jess’s help.

‘No thanks. I think I’ll wear it loose. But you could blow-dry it if you want.’

Jess pictured Tegan’s shiny tresses, and realized that Rose was trying to emulate her look.

‘Fine.’ Jess changed the subject. ‘Now, what shall we have for supper? Shall we cook something together? And then watch an episode of
Sabrina
, maybe?’

Sabrina the Teenage Witch
was Rose’s favourite old TV show. Bob had given her a boxed set for Christmas, and they still had quite a few episodes to get through.

‘Maybe.’ Rose went over to her wardrobe and began looking through it. ‘I just want to sort this out first. It might take a while.’

She took out a pair of fur-lined boots with pompoms at the sides, and looked at them, furrowing her brow, evidently deep in thought.

Watching her, Jess felt a pang of sadness. Rose was growing up, she realized. She’d always liked to look neat, tidy and feminine, but up until now, she hadn’t been particularly
self-conscious about what she wore. Perhaps this had needed to happen, Jess reflected. Rose was rather young for her age, after all. But the change had been so sudden, and there was something a
little sad about the fact that it had been prompted by news of her father’s glamorous new girlfriend.

Jess went over and stood by the door. ‘I’ll do the supper, then. We’ll eat in about half an hour. See you downstairs.’

When Jessica got to the museum on Saturday evening, she checked in her coat and bag, and then went to look for Mari. There was a crowd of people in the foyer. Drinks were being
served from a temporary table set up near the entrance, so she went over and got herself a glass. She was expecting the usual acrid party fizz, but when she tasted it, she found it was subtle and
delicious. She looked down at her glass, and saw an intricate trail of tiny bubbles rising from the bottom. Proper champagne. She took another sip, scanning the hall for her friend.

Mari was over by the staircase, standing in front of a statue of Perseus brandishing Medusa’s snake-haired head, and talking to a good-looking man in an impeccably cut suit. She was
wearing a figure-hugging burgundy dress that outlined her substantial curves, with a large rhinestone brooch clasped to her bosom. She looked extremely glamorous, and even though Jess
couldn’t see his face, it was clear that the man she was talking to thought so too. She was laughing a lot, throwing her head back, and he was leaning in close as she did.

She gave Mari a wave, and Mari waved back. She’d go over and talk to her later, she decided, give her some room for manoeuvre. In the meantime, she’d see if there was anyone else
there she knew.

As she moved through the crowd, all twittering excitedly like sparrows in a tree, she began to feel slightly insecure. She’d spent a long time deciding what to wear for the party, and had
finally settled on a little black dress and heels. She’d put up her hair in a simple French roll, added some clip-on earrings and a slick of bright red lipstick, and left it at that.
She’d felt elegant yet understated when she left the house, but now, seeing the glitz and sparkle of the other women, she wondered whether her outfit was too plain.

She wished, for a moment, that she hadn’t come. She was never at her best at parties. Couldn’t do the banter, the small talk. And now she was starting to realize that since the split
with Bob, she’d lost the taste for such social situations. Normally she would have enjoyed the buzz around her; but tonight, the sheer volume of chatter simply hurt her ears, and set her
teeth on edge.

She looked around, hoping to find a friendly face. There was a knot of people standing over by the statue of the little drummer boy that graced the hallway. She peered at them, and as she looked
closer, saw that Elinor was among them. She looked almost unrecognizable: elegantly turned out, and supremely confident in her bearing. She’d had her hair cut in a geometric bob, and was
dressed in a quiet grey suit like a man’s, with a cream silk shirt underneath, buttoned up to the neck. With her luminous blonde locks, high cheekbones and slanting blue eyes, her sober,
serious look was more striking than the most bejewelled woman there.

Next to her was a good-looking, broad-shouldered man with shiny dark hair, gelled into a playful, faintly ridiculous quiff at the front. He was suited and booted, but casually so, with a pink
open-necked shirt and no tie. He looked familiar, though Jess couldn’t place him. She gazed at him, wondering where she’d seen him before. Then, with a shock, she realized who he was:
the man who’d been walking up the path to Elinor’s house the day she’d visited the cathedral. The man she’d seen at the window, drawing the curtains at dusk.

There was a tap on her shoulder, and she turned round.

Standing in front of her was another Elinor. The Elinor she knew. Diffident, otherworldly. Dressed in her ancient, faded clothes, her hair slightly dishevelled, a puzzled look on her face.

‘Elinor. Hello. Oh.’

Elinor gave her a shy smile.

‘Sorry, I’m a bit confused here.’ Jess gestured at the woman in the circle of people by the statue. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Isobel, of course. My sister.’

‘You look so incredibly alike. D’you know, for a moment, I thought—’

‘Well, of course we do.’ There was a note of irritation in Elinor’s voice. ‘We’re twins. I told you that, didn’t I?’

‘No.’

‘I’m sure I did.’

Jess decided to let the matter pass. It was highly significant, of course, in terms of the therapy, that Elinor hadn’t mentioned the existence of her twin, but this wasn’t the place
to discuss the matter.

‘I’ll introduce you later. Isobel would like to meet you. And Blake.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Remember, I told you about him?’

She gave Jess a meaningful look.

‘Oh, right.’ Jess was flustered. She glanced over at Blake, who was talking and smiling animatedly. He was definitely the man she’d seen visiting Elinor the day she’d
stopped off at the cathedral. She’d watched him draw the curtains at the window upstairs, and had wondered if the two of them were having an affair.