‘Of course you’ll get the results,’ says his mother. Her voice will tolerate no argument. ‘So long as you concentrate as much on your A levels as you do on sport, I don’t see the problem.’
‘There’s not long to go now, is there?’ asks Mum.
‘Only a few months,’ Veronica Ward nods. Then she pauses. ‘Are you sure you’d like a second helping, darling?’ She semi-smiles at the waitress, then looks at Val. For a moment, there’s silence around the table. The awkwardness creeps straight under my skin as I see Val freeze. He goes pale, then actually blushes.
‘No, of course not.’ He avoids my gaze as I try to make eye contact with him. I should say something, but it’s like my lips won’t move.
‘Val keeps in very good shape during the season, don’t you?’ Veronica says. ‘Even though it’s nearly over, that doesn’t mean you have to let yourself go as much as you have your grades.’ She laughs as if she’s made a hilarious joke.
Val’s ears go a fraction redder still. Then the cool arrogance returns to his face. He reaches for his water glass and doesn’t take his eyes off the table. But I can see his fingers shaking. Whether that’s with embarrassment or rage, I can’t tell. I only know that I don’t think it’s right of his mother to shame him in front of us all like that. I’ve seen Val turn down seconds often enough in the dining room, or come back late from the fitness centre. He’s the last person I’d deny an extra helping. Besides, it’s generally out of order for his mother to comment on otherpeople’s eating habits or figures. Not that it seems like anyone else here cares about that.
Sometimes I’m afraid that the tolerant bubble consisting of my friends and the people I follow on Insta and TikTok isn’t necessarily a reflection of reality.
Augustus Ward thanks the caterers and they vanish. I look up as Val murmurs his excuses and leaves the room too.
Nobody seems concerned by his disappearance. The conversation revolves around the Wards’ game stocks, and as I have no desire to hear about Val’s dad’s hunting exploits in their woodlands, I excuse myself as well.
Instead of heading for the toilet, I make my way upstairs. It’s years since I’ve been here, but I remember the way to Val’s room. His door is ajar. I’m about to knock when I hear quiet sounds from behind it. Cautiously, I push the door open.
The white shirt tenses over Val’s shoulders as he does furious press-ups on the floor, one per second. A floorboard creaks under my foot and his head flies up. Val stares at me. He looks hunted, then unapproachable as he sees that it’s me.
‘What d’you want?’ he barks, straightening.
I stand in the doorway and he turns to tug his shirtsleeves down.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask cautiously, as he buttons his cuffs.
‘Yes.’ Val won’t look at me.
It’s only as I step closer that he turns to face me. ‘Are you looking for the bathroom? Downstairs, second on the left.’
I’m surprised by how painful his rejection is. This side of Val gives me stomach aches and sleepless nights because I can only guess at what I’m doing wrong. Why he can’t open up to me. I’m trying everything, I’m attentive and considerate, but apparently that only gets on his nerves. Just now, right at this moment, that’s more than obvious.
‘Val,’ I try quietly, ‘is it because of what your mum said?’
The spark of pain in his eyes shows me that I’m right. It’s only fleeting, though. Val laughs. ‘You don’t really believe that?’ He eyes me sharply. ‘I don’t give a fuck what she says, OK?’
I just stare at him, then find my voice again. ‘Yes, sorry. I thought . . .’
‘Don’t make an eejit of yourself,’ Val murmurs, before he walks past me out of the room. He’s already halfway down the stairs before I realize that he’s actually just abandoned me here. A sense of impotence and disappointment rises in my chest. And there’s something else: rage at the way Val speaks to me. I was worried about him. I wanted to be there for him. And what thanks do I get?
For a few seconds, I stay standing there, thunderstruck, in the doorway to his room. Then I give myself a shake and follow him down. Or, at least, that’s the plan, but Val’s stopped on the stairs. His shoulders rise and fall heavily before he turns back. The pain on his face hits me right in the pit of my stomach. I stir and walk towards him. Val holds out his hand. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to speak to you like that.’
His voice is soft and my knees go weak.
‘It’s in the past,’ I declare hastily.
‘No, Tori, I—’
‘What your mum said wasn’t OK, Val.’
He looks up and there’s something vulnerable in his eyes, which I’ve never seen before. ‘She didn’t mean it like that,’ he says lamely.
‘It doesn’t matter how she meant it. What matters is how it affected you,’ I insist. ‘And maybe you should speak to her about it.’
‘About what?’ he asks, straight back.
His voice sounds sharper. I’ll have to be careful if I don’t want his defences to come down again. ‘The stuff about food?’ I suggest.
