The Valentines: Happy Girl Lucky

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BOY

(angry)

HEY! Watch where you’re—

Just rude.

BOY

(embarrassed)

I’m terribly sorry! Can I make amends by taking you for a long, meaningful walk in the moonlight?

Ooh, I like that one.

Obviously, this scenario is ridiculous. I’m going to meet Him at the party, not running as fast as I can from Waterloo Station. But it’s a good idea to prepare my shocked-but-humble-yet-illuminated expression.

Once I meet Him, I might need a brief sit-down and maybe an energy drink.

Plus, it’s such a great setting.

Twinkling lights are reflected in the river, a busker is playing the violin and kissing couples are scattered like rose petals every few metres. My epic romance is on the verge of starting, I can feel it. By tomorrow, half of one of those couples is going to be me.

Tingling, I arrive at the Tate Modern.

It’s impressive – immense and squat with thin windows and a long chimney sticking out of the middle like a nose. And it’s 10pm so the party’s in full swing. The floodlights are blue, the trees in the grounds are blue-lit, there are blue lasers shooting into the air and there’s an ice-blue carpet running up to the front doors. It’s surrounded eight-deep by my future adoring public, patiently screaming and cheering and clapping.

Somewhere inside this very building are Mum, Dad, Mercy, Max, Faith …

And Him.

Huffing and slightly sweaty, I shove with effort through the crowd, shrug off Mercy’s coat and hand it to a bouncer.

‘Will you look after this, please?’

I pull my shoulders back. Posture: excellent.

‘Please don’t crumple it! It’s Prada and not mine. Thank you so much.’

The bouncer’s mouth drops open.

Then I dip under the blue rope, put a hand on my hip and sashay rapidly down the carpet, waving and nodding, pausing once or twice so people can take my photograph. I’m in deep trouble once Mum and Dad catch me here, but I might as well enjoy this moment of glory while I can.

‘WHO EVEN ARE YOU?’ somebody yells.

‘It’s top-secret!’ I call, blowing them a kiss. ‘But check the papers in about four months’ time and my identity will be revealed!’

With a dazzling smile, I slip through the glass entrance.

The windows are dark, and there’s yet another bouncer. This one’s got a clipboard and a list of names – time to Be the Orange again, Hope. Quickly, I inflate my already heaving diaphragm, lift my chin and make sure I truly embody my role of very-much-invited-party-attendee.

Casually, I lean against the door frame with one hand.

‘Oh, hello there,’ I puff as a glamorous couple nod at the bouncer and are immediately waved through. ‘I’m afraid I can’t give you my real name right now –’ another sparkling couple glide past me, followed by an old man I know from action films – ‘but let me assure you –’ a girl a few years older than me pushes past – ‘that I am in no way banned from this party. Relax in the knowledge that you can totally let me—’

A shout of laughter. ‘You flaming little mousebear.’

I freeze.

‘Why are you breathing so hard?’ Max steps out from a dark corner and puts his phone back in his pocket. ‘Did you run after us, Poodle? Ears flapping, tongue trailing in the wind?’

A really gorgeous boy with a Mohican walks past and winks at me. Then he disappears through the door.

I automatically stretch after him – a wink! He’s The One! – and get pulled back by the shoulders. Max is wearing a new black felt hat. His new hat is dumb. The hat is dumb and my brother is dumb and I hate them both.

‘Actually,’ I tell the bouncer desperately, shoving my hand in Max’s face. ‘I’m afraid this is just a maniac fan of mine who wants to ruin my life. I’ve got a restraining order so if you could escort him out of the area and into the river that would be very helpful.’

‘Is this one being a nuisance, Mr Valentine?’

‘Usually,’ Max grins at the bouncer, dragging me by the arm towards the exit. ‘Almost always, actually.’

Another beautiful A-list couple swish past us, disappearing into the Magical Kingdom of Party filled with All the Hot Boys. A pulse of alarm ripples through me.

My Love Destiny is happening in the other direction.

‘Oh, please.’ Bending my knees, I shove my heels into the floor, tense my leg muscles and grip on to a snowflake-covered cloth hanging from the wall. ‘Please,Max, you don’t understand. Tonight is so important. I’m already late! It’s in my stars, Max – it’s my fate. The universe needs me to be here – it told me, Max. VENUS IS MOVING.’

To our left, there’s loud music and chatter.

Glasses are being clinked and flashes of light glint through the edges of the door. Every time the door opens, I see slices of life: beautiful clothes, beautiful food, beautiful people, beautiful conversations. Mum’s in there being beautiful with Dad, Faith and Mercy and Grandma, and photographers, and olives on sticks, and loads of boys I have the potential to fall in love with.

I stretch towards it again.

‘The universe needs you to be here?’ Max frowns at me. ‘Hope, you have got to stop doing whatever those horoscopes tell you. They’re not instructions – they’re random lines made up by a loser sitting in a cupboard somewhere.’

‘You’re made up by a loser in a cupboard somewhere.’

‘That doesn’t even make sense. Do you know how much trouble I’d be in if I let you in, Poodle? I’m already playing a dead person every night as it is.’

To our left is the clinkof champagne glasses.

‘Please, Max.’ My voice is wobbling, which is weird because I’m telling it to be confident and assertive. ‘Please. Life is happening in there, but I’m always out here. I don’t think I can wait any longer. I’m so tired of always, always, always being on my own.’

My brother blinks. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

‘The point is— Max?’ He’s staring blankly at my forehead. ‘Max.’ I pull hard on his tux sleeve. ‘Hello? Listen to me! I am talking to you, Max.’

‘Pipe down, Poodle. I’m thinking.’

Before I know it, there’s a hat on my head.

‘What are you doing?’ I snap in irritation, taking it off again. ‘If you want to look like a fashion-tasteless idiot, that’s up to you, but don’t destroy my Look.’

‘You’ll have to look like an idiot too if you want to go to this party.’

I stare at him. What the hell is that supposed to—? ‘Oh my GOSH, REALLY?If I wear the hat, you’ll take me in? Do you really mean it? Really, truly? Inbu— Inbudi—’

‘Indubitably? Yes.’ Max smiles. ‘You need a night out. Possibly a mindfulness app. Definitely a dictionary.’

With a happy squeak, I spin in a circle.

I love my brother! He’s the best big brother that ever lived and I retract everything I just thought about him.

‘Do me a favour, though,’ Max says, grabbing my shoulders. ‘Keep a low profile and stop with the twirling. Bring anyone you meet to see me first. Anyone. Avoid Granny, Mer and Faith, keep your head down, stay quiet and stick to the edges of the room. You’re a phantom this evening, understand?’

‘Absolutely.’ I nod passionately, holding my hand in the air. ‘Nobody will see me. I’ll be invisible. A ghost. I will make an absolute spectacle of myself. I won’t even say hi to Mum and Dad when I see them, I promise.’

‘It’s spectre,mousebear.’ Max frowns slightly and puts his arm round me. ‘Remember, Po, you make your own destiny, OK?’

I roll my eyes. What does he think I’m trying to do?

‘This one’s with me.’ Max grins at the bouncer, plopping the wide-rimmed hat back on my head. ‘Who doesn’t like a bit of trouble, eh?’

With an unnecessarily grand gesture, my big brother bows and flings the doors of the party open with an attention-seeking bang.

‘It’s time to party.’

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And the hunt is on.

‘Hi there!’ I beam at the cute skinny boy offering me a welcome drink, pushing Max’s hat back so it frames my face properly. ‘So tell me, what’s your star s—’

‘At least get through the door first,’ Max laughs, handing me a shimmering glass of blue crushed ice and pushing me firmly into the room. ‘For crying out loud, sis. Try to be cool.’

My brother is so wise. I don’t want to accidentally pick a terrible soulmate just because he’s holding a tray of – I take a sip – admittedly delicious beverages.

Grinning, I gaze around to get my bearings.

The lower floor of the Tate Modern is vast, with ceilings a hundred metres high hung with enormous white icicles. Real-looking snow crystals sparkle on the floor, there are overstuffed white leather sofas to lounge on and blue lasers criss-cross the air above us. At this end is a circular bar – lit blue and covered in frost-covered glasses – and at the other a DJ is bopping up and down with one hand on his outsized headphones.

Around us, IMAX-sized photographs of mountain peaks have been projected on to the walls, and Mum’sflickering in tiny filmed fragments between them: a graceful arm, a swish of blonde hair, a flash of grey eyes.

I glance quickly across the crowd, but there doesn’t appear to be any sign of my parents yet, though it’s pretty late.

Told you they’d be cool; they are total professionalists.

‘Max!’ A man swings in front of us and a camera starts flashing. ‘Max Valentine! Can I ask you a few questions? Max, over here!’

‘Go,’ my brother whispers to me, pulling the brim of my hat down low and pushing me away. ‘Run like the wind in what actually used to be the Turbine Hall, little Poodle. You’re freeeeeee.’

Buzzing all over, I clutch my frosty drink and deliberately head into the deepest, most crowded and therefore most interesting part of the party. Beautiful people I recognise but have never met are twinkling, laughing, drinking, chatting: radiant and lit vaguely blue.

There are so many hot boys I’m light-headed.

‘Some ridiculously basic theming going on here,’ a woman says loudly in a South African accent, lifting a heel up and staring at it in disgust. ‘Tacky as you like. This fake snow is ruining my shoes.’

Her friend laughs. ‘You wanted subtle from Juliet Valentine?’

‘True. Guess that’s what happens when you’re too old to be a romantic lead. You have to produce schmaltzy mountain movies yourself. I haven’t seen it yet but I bet Pinnacle is a flop.’

I swallow hard. My mum is the ultimate romantic lead and Pinnacle is going to be the ultimate romance film. But Valentines Always Act With Class so, as a future icon, I’m going to rise above it.

Be the Orange, Hope.

‘Hey there,’ I say as a really good-looking waiter with big brown eyes and brown hair in little tufty peaks offers me a goat’s cheese vollyvont. ‘So … what’s your star sign?’

He stares at me. ‘… Aries.’

‘Ah,’ I nod knowingly. ‘The Ram. I should have guessed from the hair and the snacks.’

Honestly, it’s not a great love combination – Arians can be aggressive, competitive and prone to smashing things with their heads – but I’m sure we can work through his flaws together. ‘And … do you come here often?’