Nicola Barker - The Yips

‘How’s it look?’ Ransom demands.

‘Uh … Good. It’s like a perfect, little ring of grass. It looks great. Considering she’d only just started, it looks surprisingly finished — complete, almost.’

He reaches down to look inside Valentine’s holdall for some kind of cream or lubricant. He finds something he deems appropriate, opens the jar and dabs some on.

‘You should probably have a couple of glasses of water, order a sandwich from room-service then go to bed. Lie on your front. Try and keep the wound as clean as you possibly can … in fact …’

He is about to close the holdall and notices some large, plastic bandages.

‘I could put on one of these bandages if you like, just until the thing stops bleeding.’

‘It’s still bleeding?’ Ransom looks terrified.

‘Just slightly. Only because I cleaned it …’

Gene pulls out a bandage and inspects it, trying to work out how it should be applied. This simple task suddenly seems way beyond his reach. Ransom, meanwhile, collapses sideways, on to the bed and immediately starts to drift off. After thirty seconds he emits a gentle snore. Gene grimaces, abandons the bandage and clambers to his feet.

‘Get Esther to order me a big, meat pasty.’ Ransom’s eyes flicker open as the mattress shifts. ‘This was my night! My friggin’ night!’ He waggles a censorious finger. ‘Lazy, useless, good-for-nothin’ friggin’ … friggin’ slut !’

Sheila climbs into the back of the car. A woman — entirely veiled, who refuses all eye contact — softly introduces herself as Aamilah. She sits between the two of them — a young girl sleeping on her lap — representing a slight but indomitable human buffer. Valentine is dressed in a voluminous black robe. Her head is wrapped in a colourful shawl. She is gripping on to a grey towel.

‘Are you all right?’ Sheila asks in hushed tones, eager not to disturb the child, leaning over, trying to touch her hand. ‘I thought you were over at the golf club tonight?’

‘There’s so much …’ Valentine makes a tiny, frantic gesture, pulling her hand away. ‘I can’t.’

She covers her face and breaks down into sobs.

‘ Hush! Hush! ’ the woman cautions her. ‘Calm yourself! Remember your dignity! You’ll wake Badriya!’

‘Sorry!’

Valentine shakes her head.

‘She’s very confused,’ the other woman interprets. ‘It’s been an extremely stressful and upsetting night for her — but an important night, huh?’

She nudges Valentine’s arm. Valentine nods. ‘Yes. Yes,’ biting her lip.

‘And now there’s something she needs to get off her chest,’ the woman continues.

‘What is it?’ Sheila leans further forward. ‘Valentine?’

‘ Please! ’ The woman lifts a warning hand, making it clear that her space has been encroached upon. Sheila draws back again, riled.

‘I’ve given up tattooing,’ Valentine whispers, then, ‘Don’t say anything! It’s the only thing to do. It’s necessary. It’s …’

She looks to the veiled woman.

‘ Haram ,’ the woman fills in, gently rocking the child.

‘I don’t …’ Sheila frowns. ‘Look, we can’t talk properly like this. Why don’t you just come inside for a minute? I can make you a cup of tea.’

‘It was all leading here,’ Valentine doggedly persists. ‘To this place. To this sacrifice. Like you were saying this morning. About the train — what happened. That promise you made. It’s the only way I can feel right — shake the guilt — the fear — by giving up everything I care about.’

‘You’re obviously very tired.’ Sheila leans forward and tries to comfort her. ‘It’s been a long day …’

‘I burned the wallet and the other stuff. I … I … Noel said he was going to give it to a museum,’ Valentine stutters, overwhelmed.

‘Hamra,’ the second woman interrupts her, ‘you’re avoiding the issue. Come on , now. We haven’t got all night! Just tell her!’

‘I slept with Gene,’ Valentine continues, almost without pausing, gently rocking. ‘Last night. And I’m so sorry — so sorry. I know you must hate me and I don’t blame you. I hate myself. I just want to beg your forgiveness so that …’

‘She’s throwing herself on your mercy,’ the veiled woman interprets.

Sheila is silent for a minute, then, ‘There’s really no need for all of this,’ she murmurs (unsure whether she’s actually addressing herself or Valentine). ‘No need for all of this … this drama . It’s absolutely fine. You’re just scared. You’re just confused. It’s going to be absolutely —’

‘Do you forgive her?’ the veiled woman demands.

Sheila gazes at her for a moment, stunned by her insensitivity.

‘Of course I’ll forgive her!’ she hisses. ‘Of course I will, but on my own terms thank you very much!’

‘Don’t forgive me, Sheila!’ Valentine whispers. ‘Make it harder for me! Please! ’

She clenches the towel with her fingers, rocking frenetically. The child stirs.

‘It’s time to get Badriya back to bed,’ the woman cordially informs them both.

Sheila sits in silence for a minute.

‘Don’t do anything rash because of me,’ she gently appeals, ‘let’s just …’

‘I’m not. I’m not.’ Valentine shakes her head, tears trickling down her cheeks.

Sheila leans forward again.

‘Remember, I’m here for you. I can support you. Nothing’s set in stone. This is all just a terrible mistake. I’m sure things will look better in the morning.’

‘Please try and calm yourself,’ the woman firmly counsels, raising a warning hand again.

‘I am calm.’ Sheila scowls.

‘There’s a child present,’ the woman adds.

‘I’m perfectly calm,’ Sheila repeats, through gritted teeth.

‘Good’ — the woman nods — ‘because you’re not the only person on earth whose husband has ever been unfaithful. Try and remember that. You’re not alone in all of this.’

Sheila glares at the woman.

‘I’m not sure how helpful your contribution is at this stage,’ she says.

‘You’re upset,’ the woman sighs, ‘you feel the need to lash out, BarakAllahu feekum — may Allah bless you.’

Sheila is seething with rage now.

‘How old are you?’ she asks.

‘Valentine knows what she’s doing.’ The woman ignores her question. ‘She’s made her decision. She’s done the right thing. She has repented. She feels a great peace. She knows that she is among friends.’

‘I’m so sorry, Sheila,’ Valentine murmurs.

‘You’ve apologized,’ the woman counsels her. ‘You’ve been very brave. You can’t do anything more than that. Remember, Allah willed this. It was pre-determined. Everything happens for a reason. I’m really, really proud of you, Hamra. Congratulations.’

She pats Valentine’s knee.

‘Well done.’

The woman finishes speaking and indicates towards the second, veiled woman — Farhana — through the car window.

Valentine puts her face in her hands and starts crying again. Sheila can’t tell whether these are now tears of fear, of guilt or of relief. The door on her side of the car is pulled open.

‘Can I help you out?’ Farhana asks, indicating towards Sheila’s injured leg, concerned. She offers Sheila her hand. Sheila doesn’t take it for a few seconds then finally relents.

‘Thank you.’

Farhana helps her from the car, then slowly leads her back to the house.

‘I can tell that there is a great need in you to do good, Sheila,’ she murmurs, ‘a powerful need. It’s so strong, so beautiful — it shines out of you. It surrounds everything you do. Remember: God loves you and blesses you with all your interior struggles. JazakAllah! May God reward you for all your kindness and understanding.’