Virginia’s expression was noble and defiant; she would survive, already she was learning to forget.
'It must be difficult.'
'Yes,' she admitted. 'It’s just your hair, you see. It’s so much like his...was.'
A ponce of a man he must have been, to have hair so long, but the girl said, 'I’m sorry.'
'Please, don’t be. There was no pain in the memory.'
'Then it might have helped?'
'Yes, I believe it might have.'
But there were some memories which had to be erased, some mementoes which had to go. She showed the hairdryer, a present from him and the last painful memory she had of him. Perhaps the young woman might like to have it, Virginia thought. There was such a resemblance about the hair that it would be like giving it back to her lost love.
Of course the girl could not accept it, it was obviously a good and expensive machine.
'That it is,' said Virginia. 'But it’s of no benefit to me, it would be too painful if I was to use it. Please, take it.'
'Well let me pay you for it, at least,' said the girl, fumbling in her purse.
'I couldn’t do that.'
She turned her face disdainfully from the offensive brown note which was waved beneath her nose. It had an unmistakeable odour.
'Please. I insist.'
'You do?'
'Yes.'
'Very well, then,' she said, already plucking the note from the girl’s fingers. 'But only on one condition.'
'What?'
'That you allow me to buy you a drink.'
They exchanged smiles and the transaction was concluded. She went to the bar with the portrait of the dear old Queen clutched in her hand and bought drinks. When she returned to the girl’s side they introduced themselves. The girl’s name was Constance, she blushed to offer such a ridiculous mouthful, but Virginia thought that it was not ridiculous, she told her that it was beautiful and timeless. As she was, she continued, with her white teeth sparkling and moist, eyes clear and bright and cheering up the dismal bar whenever she smiled. And how might her body glow in the dark hush of a bedroom? Virginia itched to find out. After Trev she had had enough of men for the time being.
'And what will you do tonight?' Constance asked her.
'I’ll be okay, don’t you worry yourself about me. I’ll probably find some cheap boarding house. Or sleep down at the Pier Head.'
'But you can’t do that! Come with me. You can sleep on the settee.'
'No, Constance. I’m a stranger, you hardly know me.'
'I know that you’re kind. And sad.'
Virginia kissed her on the cheek to show that she appreciated the gesture, her lips against the golden down, while Constance touched a hand to hers and insisted that she wanted to help. Still Virginia declined her offer of accommodation, though she did accept her invitation to a cup of coffee and a sandwich.
Things would develop from there; she might just be persuaded.
'Good,' Constance smiled.
And so might life be, good, with just a little luck, and she escorted Constance through the darkly hostile streets, her arm enfolding her both for the protection it afforded and the pleasure it gave. Constance made no complaint and Virginia’s arm crept on a little, around the slender back and up to the warmth of an armpit, there to nudge the soft swell of a breast.
She whistled softly, to frighten away any childhood ghosts, one of her favourite tunes: ‘Thanks for the Mammaries’.
Constance wept and Virginia cursed when the girl’s mother refused to let her stay the night, but what was the use? Nothing could be done with a matron in attendance, so she went home, up the rope ladder and to her solitary bed, a few pounds and pence in her pocket to make life easier for a while. It could only be for a short while, though, she accepted this and the knowledge kept her awake. Unable to sleep she searched her room for more saleable items, but there was nothing of any value to be found. Indeed, there was little of anything left, no furniture in which anything might be hidden, all the furniture having been disposed of over the past few weeks. She slumped down on the mattress, which was all she had left, too tattered to be of any worth.
What a mess, she thought. twenty four years old and what did she have? The use of a small flat, for which she paid and paid -sometimes- but which could never be hers. Surely she should have some capital by now, she was old enough to deserve a little security, but no, her possessions were slowly decreasing in number rather than multiplying.
She took stock of what she had, or rather of what she did not have: she had no home, no car, no savings. Not even a husband and kid, which was perhaps her only blessing. But there again, perhaps she should have married some years ago, found in-laws that her parents would have liked and respected; she would have found herself a home, this way, a nice place for friends to visit, somewhere she would have been happy to stay. Advancement, career prospects, a faithful husband and a stable life.
Stable, eh? As in manger? Some place where animals and other base creatures could huddle together for comfort? No, that was the defeatist way, and in her anger she pounded on the wall with her fist.
The wall pounded back, or someone on the other side. Goomer? Maybe he owed her money, or could lend her some, or had something worth stealing. She jumped up from the mattress and went from her room to his.
Goomer was his usual amorphous shape in the bed, hidden beneath the silks and shawls and excuses for blankets.
'Go away, Virginia. It’s too early.'
'I just called about that ten pounds I lent you,' she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. There was not much room, which led her to believe that there were two bodies in there, Goomer and Dean.
'What ten pounds?' asked Goomer. The bed covers crept down below his chin and a second head came into view.
'Is he still here? I told you, he’s weirdo.'
'You never lent me ten quid.'
'I didn’t?' She shrugged. 'Must be thinking of someone else, then. Lend me ten pounds until I can get it back.'
'Get it back? Who from?'
'Whoever I lent it to,' she said, with an imprecise wave of the hands. 'Lend me a tenner until the end of the week.'
'No. I haven’t got it.'
'What about Dean?'
'You surely wouldn’t borrow money from him, would you? He’s a weirdo.'
'There’s no need for sarcasm.'
Goomer slipped lower in the bed, hiding his head again in the warmth of the covers and the body beside him. He told her to go.
Virginia stuck two fingers up at the ruffled sheets, then turned and walked towards the door. Stopping by the stereo unit, she flicked her fingers silently through the stack of records which were beneath it.
'And keep your thieving mitts off my records!' was the muffled warning from the bed.
Virginia left loudly, annoyed, empty handed and still no more prosperous. Back in her own room, on the mattress again, she had difficulty in getting comfortable. The tingling between her legs was getting in the way, its excitement brought upon by the near presence of two young men in bed. Oh Christ, that again, was it? She groaned, unzipped her trousers, then quickly zipped them up again. No, she would not resort to such measures, it was too demeaning. She paced back and forth across the room, searching for some other outlet for her frustrations.
How about that more aesthetic illumination that Goomer had sometimes spoken of? If she could not take his money or his goods then she might as well take his advice. There might even be a profit to be made, if Gerald found the result to his liking, so she took her sketch-pad from beneath the mattress, pencils from her jacket pocket and began. As morning light outshone the naked bulb overhead a drawing developed, its beauty becoming brighter by breakfast time.
*
'Not bad,' she decided. 'Yes, quite marketable.'
Tearing two hardboard panels from the door she tucked the drawing between them to stop it creasing or tearing. With such an encumbrance under her arm any descent by rope ladder was
impractical, of course, so she stepped confidently into the corridor and down the stairs, sure that no one would be about so early in the morning.
'I’ve been listening to you wrecking the place!' someone shouted, through a narrow crack in one of the doors she passed, and she ran down the remaining flights of stairs, out onto the street where the sight of the cathedral calmed her.
'Fuckers,' she muttered, and made her way more sedately into town, the soft blue sky tempering her mood.
Blue skies were always the most promising of all.
Gerald’s staff were idly tidying the shop, waiting for the first customers of the day, and one of them pointed Virginia down a steep flight of stairs, telling her that the boss was in the basement. She found him unpacking prints, adding to the disarray which covered the huge table in the centre of the room.
'Delightful, aren’t they?' he said, lining up a series of three prints by Russell Flint.
'Not bad,' Virginia admitted grudgingly, refusing to be impressed by them.
Gerald laughed. 'Dear old Virginia. You get a handful of drawings exhibited in a scruffy wine-bar and you’re unbearable.' He noticed the hardboard she carried beneath her arm, asked, 'What’s that?'
'I did what you suggested. Some more work.'
She slid the drawing out and conceitedly placed it on top of the middle of the three Russell Flints.
'It’s Goomer,' said Gerald.
'Is it? No it isn’t.'
But the face which had come from dreams and ideals did bear a slight resemblance.
'Anyway, despite the subject it’s really quite nice.' Gerald’s finger went to his lips, as it always did when it was time for consideration. 'Yes, it isn’t bad at all. Not totally original, of course, a wee bit reminiscent of the designer portraits you get in Waring and Gillow. Still, it has a certain appeal.'
Virginia grinned and shuffled her feet; the soles always itched at the prospect of money. 'So? What about it?'
'What about what?'
'How much?'
'Now? You want money now? Virginia, darling, you must realise that it isn’t as simple as that. There’s a publisher to be found for the drawings, prints made, postcards or posters or whatever, before any cash can come your way.' He picked up the drawing and slipped it into a cardboard folder. 'Leave it with me for a month or so and I’ll see what I can do.'
'A month? Shit, Gerald, I’m skint, I need money now.'
'Well, I do happen to be short of a girl in the shop at the moment, if you fancy helping out.'
'I’m serious!'
So was Gerald. 'Well? Do you want to earn a few pounds?'
Virginia thought, but not for long. She shook her head. 'It’s too nice a day to spend indoors.'
'What you mean is that it’s beneath you to do such a banal job. You really must learn to swallow your pride, Virginia, and slip back down to our level.'
'I couldn’t, it’s polluted down there, I’d choke,' she said, and left.
She left in too much of a mood, in fact, left without even thinking to ask for a loan. That was remiss of her. With her feet planted on the Bold Street pavement again she looked up and cursed God, noticing that the sky was starting to cloud over and spit on her. She would have to shelter, sooner or later, and that would mean spending money. She wasted the remaining hours before noon in Lewis’ department store, playing with the electronic games in the toy department and then strolling between the cosmetics counters, enjoying the warmth and the fragrances and doing her best to convince herself that the made-up girls, though desirable, were less attractive than she.
At five minutes to twelve she ran through the rain to the ‘Corkscrew’, thinking that with a drink inside her she might find the courage to ask Coral to cash yet another cheque. She couldn’t possibly go to the bank in this downpour, she would say, but was given no chance to speak.
'Fifty quid!' Coral shouted, before Virginia had even reached the foot of the stairs. 'Fifty faffing quid!'
'You’ve lost it?' Virginia asked, thinking of fingers dipped into the till to finance a night out, or maybe books unbalanced through poor accounting.
'Faffing well right I have!' Coral waved a letter to which were stapled two cheques. 'Pay, it says on these! One for thirty quid and one for twenty! Only the bank won’t!'
'They’ve bounced?' Virginia feared.
'Up and down and they’re at it yet! I can’t keep the bleeders still!'
Virginia apologised -she said she was at a loss to think what the bank was playing at- and bought drinks for herself and Coral.
'Leave this to me,' she said, when Coral had calmed down and settled back on her heels, no longer towering over the bar on tiptoes like some giant predatory thing. 'I’ll sort it out with the bank manager. He’ll honour the cheques.'
'You’ll come straight back here with fifty pounds in cash,' Coral insisted.
Virginia pursed her lips. 'That could prove difficult,' she confessed. 'I’m a bit short on funds at the moment and there’s no work coming in.'
'Then find some!'
Josh, behind the bar with Coral, tugged at her sleeve and whispered in her ear. She nodded as she listened, her lips straining around a smile. When Josh had finished she asked Virginia if she possessed a camera, a good one.
'No,' Virginia replied; then, seeing Coral frown, she quickly added, 'I know where I can borrow one, though.'
From Goomer, if he would trust her not to sell the thing; he had all the equipment, an enlarger as well as the camera and lenses.
'And you can use it properly? Do you know what you’re doing?'
'You bet.'
'In that case I’ve got a job for you. Or, rather, the bloke next door has.'
The ‘Corkscrew’ was flanked by a jewellers on one side and a sex shop on the other; Virginia thought that Coral’s proposition might prove interesting.
'What is it?' she asked.
The work was for the jeweller, of course. A minor disappointment.
'The chap wants some photographs for a window display,' Coral explained. 'Elegant people in fetching poses, showing off his expensive trinkets.'
'I’m one of the beautiful people,' Josh proudly interrupted.
'Don’t get carried away, Josh. All you have to do is flash your wrists and neck with baubles draped around them.'
Josh was hurt and lapsed into silence.
Coral turned back to Virginia. 'So you do the job and I get the money.'
'All of it?'
'Up to the fifty pounds you owe me.'
'But I’m skint,' Virginia protested.
'Just be thankful to Josh you’ve still got your health. If it wasn’t for him you’d be crawling out of here on your hands and knees.'
'Thanks, Josh,' said Virginia, and he smiled.
'Any time I can help.'
Chapter Eight
Goomer agreed to the loan of the camera and Dean, God bless him, knew where he could borrow some lights for her, so Virginia looked quite professional, well worth the fee she would demand. In anticipation of this she spent a last few shillings on a drink.
'What’s that?' the barman asked, as she stacked her equipment in the corner of an unfamiliar pub.
'An electric pool cue.'
'Get away,' he laughed, serving the pint she asked for, but then said, 'Is it really?'
She shook her head, carefully sipping her drink at the same time. 'They’re lights,' she told him.
'So what’re you doing, then?'
'Taking some photographs.'
'Oh, so you’re a photographer?' he said, and began to preen himself.
'No, not really. I do Day-Glo posters for chippies and Chinese takeaways.'
The barman wandered away to serve other customers, but soon returned with more questions. 'So what’re you photographing? Dirty snaps, are they?'
'Why? Are you interested in dirty pictures?'
Virginia was sure he was, even though he feigned insult -’I’ve grown out of that sort of thing’- as he turned away.
He was a little too macho for her tastes, though, a deep vee of chest hair showing, so rather than hang around the bar fighting off dreams and fantasies she drank up and went off in search of her subjects.
The first was young, only fifteen in fact, attractive but too young for Virginia’s tastes, and her bare neck and shoulders were photographed adorned with gold chains and necklaces.
The second was Virginia’s age or thereabouts, but with a sullen look which made her seem bitchy; even her elegant hands refused to smile for Virginia as she pointed the camera at the rings and bracelets which covered them with a dull sunshine.
The third was Josh, not embarrassed to be posing alongside two females, and he was the only one who spoke to her, grinning as she circled him and adjusted the lights on his bare chest, bringing a sparkle to the chains he wore.
'Who are those other two?' she asked, raising his hand to his shoulder to get a heavy gold bracelet into shot, looking with lowered eyes at the woman and the girl who were inspecting the items on display around the shop.
'Search me,' he said. 'Clarkey found them. I suspect, though, that the older one might be his fancy woman.'
'I wouldn’t be surprised if the dirty sod picked her up on Percy Street. She’s about as pleasant as the pros who hang around there.'
'Now, Virginia, don’t be so ungracious,' Josh chided. 'And don’t knock Clarkey, either. That’s what’s known as biting the hand that feeds you.'
'Well, he strikes me as being a bit of a randy sod. He had his hands all over me while he was explaining what he wanted.'
Mr Clarke came across, resting one grey-sleeved arm on Josh’s naked shoulder. A heavy gold wristwatch burst out from beneath a crisp white cuff.
'Nearly finished?' he asked Virginia.
'Nearly.'
'And how long will the prints take?'
'Give me about a week, I reckon. I could do them myself, only the enlargements you want are bigger than I can handle.' She snapped off a final few shots, then asked, 'Do you think you could advance me a bit on the fee, to cover expenses?'
Mr Clarke tucked his chin into his collar with a business-like frown. 'What do you think, Josh? Can I trust your friend?'
The Art School Dance Page 41
