*
A frown, a grimace and a smile were all the same for Coral; her cheeks puffed, her mouth strained and the expression was open to interpretation. Virginia detected a hint of concern in the greeting, though.
'Josh’s wife?' Coral supposed.
'You knew she was after me? You knew he was married to a policewoman?'
'I tried to tell you.'
'Not until it was too late.'
'It had its amusing side at first, the idea of you screwing a copper’s husband and not realising it.'
'Look at my face, Coral,' said Virginia, leaning forward into the light. 'I’m not amused. I’m not laughing. I can’t.'
'No.' Coral winced, as if she might be sharing in the pain. 'You were so cocky, though, boasting that you’d copped off with Josh. Do you think you deserved any favours, being so arrogant? What would you have done if the situation had been reversed?'
Dropped Coral right in the shit, no doubt, and then stood back to laugh.
'Thanks, Coral, thanks a bunch,' she said bitterly, but still accepted the conciliatory drink which was offered. 'Now I think you owe me a favour.'
'What’s that?'
Virginia told Coral of her encounter with the landlady, of the landlady turfing her out and padlocking the flat.
'Thrown out arse over elbow I am,' she said, remembering the phrase and how it had happened to her before.
'Everyone’s catching up with you,' said Coral. 'That bloke who was looking for you, the one in the natty suit? He was down here earlier. Seems that the print you stole from Gerald you ended up selling to one of the minions in his gallery. He wants his money back.'
'Oh, fuck him,' said Virginia. A softly spoken man in his fifties was easily handled. 'At the moment I’m more concerned about finding a bed for the night. Your couch will do.'
Coral shook her head. 'Sorry, Virginia, but tonight I’m seeing Tone.'
'Him?'
Coral’s smile broadened, became lecherous. 'Yes, him. I’ve finally managed to persuade him to come out without Trev.'
'Put him off.'
'No. You don’t seriously expect me to, do you, now that I’ve finally got a chance with him? Tonight I’m hopeful.'
'And tonight I’m homeless. Doesn’t our friendship mean anything?'
'What friendship?'
'You bitch!' said Virginia, but she was philosophical about the refusal of a bed; fornication would always take precedence over favour where she was concerned, too. She shrugged. 'Something will turn up. Perhaps-?'
'Yes?' said Coral.
Virginia shook her head. 'I was about to say perhaps Gerald...'
Coral laughed. 'No, I don’t think so. In fact you’re probably pushing your luck hanging around here. There’s no telling when he might turn up, or what he’ll do when he does.'
Still Virginia lingered, though, wasted money on drink which might have been better spent on a bed for the night. Best to be a little drunk, she reasoned, in case she ended up sleeping out, in the park or down at the Pier Head.
By mid-afternoon sleeping out began to seem the most likely option; there had been no sudden windfall of money, Coral was as eager as ever to get Tone back to her place and no attractively wealthy young men -or women- had visited the bar, people who had a penthouse flat nearby and were eager to share their empty bed with her.
Resigned, Virginia left the ‘Corkscrew’.
'Good luck,' said Coral, but Virginia doubted that there would be any of that coming her way. 'If it wasn’t for bad luck I wouldn’t have no luck at all,' she sang, as she tramped aimlessly along the street.
'Dreamer!' someone said, tapping her on the shoulder after greeting her and being ignored.
It was Dean. She gave him a gruff hello.
'You sound a bit down,' he said.
Who wouldn’t be, with a face like the one she was wearing? He made no comment about her scars and bruises, though, so she shrugged -’you know how things are’- looked around and asked, 'No Goomer with you to rub salt into my wounds?'
She had wounds aplenty, after all.
'No. I’ve just left him at the station. He’s gone to pay his parents a visit.'
Ah!
Dean asked if she was on her way home, asked if she minded if he walked along with her. Quick thinking was called for.
'Yes, I’m going home, and please do walk along with me, I’ll be glad of the company,' she said, forcing a cheerful smile, her mind racing frantically.
'So what’s got you so glum?' Dean asked, then guessed, 'Money, still?'
What was wrong with the dimwit? Hadn't he noticed that her face was bloodied and bruised?
Her brave smile fixed, though, she said, 'There always seems to be a shortage. Still, we soldier on, eh?'
'That’s the spirit. Nihil desperandum.'
My, but wasn’t the self-improvement coming along a storm! First the landlady quoting Latin, and now Dean!
'How’s your future shaping up?' she asked, pretending to be interested. 'Still thinking about further education?'
He was, and he talked enthusiastically about his plans as they climbed the hill towards the flat which was no longer Virginia’s. She asked the right questions, made suitably encouraging comments to keep Dean talking, flattered him with her interest. At the door to the house she made an act of fumbling for the keys which she had been forced to surrender to the landlady, smiled and stepped back graciously as Dean unlocked the door and entered, then followed him up the stairs.
'Oh, you’ve got padlocks on your doors!' Dean saw, when they reached the third floor.
What to do? Be honest about the matter? No way.
'Yes, the locks were faulty so I had to make them secure,' Virginia lied, then added, a little more truthfully, 'You can’t trust anyone in this house, you know.'
'Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.'
Pausing between the two flats at the end of the hall, they smiled, waiting for one or the other to take their leave.
When Virginia made no move, Dean said, 'I was just going to make a little something to eat. Would you like to join me?'
Risk his cooking? The one who had professed never to touch meat or spaghetti or potatoes or anything bad?
'Why, that’s very kind of you Dean. I’d love to.'
'It’s as easy to cook for two as it is for one, after all,' he smiled, as he opened the door.
He prepared an omelette, quite competently, it was warm and filling and revived Virginia. He took the empty plate from her, handed her a mug of perfumed tea which she made a show of enjoying. They sat on cushions on the floor, their feet tucked beneath them.
'Tell me, Virginia,' Dean said, after moments of silence.
'Yes?'
'Your face-'
He had noticed it after all!
'-I didn’t like to mention it before.'
'Yes, once I thought it might be my fortune,' she said, and gingerly touched a finger to her swollen lip. The hot tea had made the wound smart. 'It’s a long story, a tragic one...'
Which she told nobly, making it sound like some heroic Nordic saga. In her tale she was a victim, of course.
'Poor Virginia,' Dean sympathised, and his hand twitched as if he was tempted to soothe away the pain.
'It hurts, I’ve been getting these awful headaches ever since,' Virginia said, then forced a sob. 'Oh, Dean! How it hurts!'
He was obliged to touch a hand to her face, then; his fingernails had grown, they were nicely manicured rather than bitten to the quick and they grazed gently across her discoloured cheek. Then, flushing with embarrassment, he pulled his hand back.
'No, don’t stop,' said Virginia, grabbing his hand and bringing it back, kissing her lips softly against the palm. 'Oh, that feels good,' she told him. 'So good. It seems like you’re the only person who doesn’t want to hurt me.'
'Silly. Nobody wants to hurt you.'
That bitch Wilkie had, but Virginia kept quiet about her and the reasons why.
'Dean, will you
do me a favour?' she asked.
'What?' he asked, eager to please.
'Will you just hold me?'
'We shouldn’t,' he said, and she felt him strain and try to move away.
'Please, just hold me,' she begged. 'Put your arms around me and make the pain go away.'
The low mattress which was Goomer’s bed was just behind them and Virginia fell back onto it, pulling Dean down with her.
'We shouldn’t,' he said again, even as he wrapped his arms around her and clutched her tenderly to him.
*
They were still in the same position when morning dawned and Goomer called Virginia a cow, a conniving two-faced bitch of the very worst kind.
'And what were you thinking of?' he demanded of Dean, standing over them, framed by the light from the doorway.
'But look at her, look at her poor face,' said Dean, pulling Virginia’s head from his naked chest where she had buried it.
'She look even worse when I’ve finished with her!' Goomer threatened, his fists clenched ready, standing legs apart like a colossus.
'But she hurt. She was in pain.'
'Pain? She doesn’t know what pain is, yet!'
'Don’t. Leave her alone,' said Dean.
Goomer directed his anger back at Virginia. 'You nasty little bitch!' he said, aiming a kick at her upraised buttocks. 'You stinking little rat!'
'It takes two to tango,' she mumbled into Dean’s chest.
'Tango? With Dean? You know what he’s like!'
Gullible? And not especially good in bed? But at least she had managed to find a bed for the night and had slept soundly, woken refreshed enough to face her court appearance. The memory of what the day held in store for her came back.
'I’m up before the magistrates today,' she told Goomer.
'And you think that excuses what you’ve done?' he raged. 'I hope they fucking well lock you up! Go on, get out of my bed! I’ll need to fumigate the fucking thing before I can sleep in it again!'
'You won’t hit me if I get out?' she asked. 'I’m naked under these sheets. You won’t take advantage?'
'Just get out, you worm! You really are a pathetic creature!'
'I’m sorry,' Dean began to sob, as Virginia crawled from the bed and started to pull on her clothes, trying not to expose her naked body, careful not to leave herself vulnerable to assault.
Naturally Goomer did not blame Dean; as soon as Virginia had vacated the bed he sat down beside him and took him in his arms.
'You should never have trusted that little bitch,' he said.
'She did say you couldn’t trust people in this house,' Dean sniffed.
'I should never have left you alone, not with people like her around.'
Virginia had her jeans on, she had her blouse on and was buttoning it when Goomer leapt back to his feet.
'Get out of here you bitch! I never want to see you again!'
'There’s little chance of that, I’ve been evicted,' she said, hoping for some sympathy.
'GO!'
She ducked his flailing fist, snatched up her jacket and was out of the door, her blouse flapping loosely behind her. There were cries of protest -’stop that fucking noise up there!’- as she ran down the stairs, and for once she did not bother to respond to them, for once did not bother to slam any doors behind her but sprinted from the house and down the street.
Good riddance to the place, she thought, as she rounded the corner and slowed to a brisk walk. A couple of corners on she slowed to a stroll; she was due in court at eleven, there was no need to rush headlong into another stream of bad news.
'Excuse me.'
Someone tapped her on the shoulder, always a bad sign. She turned to see a coloured man, his hand outstretched holding a newspaper, one of the tabloids.
There was a spark of wit still left and Virginia said, 'Why? What have you done?'
The newspaper was thrust into her hand.
'You will please read my ‘horrorscope’? My English is not good.'
One of the university’s overseas students.
Virginia shrugged. 'Why not? What sign are you?'
''My birthday is July Three. I am a Tiger if we are Chinese. And a crab.'
Cancer, Virginia knew; it was her own sign. She read the unfortunate ‘horrorscope’: 'Troubles come in threes. There are expensive trials and tribulations. Not a happy day for Cancerians.'
'Thank you,' said the coloured man, though the forecast was not very promising, then took an envelope from his pocket. 'You will also please read the correspondence from my girlfriend of your nationality. It is only brief, but my English-'
'It is not so good,' Virginia knew, and took the letter. She slipped the notepaper from the envelope, unfolded it and read the greeting. It began with the words ‘you bastard’. 'She says she loves you, she worships you and she wants to do dirty things with your body,' she said.
'Ah!'
'So!'
'And if we are Chinese I am a Tiger,' the coloured man grinned, taking back the letter.
'Have a nice day, then,' Virginia smiled, and walked on towards the magistrates court.
She was in and out in three hours, it was that quick. The defence she offered took about three minutes, for her face told her story; she was a reprobate and she could expect no mercy, even though the representative for the Crown Prosecution began proceedings as if he was about to recite a love poem, offering her name in full, ‘Virginia Fair’.
Three fucking hours! And then three minutes! And everything seemed to come in threes, like the three year ban from driving and the three hundred pound fine. Three was obviously a bad number, as her stars had foretold.
And then there was that fateful three again, in the blaring of a car horn which sounded at her.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
She was too frightened to look, the signs were ominous, she kept her gaze fixed on the pavement and trudged along dispiritedly.
Beep! Beep! BEEP!
The last blast was long and insistent and a car pulled ahead of her, turned the corner to the left and stopped to bar her way across the junction. She was forced to look up.
'Keith!'
'I thought it was you, but don’t you look a state,' he said, leaning across the seat, looking through the open window. His hair caught the sun as it was diffused through the dusty windscreen, his mouth smiled a friendly greeting.
'And don’t you look lovely, a sight for sore eyes,' Virginia said, and laughed at the humour of the day, at the mention of eyes which were still puffed and bruised.
But why not get into the car, she thought, as the door was opened for her, and perhaps ride along with Keith for a while? He might feel guilty enough to share the expense of her fine; at the very least he might offer her a bed for the night.
She made herself comfortable in the passenger seat, said, 'Do you think we could drive by the station? I have a couple of bags to pick up. Though where I’m going to put them I really don’t know.'
About the author
Maria Blanca Alonso was born in Zamora, Spain, but received her early education in Torremolinos and Palencia, under the disciplined tutelage of the Salesianas, before studying at Universidad Autonoma de Madrid. After many years living and working in Madrid, and then spending a further decade and more in Liverpool, UK, she has now taken up residence in Salobrena, Granada.
Also by Maria Blanca Alonso
'Perdida'
The people of Perdida depend on the visits of Padre Joao to bless their marriages, baptise their children, bury their dead and forgive their sins. When he announces his own loss of faith, though, they are left in a quandary. How can they ever sin again if they can no longer rely on his regular absolution? What miracles or temptations can they conjure which will bring about a change of heart?
'An Eternity To Come'
The Second Coming, and where would a reluctant Son of God prefer to go? The court of the Sun King in Versailles or the Berlin of Sally Bowles? The London of the Swinging Sixties? T
o his dismay he finds himself reborn in Africa, the Dark Continent, in what is perhaps its darkest period. So where next? And how will the modern world welcome such an innocent, a quasi-God who seems so annoyingly free from sin?
'Pictures Of Lily'
Nicola's is a happy life, a cosy world, her parents see that she wants for nothing. She has all the benefits a middle class background affords -a good education, a comfortable home, a promising future- and her days flow seamlessly, one into the other, with never a problem to trouble their calm progression.
Until she meets Johnson.
Johnson is not the boyfriend any parent would want for their teenage daughter. His background, his manner, his age -especially his age- would preclude him from their world.
Slowly, though, Johnson insinuates himself into Nicola's life, then invades her parents' home, leaving them with the questions, the dilemmas....
How could a sensible young girl become so corrupt?
How could a middle class family allow such a brute into their home?
How could a loving father not fight back to protect his family?
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The Art School Dance Page 47
