by David Belbin
Rachel groaned, though she knew her mother meant well. Rachel didn’t enjoy getting drunk, not very drunk anyhow. Nor was she into drugs. She’d tried dope when she was going out with Carl in the summer, but it only gave her a headache. Carl said it was because she wasn’t used to the tobacco he’d mixed it with.
“You have to trust me,” was all she said to Mum now.
“I do trust you,” Mum said. “I want you to have a good time, safely.”
They left it at that.
Rock City wasn’t like a lot of nightclubs, where people dressed to look as glamorous as possible. It was pretty casual, although if you wore a T-shirt with the wrong band name on it people wouldn’t take you seriously. Rachel chose her T-shirt carefully and put on black Levis, then spent a lot of time making sure her hair and face were right. You had to be eighteen to get in and Rachel didn’t want the guy on the door to give her a second glance.
Becky’s boyfriend, Gary, drove them there and would take them home, too. Rachel was supposed to be staying at Dad’s that weekend, but they’d agreed that she would go round for Sunday dinner and stay over until Monday instead.
Rock City was crowded. The girls got in without any trouble, arriving just before ten when the price went up. Carmen was with them, as was Carla Green, who was in Rachel and Becky’s English group. Rachel wasn’t terribly keen on Carla. She was a bit giggly, and very pally with Kate Duerden, who Rachel actively disliked. But she was all right in a group. Gary, squiring so many girls, seemed uncomfortable. Once they were in, he and Becky headed straight for the bar.
The dance floor heaved. The girls danced to Rachel’s favourite song. Oasis told Rachel that she was free to be whatever she wanted, and she wanted to believe them. Strobe-effect lights panned the heads of the crowd.
“So tell me,” Carla asked Rachel, shouting over the throbbing music, “why did you split up with Nick?”
“Nick who?” Rachel said, not wanting to be drawn on the subject.
Carla smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “Right.”
A man with long, dark hair and a spangly waistcoat began to dance in front of Rachel. That was the way it worked. No one ever asked you to dance. They moved in and found out how you reacted. This bloke looked about thirty. Rachel gave him the cold shoulder. She wanted someone mature, but not as mature as that.
“I don’t want to go,” Mike told Phil. “Those places are meat markets.”
“Rock City’s not,” Phil said. “People get buses from Leicester, Sheffield, Birmingham ... great atmosphere, great music. It’s not just a pick-up joint.”
“I still don’t know.”
“Come on, mate. It’s Christmas. Get a life.”
Mike finished his pint. Phil was right. The night was still young. He hadn’t got out of bed until noon this morning. He didn’t have to teach for a fortnight.
“Will they let me in, dressed like this?”
He was wearing a woollen waistcoat, a red T-shirt and faded jeans, torn at the knee.
“Sure. It’s Saturday night. No dress code.”
The two men queued for nearly half an hour to get in. By the time they’d checked their coats, Mike needed to dance just to warm himself up. While Phil went to get drinks, Mike made for the dance floor.
“Don’t I know you?”
A well-built blonde woman was shouting at him. Mike shook his head shyly. The blonde gave him a cheeky smile. Then, when Mike didn’t try to make conversation or even turn fully to her, she moved away. Mike felt foolish. She’d been trying to pick him up. He found her quite attractive, but he was out of practice. Actually, he’d never really been in practice. With him, women always made the running.
Mike had been single for a month, but wasn’t used to it yet. Did you ever get used to it? He’d been with Emma for four years - less if you didn’t count the early months before he and Emma were officially going out. During that time he’d had a few nothingy dates with other students. All they did was make him realize how much he wanted Emma. Emma. He wasn’t over her yet. Phil said that what Mike needed was a few brief flings. But Mike had never had a one-night stand in his life. He wasn’t spontaneous enough. He had never learned to seize the moment. Maybe it was time.
Phil returned with two beers and Mike had to stop dancing. There was nowhere safe to leave drinks. Dancing glass in hand required a better balancing act than Mike was capable of. They stood at the raised section by the entrance looking down on the dance floor. Phil pointed out a woman he fancied. She had a short, blonde bob and a dress that was little more than a long T-shirt. The girl was pretty, but rather young, Mike thought.
“What’s your type?” Phil asked him.
“I don’t have a type,” Mike told him. “I never pick women. They pick me.”
“Lucky you,” Phil said.
It sounded impressive, Mike knew, unless you realized that he had only ever slept with two women: Vicky and Emma. Mike tried to think positive. He felt more attractive now because, this morning, he’d shaved off his beard.
Mike had hated that beard. He’d only kept it for Emma, but Emma’s opinion no longer mattered. Today, seeing himself without it, Mike felt more at ease, more ... innocent somehow. He felt like he’d spent the last year trying to pretend that he was older than he really was.
Phil was still drunkenly going on about what kind of women Mike fancied.
“Yeah, but if you had to choose,” he insisted, “give me an example, c’mon. Madonna? Claudia Schiffer? Janet Jackson? Who?”
“I’d choose someone I’ve met,” Mike complained, “not someone I’ve only seen in an airbrushed photograph.”
“Who then?”
Mike tried to make female forms float across his imagination. For some reason, the only image which came to mind was that of Rachel Webster, from school. Forbidden fruit. He wasn’t going to tell Phil that.
“The woman over there’s attractive,” he said, pointing at the blonde who’d tried to chat him up, earlier. This is the way desire works, he’d read somewhere. We are attracted to those who are attracted to us. If she hadn’t talked to him earlier, would he have picked her?
“Like them older, do you?” Phil teased, downing his pint. “Follow me.” He was right, Mike realized, as they got closer to her. She was at least thirty.
“My name’s Phil,” Phil shouted, gliding in front of her. “What’s yours?”
“Evelyn,” the woman shouted back.
“This is Mike,” Phil shouted, pointing behind him. “He’s shy. Dance with him, would you?”
A moment later, Phil was gone.
“Hi, Mike,” Evelyn said. “We meet again.”
They danced for twenty minutes. To Mike’s relief, conversation was impossible. Then Evelyn had to go to the toilet and Mike offered to buy her a drink. Rock City had a few places where you could sit down and talk, though they were all very noisy. Evelyn returned, having reconstructed her make-up. They went upstairs, where it was easier to get served. Mike had a good view of the dance floor below. Phil was dancing next to the blonde bob. She was smiling a lot.
Evelyn didn’t seem bothered that she couldn’t hear half of what Mike said. She told him that she worked in a bookies. Mike was vague about his job, thinking it would put her off him. Conversation didn’t matter tonight, anyway. When they kissed for the first time, it was weird. Without his beard, Mike felt naked.
“Relax,” Evelyn said. “I’m not going to eat you.”
When they kissed again, Mike realized that she would, without hesitation, go to bed with him that night. He began to relax. Maybe Phil was right and this was what he needed: an uncomplicated one-night stand.
They danced again. Phil was still dancing with the blonde, who he introduced as Tracey. The girl waved enthusiastically at Mike and Evelyn. Then, as Mike moved away, he noticed something which made him uncomfortable. There, watching from the edge of the dance floor, were three girls from school: Carla Green, a black girl who Mike recognized from school and - wouldn’t you know i
t? - Rachel Webster. Seeing him see them, Carla waved and the three girls came over. Mike smiled bashfully at them. He was drunk, and didn’t want to say anything he’d regret next term.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Carla asked, cheekily. Evelyn gave Mike a funny look.
“This is Evelyn,” he yelled. “Evelyn, this is Carla, Rachel and ...?”
“Carmen,” Carla said. “You know, you look a lot better without the beard.”
Mike ignored the compliment and glanced directly at Rachel. She was dressed down, and, next to the fake glamour of the woman he was dancing with, looked very young. Rachel pointed at his chest.
“Snap,” she said, with an embarrassed smile. He realized that they were wearing identical T-shirts.
“You’ve got good taste,” he told her. “Merry Christmas, girls.”
They were too young to be here, he thought, as the three girls found their own space on the dance floor. As a teacher, was he supposed to tell someone? It would feel hypocritical. He’d sneaked into pubs at their age. Mike watched the three girls as they joined Becky, who was dancing with a muscular bloke. Carla was pointing back towards the teachers and their partners.
“Let’s go and have another drink,” Mike suggested to Evelyn. He didn’t enjoy dancing in a goldfish bowl.
“Your friend’s not the only one who likes them young,” Evelyn commented, loudly, as they climbed the stairs. “You had a thing with that girl in the T-shirt, didn’t you? I could tell by the way you looked at her.”
“No, no,” Mike insisted.
In full view of the dance floor, Evelyn stopped and gave him a big kiss. That would give the girls something to talk about on the way home.
“Do you want to leave?” Evelyn asked.
Mike didn’t have to think about it. “Why not?”
He hadn’t bought any condoms yet, Mike realized, as they queued for their coats. He waved goodbye to Phil, then popped into one of the toilets. As he was returning to the foyer, he almost bumped into Rachel Webster. She gave him a bashful smile, but didn’t speak. Evelyn had collected the coats already.
“Over here, Mike.” She’d observed the encounter. “Doesn’t say much, your friend, does she?”
Mike didn’t feel like pretending. “She’s not my friend, she’s a pupil. I’m a school teacher.”
Evelyn’s expression changed from cynicism to sympathy. “I thought you wouldn’t tell me about your job because you were on the dole.”
“I was, until a few weeks ago,” Mike told her. “Sometimes I think I preferred it.”
They went out into the cold night air.
“I know you’re meant to say your place or mine,” Evelyn said, “but I’ve got a babysitter to pay off, so we’ll go back to Carlton, if that’s all right.”
“Sure,” Mike said.
Had she told him she had children? If so, he hadn’t heard her.
“How many kids have you got?” he asked, politely.
“Just the one. He’s seven. I divorced his dad two years ago.”
They waited for a taxi to come. It was early, by night club standards, so at least there wasn’t a large queue.
“There are usually loads outside,” Evelyn said. “But this is what you get at Christmas, I suppose.”
A cab pulled up and took the couple in front of them away. Evelyn checked her watch. It was ten to one. She had probably promised the sitter she’d be back by one, Mike realized. He wondered if she did this every week: picking up men to a deadline. Why shouldn’t she? The club was full of blokes doing much the same.
Suddenly, to Mike’s surprise, he couldn’t go through with it. He hardly knew the woman standing next to him. In daylight, he probably wouldn’t even fancy her. He didn’t want to do the most intimate thing two people could do with a virtual stranger.
“I’m sorry,” he told Evelyn. “I’m feeling ill. I’m going to have to go home.”
She looked at him the way he looked at a child with a feeble excuse for forgetting his homework. “You’re kidding,” she said. “What’s wrong? Is it me?”
“No, really. I’ve had a lot to drink and ...”
“It’s the child, isn’t it? You don’t want to go near a woman who’s got kids.”
Mike found himself babbling. “No. Not at all. I promise. I’ve got this stomach ache and ...”
A taxi pulled up. “Come on then,” Evelyn said. “I’d better drop you off. You’re in Radford, aren’t you? It’s on the way.”
“No, really,” Mike told her. “I can walk. I’m sorry.” He began to back away.
“I can walk,” he repeated.
Evelyn gave him a look of disgust mingled with dismay. Mike turned on his heel and hurried up Talbot Street.
The walk home only took twenty minutes. Mike went straight to bed. He was still trying to sleep when he heard Phil come in. His landlord wasn’t alone.
A few minutes later, Mike was kept awake by Phil and Tracey doing what he should have been doing with Evelyn. Mike couldn’t sleep. Had he done the right thing? Suddenly, sex with Evelyn had seemed the wrong thing to do. Yet, according to everything that Mike read and watched, the right thing no longer existed. Morality had nothing to do with anything, anywhere. People did what they wanted to do. People did whatever they could get away with.
He wondered whether Rachel Webster had got off with anybody that night.
Two
The spring term began with a tutor period, followed by an English lesson. Everyone wanted to talk about their Christmas. Rachel preferred not to. Her Christmas had been rubbish, as usual.
Rachel had spent only one Christmas Day with Dad since the divorce. That was three years ago, when Mum stayed with her sister in Preston. Rowan and Phoebe were very young then, and Rachel enjoyed playing with them. Still, the festival left a bitter flavour in her mouth. It gave Rachel a taste of what it would have been like to live in a real family, with real brothers and sisters, not a substitute step-family where the kids confused her with the babysitter.
Since then, Rachel had spent Christmas Day with Mum and various friends or visiting family members, then gone to her father’s on Boxing Day. There was always an expensive present waiting for her in Mapperley Park. Dad tried to make Boxing Day a second Christmas Day. The fantasy never worked. This year, it fell particularly flat. Phoebe and Rowan were more interested in their new videos and computer games than in Rachel. There was constant tension between Dad and Clarissa. Twice, Rachel walked into a room to find them suddenly go silent.
Rachel wondered if one of them was having an affair. Dad was past it, she thought, but Clarissa wasn’t. After all, the children were both at school now. Clarissa was still attractive. She didn’t have a job, though she did voluntary work for Citizen’s Advice now and then. It would hardly be surprising if Clarissa had a fling to fill her empty days. Rachel thought that it would serve Dad right, for what he did to Mum. But Rachel hoped they wouldn’t split up. It wasn’t fair, when children were involved. Rachel had long since lost her illusions about Dad returning to Mum.
Rachel would never admit it to her friends, but she was glad to be back at school. Over the holiday, she had read and reread the part of Juliet. Once the mock exams were over, the play rehearsals began in earnest.
Today, the class reached Act Four. Mr Steadman talked the group through difficult bits of vocabulary, making sure the plot was clear. He looked much nicer without his beard, Rachel thought, barely old enough to be a teacher. That night at Rock City, she had taken him for a teenager, wearing the same T-shirt as her. For a fleeting moment, she’d fancied him. Then Carla pointed out who he was. Now Steadman was coming to the end of the lesson. There was some whispering and giggling from behind Rachel. The teacher started to get irritated.
“Come on, everyone. There’re only five minutes of the lesson left. Let’s see if we can keep concentrating.” He paused, seeing something. “What is that?”
“Nothing, sir,” Kate Duerden said, unconvincingly.
&nbs
p; Rachel glanced back. She couldn’t believe it. Lisa and Kate were passing notes around, like little girls at junior school. As Steadman walked over, Kate thrust the note to Rachel, expecting her to hide it. Rachel did nothing of the kind. She glanced at the note, a page torn from an exercise book. It was a scribbled conversation between Kate and Carla. Rachel only read the middle of it.
You should have seen the girl Hansen got off with! She looked younger than me! Carla had written.
What about Steadman’s? Kate wrote back.
His looked older than my mother! Carla replied. She was all over him.
“I’ll take that, Rachel.” Before Rachel could read any further, the English teacher snatched the note away from her. She blushed. When she looked up at the teacher, he was reading the note and turning red himself.
“Rachel, stay behind,” he ordered.
“Sorry,” Kate whispered, as the lesson ended. “I owe you.”
Carla avoided Rachel’s eyes as she walked out. Rachel told Becky what she’d been doing.
“That’s the last time she goes clubbing with us,” Becky whispered. “Still, it gets you and Steadman alone together. You know, I think he likes you.”
“Oh, sure,” Rachel said, loading on the sarcasm as Becky left the room.
“Who wrote this?” Mr Steadman asked, when they were alone in the room together. He looked angry.
“It wasn’t me,” Rachel said.
“I know that,” Steadman told her. “I know your writing. This looks more like Carla - and Kate. Am I right?”
There was no point in denying it.
“I had nothing to do with the note,” Rachel said.
“Except you were reading it.”
“There was nothing there that I didn’t know already.”
Mr Steadman sat on his desk and leant forward. “Look,” he said. “The people who ought to be embarrassed are you and your friends. Mr Hansen and I are old enough to go to Rock City. You aren’t. But we didn’t say anything, which could get us into trouble. Now I get... this. Next time, I think I’d better report you to the management, have you thrown out.”
