Dance While You Can

by Susan Lewis

  ‘OK,’ she said, and dropping a kiss on my cheek, she skipped over the stile and began running back across the field.

  – 11 –

  I hated her, yet I was obsessed by her. The harder I tried to stay away the more I found myself going to her. It was as if she had spun a web and trapped me; when she felt like it she crept out of her lair, sated her lust on me, and then discarded me. Weeks turned into months and still I was seeing her. Her independence and elusiveness almost drove me out of my mind. Her quest to find a purpose in life continued and she made it clear that this was something more than I could supply. Her need for identity, recognition, a status, was the source of endless fights between us, but she could no more stay away from me than I could from her.

  Henry despised her, but that only served to make her more acceptable to me. When she and I decided to move from our respective colleges and find ourselves a small house on the outskirts of Oxford I thought it was going to be the end of my friendship with him.

  ‘You’re insane,’ he yelled at me, standing in the doorway of my room as I packed.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, taking the Ensor from the wall and grimacing as I remembered the first night I had met Jessica.

  ‘She’s no good, Alexander. She’s sleeping with other men, you know that, don’t you?’

  I nodded. ‘Yep, I know that.’

  He punched his fist against the wall. ‘How can you just shrug it off? Jesus, I don’t think I know you any more.’

  I laughed at that. ‘This is beginning to sound like a lover’s tiff, Henry.’

  He didn’t even smile. His eyes were brilliant and I could see that he was struggling with himself. I turned away and began stuffing my shaving equipment into a bag.

  ‘It’s Elizabeth, isn’t it?’ he suddenly burst out.

  I turned back to him, my razor still in my hand. This was a forbidden subject between us, and had been since before we left Foxton’s.

  ‘It’s Elizabeth. Jessica’s told me all about it. She lets you think of Elizabeth when you’re screwing her, doesn’t she?’

  I felt the blood draining from my face. ‘You’re out of your mind —’

  ‘No! It’s you who’s out of your mind. Listen, do you know why she does it? Why she lets you carry on this insane delusion? It’s so that you will never completely own her. So that she can walk out on you whenever she feels like it. She’s using you, Alexander. You’re her cause, her challenge. If she can conquer you, break you even, she’ll have scored the great victory for womankind.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I bloody do. I’m Not Fodder for the Male Chauvinist Pig! Christ, it’s emblazoned all over her T-shirt! She’s made you a laughing stock, Alexander, the way you go running around after her. And you don’t really think you’re going to get Elizabeth out of your system by – ’

  ‘Out of my system! What in hell’s name are you talking about? So I made a mistake when I was a kid – why can’t you do as I did years ago, and forget it? And as for all that crap about – ’

  ‘It’s not crap. Jessica told me herself, she’s told everybody. What is it she does for you, Alexander? Put on a nurse’s uniform?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ I yelled.

  Henry’s face was white. His eyes fell to the razor I was still holding. ‘Why don’t you use it now?’ he said. ‘Slit your wrists and be done with it, before Jessica does it for you. Because take it from me, Alexander, she’ll destroy you.’

  Before I could answer he had stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  I didn’t see him for several weeks after that, but I was so busy with Jessica I had no time to think about him. Intellectually my life took a new turn as I entered her bohemian world of artists and writers, and languished away the days posing nude while she stood at her easel creating unrecognisable portraits of me. This was her surrealist period.

  The novelty of living together soon wore off though, as Jessica started to introduce her feminist friends – the lesbian brigade, as I irreverently called them – into our house, and returned to her old habit of attending women’s rallies in far flung corners of the country. At that time the Women’s Liberal Federation, the organisation she belonged to, was trying to bring about government legislation for equal pay. They had plenty of other causes too such as free contraception, maternity rights for working mothers, laws against sexual harassment in the workplace, Jessica’s old favourite about allowing women to join the Stock Exchange – in fact so many that I often lost track of what Jessica was doing, and got fed up with the endless political wrangling that I seemed to get caught up in whenever she was at home. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in what she was trying to do, it was just that I was growing a little weary of helping her cope with the basic contradictions in her behaviour. On the one hand she believed passionately in every one of the Federation’s feminist ideals, but on the other, she was not only living with one of the common enemy, she was actually falling in love with him. She could not come to terms with this – and nor could I. It wasn’t as if I expected her to cook for me, wash up after me, iron for me, they were all tasks I could and did perform for myself; but sometimes, when she was feeling particularly warm towards me, Jessica insisted on doing these things. She did them because she loved me, because she wanted to do them, that was what she said at the time – but afterwards she would fly into a terrible rage and nothing I could do or say would convince her that she hadn’t drastically diminished her status as a modern, liberated woman. All men wanted women for was to slave for them, she’d yell at me; they wanted to parade them as status symbols, and then drive them home and father children on them in their own image. There was nothing to compare with the arrogance and stupidity of the male ego! And all this because she had darned a hole in one of my socks, so small that I hadn’t even noticed it was there.

  After an altercation that very nearly came to blows just because I asked her to post a letter for me, I walked out of the house. I was sorely in need of male company. I sought out Henry and in no time at all we were slapping each other on the back as if our quarrel had never taken place. Robert Lyttleton, a chap who had come up from Eton a year after us, and knew Henry’s family was now occupying my old room. The three of us began to spend a lot of time together, mostly at Brown’s or the King’s Arms. And Parson’s Pleasure was a convenient male-only retreat that I frequented because I knew it annoyed Jessica.

  This isn’t to say that I stopped living with Jessica, of course. Our erratic and eccentric relationship continued along its rocky path, painfully cemented by a compelling mix of hatred and lust. I thrived on the way I could torment her because she loved me; she tried desperately not to mind about the other women I had – and hit back by taking lovers herself. I, at least, was happy with the way we were, and didn’t intend to change it.

  So when, after Finals, I had the idea of inviting Miss Angrid up to Oxford for the weekend, no one was more surprised by the suggestion than me. From the look on his face, Henry was pretty flabbergasted too.

  ‘Just think of the old dragon,’ I said, before he could say anything, ‘waddling her way round college telling everyone to stop biting their nails and tuck their shirts in. It’ll be a kill.’

  ‘Where will she stay?’

  I shrugged. ‘Why not with me and Jessica?’

  Henry’s eyes widened, and I realised that perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea. This was confirmed later when Jessica rounded on me and demanded to know how she was expected to cope with a morbid old bag of a matron hanging round her all day. Why on earth had I invited her in the first place – or was I just kinky about matrons?

  In fact I had been having second thoughts about the invitation, but after that jibe I went ahead and composed a letter to Miss Angrid the same night. The following week I received a reply saying she’d love to come, and could I book her into that nice Eastgate hotel – the Ruskin suite if I could manage it – where she had stayed the last time she
had been up.

  On our four-hundred-and-twenty-pounds-a-year grant, plus the six hundred pounds allowance we each received from our fathers, Henry and I managed to stretch to the Ruskin suite, and I was at the station to meet Miss Angrid on the designated Saturday. I was annoyed to find how nervous I was at the prospect of seeing her again, and silently berated Jessica for forcing me into it. And the fact that my heart gave an Olympic-style somersault as Miss Angrid stepped off the train annoyed me even further. However, the situation was saved by the Mercedes. She made no comment, except to purse her lips and glance at me over the top of her new spectacles, but it was a look I remembered so well that I very nearly threw my arms around her and danced her round the car park.

  Henry was waiting at the hotel and leapt from his seat when he saw us come in. He then proceeded very nearly to buckle his back by trying to sweep her off her feet. Her face was beaming so hard it looked painful.

  When lunch was over, she produced a well-thumbed guide of the city and took us on a tour, dragging us from monument to museum, college to library, impressing us like mad with her vast knowledge of the place, until at last we arrived at Balliol where she insisted Henry show her his room.

  I almost choked when I saw Henry’s face; it was as if we had stepped back in time. Miss Angrid was duly horrified at the state of Henry’s room and demanded to know who was responsible for letting him get away with it. Henry whispered to me that his scout was away, and we both heaved a sigh of relief at the narrow avoidance of past and present worlds colliding . . . .

  We dined with her that evening. I stayed longer than I’d intended, mainly because with Miss Angrid there, Jessica suddenly seemed an intrusion in my life, an irrelevance. But I had to face her wrath sooner or later, so leaving Miss Angrid and Henry to their brandies and reminiscences, I went home. Jessica wasn’t there. Her wardrobe was empty and there was a note on the bed. I didn’t even bother to read it. I knew she’d be back.

  The following day Henry was taking part in the Eights Week races, so I took Miss Angrid for a stroll over to Magdalen to see the deer park.

  ‘So you’ll be going down at the end of the month,’ she remarked, as we wandered past the tower and on to the bridge.

  ‘Mmm,’ I waved to a couple of friends emerging from beneath the bridge in a punt.

  ‘What do you intend to do with yourself then?’

  ‘Bar School.’

  ‘And Henry?’

  ‘Same.’

  ‘And are you still determined to practise criminal law?’ she asked, leaning against the side of the bridge.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is your father any happier about it? I thought after all that business – ’

  ‘Not really, but we don’t row about it any more.’

  ‘How is he? I read in the paper he’d not been well. Heart, wasn’t it?’

  ‘He’s better, I think. Apparently the doctor’s told him he’s got to take things a bit easier, but you know what he’s like.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine. Gave her a bit of a fright, naturally, but now Luanda’s had the baby she’s got something else to occupy her mind.’

  ‘Of course. I was forgetting you had a sister. She married a Frenchman? didn’t she?’

  ‘Etienne. And now they’ve got a son. And before you ask, I’m sure they’ll be putting him down for Foxton’s – unless Etienne insists he has a French education!’

  She laughed. ‘Now, what about you? Who’s this Jessica Henry was telling me about last night?’

  ‘Henry told you about Jessica?’

  ‘He did. But I had already guessed there must be someone, otherwise you and Henry would be sharing digs together. So, what’s she like? Why haven’t I been introduced?’

  ‘She’s gone to keep her grandmother company for the weekend.’

  She eyed me suspiciously. ‘Mmm. Serious, is it, between you two?’

  I answered with a shrug, then deftly manoeuvred her round to telling me the news of Foxton’s. Mr Lear was now the Deputy Head, I was surprised to hear, and Mr Ellery had married a new English mistress who had joined the school just after I left. Foxton’s had been slaughtered at rugby by Monkforth Abbey for three years running, she added with disgust. ‘Seems they forgot how to play the wretched game after you’d gone. You got a blue, I hear?’

  ‘You hear a great deal down there at Foxton’s,’ I laughed, and pushed myself away from the wall to Walk on. She followed, a pace or two behind. ‘And the other matron?’ I asked, after a short silence. ‘I’ve forgotten her name now. Is she still there?’

  ‘Miss Austen. Yes, she’s still with us.’

  When we came to the other side of the bridge, we wandered down the steps to the river bank. It was several minutes before I realised Miss Angrid was no longer walking beside me. When I turned round I found her watching me, her hands bulging the pockets of her cardigan and her blue rinse tilted to one side.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ I asked. And when she didn’t answer I looked at my watch. ‘I know! It’s time for tea. There’s a great tea shop not far from here. No hot buttered toast, I’m afraid, but they do a terrific scone with homemade jam and fresh . . .’

  ‘Why don’t you ask, Alexander?’ She waited, her eyes steadfastly holding mine. ‘It’s why you invited me here, isn’t it?’

  I stared out across the river. I hadn’t been conscious of any motive, but maybe that was because I hadn’t allowed myself to be. It was all so long ago now – I couldn’t even picture her face any more. So why was my heart beating faster? Why did the palms of my hands feel damp?

  I looked back to Miss Angrid. She was still watching me. ‘I can return to Foxton’s without mentioning her name if that’s what you want,’ she said. ‘It’s up to you.’

  I sat down on the grass and rested my elbows on my knees. After a while she came and sat beside me. I couldn’t meet her eyes as I spoke. ‘Have you heard from her?’

  ‘A postcard.’ She fumbled in her handbag. ‘Here, I brought it in case you wanted to see it.’

  I looked at it for a long time, but didn’t take it from her. ‘When did she send it?’ I asked finally.

  ‘Just over a year ago.’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She doesn’t say on the card?’

  ‘No.’

  I laughed, and knew it sounded bitter. ‘Well, that’s it then, isn’t it,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘She could be dead by now for all we know.’

  Miss Angrid said nothing. ‘Well, what am I supposed to say?’ I shouted angrily. ‘She went out of our lives four years ago. She knows where we are, if she wanted to get in touch she would. I gave up losing sleep over her a long time ago.’ It wasn’t what I’d meant to say, but somehow the right words wouldn’t come.

  Miss Angrid sighed, and held out her hand for me to help her to her feet. ‘It’s no good, Alexander,’ she said, ‘I can see it in your eyes, even after all this time. I thought maybe you’d have got over it by now, but common sense tells me I wouldn’t be here if you had.’ I turned away so she couldn’t see my face, and she sighed again as she looked out over the river. ‘She was very special, wasn’t she? I don’t suppose any of us really knew how much you two meant to each other. You were both so young. All I can say to you now is, stop punishing yourself and – from what Henry tells me – everyone around you too. It’s been a long time, Alexander, time enough for you to come to terms with what happened. That’s the only way you’re going to stop hurting, you know – and when you stop hurting, then it really will be over.’

  I swung round to face her. ‘It is over! For God’s sake, what do I have to do to prove it? Yes, she did mean something to me, but you said it yourself, it was a long time ago. I was a schoolboy. Things are different now. Things, I, have changed.’

  She sighed and hitched her bag across her elbow. When she looked at me again her eyes were sad, and she shook her head slowly.

  I g
lared at her, and in that instant I felt such rage well up in me that I wanted to strike out at her. Why wouldn’t they all stop tormenting me? Why wouldn’t they believe me when I told them it didn’t matter to me any more? There was another woman in my life – there had been for more than a year. Damn it, surely that must mean something!

  I was glad when Henry joined us for tea at the Eastgate and sensing the tension between Miss Angrid and me, immediately set about breaking it. He almost succeeded, but I refused to be drawn completely; knowing that he thought the same as Miss Angrid angered me.

  Later I drove Miss Angrid to the station and waited with her until her train was ready to leave. As I was closing the door of her carriage she turned quickly and pushed a note into my hand. The sudden lurch of my heart must have shown on my face, because she shook her head.

  I waited until I got back to the car before I unfolded the note, then smiled as I saw it was a verse from Shelley. I read it slowly.

  Life may change, but it may fly not,

  Hope may vanish, but can die not,

  Truth be veiled, but still it burneth;

  Love repulsed – but it returneth.

  I banged my hand hard against the steering wheel. Damn! Damn her! What did it take to convince her that not only was I no longer in love with Elizabeth, I was in love with someone else? Jessica was a bitch, but I couldn’t live without her; we were made for each other, Jessica and I, and the rest of the world could go to hell. And what was more, I now knew exactly what I would do to show the rest of the world that Elizabeth meant nothing to me any more – absolutely nothing.

  ‘What do you mean, no?’ I stormed. ‘You mean you’re refusing?’

  ‘That’s precisely what I mean.’ Henry walked slowly across the room to refill his glass, then sauntered back to his chair and sat down. ‘Then I’ll have to ask Robert Lyttleton, I suppose,’ I said.

  ‘You can always ask.’

  I swung round to face him. ‘Look here, Henry, I’m getting married. It’s supposed to be one of the most important days in a man’s life. I’m asking you to be there, with me.’