The Art School Dance (14 page)

‘
Sure,’
Jeff said, when I asked if I could leave the bike with him. ‘But
why?’

‘
Because
I can’t take it with me.’

‘
Then
why come out on it in the first place?’

‘
I’ll
explain some other time,’ I said, in a rush. ‘Just stick the thing
in the backyard and I’ll pick it up when I can.’

He did as I
asked and I went the rest of the way on foot, working up a sweat
which I didn’t really need. By the time I got to the ‘Bellingham’ I
was in a bit of a mess, sticky, my hair slick with sweat. Peering
through the door, into the lounge, I could see Paula looking so
cool that she makes me feel even more uncomfortable.

‘
I
thought you weren’t going to come,’ she said when I joined her; she
was wearing black, as I was again, and I thought we make a nice
little harmony together, like a Whistler nocturne.

‘
Problems,’ I told her. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

Paula held up
her glass, sparkling against the dark silk of her blouse. ‘White
wine,’ she told me. ‘Dry.’

I went to the
bar to get the drinks -wine for me, too, since it seemed more
suited to the atmosphere of the place than a pint of lager- and
when I returned Paula asked me what the problem had been.

‘
Nothing
serious.’

‘
Stephen?’ she guessed.

‘
Right,’
I admitted. ‘He turned up this morning and just wouldn’t leave,
gave us a report on the dinner dance, invited himself to stay for
lunch and then settled down to watch television.’

‘
I take
it you didn’t tell him what your new year’s eve was like?’ Paula
asked, and though her face wasn’t fully turned towards me her eyes
were looking at me, only half seen and striking wicked gleams of
light. When I said nothing she grinned. ‘No, of course you didn’t.
I wouldn’t expect you to.’

I felt guilty,
as if I had betrayed Paula, said, ‘Sorry.’

‘
Why
sorry? How could you tell hi, what happened? He’s been your
boyfriend for however many years so you’re not going to tell him
anything that might hurt him, not on account of a one-night
stand.’

‘
Is that
what it was?’ I asked. ‘Just one night?’

‘
That’s
all it’s been so far, so why say anything to him?’

‘
But is
that all it’s going to be?’

‘
It all
depends. Is that all you want it to be?’ Paula asked, and answered
for me, before I could speak. ‘No, I can sense you don’t. Neither
do I, otherwise I wouldn’t have suggested we see each other again
today.’

‘
No?’

‘
No.’

*

Later, when the
two of us left the ‘Bellingham’ and walked back into town, Paula
said, ‘There’s no need to say anything to Stephen. You can come
back as often as you like, whenever you like, but there’s no need
to let Stephen know what’s happening until you think the time is
right.’

‘
Why do
you tell me that?’ I asked, for to me it sounded a little
suspicious, as if to say that there was no need to tell Stephen
anything because there was nothing which needed admitting to,
nothing more than a brief flirtation which would quickly burn
out.

Paula was more
acutely perceptive than Stephen could ever be, though, and sensed
my suspicion immediately.

‘
Don’t
frown, Ginny, don’t look so worried. I only say you can take your
time because I don’t want to see anyone hurt, not even Stephen.
Come to me when you like, tell him when you can.’

*

When I left
Paula at the door to her flat I was convinced by what has been
said; I didn’t know why Paula should want to spend more time with
me than the few hours we’d shared so far, but I sensed that she was
being honest when she said that she did, believed that she wanted
to be with me as much as I wanted to be with her. As for hurting
anyone, I found it hard to credit that Paula ever could; her body
was soft, her nature was kind, only hard things could hurt, or
people who were hard inside, and she fell into neither of these
categories.

Gran, on the
other hand, she could hurt without trying, she could have a soul
like steel at times, and it was she who was waiting with the
questions when I got home, questions as pointed as the knitted
needles which she clicked together in a furious rage.

When she asked
where I’d been I gave her the standard reply. ‘Out.’

‘
Out
where?’

‘
With
friends.’‘You said you were going to see that boy Gus,’ she
recalled.

‘
I did,
and we went out for a drink with a couple of other
people.’

The lies came
easily. I had never found it difficult to lie, had always been able
to do so without compunction and never felt any guilt; lies were
usually what people wanted to hear, after all, not the truth. Gran
would not want to be told of the absolute evil -as she would regard
it- of what I’d been up to, a few venial sins were all she wanted
to hear of, minor transgressions which would go to show what an
inconsiderate little sod her grand-daughter was; petty iniquities
would give her the excuse to have a go at me, grumble until she was
happy and turn her pique to pleasure; anything truly serious, those
sins she would call mortal, would cause her pain rather than
pleasure, and so my lies kept the old woman happy, which was how I
excused them.

‘
You
know that Stephen waited here for hours?’ Gran said.

‘
How
could I?’ I answered, though I had guessed he might do. ‘I wasn’t
here, was I?’

‘
Cheek!’

‘
Anyway,
you enjoy each others company, you and him and mother.’

‘
It was
your company he came for!’

‘
He
didn’t want my company on new year’s eve, did he?’ I said, to keep
things going, to keep the argument bubbling, and Gran got into the
spirit of it, setting her knitting down and wagging a finger at
me.

‘
And do
you know why he didn’t? Because it was a posh do, that’s why, and
he’d be too embarrassed to be seen with the likes of
you!’

‘
Well,
if he can’t take me as I am-’

‘
We're
embarrassed to be seen with you, for goodness sake, your
poor mother and me! You dress like a tramp!’

‘
But
wasn’t it you who taught me that it’s not what a person looks like,
it’s what they are that matters?’

Gran had said
this often, she was unable to deny it, so she switched tack, became
less critical and more reasonable. Like prayers muttered to her
God, her low voice crackled with an ancient knowledge of the ways
of the world as she tried to persuade me of my error, of why I
should change, why I should conform. I would never hold onto
Stephen the way I was, I would never find another nice young man
unless I mended my ways.

I laughed to
myself. Gran didn’t stand a chance of changing me, I could see no
reason why I needed to change.

Chapter Ten

At the start of
the new term Ben gave us this long speech about how important the
coming weeks were; we would choose the colleges we were going to
apply to, put together the portfolio we would take for interview
and every piece of work would have to count, each would have to
impress; there would be decisions made about what type of course to
apply for and the staff would advise us, point us to fine art or
graphics or whatever, according to the work we’d done. My mind was
already made up on that score, it had to be fine art for me, I
would be a painter or I would be nothing. This was my selfishness
again, I supposed; painters pleased themselves while designers were
generally obliged to please others.

The speech
dragged on a bit, in his carefully rehearsed way Ben did his best
to stir his students, but I had no need to pay attention since I’d
watched Paula type out the notes for him. Much of the holiday left
to us had been spent together, going for drives in her car,
walking, sitting and talking in her flat. I spent the occasional
night there, too. Nothing had changed, everything was fine.

When Ben had
finished his speech, recited more or less word for word from the
typed notes, we all got down to work. There would be no set
projects during that term, of the sort we had started the course
with; we had been novices then, straight from school, but were now
becoming professionals; each of us had our own ideas and all the
tutors needed do was guide people gently this way or that. I had no
major work in progress, the large pieces had been finished before
Christmas, so I spent some time looking through what I had, the
drawings and the sketchbooks, searching for the next direction to
take. While I was doing this, Ben poked his nose in.

‘
Remember the last life drawing you did?’ he said. ‘The
pretty one you wouldn’t let me touch?’

The one I had
promised Paula.

‘
Yes.’

‘
Where
is it?’

I got it out
of the drawing and laid it on the table; it had one or two smudges
on it, fingerprints and the like, which I would have to clean off
with a soft putty rubber, but these apart the drawing was as
perfect as I remembered it. Following the events of the holiday the
drawing had taken on an even greater significance for me.

Ben pointed to
the lines and the angle of the pose, said, ‘Look, forget about the
head-’

Decapitate
Paula?

‘
-cut
the arms off just below the shoulders and what have you
got?’

‘
What?’
I asked, horrified.

‘
Another
of your crucified pieces of meat.’

I could see
what he was getting at, but didn’t like the idea, the drawing meant
even more to me now and there was no way I could deface it, neither
the image nor the idea. We argued for a while, I suggested that the
idea of crucified meat might wear a bit too thin if it was repeated
again and again while Ben reasoned that this was simply the natural
progression of a theme which was expected of an artist.

‘
But I’m
not exactly an artist yet, am I?’ I said.

‘
You
should want to be. It’s what you should be striving
for.’

‘
I do,
and I am,’ I assured him. ‘I’m still learning, though, still
feeling my way. It’s alright for an established artist to work at
length on a single theme, but I ought to be showing more
versatility at this stage.’

‘
You’ve
got to show that you can carry on an idea right through to its
conclusion.’

‘
And
I’ve also got to show that I’m full of ideas. If the people who
interview me see nothing but lumps of meat they might think that’s
the only idea I’ve been able to come up with.’

After lengthy
debate Ben finally conceded the point, said that there was no
telling what might happen when I went for interview, that I might
find myself facing a bunch of vegetarians repulsed by the very idea
of my butchered crucifixions. To my relief, then, the drawing of
Paula went safely back into the folder and we looked through other
work, considered other ideas; Ben made a suggestion or two, then
left me to ponder them. Thinking about a piece of work was often as
important as its actual execution, so no one complained when
lunchtime came and I still hadn’t produced any tangible work.
Between twelve o’clock and a quarter past most people drifted away,
to the canteen or out to the pub, but I hung on in the studio.

*

At twelve
thirty precisely, Paula’s lunch break, I heard her coming into the
studio. I was still hunched over a table, scribbling in a notebook,
thumbing through drawings, and Paula stood behind me, leaned over
and wrapped her arms around me as she kissed me on the back of the
neck.

It must be
that I tensed, or started suddenly even though I’d heard her
coming, because Paula had given her no more than a quick hug before
she pulled up a stool and looked questioningly at me.

‘
Is
there something wrong?’ she asked.

‘
No, not
at all.’

‘
Yes
there is. What is it?’

‘
Are you
having lunch today?’ I asked her, as I look around at the few
people left in the studio; none were watching us, they were all
engrossed in their work.

‘
Just
the usual coffee and a sandwich.’

‘
Come
on, then, we’ll nip out for something.’

‘
Okay,
if you like,’ Paula agreed, and we left by the back stairs, went
out of college by the rear of the building.

At a nearby
sandwich bar we got cheese rolls and coffees, then walked through
the gardens by the parish church.

‘
Now can
you talk?’ Paula smiled, sitting at a bench and unwrapping her
lunch. ‘Is it safe, now there’s no one listening?’

‘
What do
you mean? Safe?’ I asked innocently.

‘
Come
on, tell me what’s troubling you,’ she prompted, and in the privacy
of the church gardens, under her insistent gaze, I had to admit to
feeling rather like a school-kid who was having it off with the
headmaster’s secretary.

‘
It’s
all very nice in secret, during the holidays,’ I said, ‘but it
becomes a bit embarrassing once school starts again.’

Laughing,
Paula said, ‘So you think we’d better restrict our affair to the
holidays? Is that what you want?’