The Art School Dance (53 page)

Virginia
smiled, her eyes turning away to gaze into a dim distance. 'Then
let’s just leave it at that.'

'But it wasn’t
just that, was it?' Keith suspected. His hand squeezed hers
insistently. 'There’s something more, there’s some other reason,
isn’t there?'

Perhaps.

Most
probably.

But Virginia
was too noble to say any more, the memory of it all was too
painful, and as she went to the toilets she saw Keith’s eyes on
Stephen, worried, curious, mistrustful.

Serve the
bastard right, laughed Virginia silently, for daring to turf her so
ceremoniously out of his bed.

*

By closing time
Virginia and Keith were all that was left of his party, the others
already having gone on to the house; it was Stephen who had started
the exodus, soon after ten, made uncomfortable by the frequent
suspicious glances which were cast his way. With room to move, as
more people left, Virginia and Keith contrived to draw closer,
almost into each other’s laps; she tried to find words to describe
his hair, while he traced a fingernail across the palm of her
hand.

'Alright!
Everybody out! All ashore that’s going ashore!' Coral walked around
the room, collecting glasses and urging people to leave. 'Come on,
Virginia, drink up and get out so I can get out and drink.'

'Do you want
to hang on for another?' Virginia asked Keith. 'Coral won’t
mind.'

He shook his
head. 'No, I think I’d better get back to the house and play the
genial host. The sooner I’ve fulfilled my duties to the other
guests...'

'Yes?'

He gave her a
secret smile. 'Come on, let’s find the car, I left it around here
somewhere.'

They climbed
the stairs.

'Goodnight,
drive carefully,' Coral was saying to each of her customers as she
waited to lock the doors. On seeing Virginia and Keith wearily
mount the last of the steps arm in arm she said, 'I think you two
would be better taking a taxi.'

They laughed
and returned her ‘goodnight’.

'By the time
we find the car we’ll be jober as sudges,' Virginia said, while
Keith was deciding which way they had to go.

'Over there, I
think that’s where I left it,' he said at last, pointing to the
dark narrow alley of Matthew Street, and on the plot of land where
the Cavern had once stood they found his rusting Austin 1100.

'It looks
tired,' Virginia said, hearing it groan as she sat on the
bonnet.

'It goes.'
Keith took the keys and handed them to her. 'Here, you try.'

It did go,
after Keith had patted the dashboard to placate the grumbling
engine, and Virginia steered it through the one-way city streets,
slowly at first, as she became accustomed to its particular
idiosyncrasies.

'Where to?'
she asked, crunching from second gear to fourth.

'Head for
Sefton Park,' Keith told her, then settled back in the passenger
seat and rested his knees on the dashboard.

He had hard,
lean thighs.

Luck be a lady
tonight! thought Virginia, the lyrics ringing about her tone deaf
mind, and with eyes only for the slim legs at her side she failed
to notice the police car until it pulled in front of her, forcing
her to stop.

'Bugger!' she
cursed, covering her eyes; the blur of the flashing blue light was
an offence to the quiet of the night.

A voice came
through the open window at her side. “Excuse me, madam, but I have
reason to believe that you are in charge of this vehicle while
under the influence of alcohol.”

'Don’t be
ridiculous,' said Virginia, taking her hand from her eyes and
looking up, flashing a grin.

The
recognition was instantaneous.

'Well if it
isn’t Virgin-ya! The one who wants the flowers handcuffed,' said
the policewoman.

'Oh, Christ!'
said Virginia.

'You know this
woman, Wilkie?' said the second officer.

'Indeed I do.'
Wilkie smiled and opened the driver’s door. 'If you don’t mind
stepping out, Miss Virginia whatever-your-name-is. I think you’re
going to have to accompany us to the station.'

'You can’t do
that!' said Keith, coming alert at last.

'Really?'

'Not without
reason.'

'Oh, we have
reasons aplenty,' Wilkie boasted, her hours on patrol made
worthwhile at last. 'There’s crossing lights on red by the
cathedral, and again on Smithdown Road, almost knocking an old man
off his bicycle which is undue care and attention-'

'Oh, come on!
How many old men are out on bicycles at this time of night?'

Wilkie ignored
Keith’s question, turned to Virginia. 'This your car?'

'No. It’s
mine.'

Keith again,
out of the car now, and perhaps Wilkie wondered if she would ever
get rid of him. Referring to him as ‘sir’ she suggested that he get
back into the vehicle and drive it home, assuring him that Virginia
would be in safe company.

'Where are you
taking her?' Keith demanded to know. 'St Anne Street?'

'No.
Cheapside.'

'Then I’ll be
in touch,' he promised. 'You hang on, Virginia. I’ll be down
there.'

Wilkie said
that he would be wasting his time.

Virginia said
nothing. Meek and submissive she went to the police car and allowed
herself to be bundled into the back. Through the rear window, as
the car pulled away, she saw Keith waving as though she was setting
off on some holiday.

*

How might
Virginia describe what she went through? Dickens only knows and
only Dickens would have had the words with which to sum it all
up.

In the narrow
cobbled street of Cheapside the world grew darker and the mood
became more primitive. Wilkie knocked on a heavy door, identified
herself to a person on the other side and they were admitted.

'What’s this
one?' the sergeant at the desk asked, and Wilkie delivered the
details with a theatrical fervour; suspicion of driving while under
the influence of alcohol, and with undue care and attention.

When asked,
Virginia gave her name.

'Virgin-ya,'
Wilkie chuckled.

'Address?'

Virginia
supplied her address, then listened carefully as the situation was
explained to her and she was informed of her rights. She was
escorted to a breathalyser machine and told to blow into it, one
long breath without pause. The result was unfavourable.

'It looks like
you’re staying here a while, love. Empty out your pockets.'

She did as she
was told and the contents were noted, then sealed in a brown
envelope.

No, she could
not keep her cigarettes.

'How long do I
have to stay here?' she asked.

'As long as it
takes, Virginia,' said Wilkie, escorting her to a cell, gripping
her viciously by the upper arm.

A mean cow was
Wilkie, not big but well muscled, fit enough to worry Virginia.

'Get in,' she
ordered, opening a door and pushing Virginia forward. The door
slammed behind her, just as it did in the most contrived of
dramas.

In the cell
was a wood-and-hardboard construction made to look like a bed, even
to the shape of a pillow at its end. Virginia sat on it and crossed
her legs, trying to look nonchalant and other-worldly. She had read
somewhere of cases of astral projection being reported among
longterm detainees, these occurring when the boredom or fatigue or
suffering became unbearable. Hoping for some such result she closed
her eyes and dreamed the walls away. A brush would have been
useful, and paints, then she could sketch out her liberation on the
wall, a serene and distant panorama into which she could step. She
opened her eyes but all she could see was the defaced brickwork,
scarred by oaths and curses, promises and prayers. No calendars,
though, ticking off the days one by one, for this was only a cell
for people in transit; its occupants either went free in the
morning or on to courts and detention centres.

The cell
stank; there was a hint of urine, a hint of vomit, a hint of the
restless souls who had left a part of themselves behind. To
Virginia’s left was an open toilet, a corner where the stench was
stronger, only partly hidden behind a low wooden screen. She vowed
not to use this, not to be caught in the act; there was no knowing
who might be spying on her. She had always imagined cells as having
a tiny window, high up on the wall and only reached on tiptoe, but
this place did not even afford that simple comfort. There was no
suggestion of a world outside.

Noises came
from time to time, from the other side of the heavy door which was
pierced only by a tiny peep-hole, but they were not real noises of
traffic and city and the things she knew; they were the complaints
of the drunk and the injured and the scuffling boots of their
overlords.

What am I
doing here? she asked herself.

She had been
more or less proven to have been drunk while driving. This she
accepted, as she would accept the subsequent fine and
disqualification. What she could not understand was why she had to
remain in the cell, so she hammered on the door in an effort to
attract someone’s attention. She wanted to put her question forward
with reasoned sobriety.

No one
came.

She returned
to her bed and juggled herself into a reasonably comfortable
position. Her contemplative mood almost worked this time; she did
not escape to sun-baked sands, but did at least fall asleep.

'Come on,
Virginia, wake up,' she was ordered, some time later.

'What’s
happening?' she asked, blinking her eyes open.

'The doctor’s
here.'

A clock in the
corridor read two-thirty and it was something concrete for her to
cling to; she started counting the seconds until morning.

The doctor was
unpleasantly efficient, spoke with a slight foreign accent and had
a practice in Rodney Street.

Only the best
for Virginia.

Virginia had
her reflexes tested and her eyes were studied as they followed the
movements of the doctor’s finger; her diction and her aptitude for
mental arithmetic -never a strength of hers- were considered.
Finally blood was drawn from her arm and transferred to two
containers. These were sealed, signed and offered to her.

'Take one,'
the doctor invited.

'What
for?'

'You can have
it analysed yourself, to see if you agree with our findings.'

Virginia took
one and placed it in her pocket. 'Can I go now?' she asked.

'Yes, back to
your cell,' said Wilkie, squeezing her arm and adding to the
bruises.

'Why
there?'

'Because
you’ve been naughty, Virginia. You’re drunk and you’ve got to sleep
it off.'

It was
six-thirty before the cell door opened again but there was still no
sign of morning, only glossy walls reflecting the unkind ceiling
lights. Virginia was taken to the charge desk, not daring to ask if
she was being released; she thought it unwise to appear too eager,
to make too much of freedom. She was asked to blow into the
breathalyser machine again.

'Failed
again,' she was informed. 'Not many people do that.'

This worried
her, hinting as it did at a further spell of confinement.

'It’s okay,
though, we’ll let you go,' the desk sergeant told her. 'The fresh
air will probably do you more good than being locked up.'

Compassion at
last.

The brown
envelope was broken open, her possessions spilled onto the counter
and described, one by one in inimitable police fashion. She signed
for them and took them back.

'See you in
court, Virgin-ya,' said Wilkie, still there after all those hours;
she, at least, had had a comfortable night, spent mainly indoors
rather than out where the trouble was, where she should have been,
catching criminals and earning her pay.

Virginia never
bothered to curse; she was happy just to step outdoors and look at
the morning sky.

*

After breakfast
at the Pier Head -a fried egg sandwich at the twenty four hour
cafe, in the company of the dirty and the destitute- she made her
way home, weaving wearily between the morning commuters whose
comfortable lives she envied for once. She was exhausted,
physically and mentally, and she wanted to get to bed, to a soft
springy mattress rather than the wooden thing she had spent the
past six hours on. But first a little sympathy, she decided, to
help her sleep more soundly, and when she reached the house she
went to Goomer’s room rather than to her own.

Interpreting
the sleepy sound which answered her knock as an invitation to
enter, she pushed open the door. The room was warm, scented by
dreams, and its contents were vague grey shapes mottled by the weak
light which came through the curtains.

'Who’s that?'
Goomer asked, his body ill-defined among the pile of
bedclothes.

'Virginia,'
she said, sitting on the bed and staring hard to bring him into
focus.

His features
sharpened as he sat up. 'Virginia? What have you been up to this
time? There were two policemen around here in the early hours,
checking that you lived here.'

Slowly,
pausing dramatically at certain points, Virginia told him what had
happened, her head sinking lower as her narrative became more
tragic.

'Poor
Virginia,' said Goomer, as her head fell onto his chest. 'Did the
nasty men mistreat you?'

'I’m so
tired,' she said, letting her weight lean more heavily against
Goomer. 'I had no sleep at all last night.'

Goomer nodded,
sympathising. 'Come on, lie down for a while.'

Virginia was
sleepy and thought that she must already be dreaming. 'What did you
say?'

'Get in and
rest,' he said, raising her head so that she could follow the
movement of his lips.

Trying not to
appear too awake or enthusiastic, Virginia kicked off her
shoes.