The Art School Dance (66 page)

*

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.

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?

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? To 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?

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?