The Art School Dance (11 page)

‘
But
there’s no need-’

‘
Go on!
Be quick!’

I was out of
the car before I could think of why Paula should want to wait. It
was only as I walk up the stairs to the sorting room that I
wondered if perhaps Paula was thinking of giving me a lift home.
The idea disturbed me. I couldn’t have that, for God’s sake! After
visiting her home I didn’t want Paula to see what my own was like
and I desperately searched for some excuse to decline the
favour.

Outdoors,
again, I saw that the car is still there. I opened the door, but
didn’t get in.

‘
Well,
thanks for the lift. Now I think I’ll pop along the road for a
drink,’ I said, before the offer of a lift could be
made.

‘
Exactly
what I had in mind,’ said Paula. ‘Come on, hop back in.’

‘
But
where?’ I asked, looking at the clothes I was wearing and thinking
how inappropriate they would be in any of the places Paula
frequented. ‘I’m hardly dressed-’

‘
You
certainly aren’t naked,’ Paula interrupted. ‘They let you in the
‘Commercial’ dressed like that all the time. Come on, get in, it’s
cold with that door open.’

So I did as
Paula said, remembering that she often went to the ‘Commercial’
when we had our college binges but still a little surprised that
she should want to go there at any other time. She parked around
the corner, in the nearest available space, and for the walk to the
pub pulled her coat to her, hugging it close to her body. If it
wasn’t been for the obvious expense of the coat, I thought, she
could well have been a fellow art student, with her jeans and
sweater and hair hanging loose. We went into the pub and I bought
the drinks, able to do so without worry now that I was earning a
little money; got myself a pint of bitter and Paula the lager she
asked for.

‘
The
usual room?’ Paula supposed, and I agreed, thinking how it would be
to walk in there and have Gus and the others –but especially Gus-
wonder what the hell was going on.

Gus and the
others weren’t there, of course, term had finished and there was no
one we know; the room was empty, in fact, we had our choice of
seats, and we sat by the coal fire, inching our feet just close
enough to warm our toes without scorching the soles of our
shoes.

‘
Nice,
eh?’ said Paula.

‘
Lovely,’ I agreed, then asked, ‘But why did we come
here?’

‘
For a
drink, of course,’ Paula answered. ‘You said you were going for a
drink in any case, didn’t you?’

‘
Yes, I
did. Why this place, though?’

‘
Why
not? You drink here a lot, don’t you? And I’ve been here often
enough. I like the place.’

‘
After
college, yes, I’ve seen you often enough then,’ I said, but this
wasn’t really the point I was trying to make and I struggled for
the words to say what was on my mind. ‘What I’m saying is, well,
you come here with Ben and the rest of us, but-’

A patient
smile played across Paula’s lips, perhaps slightly mocking,
certainly amused. ‘You’ve seen the home I come from, that’s it,
you’ve seen that and it’s got you thinking?’

‘
Perhaps.’

‘
And
perhaps it was what you might have called a ‘posh’ house when you
were younger?’

I still would
call it a posh house, but for the moment only admitted that it was
a smarter place than I had ever been in before.

‘
A lot
smarter.’

‘
Let’s
stick with posh,’ Paula said. ‘And is that perhaps how you see me?
Posh?’

‘
No, not
at all.’

‘
You
fibber,’ she said, and started to laugh again. ‘You’re thinking I
don’t belong in a scruffy place like this, you’re thinking I should
be in smarter places like the golf club my father goes to, or
perhaps the tennis club my mother visits, or the restaurants where
they both dine out a couple of times a week.’

I was
concerned that I might have offended Paula, insulted her in some
way, the words were fairly rattling off her tongue and her
expression had become gravely serious.

‘
I’m
sorry if-’ I began.

‘
You’re
a bigot, Ginny, a narrow minded bigot,’ Paula said, but now the
smile was returning as she slapped her hand on mine to shut me up,
to insist that I listen. ‘Just because I dress up for college,
which I’m expected to do except on Tuesday mornings, you shouldn’t
think my clothes give you a clue to the person I am. Okay, my
parents have money and enjoy spending it in fancy places. Sure,
there are times when I might join them. I don’t have to go to the
tennis club to enjoy myself, though, or the golf club. I can enjoy
myself anywhere. It’s the company that’s important, not the
surroundings. Can you see that?’

‘
Er,
yes,’ I said, apparently not convincingly enough to satisfy
her.

‘
Ginny,
love,’ she said, taking my hand and giving me a big sister sort of
smile. ‘If you’re ever going to be an artist you really must try to
be a little less narrow-minded.’

Chapter Eight

On Christmas
Eve I had finished work by early afternoon and been paid off, had
my presents bought and wrapped. When I left work I called for a
pint at the ‘Commercial’ but there was no one there from the art
school so I didn’t stay long. Town was already beginning to fill up
with drunkards, there were arguments developing outside pubs and
people staggering and reeling after only a couple of hours
drinking; the typically festive scene offended me so I made for
home where I could sit in front of the fire, watch television and
have no part in the decadent business. When I got to the house
there was the smell of turkey, sage, all the usual holiday fare; we
had no Christmas tree, we no longer bothered, but there were a few
token decorations, a string of Christmas cards above the
mantelpiece and a crib in the front window.

‘
Finished at last?’ my mother asked, as I entered the living
room. She was beginning to wind down, most of the work was done,
the house had been cleaned from top to bottom and most of the food
was prepared.

‘
Yes,
thank goodness.’

‘
You sit
down and I’ll put the kettle on. You must be tired.’

It was the
same reception my father used to get, when he came home from work.
I passed the rest of the afternoon watching television, those
programmes put on to keep the children distracted as Christmas Day
drew closer, and Gran joined me, chuckling like someone in second
childhood at the cartoon antics on the screen. She seemed like an
infant and I could forgive her all her crabbiness, for a day or two
at least; she was the one who enjoyed Christmas most of all, though
for a moment or two on the day itself there would probably be a
touch of sadness in her eyes as she remembered all those who
weren’t there to share the holiday with her. My mother, too, would
have a pensive spell, would perhaps go up to her bedroom and shed a
tear or two, recalling Christmases she had spent with my father. It
occurred to me that once the childhood excitement had gone there
was a little too much sadness about the season.

After tea I
slipped down to the off-licence to get a few bottles of beer –all
mother had in is sherry, port and a half bottle of rum- and when I
returned Stephen was sitting in the living room. He’d brought
presents for us all.

‘
Isn’t
this nice of Stephen?’ said Gran, who had her present in her lap.
She kept playing with the wrapping, squeezing the parcel to see how
soft it was, searching for the shape of whatever was inside as if
impatient to open it.

Stephen passed
me my present.

‘
Thanks
a lot,’ I said; the parcel was soft, probably a sweater or a
blouse. ‘I don’t suppose I can open it now, can I?’

‘
Tomorrow after mass, as usual,’ my mother said.

I would go to
mass on Christmas morning, it was the only time I ever gave in to
my mother and Gran, just to pacify them.

Mother gave me
a cold meaningful stare some moments later, her eyes flitting
quickly from me to Stephen and back again as if in some secret
semaphore.

Gran wasn’t
that discreet, said gruffly, ‘Well I hope you’ve got something for
Stephen, Ginny.’

‘
Of
course I have,’ I glared at her, though for a while after our
argument I’d thought twice about buying him anything at all,
especially since I’d seen the argument as a convenient excuse for
breaking our relationship. A certain degree of kindness was called
for at Christmas, though, and I’d finally fought against the
impulse and bought him something, reasoning that our separation
could at least be amicable.

‘
Well
don’t just sit there acting wooden,’ Gran told me. ‘Go and get his
present.’

I went up to
my bedroom, came back with Stephen’s gift; it was small, no bigger
than a pack of cigarettes, and Gran snorted with derision when she
saw it.

‘
Is that
it?’

‘
Beautiful things come in small packages,’ I told her
indignantly.

‘
Thanks,
Ginny,’ said Stephen, accepting the gift, and said to Gran, ‘I’m
sure it’s lovely.’

‘
Huh!
She’s been working all the hours God sends and that’s the best that
she can do!’

Mother
‘shushed’ the old bag before I could say anything and the four of
us sat for a while, Stephen and I a little uncomfortable in each
other’s company. Gran asked how his parents were, and various aunts
and uncles she knew, one of those conversation I always found
difficult to suffer, meaningless, a waste of breath. Eventually
Gran said she was going to take a nap before midnight mass and went
up to her room, leaving just the three of us. After we’d stared
silently at the television for some minutes mother suggested that
Stephen and I go out for a drink, reminded us that it was Christmas
Eve and we should enjoy ourselves.

‘
How
about it?’ I asked Stephen, not really minding if we went out or
not but feeling a little awkward just sitting there in near
silence.

‘
Yes,
I’d love to,’ he said.

He helped me
on with my coat and when he'd wished my mother a ‘Merry Christmas’
for tomorrow we left.

*

On the doorstep
I asked Stephen if there’s any particular place he’d like to
go.

‘
I
really don’t mind,’ he said, ‘though I wouldn’t want to go to the
Labour Club. Mum and Dad will be there and you know how crowded it
gets on Christmas Eve.’

‘
Town
will be just the same. People were brawling and throwing up this
afternoon, so you can imagine what it’ll be like by
now.’

We agreed to
stay local, then, and as we walked along the street Stephen linked
his arm through mine; it was a feeling I had forgotten, that sense
of possessing and being possessed, and I wasn't sure if I liked it
or not.

The pub we
went to was crowded and we were greeted like a couple, as if we had
always been together and always would be; there were old school
friends we had both grown up with and Stephen paused to chat with a
few while I squeezed through to the bar.

‘
Lager?’
the landlord asked me.

‘
And a
bitter.’

‘
I’ve
not seen the two of you together for a while,’ he commented, as he
pulled the drinks. ‘I thought maybe you’d split up.’

The way
everyone concerned themselves in everyone else’s business! It
wasn’t out of true concern, though. They were just nosy, as Paula
had said.

‘
We’re
still good friends and you can quote me on that,’ I said
humourlessly, as I paid for the drinks and took them from the
bar.

Stephen had
got himself involved with company while I was being served, was
standing with a small crowd in a corner of the lounge; I knew the
people he was with, but didn’t really want to join them. I had no
choice, though, went across, and with the group being wholly
working courting couples the talk was predictable, clothes and
careers and hopes for the future; this was the way the maturing
youths of Sleepers Hill always were. It took a while before
courtesy obliged anyone to include me in the conversation, and then
the only topic people could think of was my life as an art student,
as if being an art student in that town was akin to being a
sideshow attraction at a fair, a bearded lady or a creature with
two heads.

‘
Ginny’s
done my portrait, you know,’ Stephen said proudly, hugging me to
his side. ‘All her tutors say that it’s a marvellous piece of
work.’

‘
That
must be lovely, to have your portrait done. You could be famous
forever, like the Mona Lisa.’

This was
Barbara, whose smile was not so much enigmatic as stark, in the way
that it was painted on her face; she always had worn too much
make-up and still hadn’t learnt the subtleties of its application.
There were great gobs of lipstick on her pouting mouth.

‘
It’s so
romantic,’ said another, whose name escaped me. ‘The best Alan can
do-’ She nudged the chap beside her. ‘-is send me a musical
Valentine card.’

They both said
how much they envy Stephen and he hugged me closer all the time,
kept gazing fondly into my eyes; for the first time since I started
at the art school he saw me as an asset rather than an oddity, a
girlfriend to be treasured rather than ashamed of. It had never
occurred to him that other people might be envious and he revelled
in this, saw that it was my talent as much as my appearance which
made me unique.