Turn Us Again (5 page)

“Right, I'll room with you Connie, and Louise and Anne can room together.”

Anne froze in surprise. For a fraction of a second, she couldn't speak. Then she came to herself and focused on Louise, who was looking at her without expression.

“Of course,” she said. But she knew that Louise had registered her hesitation.

Now, months later, they were firm friends, yet neither had forgotten their first meeting, that slightest glitch in British politeness.

“Well, nighty night,” Anne said.

“There's no point going to sleep now, you don't have time.”

“I read that twenty minutes is enough to revitalize your mind. I'll be as good as new.”

“If you want twenty you'll have to fall asleep within the next minute.”

“Shh.”

Anne was glad Louise wasn't in the room when she began to prepare for the evening. It was boring to be judged for enjoying oneself. Where was the joy in a life of work and sleep? Live in the moment, milk pleasure from every opportunity!

It was all fairly innocent. Anne's naiveté was held intact by the traditional, close-knit family she had left so recently, who still ate high tea with the grandparents every Sunday. Bread and butter, little cakes, maybe a rice pudding or a treacle tart. The grandmothers were formidable in their starched gowns and severe hairstyles, the little heads of their fox stoles bumping against their bosoms. Edwardians emerging from the Victorian era, they still ruled with Victorian principles, one step removed from covering indecently exposed chair legs. Instilling an absolute idea of modesty into their female descendants, they asserted that sex was to be endured in order to procreate and because it was part of the marriage contract, in exchange for life-long food and lodging. Sex before marriage was condemned. Foolish women might imagine food and lodging would be obtained by such an act, but they were mistaken and ended up badly, just as they ought. Pregnancy before marriage destroyed the family. There were no words to express such a calamity. Sex for pleasure was unimaginable.

Anne rebelled against this upbringing by flirting with a variety of admirers, but she had no intention or desire to sleep with any of them. Some adventures culminated in a kiss, but nothing in that experience tempted her to go further. Ultimately she dreamed of marriage, like most women of her age, but she didn't really think about what marriage meant. She felt only that fun and pleasure must be grasped with both hands now.

Anne sorted through her meagre wardrobe in disgust. There were two good blouses, a couple of nice skirts, and her best woolen dress. By mixing and matching, she could achieve a different look for several days, but as weeks marched into months Anne grew desperate. Louise's situation wasn't much better, but she had just received a parcel from her family for her birthday, containing a new red jumper. This jumper would go admirably with Anne's black skirt.

‘How annoying that Louise isn't here,' thought Anne. ‘I would love to borrow the jumper. She would certainly say yes if I asked — Louise is generous about things like that. I'm sure she won't mind if I wear it, and I will take very good care of it. It really doesn't make any difference, after all.'

John Drake appeared in time to escort her to Dorothy's and waxed appreciative over the red top. The night was drizzly and Anne hung on his arm so they could share his umbrella. A huge man with a big shaggy head loomed up in front of them, wishing them both good evening, but looking at Anne. She had seen him before, another student pacing the streets of Cambridge, and had remarked on the largeness of his head and the intensity of his gaze.

Dorothy's was a huge place, boasting a dance floor surrounded by closely packed tables. The atmosphere was heavy with smoke overlaid with the smell of stale beer. But the chairs were comfortable and the size of the room allowed the guests to find places to talk without having to shout over the music.

“Shall we dance John? This is a great song!”

Several men called out to her as she pulled John onto the floor. “Hey Annie, save one for me!”

“Promise me the next dance, my pretty one!”

Anne laughed and waved. “Oh John, I wish I had a little card, so I could write each man's name down beside the dance they requested, like they used to in the old days.”

When he didn't reply she squeezed his arm. “Don't be crotchety. It's not like you want to dance more than one or two anyway.”

Anne danced well, losing herself in the rhythm, moving with a vitality that drew every eye. Each partner bought a round of drinks at the end of the dance, and Anne knocked back half pint after half pint of lethal draft cider, choosing her cigarettes from the open packs extended in her direction, the middle cigarette half pulled out so she could take it with ease. Conversation flowed around the table.

As the evening wore on Anne began to feel rather drunk. Her table companions appeared to be talking about physics and metaphysics, a subject beyond her even when sober. She might have felt inadequate — her bubble of happiness was never very thick — but the cider buoyed her up, so she smiled at the handsome Egyptian sitting on her right. “A cold world proved by logic,” she murmured.

The Egyptian released a flow of flattery in her direction, as though she had pressed a button.

Undaunted, she tried again. “While I fill my physical inside with foul smoke, my mental inside blossoms with the desire to seek truth.”

The Egyptian was a little startled, but John Drake answered, faithfully ensconced on Anne's left side whether she paid any attention to him or not.

“I think the foul smoke facilitates the blossoming of the soul.”

“How?”

“It relaxes the body and therefore the mind. When the mind is relaxed it opens up like a flower, imbibing new ideas and perceptions in the process.”

“Even if cigarettes help my mind to open — yes I will have another one thank you John — wouldn't draft cider cloud it?”

The Egyptian leaned forward and whispered in Anne's ear, “Would you like to come back to my rooms in the university for a cup of tea?”

Anne thought it might be fun. She lurched to her feet and turned around to say goodbye to the table. John looked disgruntled, “Isn't it rather late?”

“For a cup of tea? I'm dying for one.” Anne leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Don't worry, Cambridge students are all well-bred men, indoctrinated with British public school values. No matter their colour.”

Anne didn't notice when the Egyptian locked the door behind her. She kicked off her shoes, half-reclining on the couch and closed her eyes.

“I am so exhausted. Drank way too much. A cup of tea would be marvellous.”

She felt something wet on her cheek and sat bolt upright as though she had been scalded. He had licked her.
Licked
her! How disgusting and foreign.

“What on earth do you think you're doing? Are you going to make me a cup of tea or not?”

His answer was to lunge at her, and she leapt to her feet with dexterity and skipped to the other side of the coffee table.

“For goodness sake! Control yourself.”

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I want to make love to you.”

“Outrageous!”

He pushed the table to the side, and pursued her around the sofa till he managed to grab the back of her red jumper. Anne's flight was hindered by a sudden onslaught of helpless laughter. The whole situation was absurd, with a dollop of fear to lend excitement. The student fell on her neck with passionate kisses. His hands were travelling in places she preferred to have control of, and her amusement fled with her dignity.

“Stop this at once! Let me out of this room.” An aggressive shove propelled him backwards and she dashed towards the door, shaking the handle.

“How dare you lock me in here! Let me out before I scream the place down!”

“Just one kiss …”

“I demand that you let me out of here now.”

“Sit here beside me and we'll discuss it.”

“How dare you? How DARE you! Open this door before I scream for the porter.”

He approached her again, grasping her by the arms and bending his head towards her throat. She opened her mouth and shrieked.

“Shhh — it's two o' clock in the morning!”

“I'll scream again. Let me out right now.”

“And what will the porter think of you? Will he think you're a cheap little tease, like I do?”

Anne's eyes filled with tears and she started to hammer on the door to hide her distress. He opened it without saying another word.

She rushed through the deserted streets, gulping back her sobs. Was she mad to go to his room? Or was he mad to behave the way he had done?

The next morning Louise shook her awake even before her internal alarm clock had a chance to terrorize her. She waved the red jumper in front of her face.

“How could you? How could you ruin my new jumper?”

For a second Anne didn't know what she was talking about. Her head felt like a tender bruise, and Louise's raised voice hurt everywhere, especially her eyes.

“A new jumper, which I'd never even worn. It's so selfish. Everything's about you and your pathetic little pleasures!”

“Benzedrine,” Anne murmured, feeling around the top of her side table in the semi-darkness. She found the bottle and popped one in her mouth.

“Are you listening to me?”

“I didn't think you'd mind if I borrowed your jumper. I'm sorry I didn't ask you.”

“It's ruined!”

“I took very good care of it. I'm sure it's not really ruined.”

“It is!” Louise screeched in her face, holding the jumper up to demonstrate how it had been stretched out of shape. “It doesn't look new anymore.”

“I'll clean it for you. It will look as good as new. I am sorry, but I can't undo last night, can I? I feel wretched. Sick unto death.”

Louise walked out of the room.

Borrowed Louise's jumper last night without asking. I didn't ruin it on purpose. It was that bloody lecherous Egyptian. Maybe I didn't apologize enough, but I
'd
just woken up and felt ghastly. I am finding excuses for my guilt. That's what everybody does. In fact, I have a petty, selfish, jealous mind. I am not in full knowledge of myself, even though I have been given full control of myself. If I had enough truth and confidence I could perhaps keep to the path of righteousness I struggle to follow
…
but I am preoccupied with money worries and beauty preparations.
‘
The Ideal is in thyself. The impediment too is in thyself
. '

Louise was sitting at the tea table when Anne went down, immersed in conversation with the nurse who had thrown Anne a malicious look the day before. It seemed to Anne that they both glanced up at her in a conspiratorial way, as though she was the subject of their conversation. She sat at the other end of the table in a daze of misery.

‘I didn't mean to ruin her bloody jumper,' she thought to herself. ‘I had a horrible experience with that nasty man. What petty revenge is this? What nasty, spiteful, womanly revenge? A man would just punch you, and then it would be over.'

If Louise knew how she had barely escaped
violation
….

“How's my little girl?” croaked Anne's favourite Irish tramp. She sat by his bed and took his hand, ready to regale him with her adventure. But he couldn't listen. His haggard eyes shifted in their sockets as his breath struggled within the cancerous throat.

“The social worker is coming around, dear. Can I ask her to get anything for you?”

“Cigarettes,” he said, “I'd love a cigarette.”

When she brought him the cigarette he leaned to one side of his bed, smoking with pleasure. Anne squeezed his hand and left to attend to her duties, popping in and out of his room all morning.

When he died, she held his hand for a time. She was determined to lay him out even though she was supposed to be in the operating theatre during the afternoon. She was his special girl, and she didn't want anyone else to do it. The ward sister gave her permission, as she was so fond of him, and she spent the last afternoon with her Irish tramp, washing him, tying his jaw closed, covering his emaciated body with a white shift. She took her time, resting her eyes on his face often, cheered by the difference between his time of suffering and his peaceful expression at death.

That evening, the student with the big, shaggy head was at Dorothy's. Anne danced wildly, feeling the music course through her veins and override dark thoughts. Flitting from partner to partner, she was amused to glimpse the shaggy student progress awkwardly across the floor in her direction, a shambling bear amongst a whirl of dervishes. She twirled around to face him, and he began to shuffle from foot to foot, treading on her toes several times in an effort to follow her flying feet.

She stopped. “Perhaps it would be better if we sat down for a bit.”