The Loner, page 45
It was in the third pub, and over his third pint, that Mark began to feel distinctly uneasy. “Bob, it’s nearly half past eight. Don’t you think we ought to be there by now?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” Paul remarked. “The dance won’t get going until nine!”
“Aye, perhaps we should be moving,” Bob said, without showing the slightest real enthusiasm.
“Why? What’s the hurry?”
“The girls: they’ll be all gone,” Mark exclaimed, as if they were expecting something like a cullinary feast.
“Girls?” Paul retorted. “Girls? Why bother, Mark? You’ve never had any luck with birds. Neither have I, for that matter. So why don’t you accept it, like I do?”
“Then, why the hell are we going to this dance?” Mark was becoming distinctly impatient.
“The group – now they’re real groovy! Their latest record is number six – and there’s the booze!”
“You can booze at any time,” Bob interposed, losing the thread of the argument.
“So you can, Bob, but it’s different at a dance. You can get yourself canned – then watch the band – and the birds and the fellers. It’s a real pretty sight. You’ve no idea how much I like seeing other people enjoy themselves!”
“You poor sod!” Bob rejoined softly.
“No, I’m serious. I really do like to see those happy faces, and hear that wonderful music. Then, if I’m canned enough, the music will inspire me – it’ll make me feel I want to dance. So I’ll go and dance with a bird, perhaps – but not for long! I just wouldn’t want to be disappointed. That would ruin the whole evening, Bob!”
Bob said something about a positive approach, but he was facing away from them, his eyes focused on a television above the bar. So the others did not quite hear his remark.
The image of a huge Cyclops was seen on the screen, towering above some scantily dressed but clean Greek warriors, uncontaminated by dirt or sweat, on a sun-drenched cardboard Hollywood setting.
“Well, shouldn’t we be going now?” Mark asked again.
Bob seemed more interested in the Cyclops than in making haste to the Students’ Union. This prompted Mark to ask, with a characteristic tactlessness: “Is there anything the matter, Bob? I thought you were the ultimate lady-killer.”
Bob took no offence. “Perhaps I was, Mark,” he said, thoughtfully. “The truth is I don’t really fancy playing that game now.”
“You mean because of Sue?”
Bob nodded.
“But I thought you were both agreed.”
“We are.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
“She’s right, Mark. You see, we’re both too young to think of getting too involved with each other. Life is so short, and you shouldn’t have to commit yourself when you’re so young. It’s a sign of weakness, anyhow!”
“But you were deeply involved, weren’t you?”
“So what if I was?”
“And Sue?”
“I think she was too. That’s why she wanted out. I’m not going to let it get me down though. If I know Sue, she’ll have forgotten about me by now. Woman is a fickle and changeable thing – that’s for sure. So that’s one reason I’m going to this dance – but somehow I don’t really fancy it – not even if the band was Beatles themselves. I just wish I was going with Sue.” He turned to the bar and ordered another pint – his sixth that evening.
Mark leaned against the bar, and sipped his pint slowly. He tried to ignore the television. Paul watched the screen with a kind of bored fascination.
Bob turned back with his new pint. “And how’s your Fiona?” he asked suddenly.
“She’s a good friend,” Mark replied sadly.
“I thought you might be going along to the dance with her.”
Mark shook his head. “You know she wouldn’t allow that,” he said, “it’s that boy friend of hers.”
“Oh aye, the boy friend! I sometimes wonder if he really exists.”
“I wish he didn’t.”
“Mark, have you ever thought you might be wasting your time?”
“Wasting my time? Why, Bob?”
“What’s the point of chasing a bird, if you’re never going to get a screw? Why don’t you try someone else?”
Mark blushed and took a step back, as if recoiling from the shock of his friend’s remark.
“Oh, come on, Mark: don’t look so innocent,” Bob continued. “You know what it’s all about – just as I do. You don’t believe those soppy romances, do you?”
“I-I don’t understand, Bob.”
“Come on, Mark: the fellers chat up the birds, and the girl makes her choice. Then off to bed they go. It’s the age of free love now, and the birds want it more than the fellers!”
Mark studied the floor shyly. “Fiona is beautiful,” he said. “Long dark hair...”
“So lovely that she’s quite beyond your reach – quite beyond anybody’s reach – for loving. It won’t do, Mark. Take my advice; leave her alone, and look for someone else!”
“But I am looking. Fiona’s only a friend – not a girl friend.”
“So why waste so much time with her?”
“Waste? I’m not wasting time Bob. I have to know about girls, Bob – and she’s the only girl I know – the only one I’ve ever known. How will I find another?”
Paul interposed as Bob was about to respond: “He’s right, you know, Bob. Why bother with women anyway? They’re nothing but trouble. Just look at what’s come over you – you’re all bitter and twisted – and just because of Sue. Mark’s doing the right thing and keeping the right distance, if you ask me. Get to know a girl too well, and you become involved – and that’s no good for either of you!”
“Can’t we go on to the Union?” Mark pleaded.
Bob swallowed the rest of his pint. “You’re right, Mark,” he said. “It’s time to go.
It was nearly nine o’clock when they finally arrived at the University Students’ Union – an older building with a large modern extension – an enclosed complex of facilities arranged in a square around a central ornamental garden.
They handed in their tickets at the door, and made their way downstairs to the bar – possibly the biggest in Liverpool, equipped with a vast quantity of good quality fixed wooden chairs and tables, and a selection of all the best Northern ales. They bought a drink, and followed Bob upstairs, along a passage, and into the ballroom.
This was a long rectangular hall with a stage at one end. The band was performing on the stage. Chairs lined the walls. Coloured lights focused on the faceted panels of a revolving silver ball, which hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room, and reflected flashing colours onto the dimly lit dance floor.
Bob had been right not to hurry. The dance floor was full, but there was no shortage of unattached girls. The three friends stepped boldly forward into the middle of the mass of gyrating figures. They presented a strange sight: the awkward solicitor, with his business suit, tabs and gown, and the two tramps with their peculiar beards and moustaches.
It was not long before Mark became separated from his friends. It was a demoralising effort to search for an unattached girl, dance for a single number, and then see her turn away; or to join groups of girls, and see the circle close when the music stopped. But the music was good and inspiring, and made him want to dance, to move with the rhythm and let the harsh beat take possession of him.
Then, quite suddenly, as he surveyed the dimly lit room, and the rows of chairs lining the walls, he saw Fiona. She was sitting with Susan. They were relaxing with drinks in their hands. Mark walked towards them.
Fiona smiled a broad welcoming smile: “Ah, I wonder if I can see my solicitor,” she said to Susan, so that Mark could hear.
She was wearing a long billowing scarlet dress, with a large open V shaped neck. Her long hair flowed naturally onto her shoulders. There was a pearl necklace with small beads round her neck. Mark asked her to dance. She gladly accepted his invitation.
“What a fantastic costume!” he exclaimed.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. It’s lovely.”
“Really suits you. What are you then?”
“I’ll give you three guesses.”
“A lady?”
“Right first time – a real blue blooded eighteenth century aristocrat!”
“I thought you disapproved of the aristocracy.”
“I do – except their dresses. I love elegant things. Besides, this dress is red!”
“It must have cost a fortune.”
“You must be joking. I’m only a student. I don’t have a fortune. But Sue’s working. So she got us the hire of these outfits from a friend in a theatre company. It’s so good to have a friend like Sue.”
Mark made no comment. He was not sure, when he remembered his morose friend. Then he noticed she was watching his dancing. He felt uncomfortable, and looked at the floor.
“Mark, I’d love to teach you to dance,” she said softly. “You could do it so well.”
“Would you really teach me?” he asked, thinking of the boy friend.
“Well – perhaps – sometime. You never know, Mark.” Mark’s interpretation was that that meant never. “Will you jive?” he asked.
So they did, and somehow that was much better. Fiona was obviously enjoying herself.
The next number was a slow and gentle song. The other couples took their partners in their arms, and held them close. Mark pulled her towards him. She did not resist.
“You’re beautiful,” he said looking deep into her eyes, and swaying with the rhythm. He was enjoying the mingling warmth of their bodies.
She smiled. “Don’t let yourself get carried away,” she murmured. Then, as the music stopped, she kissed his cheek, and pushed him gently away. “That’s enough,” she said. “Thank you. I really have enjoyed dancing with you, but I must leave now.”
“Your boy friend?” he asked.
She nodded and joined Susan again. A few minutes later, Mark noticed the two girls dancing with other students – and then with others – passing the whole night dancing away without becoming attached to anyone.
The dance with Fiona was the highlight of the evening for Mark. There followed a succession of short dances with other girls, who each rejected him after a single number. Eventually the girls without partners dwindled to such an extent that Mark finally lost heart. At about eleven o’ clock, he set off alone on his way back home.
When he arrived at Buchanan Street, he was surprised to find that Paul was already there.
“Hallo, Paul,” he called cheerfully. “I thought you’d stay to the end – like you usually do. Wasn’t the ale up to its usual standard?”
Paul put his finger to his lips, and pointed at the kitchen. There was a rattling sound from that direction, and it suddenly occurred to Mark that someone else might be there. Then there was the sound of light footsteps, and a girl stepped forward with two mugs of coffee.
“Oh, I didn’t know your friend had come back,” she said shyly, offering one cup to Paul, and the other, to Mark. “I’ll make another cup.”
Mark was absolutely amazed. She had short blonde hair, a heart shaped face, and flattened cheeks. She was about as tall as Paul, and had evidently taken off her fancy dress, as she wore pullover and jeans. She was a real beauty, he thought.
“Mark, this is Anne,” Paul said, rather shyly. “She goes to the same lectures as me. Anne, meet Mark he’s the articled clerk I was telling you about.”
Mark was at a loss for words. Was this the same Paul who had eschewed even the idea of dancing, he wondered. He swallowed his coffee, and hurried upstairs to bed.
The morning after the fancy dress ball was Sunday. When Mark came downstairs, Paul was already using the stove.
“You’re lucky,” Mark exclaimed. “What a beauty! I wish I was in your shoes.”
Paul put his fingers to his lips again. “Shh!” he whispered. “She’s still here. Don’t let her hear you talking about her.”
Mark resumed in a whisper. “I thought you weren’t interested in that sort of thing!”
“We’ve known each other for a long time, but we’ve never been out together before – just class-mates; that’s all. We – didn’t make love last night – we just slept together.”
“You didn’t make love!” Mark was amazed.
Quite suddenly their roles seemed to reverse, and Paul looked about as shy and nervous as Mark had ever been. “Why? Do you think we should have?” he asked.
Mark shook his head in an agony of disbelief. “I just can’t understand you, Paul,” he said. “I never have any luck. I always fail with girls. But there you are – a real beauty, all ready and willing – and you don’t make love. I know what I’d do if I were you!”
Paul looked very thoughtful, as he digested this interesting piece of advice. Then he changed the subject. “Did you hear Bob come in last night?” he asked.
“No.”
“I didn’t either. I had a look in his room before I came downstairs. There’s no-one there.”
Mark was undismayed. “He’s probably with a girl,” he said. “Perhaps, he’s made it up with Sue, and gone home with her – as he used to,”
Just at that moment there was a knock on the front door – not just a simple knock, but an agitated hammering.
Paul went out of the common room, and opened the door. It was Susan. A different Susan. Gone was the self-assurance and devil-may-care sense of fun; in their place were lines of real worry.
“Sue!” exclaimed Paul. “I am glad to see you. Are you looking for Bob?”
“Is he here?”
“No. We thought he might be with you.”
“Oh no!”
“What’s the matter, Sue? I thought it was all over between you and Bob.”
She screwed up her face into an expression of sheer agony. “Oh God! What a fool I’ve been!” she cried.
Paul was puzzled. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I think I saw him last night. You were all at the fancy dress do, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I stayed to the end. I saw the police come and drag someone away.”
“The police? Who were they carrying?”
“I don’t know. He had half a beard and an old grey raincoat – It looked like Bob.”
“That’s not possible. I can’t believe it. He’s too law abiding – too good natured. Why, what was he supposed to have done?”
Mark thought of Bob’s adventures in Walton Gaol, and was not so sure.
Susan shook her head. There were tears in her eyes. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’ve been worrying about it all night. Never thought I’d worry so much about anyone. I had to come here this morning. I had to find out.”
Paul pointed at a chair. “Come in and sit down, Sue,” he said. “There’s one easy way to get to the bottom of this. I’ll ring the police. Just wait here with Mark and Anne. I won’t be a minute. You probably saw someone else. I’ll prove it to you! You’ll see.”
Paul returned about fifteen minutes later. He looked shocked. His face was about as pale as someone who had seen a ghost.
“It is true then!” Sue declared.
Paul threw himself down onto the window seat and nodded.
“Where is he? Why?”
“They say he assaulted someone.”
“Impossible! But where is he?”
“In Risley!”
“Risley?” asked Sue. “What’s Risley?”
“Ask Mark: You know what Risley is, don’t you Mark?”
Mark nodded. He wore a puzzled frown. “Yes I know where it is – I often go there,” he said, “to interview clients!”
“A prison! Oh God, no!”
“Not quite a prison. They call it a remand centre. It’s where the police put you if they think you’ve committed an offence – before the courts decide what to do with you.”
CHAPTER 32
The Evidence
Paul made Susan a coffee, and invited her to stay, but after the drink, she decided to return to her flat. “Let me know what happens,” she said as she left. “Tell me if there’s anything I can do to help. If you see Bob before I do, tell him I’ll find some way of visiting him.”
Neither Mark, nor Paul, nor Anne spoke a word for several minutes after Susan left. There was silence. It was like the silence that grips a town after a bomb has exploded, and people look around in a dazed and dizzy way, wondering if they had really escaped the stroke of doom.
Anne was the first to break the silence. “Well, don’t just sit there like a pair of zombies,” she cried. “Why don’t you do something?”
“What can we do?” Paul asked.
“We could go and see him.”
“What good will that do? He’ll still be in trouble,won’t he?”
“Then at least, we’ll know why. Come on, Paul. What about that famous motor bike of yours – the one you keep telling me about?”
“Yes, love. I suppose you’re right.” Mark asked if he could come as well.
“Sorry, Mark,” Paul replied. “There’s only room for two of us on a bike – but we won’t be long, and we’ll tell you about it when we come back.”
Paul and Anne dressed for the journey, and left shortly afterwards. Mark found himself on his own once again. He went upstairs, and groped about in his wooden box, until he found the book he wanted. Then he came back with a heavy dictionary, as well as the book. He sat down on one of the rickety arm chairs. He read at an exceedingly slow speed, making frequent reference to the dictionary, breaking his concentration now and again for a drink of coffee. The book bore the title: The Lysistrate.
He had been studying in this way for several hours before he heard the familiar roar of Paul’s motorbike, and the creak of the hinges of the rear yard gate. Mark closed his books in such haste as would have given a stranger an impression of guilt. He leapt up the stairs two at a time, with the Greek books under his arm, until the incriminating evidence of his extraordinary academic pursuits was safely buried back in the wooden box, with the padlock secured.
