Memoirs of a Dance Hall Romeo Page 7

  It wasn’t much of a cut but there was a fair amount of blood. When her fingers touched me lightly, my stomach went hollow.

  I thanked her and went back to the classroom in some confusion. Varley, Hatch and a couple of other boys were busy at the door. The rest of the class were strangely silent, aware, I suppose, of Imogene out in the hall within hearing distance.

  I told them to get out their Geography books and copy the map on page seventy-three, aware of Varley’s bright malevolent eyes switching constantly my way. He muttered something to Hatch, I couldn’t hear what, and there was a general snigger amongst the group at the door.

  Hatch glanced towards me furtively, then suddenly he cocked his leg to one side and broke wind. Poor wretch, like Dirty George, it was his only accomplishment.

  I cracked completely, opened the old-fashioned desk’s lid and grabbed Slater’s cane. I was across the room and had Hatch by the scruff of his neck and over the nearest desk before he knew what was happening. I slashed him good and hard three or four times across the backside, then threw him into the seat behind his desk, howling his head off.

  A shocked voice said from the doorway behind me, ‘Good heavens, Mr Shaw, what is the meaning of this?’

  By now the door itself was in position. I pointed sternly, and Varley and the others sat down hurriedly and got on with their work.

  ‘Mr Shaw, I asked you a question,’ Carter demanded.

  ‘There’s your answer.’ I waved the cane at the class. They’re working for once. They’re working because I used this. Brute force, Mr Carter. As my old aunty would say it’s enough to make you weep.’

  ‘It is strictly against regulations for a probationary teacher to…’

  I pushed him into the corridor and closed the door behind me. ‘All right, report me,’ I said. ‘Get me the sack. I couldn’t care less. It would suit me just fine to walk out of this place right now.’

  But it wouldn’t have suited him, not by a long chalk, for he hadn’t the slightest hope of replacing me at that time of the year. To get me at all had been a small miracle in the first place.

  He tried to look dignified. ‘There’s no need for that tone, young man. Another thing. I would remind you that you signed a contract. A contract to run to the end of term. As for your insolence, you’ll hear from me later.’

  But I didn’t, not a word, and from then on he left me severely alone.

  Imogene had a small office at one end of the cookery room. When I knocked on the door she asked who it was. When I told her, a bolt was withdrawn and the door opened.

  I went in and found her in the middle of dressing. She was in the process of fastening her bra at the back and wore a wrapover skirt in brown jersey, which accentuated the splendid curves of her hips.

  ‘I’ll only be a moment,’ she said. ‘I’ve just made some tea if you’d like to pour it.’

  I filled two cups and stirred in condensed milk, aware of the rustle of silk behind me as she pulled on her blouse. When I turned, I was disconcerted to find her with the skirt hitched up, adjusting a suspender. I had a brief, heart-stopping glimpse of flesh above the brown nylon stocking, and then she dropped the skirt and pulled on her shoes.

  I sat down and she unwound the bandage. I said, ‘I’d like to thank you.’

  ‘For clobbering that little rat?’ She shrugged. ‘It’s the only way to handle them, you know. They’ll stamp you into the ground if you let them.’

  ‘It isn’t their fault.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Environment, heredity. You name it they’ve got it, from congenital syphilis to nits. I’m afraid I’m only interested in the situation as I find it, not the reasons behind it.’

  Which made sense. One had to survive in that hellhole after all. She stood with one of her legs between my knees. The scent of her filled my nostrils so that I turned dizzy, and the breasts, which in that position were right in front of my eyes, seemed to grow larger by the second.

  I tried to think of Helen and failed miserably as Imogene swabbed the cut, her leg nudging my hand. I pressed it slightly as if by accident. She did not move away. My stomach churning, I slipped the hand just under the hem of the dress. She moved closer, a slight frown on her face, and reached for a plaster. I took a deep breath and slid the hand up that long nylon flank.

  She frowned again, concentrating as she fixed the plaster. ‘There, that’s better.’ She looked down at me and patted my face. ‘You’re all the same, you men. God’s gift to women in your own imagination.’ She kissed me, unexpectedly, and moved across to the table to the first aid box. ‘I could do a better job on myself with my middle finger than the lot of you put together.’

  Which was about as dampening a remark as I had ever heard in that area of things. I stood up and she smiled. ‘Oh, poor Oliver. It is Oliver, isn’t it? Have I upset him? Tell you what, I’ll let you take me for a drink tonight if you like.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a date.’

  ‘And you so active with your hands? Shame on you.’ She smiled beautifully and ran the tip of her tongue between her teeth. ‘Some other time, perhaps? When the great romance is over.’

  I retreated in confusion. I loved Helen, and a man in love shouldn’t feel this kind of physical attraction for another woman, or so I told myself.

  Life at school settled into an uneasy kind of guerrilla warfare. I made them work, therefore I was despised. I was rocking what had been a pretty comfortable boat. But I had reached the state where I couldn’t care less, even about the very real hatred that Varley and his friends obviously felt for me. I had my writing to keep me sane, with its hope of something better than this, and I had Helen.

  And then, suddenly, Helen was gone. For a week or two I was in a state of abject misery that even kept me from the Trocadero. I was like the before man in the advert for some wonder tonic. Listless, no energy, lacking interest in life.

  Things started to slide in the class again. It became noisier, the hostility, barely veiled at the best of times, became more open.

  One afternoon, just before the Christmas holidays, I cut my finger wrestling with a jammed door on one of my stock cupboards and was reminded of Imogene. It was as good an excuse as any. I wrapped a handkerchief around the finger and went in search of her. She was taking some girls for netball in the yard. I stood at the door watching the game for a while, admiring the way Imogene’s shirt tightened against her breasts when she demonstrated how to throw the ball.

  ‘Hello, stranger, looking for me?’ she said as she hurried in, followed by the girls at the end of the game. I held up my finger and she smiled. What does that need? Sticking plaster?’ I followed her into her office and sat down. She got the first aid box and unwrapped the handkerchief. ‘Watching the girls’ knickers again, Oliver?’

  ‘Only one girl’s knickers I was watching out there,’ I said boldly.

  She stared down at me, the slanting green eyes changing colour constantly. And then she smiled. ‘All right. If you want it you can have it.’

  ‘When?’ I said.

  ‘Why now, of course. We’ve got the rest of break, haven’t we?’

  She went to the door and shot the bolt, then pulled one of the gym mats out of the corner and unrolled it. I was absolutely petrified, and stood staring at her as she unhooked her shorts and pulled them off.

  ‘Have you got anything with you?’ she demanded. I shook my head and she reached for her handbag and produced a contraceptive. ‘Service with a smile, that’s us. Now hurry up, there’s a lovely boy. We’ve only got ten minutes.’

  In the circumstances, I couldn’t be expected to give of my best, was not really able to savour to the full the delights she had to offer. I worked away manfully, covering her with kisses as I warmed to my work.

  At one point, gazing up beyond my shoulder, she said calmly, ‘That bloody ceiling’s going to fall in one of these days. I really must have a word with Carter about it.’ A remark which was hardly calculated to help one g
ive of one’s best.

  As I finished, she kissed me fiercely and started to stimulate herself quite vigorously with the middle finger of her right hand, reaching a climax with remarkable speed.

  ‘Oh, that was lovely.’ She gave a great, shuddering sigh and smiled up at me. ‘Don’t be downhearted, Oliver. You might bring me off yet, though you’ll be the first bloke to manage it if you do.’

  I was too astonished to reply. In the middle distance the bell started to ring. ‘Ah, well, back to the salt mines.’

  She stood up and wriggled into her shorts, the most maddeningly attractive woman I had ever known and the most untouchable.

  ‘Of course, I am rather taking it for granted that you do want more?’

  She moved very close and peered into my eyes as if she was trying to see what was going on inside, and then she smiled. ‘I wonder what the top class would think if they knew what we’ve been doing?’

  I turned and ran as if all the devils in hell were at my heels.

  Of course, it was easily explained in psychological terms. She had this enormous power over men and enjoyed taking advantage of it, and in a sense the enjoyment was enhanced because of her own invulnerability. Because none of them could actually get through to her.

  I took the whole problem to Jake, who didn’t seem to find it in any way surprising. ‘I don’t know what you’re grumbling about,’ he said. They’re all different, that’s what makes them so bloody marvellous. Variety, after all, is the spice of life.’

  ‘It’s all right for you to talk,’ I said, ‘but it’s damn frustrating, I can tell you, working away like a bloody great steam hammer with no apparent result.’

  ‘That’s the trouble with male ego. Hellbent on orgasm.’

  It was a fine, fresh evening, the first hint of a winter chill in the air, the moon caught in the branches of the trees on the far side of the park. Jake leaned on the sill of the open window and inhaled deeply, with obvious pleasure.

  ‘Come on,’ I said impatiently. What do I do?’

  ‘She, while her lover pants upon her breast, Can mark the figures on an Indian chest.’ He turned, grinning. ‘Alexander Pope. I think he summed the whole thing up admirably.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ I demanded.

  ‘It seems you either like it or lump it.’ Another fine old Yorkshire saying. ‘On the other hand, you can always look elsewhere. In that case, be sure to leave me her address!’

  But that, of course, was the last thing I intended to do.

  The following Tuesday, I persuaded Imogene to go to the Trocadero with me. She looked absolutely superb in a dark red dress of some kind of silk material, belted tightly at the waist, with a long, flowing multi-pleated skirt that swirled out in great undulating circles on the turns in the quicksteps.

  She was by far the best-looking girl in the room and attracted considerable attention. In the general excuse-me dances I lost her on several occasions, which hardly pleased me. However, one had to accept with as good a grace as possible.

  When she returned after one such dance, she kissed me carelessly on the cheek and slipped a hand through my arm. ‘I’ve had enough of this place, Oliver. Where can we go now?’

  I was surprised for it was only nine o’clock. ‘Are you sure?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve never really cared for dancing. A little goes a long way with me.’

  It was cold outside, but not too cold, a touch of frost in the air, and Christmas not much more than a week away. I suggested a drink at The Tall Man, but she shook her head and we kept on walking in the general direction of Ladywood Park, for she lived no more than a mile from me.

  There was a full moon, and the playing fields, touched with hoar frost, seemed to stretch before us into infinity. On the far left of us my old school looked as if it had been cut out of black paper. Imogene tossed her handbag to me and executed two perfect cartwheels, one after the other. She turned, flinging her arms wide, an ecstatic smile on her face.

  ‘It’s a night for adventure, Oliver.’

  I nodded towards the old Alma Mater. ‘I know just what you mean. I’ve had a few over there myself on nights like this.’

  She glanced across the field at those dark buildings. ‘School? You’ve got to be joking.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, it’s true enough. When I was in my teens a crowd of us used to break in regularly at night. It’s easy enough. We never did any damage or anything like that. Just fooled about. Like you say, it was an adventure, creeping about those dark corridors. A nice spooky feeling.’

  She looked across at the school again. ‘But what did you do in there?’

  ‘Messed about in the gym. Let the ropes down, that sort of thing. And we used to get into the swimming pool and swim in the nude. Great run until the caretaker surprised us one night.’

  ‘Did he catch you?’

  I shook my head. We managed to make a run for it.’

  Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight and she smiled suddenly. ‘It sounds marvellous. I can’t wait.’

  She grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the distant school. I said wildly, ‘What, break in now? You and me? You can’t mean it.’

  She slid an arm about my neck, giving me the full treatment from breast to thigh, and kissed me, lips parted. ‘Just think of swimming naked in the dark in all that gorgeous warm water, Oliver. And I’ll be with you. Who knows what delicious, naughty things we might get up to?’

  Which was definitely more than flesh and blood could stand, and when she took my hand in hers again, I went without further protest.

  She insisted on penetrating main block first, so I left her waiting impatiently on the steps by the cloakroom entrance at the junior quad and started climbing, just like the old days.

  She was right, of course. About the adventure of it, I mean. There was exactly the same excitement the fifteen-year-old had experienced as I climbed the corner of the wall where alternate courses of brick projected making excellent footholds.

  There was nothing particularly dangerous about it and I scrambled over the parapet at the top and paused for breath on the flat roof.

  Far, far away in the distance, a tram sailed along the track through the playing fields to the park, brilliantly illuminated, its passengers clearly visible inside. It existed in another world than this and I stood there, staring out into the dark void, the last man in the world.

  ‘Are you all right, Oliver?’ Imogene’s urgent whisper echoed up from the quad bringing me back to reality. I made for the first-floor corridor window we had always used in the past, the one with the broken catch. It opened with a slight protesting creak. I swung a leg over the sill, Raffles to the life, closed the window behind me and went down the stairs.

  I opened the cloakroom door and admitted Imogene. She stood very close to me and took my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. ‘Where’s the gym?’ she whispered.

  We moved along the dark corridor, bands of moonlight filtering across the tall windows, Imogene’s high heels clicking slightly. There was a set of changing rooms at the far end. We moved through them, I pushed open a glass door and led the way into the gym.

  It had what virtually amounted to a glass wall down one side and everything was clear in the moonlight. For some reason it gave me a slightly eerie feeling, particularly the ropes which someone had left out. They hung from the ceiling in a dark line, swaying a little, as if someone had just been using them.

  Imogene was as delighted as a child let loose in a fairground. ‘How marvellous, how simply marvellous!’ she cried.

  She dropped her coat and handbag to the floor, kicked off her shoes and started to make the rounds of all the equipment, becoming steadily noisier. I followed uneasily, begging her to be quiet, but it was no good. She was thoroughly enjoying herself and everything else went by the board.

  She was a superb gymnast. She did various tricks of one kind or another, all pretty spectacular considering she wasn’t dressed for it, and at one point did
a perfect handstand in the rings, six feet above the ground, her skirt down around her head.

  Finally, she climbed one of the ropes and poised up there in the shadows, in the very roof of the gym where I could hardly see her.

  ‘Oliver!’ she called. ‘Remember the first time you discovered it could be rather pleasant to slide down one of these things?’

  She seemed to float out of the shadows into the moonlight as I looked up, the pleated skirt of the dress ballooning out, long, lovely legs, thighs white above the dark stockings in the pale light. She was like some strange flower descending.

  I opened my arms and she drifted into them. I kissed her once and she patted my face and pushed me away firmly.

  ‘Contain yourself, Oliver, there’s a good boy. Everything comes to him who waits.’

  By now I was so excited that I pretty well threw caution to the winds. When we reached the swimming pool, a single-storey building on its own amongst trees, I took her to the French windows which ran down one side.

  ‘Wait here and I’ll let you in in a minute,’ I told her. ‘But for God’s sake keep your voice down. Old Smith lives in the gate lodge which isn’t all that far away.’

  There was a small concrete coke bunker with a flat roof against the wall on the other side of the building. Three or four round windows, of the kind which pivot in the centre to open, were easily accessible once I climbed on top. None of their catches ever worked properly in the past, and usually a push was all it took to open any one of them.

  A moment later and I was standing in the warm darkness between a row of changing cubicles. Was it then or now? For a moment I was fifteen again and the years meant nothing, a strange feeling. I was brought back to reality by an insistent tapping on one of the French windows.

  The moonlight streamed in with a kind of pale luminosity. In the winter months, they always kept the boilers going at a high level each night to keep water good and hot for the following day. The whole place was thick with steam so that I could hardly see the diving platform at the far end, and the water was calm as a millpond.