The Look of Love (9 page)

Louise threw
down the extinguisher, grabbed a very battered looking Victoria,
and half dragged her and half carried her to the door. As soon as
they were back in the main part of the club, Louise hoisted
Victoria up and headed for the exit.

There were a
few cat-calls and comments from some of the girls they passed, but
no one stopped them or attacked them. Two large men in suits who
had been approaching the toilets stopped and watched them go by.
One of the men, obviously Bouncers, went over to the ladies toilet
and pushed the door open. He then turned to his partner and nodded.
The second man then followed Louise and Victoria all the way to the
exit. It was clear that they were no longer welcome.

Victoria could
hardly walk. She leaned heavily on Louise, holding on to her
tightly. She was doubled up in pain, her head down, and dragging
her feet. She kept trying to arrange her inadequate skirt and top,
pulling them back into place as she staggered along. Louise still
had her jacket, and although Victoria was all wet from the water
(or worse) on the floor of the toilets, Louise covered her with
it.

When they
reached the street, the cool night air was an instant relief from
the hot smoky interior of the club. Louise breathed in deeply,
calming down from the shock of what had happened and what she had
done.

Victoria threw
up.

Louise held on
to her, holding Victoria’s damp and untidy long hair out of the way
as she leaned against the wall, retching. There was nothing left of
the Barbie image that she had first seen in Edward’s Bar.

A voice behind
them said, “I thought it was you.”

Louise looked
round expecting to be attacked. But it was Jo. She was hand in hand
with the boy she had been kissing. Louise sighed with relief. “You
frightened the life out of me!”

Jo smiled. “I
see you found her then. Me and Mike are going for a curry, do you
want to come?”

Victoria
retched even louder. Louise stroked her back and said, “I think
we’ll give it a miss.”

“Suit yourself.
See ya! Come on, Mike!”

Mike smiled
drunkenly, and the two of them wandered off. It was almost as if
they hadn’t noticed the state Victoria was in.

After a few
more violent heaves, Victoria finally stopped retching. She
remained doubled up, her hands pressed against the wall and her
head down. She was panting loudly. Louise bent down next to her,
trying to see her face.

“Are you
alright?” she asked her, realising a moment later how stupid the
question was.

“No…,” Victoria
gasped. “I don’t feel very well…my tummy hurts…and my head
hurts…”

“I’m not
surprised. You’ve been beaten up. Do you want me to get an
ambulance?”

“No!” Victoria
said more strongly.

“Are you sure?
There’s blood in your hair. You might be hurt!”

Victoria
straightened up. “I said no!” she snapped. And then she swayed,
staggered, and fell into Louise’s arms.

Louise got a
quick clear glimpse of Victoria’s face before she fell forward. Her
nose was bleeding, she had a split lip, there was a long scratch
down one cheek, and her right eye was already swelling. Louise
couldn’t help crying. She held on to Victoria tightly.

“Oh, Vicky!
What do you want me to do?”

“Take me home,”
Victoria gasped.

Chrissy crossed
over into Spring Gardens at the end of King Street and walked
quickly towards Fountain Street. She wasn’t thinking about where
she was going. Her conversation with Scott was still fresh in her
mind and she was already feeling the first pangs of guilt and
remorse.

Why had she
done it? Scott was alright. He was nice, he liked her, and he had
done his best to please her all night. She had thrown it all back
in his face. She had practically called him a loser. But she had
to, hadn’t she? If she had let herself fall in love with him she
would have ended up living the very kind of life she despised. But
she had liked him. And he knew it, the sod. No, better to kill it;
stifle it, right at the beginning, before it was too late.

Chrissy was
walking past the Athenaeum when several young men all emerged from
the entrance at once. They were rowdy and boisterous, and very
drunk. They all cheered as soon as they saw her, and two of them
lunged at her, grabbing her.

Chrissy had
been deep in thought and was taken by surprise. She was quickly
surrounded, and she felt their hands on her body and in her hair.
She panicked. She smacked and kicked at them, broke away, and ran.
With a shout they chased after her.

Chrissy ran
across the road just outside Rosie’s Bar and was halfway across
when her heel broke and she stumbled. She didn’t even feel the taxi
hit her.

It was her own
fault, really. Her heels were much too high to be running in, and
she should have waited for a longer gap in the stream of cars and
taxis before trying to cross the road. But the men were chasing
her, and she had only had the time for a quick glance. She had seen
a gap in the traffic and she had thought she could get across in
time. Then her heel broke.

Why did fate
conspire against you? Why did her heel have to break at that
moment? Why was everything trying to destroy you from the moment
you were born?

All these
thoughts passed through her mind as she lay in the road almost
under the front wheels of the black cab. She could smell rubber
tyres and diesel. She opened her eyes and looked up at some men
pushing and shoving each other. She could hear them shouting. Why
did men always have to show off like that? She stared at them. Most
of them were young men in shirt sleeves, but the two men doing all
the shouting looked older, and one of them wore an expensive
looking coat.

All of a
sudden, Chrissy realised that she was lying on the ground in the
middle of the road. She remembered what had happened, and why, and
she scrambled angrily to her feet.

Taking off her
broken shoe, Chrissy screamed at the young men in shirt sleeves,
“You bastards! You could have got me killed!” and threw it at them.
Then she staggered and fell across the bonnet of the taxi.

The shoe
bounced off one man’s head, and with a yelp he fell over. All the
young men cheered, grabbed their fallen comrade, and ran off. The
taxi driver ran after them, but they were much too fast on their
feet and he quickly gave up the chase.

“Bloody
maniacs!” he shouted. “I’ll have the law on to you!” He shook his
fist at them, and then snatched up Chrissy’s shoe and began to walk
back with it.

The man in the
expensive coat had quickly gone to Chrissy and helped her off the
bonnet of the taxi. She was very unsteady on her feet, and he had
to hold onto her to stop her falling over.

“Are you
alright, my dear?” he said with much concern.

“Do I look
alright?” Chrissy snapped. “My jacket and trousers are ruined! My
stupid shoe’s broken! My side hurts! My bum hurts! Of course I’m
not bloody well alright! I’ve been knocked down by a taxi!” As she
spoke, she got more and more emotional and finally burst into
tears.

The man took
off his coat, draped it around Chrissy’s shoulders and hugged her
close.

“There, there.
You just cry it out,” he told her in a soft voice. “You’re probably
still a little shocked. Take it easy now. You shouldn’t really have
stood up so quickly.”

Chrissy rested
her head on his shoulder and cried and cried. She put on a really
good performance, bawling her eyes out. The man held her in his
arms, waiting patiently.

There was the
sound of horns as the traffic held up by the accident began to get
impatient. The taxi driver waved at the cars behind.

“Alright! Keep
your hair on!” he shouted at them. Then he came over to the man
with Chrissy, handed him her broken shoe, and said, “We’re going to
have to go, mate, we’re blocking the road.”

“Yes, of
course,” he replied, and he began to walk Chrissy to the door of
the taxi. She limped ungracefully on one shoe.

Chrissy’s sobs
quickly subsided as she found herself being put inside the cab.
“No!” she said a little scared. “I want to go home!”

“And so you
shall,” the man said with a pleasant smile. “But first, I think we
should go by way of the nearest Accident and Emergency ward.
Please, share my taxi. It seems only fair after you flagged it down
in such an unusual manner.”

His smile was
so disarming that Chrissy let herself be put inside. The man sat
next to her and closed the door.

“A & E at
Manchester Royal,” he told the driver, and the taxi sped off.

The man handed
Chrissy a very clean and neatly folded white handkerchief. “My name
is Adam Campbell,” he said. “And you are?”

Chrissy wiped
her tear-stained face and blew her snotty nose. “Chrissy Davis,”
she replied nasally.

“Did you know
those boys?”

“Not bloody
likely!”

“Why were you
running from them?”

“They were just
drunk and they grabbed me when I was walking past.”

“You were
alone?”

Chrissy nodded
and handed Adam back his handkerchief. He took it without
hesitation and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Why –if you
don’t mind me asking– was such a beautiful young woman as yourself
walking the streets on your own?”

Chrissy pointed
out the girls wandering about outside as the taxi drove down
Princess Street. “What’s so unusual?” she said.

“Do you have no
companion?” he pressed.

She shook her
head.

“Good. I too am
alone. It has its advantages. I do as I like without having to
consult a partner whose wishes may clash with my own. I have only
myself to please, and my money is my own to waste or invest. But
there are also disadvantages. My bed is empty at night, there is no
one to share the ups and downs life has to offer, and I dine
alone.”

Chrissy stared
at Adam as he sat back in the seat and sighed. He was older than
her, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. His hair was
brown and neatly cut, he was generally well groomed, and his light
grey suit looked expensive. He had a square face and hard features,
but his expression was soft. There was a faraway look in his
ice-blue eyes as he continued.

“This evening
the meal was excellent, the wine superb, but the company was
non-existent. And later, no one shared my delight and pain at the
hands of the roulette wheel. No, solitude requires a cold heart,
and I fear mine is too warm.”

Chrissy tilted
her head to one side, narrowed her eyes and said, “Are you chatting
me up?”

The taxi came
to an abrupt halt with a squeal of brakes. “We’re here, mate!” the
driver said, twisting round in his seat.

“Good.” Adam
leaned forward. “Please wait for us. Has the clock been on since we
left the Casino?”

“You bet it
has.”

“Then leave it
on until we return.” Adam reached in his pocket for his wallet,
took out a ten pound note, and handed it to the driver. “Take this
as a deposit. Get yourself a hot drink. We maybe some time.”

The taxi driver
smiled. “I’ll be here, mate! Don’t you worry!”

Adam helped
Chrissy out of the cab. She limped on one shoe as before, so Adam
quickly retrieved her broken shoe from the seat of the taxi.
Chrissy stared at it. Without a heel she would end up limping just
as badly as before. She gave up on the whole idea. With a sigh she
took off her good shoe and threw both shoes back into the taxi.

Standing on
bare feet, Chrissy had shrunk four inches. It made Adam smile.

“You are now my
height,” he said.

“You owe me a
new pair,” she told him, prodding him with her finger.

“I will be more
than happy to oblige, and you may choose the most expensive pair
you can find.”

“I might just
do that!” Chrissy replied.

Adam took her
arm and they went into the A & E department together.

Inside was the
usual Friday night crowd. Drunks with bloody handkerchiefs pressed
to an assortment of head wounds and broken noses filled the waiting
room. They were all ages and sexes, but predominantly young and
male.

Chrissy
registered with the nurse at reception and then waited with the
rest of them. She took a while to settle, as sitting down caused
her obvious discomfort. She finally managed it with the help of
Adam’s coat as extra padding. Adam sat down beside her.

Chrissy pointed
at his folded up coat. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked him.

“No, of course
not. I’m glad that you find it of some use.”

Chrissy looked
across at him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What
question?”

“In the taxi?
About chatting me up?”

“Ah! Yes,” he
said, remembering.

“Well?”

He seemed
thoughtful for a moment. “I have,” he began, “never been very
successful at ‘chatting up’ the fairer sex. Mainly because they no
longer seem to be as fair as they once were. The millennium woman
is harshly independent, aggressive, and often abusive when
approached in a clumsy manner. However, I am well off, and so this
has a certain advantage. But this advantage brings with it a
slightly different aspect to any relationship.”

“Are you trying
to tell me that you’re hopeless with women, and that the only women
who like you, do so for your money?”

He nodded,
slowly at first, and then more briskly. “I suppose I am.”

“Then why
didn’t you just say so? Gosh! You don’t half spin things out! No
wonder you’re hopeless with women! By the time you’ve finished
chatting them up, they’re married with three kids!”

Adam nodded
again. “I think that did happen once.”