Love's Cold Burn

by Harry, Jessica

  ‘I’d rather save the whale than get a high paid job. Besides, the membership is growing so fast that there will come a time when people who aren’t on the list will look out of place.’

  She loved his defiance and strong opinions. ‘You’re right. And it’s none of my father’s business what groups I join.’

  They were back at Dickens Court now. It was still raining.

  ‘You’ll have to walk the last few yards to your block without my umbrella.’

  ‘No worries. Thanks for sharing. I’ll bring you round a membership form if you want.’

  ‘Please. That would be great.’

  ‘What room?’

  ‘Floor two, room six.’

  ‘About eight?’

  ‘Thanks. See you later.’

  Chapter 20

  Dinner for two

  Eight days later, January 20, 1984: The temperature was not much more than freezing, but there was no wind or rain. Norman Hill sat on his favourite bench across the grass from Dickens Court. For seven days in a row, he had watched Tom walk briskly from block F to block B at eight o’clock every night, always on his own and with a smile. The first visit ended at around ten, but the finish time had been progressively later as the week went by. Last night had been around midnight. His walk was always less swift on his return.

  Tonight was a little different. He emerged at eight, as usual, but wearing smart clothes. He even wore a tie and he had polished his plastic shoes. He had smart black trousers, with a crisply ironed crease, and a herring bone grey blazer. The walk was quick and the smile was broad. He disappeared into block B.

  Tom knocked gently on Vicky’s door, then stood back, so she would see his smart clothes from top to bottom as she opened the door.

  ‘Wow Tom. You look good.’

  ‘Thank-you very much. So do you.’

  Vicky wore a knee-length dress in a soft lilac shade, fairly high-cut neck and short sleeves. She had sensible burgundy shoes with a bit of a heel, but not too much, and a burgundy ribbon holding her hair in a pony tail.

  Tom noticed her arms were lightly freckled and briefly imagined them draped around his shoulders. They had not yet kissed, but there was a strong chemistry and tonight was their first formal date. There was a shared anticipation of romance having spent every night of that week talking together about their hopes and dreams. Their ideas were well matched and when they disagreed it was good natured banter.

  Tom had grown fond of her very quickly and was happy to take things slowly. He was looking forward to a more physical relationship, but was in no hurry as he was uncharacteristically finding the idea of a long-term romance attractive.

  Vicky pulled on a pink cardigan and locked her door behind her.

  Norman, on his bench, had expected Tom to be in block B until after midnight, so he almost missed them as they came out together. Now he knew why Tom had been walking so briskly all week with such a big smile. He swelled with pride as Tom and Vicky linked arms and turned towards town.

  Past the railway bridge, they went left instead of heading right into town. A short walk in this direction took them to Royal Avenue. Halfway up this smart street was The Pepper Pot, a tidy restaurant where Tom had a table booked for two. Not your top class place, but on Tom’s budget, it was up-market. It was a busy Friday night, so it was a good job Tom had booked. The bow-tied waiter led them to their table in a dimly-lit corner. He reached across the table to light a candle, then handed them their menus.

  Vicky’s warm smile gave her an air of confidence, which Tom liked, but it was an illusion. She had very little real confidence and struggled with self doubt. She could feel herself falling very quickly for Tom, but he seemed too good to be true and she kept thinking back to her mother’s advice after her last failed romance. ‘If he seems too good to be true, he probably is.’

  During her A-levels, she had been encouraged to apply for Oxford or Cambridge. Her test results were outstanding and the school, along with her parents, had been expecting great things, but she was sidetracked by an older man, a kitchen salesman in his mid twenties. All her friends had been jealous. He was tall, good looking and wealthy.

  He drove a brand new car and took her to the finest restaurants. Vicky had fallen in love with him, very quickly, and by the time she discovered he was married with two children, it was hard to walk away. Her studies took a back seat as she settled for being ‘the other woman’. As time passed, the dream of Oxford and Cambridge melted away. The test results dropped. It was only a visit from the kitchen salesman’s wife, including threats of violence, that prompted her parents to put an end to the romance by moving away.

  Vicky had only just scraped into Southside University after a late surge in performance. Being the mistress had left Vicky feeling as if she were second best. Studying at Southside University instead of Oxford or Cambridge had been a huge let down for her parents more than Vicky, and their poorly disguised disappointment also made Vicky feel second best.

  She no longer had feelings for the kitchen salesman. She sat in The Pepper Pot, looking at Tom with great desire, all the time thinking, ‘If he seems too good to be true, he probably is.’ Her mother had also told her to ‘keep men waiting. If they love you, they’ll wait’. All week Tom had been visiting her and she had wanted to kiss him every night but kept telling herself to keep him waiting.

  So she sat opposite Tom with what he thought was a confident smile. Tom’s smile was also confident and assured. In his case, it was total unconditional confidence, which came from a firm belief that his honest and considerate approach deserved to be well received. He was a good looking boy and had been told that many times by many people, but he never made light of the advantage it gave him. It created more opportunities for him, but he only took the opportunities if the girls he met appeared to like what they heard as much as what they saw. He thought he had reached that point with Vicky and was happy to spend a whole week’s food money on treating her to a special night out.

  ‘So Vicky. What’s the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done?’ Tom asked before tucking into his vegetarian lasagne. They had missed out starters. Tom was feeling generous, but he could only afford a main course on a student grant.

  ‘Ooh let me think.’ Vicky swallowed a mouthful of sea bass and looked up at the ceiling for inspiration. ‘It would probably have to be when I was five.’ She faced Tom briefly. ‘No.’ She looked back up at the ceiling for more inspiration. ‘When I was eight. My mum used to bake lovely cakes, but she had a rule of only one piece a day to stop us all getting fat.’ Vicky had a sip of her sweet white wine. ‘She did a lovely fruit cake one summer and I had eaten my one piece, but wanted more, so when my mum and dad were outside gardening, I put the cake in a carrier bag and hid it in my room. Then I dropped the plate on the floor next to the table where I had found it, let the dog in and ran to tell my parents the dog had jumped up to the table and eaten the cake.’

  ‘You naughty girl.’ Tom laughed a little. ‘Did you get away with it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘My dad had a good look at the broken plate on the floor and saw there were no crumbs and I’m such a bad liar that he worked it out.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He sat me down and said, ‘Spoony is a lovely dog, but he told me he doesn’t like fruit cake. The raisins get caught in his teeth. He’s more of a sponge cake dog. So if he took the cake, he probably didn’t eat it. I’m going to finish cutting the grass now. If Spoony puts the cake back while I’m gone, I won’t punish him.” And then he left.’

  Tom smiled. ‘And did the dog return the cake?’

  ‘Yes it did, but only after I’d eaten another piece.’

  Vicky and Tom laughed together and both took another sip from their wine, touching glasses in a toast to bad behaviour.

  ‘What about you?’ Vicky asked. ‘I bet you’ve done some really bad things.’

  Tom rubbed his chin in thought. ‘I killed four
men.’

  ‘No?’ Vicky hoped he was joking.

  ‘No. Only joking. It was just one man.’

  She was getting used to his humour. ‘Come on. Proper answer.’

  He rubbed his chin again. ‘I’ve got one.’ He then took another mouthful of lasagne and said nothing. He was being playful.

  ‘Tell me then.’

  ‘Okay. When I was sixteen, our housemaster used to park his car outside our dormitory, two bays along from the space reserved for the headmaster. He was a horrible housemaster. He used to smack us on the back of the head.’

  Vicky was intrigued. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It was an old Rover and the passenger side back door wouldn’t lock for some reason. Me, my brother and a couple of other boys, got up in the middle of the night and got in his car through the back door, took off the handbrake and pushed it back a bit, then forward into the headmaster’s space.’

  Vicky laughed. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Well. He didn’t get in any trouble, at first, but we did it every night for two weeks until the headmaster banned him from using the staff car park.’

  Vicky laughed again. ‘Did you get caught?’

  ‘No, but I think he knew it was us because he hit us on the back of the head even more after that.’

  They finished their food and the waiter topped up their glasses before handing them a dessert menu. Vicky chose ice cream, while Tom ordered a coffee. With his plate out of the way Tom edged towards Vicky, resting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. ‘I feel very comfortable when I’m with you,’ he said.

  Vicky also leant forward. ‘That’s good. I love being with you.’ Vicky wondered if she had given too much away. She held her spoon in her right hand and rested her other hand on the table.

  Tom reached for her free hand. She cautiously tried to pull it away, but Tom gripped harder until she accepted his affection and gently squeezed his hand in return. They walked home still holding hands and at the door to block B, Vicky stood on her toes, reached up and kissed Tom. ‘Thank-you for a lovely evening Tom. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Tom was happy with that. The evening had gone well. She had kissed him. He had a girlfriend. He walked back to block F with a big smile.

  Chapter 21

  The Leopards meet Pink Socks

  Ten days later, January 30, 1984: Ian Mellor’s music box was playing in the kitchen. Hugh Grundy, Colin Dean and Ian were listening to Southern Death Cult. It was early Monday evening and the three boys had nothing to do, except studies, and they only ever opened their books the night before an exam or if an essay were due the next day. To pass the time, Colin was entertaining the others by burning posters on the notice board with his cigarette lighter. The orange flames briefly licked up the wall before fading away to leave a dirty black smear of carbon on the paintwork. The boys sat and admired their work.

  The door opened and Andrew Leopard came in followed by Tom and Brian Hill, all wearing orange and purple horizontally striped T-shirts.

  ‘Nice shirts. You off to a fancy dress party?’ asked Hugh.

  ‘No.’ Tom didn’t like the shirts at all. ‘Andrew’s parents are coming to eat with us tonight and his mum gave us these shirts for Christmas.’

  Brian noticed the black marks on the wall. ‘Err. Disgusting. Who did that?’

  ‘Colin. I told him not to. He just doesn’t listen sometimes.’ Hugh thought nothing of betraying his friend’s confidence. If anything, it provided entertainment.

  Brian didn’t like mess. He leant aggressively over Colin, who was sat on one of the soft chairs in the corner, with his face only inches from Colin’s, well inside his personal space. ‘Clean it up now,’ he said firmly.

  Colin could see Brian was not joking and knew better than to ignore him but wanted to save face. ‘No need to get stressy. I was going to do it anyway.’ He squeezed out from under Brian and started cleaning with help from Andrew, who didn’t want his parents thinking badly of his college home. Andrew did most of the cleaning while Tom and Brian started cooking. They had insisted on providing the meal for the Leopards in return for the kind hospitality they had been shown over Christmas.

  The walls didn’t look too bad after a good scrubbing, but Andrew had bigger problems to worry about, problems that had given him sleepless nights for most of January. Firstly he had not got any further than smiling and greeting Pink Socks and secondly he didn’t want Colin and Hugh anywhere near the kitchen when his parents visited. They knew all about Andrew and Pink Socks. Hugh would enjoy nothing more than telling Andrew’s mother and father how much of a failure he had been.

  Ian Mellor had agreed to spend the evening with his friends in Bronte Court and left as soon as the three boys came in wearing their orange and purple shirts, but Hugh and Colin needed a more mercenary approach, which Andrew had been preparing. ‘I think there’s a free band on in the Union bar tonight,’ he stammered.

  ‘You trying to get rid of us Leopard?’ snarled Hugh.

  ‘No. I wouldn’t dream of doing that … I wouldn’t … I wouldn’t.’

  Tom noticed the double echo. Andrew must be very nervous, so he came to his friend’s rescue. ‘Yes he is trying to get rid of you. His parents are coming for dinner and he doesn’t want them to see your ugly faces. I’ll give you a quid for the fruit machine in the union bar.’

  ‘Two quid and I’ll think about it,’ said Colin, feeling he had a strong hand.

  Brian was still angry with him for burning the posters. They had cleared up the black stains, but the kitchen smelled bad. ‘A quid is all you’re getting.’ Brian thrust the note in Colin’s hand.

  ‘If we don’t win, we might come back,’ warned Colin.

  ‘If you come back, I might stick the fire extinguisher up your bum,’ warned Brian.

  ‘No need to get heated,’ Hugh intervened. ‘We’re going.’

  Less than five minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

  Tom pulled it open. ‘Come in Mr Leopard.’ He shook his hand firmly. ‘Mrs Leopard. You’re looking well.’ Tom gave her a hug.

  ‘Nice shirt,’ she replied.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tom.

  Brian also hugged Maureen Leopard and shook Frank Leopard’s hand.

  Maureen then hugged Andrew for a little longer than he felt comfortable with before Frank took his son by the hand. ‘Looking good my boy.’

  ‘Thanks. Good journey?’

  ‘Not too bad. Usual road-works, but could have been worse.’

  ‘North Circular okay?’

  ‘Nasty, nasty road.’

  ‘Road-works by the river?’

  ‘Dreadful. Anyway boy. Where is she?’

  ‘She’ll be here in a minute … she will.’

  Tom opened a bottle of Bulgarian wine and poured a drink for the guests, who sat on the soft chairs in the carpeted corner of the kitchen. As Frank explained to everyone how he had corrected a number of ‘brainless fools’ at his conference, there was a gentle knock at the door. Greenpeace Badge pushed it open and walked in smiling at the dinner guests.

  Andrew rushed over and gave her a peck on the cheek before making the introductions. ‘Karen this is my mum and dad, Maureen and Frank … it is.’ He then turned to his parents. ‘Mum and Dad, this is Karen.’

  ‘Hi Maureen. Pleased to meet you.’ She kissed Andrew’s mother gently on both cheeks. ‘Frank.’ She kissed him too.

  ‘Wine Karen?’ offered Tom.

  ‘Thanks Tom.’

  ‘Have a seat Karen,’ said Frank, looking sternly at Andrew. ‘Let the girl sit down boy.’

  Andrew jumped up. ‘Sorry Karen. Have a seat.’

  ‘So Karen. Andrew tells us you have been together since the beginning of last term,’ Frank began.

  Greenpeace Badge didn’t respond, having briefly forgotten she was supposed to be called Karen. Tom gave her a little nudge.

  ‘Sorry Frank. Miles away. Yes. Where did we meet?’ She side-stepped the question. ‘You tell th
em Andrew. It’s such a nice story.’

  Tom thought it a good time to get everybody sat at the table. ‘Dinner’s almost ready. Let’s sit.’ They had borrowed a second table from the girls’ floor below and covered them both with a clean bed sheet. The knives and forks were all different and the plates were all different as they were all borrowed from a number of different people. The guests had wine glasses while the boys all drank from mugs.

  As they took their seats, Tom suggested quietly to Andrew that he use the Greenpeace poster as the answer for his parents. Once seated, when the noise died down, Andrew and Greenpeace Badge both spoke at the same time. While Andrew was saying ‘in the union building’, she was saying ‘in the Coffee Bar’.

  ‘Come on Andrew. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already.’ Frank said, immediately assuming that if the two stories didn’t match, it was Andrew who had it wrong.

  Greenpeace Badge filled in the gaps. ‘We met in the union building before having a drink together in the Coffee Bar. Andrew had been queuing for chips.’

  Maureen tutted, not happy with Andrew’s eating habits.

  ‘And I reached past him to see a Greenpeace poster,’ continued Greenpeace Badge. ‘We just got talking because Andrew is a member as well.’

  Frank wasn’t happy with that. ‘You never said anything about that. I’m not topping up your grant money so you can give it to loony lefty pressure groups. You’ll never get a proper job if your name is muddied by the shame of militancy.’

  ‘But,’ started Andrew.

  Frank wasn’t finished yet though. ‘Those unwashed, radical, yoghurt knitters would bring this country to its knees before they saw sense.’

  Andrew was about to answer when Tom intervened with a diplomatic stance aimed at stopping Greenpeace Badge from laying into Frank and blowing her cover.

  ‘Mr Leopard. Andrew isn’t a member. He borrowed my Greenpeace shirt that night as his laundry was still wet,’ said Tom facing Frank, but half turning towards Greenpeace Badge. He went on. ‘I, as a member, and I think I speak for most other members, appreciate that the more senior people within our community may treat our group with a little suspicion.’ Then, in an effort to divert the conversation, added, ‘Do you belong to any groups Mr Leopard?’