Tearfully, Louise quickly undressed and then dragged Victoria unceremoniously to the bathroom and into the shower. She got in with her, hoisted her up, and turned on the water.
Victoria started to wake up when the water hit her. She seemed to revive slightly, opening her eyes and looking around. She saw Louise in the shower with her, but didn’t say anything. She just closed her eyes again, and tilted her head back, letting the water wash over her face and her hair. Louise let go of her, and Victoria managed to stay on her feet, her hands braced against the sides of the shower cubicle.
Louise quickly undressed her, tossing the soggy clothes out of the shower behind her. There was an unsteady moment when Louise had to lift each foot to get the skirt from under her, but all was done without disaster. With the both of them well and truly soaked, Louise turned the shower head to one side, grabbed the shower-gel, and began to gently soap Victoria’s body.
Victoria didn’t resist or protest as Louise washed her. She just stood in the shower with her hands pressed against the sides and her eyes shut.
Louise soaped her all over, and then quickly did the same to herself. When she was all finished, she reached up and redirected the shower head downwards again and began to rinse off. Then she pulled Victoria gently forward and rinsed her off too. As the hot water washed all the soap away, Victoria finally took her hands off the sides of the shower cubicle and rested them on Louise’s shoulders, leaning against her. Louise slipped her arms around her and pulled her closer, and Victoria slowly lowered her head onto Louise’s shoulder. They stood together under the water like that for a little while, letting it wash over them and warm them.
It should have been a fantasy come true for Louise. But instead it was all very confusing. Here she was, actually standing in the shower with the woman she loved. Or, at least the woman she thought she loved. She could feel Victoria’s body pressed close to hers. And yet her emotions were all confused. Soaping Victoria’s body should have been highly arousing, but every cut and bruise she found made her sad, and in the end she felt like crying. She remembered how Victoria looked when she had first seen her in Edward’s Bar. She had such beautiful skin, and now it was all battered and bruised.
And even worse, she hadn’t had the chance to tell Victoria her true feelings. Yes, she had blurted it out in the street, but Victoria had thought it was just a ploy to get rid of John. She didn’t really believe it, and she certainly didn’t know how Louise felt about her. And Victoria herself was so confusing.
Why was she so jealous of Scott? She had deliberately tried to split him and Chrissy up. And what did Chrissy mean about Victoria having to be drunk before she would let Zach sleep with her? And why did Victoria behave the way she did at the club? It was so destructive.
Louise didn’t know what to do. Part of her wanted Victoria now. She wanted to kiss her, and caress her, and love her all night. But another part of her wanted to mother Victoria, to look after her and make what ever was wrong with her all better. And still another part of her was frightened of the consequences if she did make her feelings known and Victoria should reject her.
In the end, Louise turned off the water and helped Victoria out of the shower. She quickly wrapped her in a big towel and got another one to wrap her wet hair. She let Victoria lean against her shoulder while she grabbed her bathrobe, slipped it on, and got another towel for her own hair.
Louise then walked Victoria all the way to the bedroom, where she sat her down on the bed. Not once had Victoria opened her eyes since that brief moment in the shower, and when Louise let go of her, she waited a moment to see if she would fall over. Victoria swayed, but stayed upright.
Louise backed slowly away, tying up her bathrobe as she went. As soon as she was out the bedroom door, she ran back to the bathroom, tying her hair up in the towel on the way. There she picked up Victoria’s clothes, before running into the lounge to retrieve her own clothes. She spotted her slippers on the way and quickly put them on. After that she ran into the kitchen, opened the washing machine, and stuffed everything inside. Finally, she ran back to the bathroom for her first aid kit. She hoped there was enough plasters and antiseptic ointment inside. She opened it to check as she returned to the bedroom.
When she got there it was to find Victoria lying on her side on the bed. She was still wrapped in the towels and her legs were drawn up against her stomach. She was breathing deeply.
Louise put the first aid kit down on the bed and slowly rolled Victoria onto her back. She pulled her legs straight, examining each one carefully, and then checking her feet. There were a few scratches on Victoria’s legs, but they weren’t deep. Louise put some antiseptic on them anyway. It was best to be safe; she had been lying on the floor in the toilets after all.
Louise worked her way higher, slowly unwrapping the towel as she went. There was a deeper cut near the top of Victoria’s thigh, and another on her hip. Louise put plasters and antiseptic on both of them. She had completely unravelled the towel, exposing all of Victoria’s body, when she finally lost control.
There was a scratch across Victoria’s stomach, it crossed her navel, and as Louise traced it with her finger she could stand it no longer. She dropped the tube of antiseptic, lowered her head and kissed Victoria’s bruised and scratched stomach. She kissed her again and again, slowly working her way downwards, her lips moving softly over the damaged skin.
When Louise finally reached her goal, Victoria slowly began to respond. Her breath came more quickly and she began to tug at the sheets, twisting them around in her hands. Then she drew her legs up slightly, arching her back. And turning her head to one side, she murmured softly, “Don’t hurt me, daddy…”
Chapter Thirteen
The Dream Breaker
By the time Chrissy heard her name being called, and got up to follow the nurse down a corridor and into a cubicle, she and Adam had spent several hours sitting and talking together. Adam had got her several cups of coffee from the machine, and Chrissy was beginning to feel very sober.
They had talked about many things, not always agreeing, and Chrissy had enjoyed the debates. At no time did Adam ever treat her in a patronising way, despite the obvious age difference. He was thirty-nine and unmarried. They were the first things she had found out.
When Chrissy came back to the waiting room she looked a lot better. She was cleaner and brighter, and the only sign of treatment was a bandage wrapped tightly around her midriff.
Adam was still waiting for her as promised. He got up to greet her and looked very concerned when he saw the bandage.
“What did they say? Are you alright? No bones broken? No concussion?”
“I’m fine! A few bruised ribs, that’s all. They said I won’t feel anything until tomorrow because of all the vodka I’ve drank, but then I’ll have a whopping headache and a bruise on my bum the size of Japan.”
“Ah! A small price to pay for such a violent encounter!” He draped his coat around her shoulders again, took her hand, and said, “Come, your four wheeled assailant awaits you!”
The taxi driver was sleeping in his cab when Adam knocked on the window. He stirred and rubbed his eyes. “Where to now, mate?” he said, starting the engine.
“Ask the young lady,” Adam told him.
The taxi driver waited until they had both got in and then stared at Chrissy expectantly. She gave an address in Stretford and they were off again.
Adam looked across at Chrissy as they sat together in the back of the cab. “Do you live alone?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “I live with my mum and dad and my stupid brother.”
“Was he born stupid?”
Chrissy giggled. “I didn’t actually mean–oh, you know what I meant!”
“Actually, I do not. I was an only child and so was not blessed with brothers, stupid or otherwise. When I was small, I often wished that I did have such a brother, or sister. The house was very large, and I was often lonely.”
Chrissy looked acro
ss at him. Being lonely was a subject that came up far too often. It was obviously deep rooted. “Your accent isn’t local, where do you come from?” she asked him.
“My accent isn’t really indicative of my origins, it merely stems from a public school education. My family was originally from Yorkshire, but for the past few generations they have lived on an estate just outside Bolton. It isn’t a grand house, but it’s big and old.”
“You weren’t a happy chicken as a child, were you?”
Adam smiled. “No,” he said. “My experiences have left me a little withdrawn. Hence my problems with women.”
“I would have thought the public school thing would have sorted all that out.”
“Unfortunately not, although I can play rugby quite well. But it isn’t often that you encounter a woman in the middle of a scrum.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Women play rugby too.”
“Not with us, they didn’t. If they had, I’m sure my education would have been very different.”
“You’re a bit dry, aren’t you?”
“You are referring to my sense of humour, I take it?”
Chrissy nodded.
“Yes. I think a dry wit stems from a pessimistic attitude to life, while those with blind optimism make jokes about their anatomy and their mother-in-laws without thought, or malice.”
“But why be so pessimistic? You’ve got money.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“That’s always what people with money say! You try living without it! You’re just bored!”
Adam sighed. “You are correct again. I am bored. But having money at so early an age is detrimental. You do not think so, but I assure you that it is true. Do you have dreams, Chrissy?”
It was a surprise question, but Chrissy answered it straight away. “Yes. I want a big house on a beach somewhere warm. I want enough money not to have to worry about paying bills and having to work. And I want a hammock slung between two palm trees, and a big hat to shade me from the sun when I’m lounging in it.” She paused a moment before adding, “Does that all sound stupid?”
“No, of course not,” Adam replied quickly. “It is a simple enough dream, and I am sure many people share it. But my dreams are different.
“I dream of a childhood where my mother did not die when I was eight, where my father spent more time with me rather than packing me off to the infamous boarding school, and where I wasn’t ever conscious of the standards I had to live up to. Not that I was unhappy as a child. I mustn’t give you a false impression. There were many happy times and experiences in my childhood and since. But the point of my argument is that having money takes away the dreams of the attainable, and leaves you only with what is unattainable.”
“That’s crap!” Chrissy said bitterly. “I’m sorry about your mother and all that, but kids a lot less well off than you string themselves up when they don’t get straight A’s in all their exams! Everyone has standards to meet. Some are low, some are high, but money doesn’t come into it. As for the other things, well, you aren’t the first or last only child, and you won’t be the last to lose a parent, either. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve no excuse for being so glum. And if you’re so fed up of your money, I’ll be glad to take it off your hands.”
“And what would you spend it on? Your dream?”
Chrissy snapped her fingers. “Like that!”
“And then what?”
“I’d enjoy it, of course.”
“Would you? Are you sure?” Adam pressed her. “Or would day after day of brilliant sunshine with nothing to do but lounge in your hammock eventually begin to get tiresome? Or are you really that shallow?”
Chrissy was indecisive. “Well, maybe my dream is a little bit one dimensional. There probably would be more to it than that, but the main part about the house by the sea is what counts.”
“I’m sure it is. But even without my help, Chrissy, you could quite conceivably obtain your dream while still at a young enough age to enjoy it. But having done so, you, too, would quickly become bored. You deny it, but as soon as you thought a little more about the details of your dream, you knew that I was right.”
“No, I’m not having that!” Chrissy said quickly. She was warming to this new debate, and she was defending her dream. “Dreams have to be vague at the beginning; they wouldn’t be dreams if they weren’t. But if you are lucky enough to make one come true, that’s when you begin to flesh it out. You add the details when you can afford to think about them, when the main part of the dream is achieved.”
“Like a muscular and tanned young man to serve to your every need?” Adam said enticingly. “Or maybe a stretch limousine? Or a helicopter in the garden? Or a fully crewed, 50ft yacht anchored off the beach?”
“But they’re other dreams,” Chrissy said.
“Exactly!” Adam pounced on her words. “And that’s the point! When one dream is realised, there is always another dream just out of reach to strive for. For most people it is a bigger house, a newer car, or a better education. But as the level of wealth increases, so the dreams get out of hand. Those with one company want two, those with one business empire strive to take over another’s. And those who have everything climb mountains and break records, spending more in the process on these reckless deeds than they did in founding their empires. What is there at the end?”
“That’s not fair!” Chrissy wailed as soon as she had the chance to get a word in. “You tricked me!”
“No, I did not. I merely opened your eyes to the limitations of your dream, and you merely embraced the dreams that obviously follow. The beach becomes your own island, the helicopter is joined by your own personal jet, the 50ft yacht is quickly replaced by an even bigger ocean going version. These all follow on naturally, provided you have the finances to get them. But when all the finances in the world cannot help you, then, and only then, does the dream become a true dream.
“That last reconciliation with an estranged father before he died, correcting a wrong decision at a crucial moment that breaks a relationship forever, or a life shared with a mother lost at an early age. No amount of money can realise these dreams.”
“But those aren’t dreams!” Chrissy protested. “They’re just bad memories, or guilt. You can’t wish for something that’s so obviously un-reachable. If you’re doing that, you’re just being bitter at what life has given you. You can’t change the past, and you can’t wallow in its misfortunes. They aren’t dreams, they’re just self pity.”
“You may be right,” Adam conceded. “But my argument is still valid.”
“Oh, yes? And how so?”
“Because money and the dream itself are not what is important. It is the striving for the dream and the joy of its accomplishment that we are addicted to. As soon as one dream is attained it is cast aside for the next, because it is the doing, the journey, that counts. That is why dreams of changing what is past become so desirable, because of their inherent futility. For you, there will be great joy at the house and the beach and the sun. But in a short time it will pass. Then you will want more. And like any addiction, in the end it will destroy you.”
Chrissy folded her arms and stared at him in annoyance. “You hate losing, don’t you?”
“And so do you.”
Chrissy turned and stared out of the window. She didn’t reply. Adam looked at her expression and the way she sat with her arms folded. He sighed.
“Will you sulk for long?” he asked her.
“Only as long as you’re going to be smug,” she replied, still staring out of the window. The taxi was on Talbot Road. She would be home soon.
“Then I promise that I will not be smug, even if I did win.”
Chrissy quickly spun round to face him. “You did not win!” she said, poking him in the chest. “And this isn’t over yet! You can’t go smashing a girl’s dream like that and then go on to talk about football!”
“Rugby.”
“You know what I meant!”
As he spoke, the taxi came to a squealing halt on Greatstone Road, and the driver looked over his shoulder.
“We’re here, mate.”
Adam said, “Wait here.” He leaned across Chrissy and opened the door for her. As he did so, their faces were very close, and for a moment he hesitated.
Then Chrissy said, “Thank you,” and stepped out, and the moment was lost.
“I will walk you to your door,” Adam said, following her out.
They walked up the path together. The house was all in darkness.
Chrissy took a key from her jacket pocket. “I bet you’re a hoot at parties,” she said to Adam. “You must be a constant kitchen dweller!”
“While you, I am sure, are always the centre of attention, the very life and soul of the party who wouldn’t be seen dead with so obvious a kitchen dweller as I.”
“Oh, shut up!”
They reached the door. Chrissy put her key in the lock and opened it. She stepped into the hall and put the light on, and then she turned to face Adam.
“What time will you be picking me up tomorrow night?”
“It will be early, at six-thirty. We have a short distance to travel to the restaurant I have in mind.”
“You’re not flying me somewhere silly, are you? I won’t be impressed.”
“I assure you I am doing no such thing.”
“How do you want me to dress?”
“As you think fit for an evening dining out. I am sure whatever you wear will be pleasing.”
“You’d be happy if I dressed like this.”
The Look of Love Page 8