Midnight Girls

by Lulu Taylor

  She felt a great pool of happiness engulf her. It was not physical exactly – she still seemed too removed from her body to feel very much – but she felt drenched in the pleasure of being near him at last, as close to him as it was possible to be. It felt wonderful and right, even if she couldn’t sense much else.

  They moved together in an instinctive and natural rhythm for what seemed like ages. Then slowly they stopped. He pulled out of her and they lay together for a while in each other’s arms. It didn’t matter that there had been no climax for either of them, Imogen was sure of that. They were too numbed by drink and drugs to become aroused enough to see it through. But it had been gentle and beautiful, and this way she had showed him how much she loved him, cared for him and wanted to be close to him.

  ‘Come on,’ Xander said at last. ‘We’d better get back to the party.’

  He helped her up. She felt dizzy once up on her feet but that passed after a moment and then she enjoyed the glow that had enveloped her. Oh my God, I made love with Xander … She felt special, as though she’d been granted some precious boon. Surely now, for the rest of her life, she’d carry this sense of being blessed.

  What about Sam? asked a tiny voice at the back of her head but she ignored it. All that was far away from her at the moment. She would think about it when she was forced to step back into her ordinary life. Right now, she was walking on air, ecstatic.

  Just then someone came running out of the barn towards them, shouting, ‘Xander, Xander, where are you?’

  They were followed by a man holding a mobile phone to his ear and shouting the address of the farm into it.

  ‘I’m here!’ he shouted, letting go of Imogen’s hand and hurrying forward. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You’d better come quickly, there’s been an accident. We’re calling an ambulance.’

  ‘Is it Allegra?’

  Imogen gasped and put her hands to her mouth.

  ‘No, it’s Temple. Come on!’

  Xander ran for the inside of the barn, leaving Imogen standing in the deserted courtyard, watching as the flashing lights dimmed and the party was illuminated by harsh yellow industrial lamps, and the music faded to nothing.

  Chapter 23

  ‘OH. OH, GOD. Oh, fuck. What the … hell …’

  There was a pounding on the door. It was loud but no louder than the racket inside Allegra’s head. The two together were almost unbearable.

  ‘OK, OK!’ she shouted. ‘Jesus Christ.’

  She wasn’t sure where she was but, opening her eyes, realised she was back in her rooms in Lincoln, although how she had got there, she had no idea. She rolled over and put her legs over the side of the bed to see if they would support her if she tried to stand up. They felt distinctly shaky.

  There was another knocking on the door and then the sound of a voice calling, ‘Allegra … Allegra, are you in there?’

  ‘Yes!’ she called back, but her voice was croaky and sore as though it had been overused recently. ‘Just coming. Give me a moment, for Christ’s sake.’

  Getting some control of her limbs at last, she stumbled over to the door and opened it. Imogen was standing outside. Allegra looked her up and down through bleary eyes.

  ‘Why the fuck are you dressed up like that?’

  Imogen was wearing the university uniform of sub fusc: a black skirt and white shirt, with a black ribbon knotted at her neck and her gown over it. In her hand she clutched a black mortar board. Sub fusc was worn on formal occasions, such as matriculation and … exams.

  Allegra felt a small flicker of panic, and the expression of alarm on Imogen’s face didn’t help. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s half-past twelve!’ she exclaimed.

  Relief flooded her. ‘Half-past twelve? No wonder I feel like shit. I only got to bed about an hour ago. Why are you waking me up like this? I need at least another four hours. And why are you wearing sub fusc now? It’s a bit eager, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, no! It’s half-past twelve on Wednesday.’

  Allegra blinked at her friend’s anxious face as the information sank in.

  ‘But … but that means …’

  ‘Yes!’ Imogen nodded frantically. ‘We started exams this morning. Hasn’t anyone come for you? I thought they came to college to get you if you didn’t show up. We’ve already sat one paper, the next one starts at two. Come on, you have to get dressed right away.’ The expression on her face told Allegra all she needed to know about how she must look.

  Clammy horror chilled her all over. ‘Oh, fuck. I’m completely screwed.’

  ‘No, you’re not! Quick, get dressed and get down to Schools. Tell them you were ill this morning and that you haven’t seen anyone who has taken the exam already. They might let you stay in the building and sit it this afternoon, once the essay paper is finished. Quick, quick …’

  ‘Look at me!’ Allegra croaked. They both stood still for a moment and took in her state: her filthy clothes, her lank greasy hair, the stench of booze and chemicals that was seeping out her skin. She looked terrible. ‘I can’t do an exam like this. I’ll throw up halfway through.’

  ‘But you’ve got to try!’ cried Imogen. ‘You can’t just flunk it like this! How did you manage to lose a whole day?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Allegra felt on the verge of losing it entirely – either bursting into tears or becoming furiously angry. ‘I don’t fucking know, all right?’

  Imogen grabbed her arm and spoke fast. ‘Look, there’s time, all right? Go and get into the shower, be as quick as you can. I’ll run to the JCR and get you some food – a ham roll and some Coke and chocolate. That will give you a boost. You get dressed, then look over your translations of The Seafarer, The Dream of the Rood, and The Wife’s Lament. They all came up in the paper. We can do all that in an hour, easily. Then get yourself down to Schools before the afternoon paper starts.’

  ‘And when am I going to find the time to revise that one?’ Allegra demanded.

  Imogen blinked at her. ‘Haven’t you done any revision at all?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Then you’ll just have to wing it. I’ve hardly done anything myself.’

  ‘Oh, don’t give me that,’ sneered Allegra. ‘You’ve been swotting away all term, pretending you’re not.’ She knew she shouldn’t be turning on her friend, who had just risked her own university career by telling her the contents of the Anglo-Saxon paper, but she was frightened, and angry, and couldn’t believe the mess she’d found herself in.

  Imogen stood looking at her helplessly for a moment and then said quietly, ‘Well, I don’t know what else to suggest.’

  Allegra went over to her bed and sat down on it, her back hunched.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Imogen, coming into the room.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Allegra stared down at her hands. ‘I think I remember coming back in someone’s car some time – it was daylight, I know that. I’ve got the vague idea that I ended up in a house – Park Town, I think. But I thought there was loads of time. I can’t remember really.’ She saw flashes of events: a glass bowl of cocaine on a table and lines being chopped on the top of it; bottles of vodka and champagne being passed around; mad dancing in a grand drawing room somewhere. Did I have sex? It was a distinct possibility. She had a fleeting vision of writhing bodies. Had she been a part of it, or just witnessed it? She simply didn’t know.

  How the hell am I supposed to get to Schools and write a paper on T. S. Eliot and the deeper meaning of The Wasteland? I feel like I’m in the fucking Wasteland myself.

  She glanced up at Imogen who was watching her silently. ‘I guess you got back all right?’

  Imogen nodded. ‘After what happened to Temple, I didn’t feel much like partying. So I got a lift back. I was home before dawn.’

  ‘Temple …’

  ‘Don’t you remember?’

  Allegra frowned. She had a snatch of memory of the girl lying on the floor of the barn, some people coming to ta
ke her away, and then the party resuming. ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘I don’t know. I thought you might have heard something. Apparently she was climbing the wall of bales, and got quite high up – then they collapsed and she fell straight on to that concrete floor. The paramedics strapped her into one of those special stretchers and had a neck brace on her. It looked serious.’

  ‘Oh, fuck. No, I don’t know anything. Shit. Poor Temple.’ Allegra laughed almost sorrowfully. ‘And we all kept on partying.’

  ‘Some people did. Most of us went home.’

  ‘Just the hardcore, huh? What about Xander?’

  ‘He insisted on going in the ambulance with her. They didn’t want to let him but he said he was the closest she had to next-of-kin right then, so they gave in.’ There was a pause and then Imogen said softly, ‘If you don’t need me, I’ll go. I have to look over my notes before the exam.’

  Allegra took a deep shuddering breath. Her eyes stung. ‘I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?’

  Imogen rushed forward and knelt down next to her. ‘It’s not too late, Allegra, you’ve still got a chance! But you’ll have to act fast.’

  ‘Do you really think I can?’

  ‘You must try. What have you got to lose?’

  Allegra slumped for a moment, her shoulders drooping as though she really were defeated and couldn’t summon another ounce of strength. Imogen grasped her hand and squeezed it hard. ‘You can do it,’ she whispered. ‘I know you can. Don’t give in now.’

  Allegra lifted her head and stared into her friend’s eyes. Imogen’s clear grey gaze looked back. Imogen’s so lucky. The world is so clear-cut for her. She knows her good from her bad, and she wants to be good. I wish it could be like that for me.

  ‘All right,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I may as well try.’

  She didn’t know how she’d managed to convince the officials to let her sit the Anglo-Saxon exam after that afternoon’s paper. Her performance must have been stellar but her appearance probably backed up her story. I must look like I’m at death’s door, she thought as she explained that she’d crawled from her sick bed to take the exams and pleaded to be allowed to sit the paper.

  While the other students streamed out of Schools after the afternoon session, Allegra was put into isolation with a chaperone, accompanied to the loo or when she went to get a glass of water, but she was given an hour’s recovery time before she sat the translation paper and that gave her the chance to read over her notes and refresh her memory.

  When she was finally released from the building, she walked out into the summer evening, switched on her mobile and sent a text to Imogen.

  I can’t f*g believe it. Success. Wife’s Lament a breeze. Thx so much for yr help. Back to revision now! See u tomorrow. Love, A x

  The final paper was on Friday morning, and when it was over, the first-year undergraduates spilled out of Schools on to the High Street in a burst of wild relief, keen to shake off the stress and anxiety of exams.

  ‘Do you think you passed?’ Imogen asked as she and Allegra made their way down the steps of the building, buffeted and bashed by the students heading for the pub.

  Allegra shrugged as she fished about in her pockets for her cigarettes. ‘This bloody gown! I can’t wait to get this nonsense off.’ She had interpreted sub fusc in her own particular way, wearing black flared trousers, shabby plimsolls and a white vintage Victorian lace blouse with a broad black grosgrain ribbon tied in a bow at the neck. Her commoner’s gown fell off one shoulder.

  ‘It’s bound to be all right – they let you sit that paper after all.’

  Allegra smiled at her friend. ‘Yeah. Thanks for making me do it. I would never have had the imagination or the balls otherwise.’

  Imogen grinned back at her. ‘It was the least I could do. I was so worried when you didn’t show up for the exam. I thought you’d been kidnapped or something!’

  ‘No,’ Allegra said fervently. ‘I really owe you, Midge. None of my other so-called friends turned up to find me, and I know what you risked for me.’ She put a hand on her friend’s arm. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’

  ‘And now …’ Allegra put a cigarette in her mouth, lit it with her silver lighter, and exhaled in a joyous puff. ‘Party time!’

  Chapter 24

  New York

  THE SHOP WAS a terrible mess: everything had been ripped from the hangers or swept from the shelves; mirrors had been smashed, furniture overturned, and all the pretty things torn and stamped on.

  Romily put her head in her hands for a moment and sighed deeply. Then she gathered herself and looked around at the chaos. ‘I just don’t know how long I can carry on like this. This is the third time we’ve been broken into. Don’t they understand? We don’t keep any money here at night! And the things they take … Anything electronic disappears, no matter how worthless it is. The sound system has gone again – it’s worth about eighty dollars. They ignore the things that actually count for something, or just destroy them for the hell of it. It breaks my heart!’ Angry tears sprang to her eyes.

  ‘It’s a terrible shame,’ agreed Muffy, looking about, her expression gloomy. ‘I can’t believe we’re gonna have to clear this all up again.’

  Cherub was not going well. The neighbourhood, it turned out, had been a big mistake. It was not up and coming at all but seemed to be staying much the same, and Cherub, with its glossy, expensive frontage and pricy, eclectic stock, stood out painfully on the rundown street. It attracted attention all right, but not the kind that Romily had been hoping for. Where were all the rich girls whom she knew browsed the designer boutiques only a few blocks away?

  In the first few weeks they’d come by all the time. Romily kept a constant supply of very good coffee, more of those princessy cup cakes and plates of pale Ladurée macaroons in her favourite pistachio and strawberry flavours, and the girls arrived just before their lunch dates or before they went to their beautician or manicurist, to pick up something to wear for a party or give as a gift, have a coffee, nibble on a cake and gossip with Muffy and Romily.

  The shop took several thousand dollars in the first week. Romily proudly totted up her takings and recorded them in her accounts, thinking to herself that this was easy and fun. Why didn’t everybody have a shop? It was just the best thing in the world.

  Then came the first breakin.

  Perhaps she should have worried more about crime in the area when she found that poor man in the alley on the opening night, but it had been easy to dismiss that as a one-off. She just hoped he’d recovered, whoever he was. Still, she’d been careful to keep her eyes open for anything suspicious. Her alleyway already seemed to be popular with drug users and pushers. She often saw furtive transactions taking place there when she went back to the stock room or kitchen, and she’d found abandoned scraps of foil, burnt patches on the ground and the inevitable abandoned syringes out there.

  ‘It’s just awful!’ she told Muffy as she carefully cleaned everything away while wearing industrial-strength protective gloves. ‘Dogs or children could so easily step on these vile things! It’s so selfish, isn’t it?’

  ‘Incredibly,’ agreed Muffy. ‘Why can’t they just do their horrid drugs at home, like everyone else? The last place I’d want to get high is some filthy alley.’

  Then Romily discovered that local prostitutes were using it as a handy place to service their customers when she went to put out some rubbish and found a beautiful black girl on her knees, her hands wrapped round the shaft of a throbbing cock, its large head filling her mouth while its owner cried, ‘Yeah, baby! Oh, yeah, baby,’ and pushed it deeper down her throat.

  Romily ran back inside feeling sick and appalled. After that, she seemed to see them all the time: girls of all shapes and colours, but mostly in the usual mini-skirt, high heels and jacket, sucking off men or letting them pump into them as they leant against the wall, one leg curled round the client’s back to help his efforts along. Often they
would stare Romily straight in the eye, their expression cool and uninterested, as they waited for their client to finish.

  ‘It’s disgusting,’ she said, outraged. ‘Those girls don’t care that they’re having sex in the street!’

  ‘Totally,’ agreed Muffy solemnly.

  ‘I had no idea this kind of thing went on in real life. I mean, you expect these things in the movies or on the TV, but outside my own shop … In the daylight!’

  Looking back, she could see it was only a matter of time before Cherub was robbed, but it had still come as a shock. She’d wept bitterly over the broken and ruined things, and mourned everything that had been lost: the electric till and card reader had gone, so had the phone, the stereo, and even the tiny microwave oven from the kitchen.

  ‘At least we can replace those,’ she said tearfully. ‘But my lamps!’

  Beautiful vintage pieces had been wilfully wrecked. The police had little interest in the case, giving her the distinct impression that they thought she was foolish for placing such temptation in the way of people who could hardly be expected to do otherwise than help themselves.

  Then, she had to go away: she had to get back to Paris for various social events and there was the Laksi wedding in Delhi to attend. Her mother was getting tetchy about the fact that Romily had been away for so long. She asked Muffy to run the shop in her absence and hired a girl to be the sales assistant but, without Romily to oversee everything, it turned into a disaster. Muffy kept forgetting to open the shop at all, and when she did it would be for a few hours in the afternoon, when she could fit it into her hectic social life. Sales plummeted and the stock looked old, dusty and neglected.

  ‘I don’t understand it!’ Romily exclaimed when she got back and looked over the books. ‘We’ve made nothing at all … we’ve hardly sold anything. In the first few weeks, we made thousands. Now we’re making nothing. How can that be?’