CHAPTER 76: The Virgin’s Summer, Part 16
… You scared the hell out of us this morning. Where d’you think you’re going?”
“Home, well, back to college anyway.”
“Like this? Walking?”
“Only to the station. They have trains there, you know.”
“For God’s sake, get in the car. We can talk back at the house.”
“No, we can’t. I’m done with talking.”
“Charlotte, I’m telling you. Get in the car, and we’ll talk about last night, back at the house, where we have some privacy.” Already, I can see the woman serving at the bar, watching us warily. I see her mutter something to a man stacking dishes into a washer.
“And I’m telling you, James, that you have surrendered the authority to tell me anything.”
He goes very quiet, staring at me.
Michael says, “Please, Charlotte. Come with us. We can sort this out.”
“No. I will not get in that car with you. You two think you run my life? You don’t. Now leave me alone. Goodbye, the pair of you.”
“You’re walking? It’s got to be twenty miles yet.” Michael sounds disbelieving.
“You think I can’t walk twenty miles? Watch me. Besides, it’s daylight now. I can thumb a lift.”
Both men look appalled. “No, you mustn’t do that, Charlotte,” says Michael. “It’s way too dangerous, especially for a girl like you.”
Dish-stacker man is standing beside us. “Are you okay, lady? These two bothering you?”
“Er no, I’m fine, thanks.”
He looks at me, clearly unconvinced, shrugs and goes.
“Dangerous?” I hiss. “Compared to what? Being strung up like a carcass by a man who has always promised me that when I say so, it stops.… But it didn’t stop, did it? I knew I’d upset you, so I allowed you to ‘discipline’ me. And your promise has always been that when I’ve had enough, it goes no further...” I run out of words and settle for staring out of the window, trying to control my breathing.
Michael tries to slide his hand over mine on the table, but I pull my hand away. “You think I don’t know about dangerous?” I continue. “You have no idea about me…”
“Please, Charlotte,” says Michael. “If you insist on leaving, then we won’t try to stop you, but at least let us drive you to the station and see you safely off.”
The drive to the rail station is a strained silence. As the car pulls up, James is staring at the floor. Michael simply says, “Charlotte, please don’t go.”
I don’t reply. I don’t trust myself to speak. Swallowing hard against my tight throat, I step out of the car, haul my pack from the boot, and without looking back, walk into the station.
The work is crummy, and I stink. Each night I come back ‘home’, reeking of greasy food and stale beer. But it’s work, and I earn enough to make the rent on my dismal little flat. If I can cover living expenses by working, then the cash I have in the bank should see me through for a good while. Textbooks, field trips, occasional extra tuition fees; the costs add up, but if I’m careful, I should manage.
But I am so tired. The long hours working in the cheap bar leave me exhausted, unable to think straight, unable to concentrate on anything academic. The advance work I had intended to do before the next semester falls away. I want to change my course, and it will be almost impossible to do if I haven’t completed the catch-up work before the main academic year.
Struggling with a text I am trying to make sense of, I give it up as a bad job. Tired already, the poor lighting is giving me a terrible headache.
And it is almost time for my next shift.
In the bar, I serve tables, trying to dodge around the groping hands of louts who think that I am on the menu. I slapped one once, and it almost lost me my job. “Hey, Pete was just fooling around…” was the attitude of my boss, Ben.
Take orders, serve tables, clear tables, load dishwasher, clean tables... it goes on and on…
I am cleaning stinking grease off a counter. Figures move close, to occupy a table. “I’ll just be a moment,” I say. “Nearly done here.” I pull out my pad and pencil. “What can I get you?”
“Two coffees, please.” says a familiar voice. I startle, looking up to see Michael and James.
“Mind if we sit here?” asks James.
“It’s a public place, and it’s not my bar...”
I am interrupted by Ben. “Hey, Jenny, table four needs serving too.”
“Yes, boss,” I say wearily.
Both men look shocked. “Jenny?” asks Michael.
Hands on hips, I stare them down. “Jennifer is what it says on my passport. Charlotte is a fantasy, remember? She always was.”
I turn on my heel and ask Samantha to serve them instead, while I go deal with table four.
Shift over, I return to the flat, collapsing onto my bed. I should read a textbook I’m working on, but I want to sleep.
Still fully clothed, I drop onto the blankets, and pull the duvet over myself, trying to ignore the smell of mushrooms that clothes everything in here. Barely have I closed my eyes, when there is a knock at the door.
For a moment, I simply stare at the ceiling. I know who is on the other side of the door. Perhaps if I ignore it, stay quiet, they will go away.
Michael’s voice: “Charlotte, Jenny, whatever you’re calling yourself; open up. We know you’re in there.”
I get up and open the door. “You followed me? What are you now? My stalkers?”
Michael looks angry, James upset. Both push past me into the miserable room.
“You’re living here?” demands James. “In an area like this?”
“And working in that dump of a café,” says Michael. “Why?”
“A girl’s gotta eat and pay rent, and to do that, she has to work.” I snap.
“In this miserable place?” demands James. “What happened to the money you had? And the money I sent you?”
“The money I had, I still have, because I am going to need it to fund the next year or so. And I don’t know anything about any money that you sent me.”
“I paid it to your bank, to see you alright.” He sees my blank look. “You haven’t checked your account recently?”
“No need. I’m living on my earnings. And if you sent money, I’ll damn well send it back. I am not available for purchase!”
Michael is silent. “Charlotte,” says James, holding out his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to know that you’re okay. Not living like…” He waves his hand around the room. “... not living like this.”