Memoirs of a Dance Hall Romeo Read Online Free PDF Page A

a faint air of corruption about her. A suggestion of that fantasy figure that features in most men’s dreams at one time or another—the tart who will do anything she’s told to do.
    Good old Dirty George. As the number came to an end I said brightly, ‘Who’s taking you home?’
    Her brows lifted fractionally and there was a new look in her eyes. ‘You don’t waste any time, do you?’
    ‘Never could see the point,’ I told her and slipped a cigarette into the corner of my mouth, Bogart to the life. ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Gloria,’ she said. ‘I’ll get my coat now and beat the rush. See you at the main door.’
    She faded into the crowd and I moved towards the stairs, where Dirty George was standing with one of his green-blazered rugby pals. They were laughing hugely together at some private joke.
    I slapped him on the back, full of goodwill. ‘Thanks. I’ll do the same for you sometime.’
    The smile faded and he stared at me in astonishment. ‘You mean you got off with her?’
    ‘Just like you said,’ I told him. ‘A dead cert.’
    He seemed bereft of speech for a moment and when he spoke, it was in a kind of hoarse whisper. ‘But I was only kidding, old man. Never clapped eyes on her in my life before.’
    Which was really very funny and I patted him on the shoulder gently. ‘It only goes to prove, George,’ I said solemnly, ‘that all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.’
    I left him there, his mouth hanging open, and went upstairs to the cloakroom.
    There had to be a snag, of course, and it was waiting for me in the foyer in the person of a tall, rather plain girl in a brown tweed coat and headscarf, whom Gloria introduced as her sister Pam. I didn’t mind if she walked home with us, did I? I managed a ready smile, but only just, and followed them outside.
    The rain had developed into a hard, persistent downpour and looked as if it had settled in for the rest of the month. Gloria had an umbrella with her, which she and her sister shared, and I turned up the collar of my greatcoat, pulled my beret down over my eyes and trailed miserably in their wake.
    We followed the main road for about a mile, the two girls discussing a film they’d seen together the previous night, making no attempt to include me in the conversation. On several occasions I was tempted simply to creep away, for I had the distinct impression that I would hardly be missed. The whole thing by then seemed a colossal waste of time. Finally, we turned off the main road into a corporation housing estate and moved into a cul-de-sac of semi-detached houses.
    Gloria opened a gate and started along a narrow concrete path, her sister at her shoulder. I followed, for no good reason that I could see for she had still not spoken to me. At the rear of the house there was a small patch of lawn and a concrete porch with a light over it. There was also a light in the kitchen, although the curtains were drawn.
    The girls paused in the porch. Gloria closed her umbrella, shaking it vigorously, and Pam turned to me. To my utter amazement, she smiled brightly. ‘Thanks for bringing me home,’ she said, opened the kitchen door and went inside, closing it again.
    I turned to Gloria, my heart in my mouth, and reached out for her. She said calmly, ‘We’ll go in the greenhouse, if you like. It’s warm in there. My Dad leaves an oil heater on nights.’
    In the same instant, the kitchen door was flung open and a wild-eyed youth with long, narrow sideboards punched me in the face.
    I have never been much of a fighting man in spite of the Army’s attempts to teach me the rudiments of unarmed combat. Let’s say I was perfectly well aware of the theory of the thing. It was just that I baulked at putting it into practice.
    In this case, I didn’t have much choice, if only for reasons of self-preservation. His fist grazed my cheek as he shouted incoherently, and I moved in close and tried to throw him over my hip in the approved