Turn Us Again by Charlotte Mendel Read Free Book Online Page B

received a parcel from her family for her birthday, containing a new red jumper. This jumper would go admirably with Anne’s black skirt.
    â€˜How annoying that Louise isn’t here,’ thought Anne. ‘I would love to borrow the jumper. She would certainly say yes if I asked — Louise is generous about things like that. I’m sure she won’t mind if I wear it, and I will take very good care of it. It really doesn’t make any difference, after all.’
    John Drake appeared in time to escort her to Dorothy’s and waxed appreciative over the red top. The night was drizzly and Anne hung on his arm so they could share his umbrella. A huge man with a big shaggy head loomed up in front of them, wishing them both good evening, but looking at Anne. She had seen him before, another student pacing the streets of Cambridge, and had remarked on the largeness of his head and the intensity of his gaze.
    Dorothy’s was a huge place, boasting a dance floor surrounded by closely packed tables. The atmosphere was heavy with smoke overlaid with the smell of stale beer. But the chairs were comfortable and the size of the room allowed the guests to find places to talk without having to shout over the music.
    â€œShall we dance John? This is a great song!”
    Several men called out to her as she pulled John onto the floor. “Hey Annie, save one for me!”
    â€œPromise me the next dance, my pretty one!”
    Anne laughed and waved. “Oh John, I wish I had a little card, so I could write each man’s name down beside the dance they requested, like they used to in the old days.”
    When he didn’t reply she squeezed his arm. “Don’t be crotchety. It’s not like you want to dance more than one or two anyway.”
    Anne danced well, losing herself in the rhythm, moving with a vitality that drew every eye. Each partner bought a round of drinks at the end of the dance, and Anne knocked back half pint after half pint of lethal draft cider, choosing her cigarettes from the open packs extended in her direction, the middle cigarette half pulled out so she could take it with ease. Conversation flowed around the table.
    As the evening wore on Anne began to feel rather drunk. Her table companions appeared to be talking about physics and metaphysics, a subject beyond her even when sober. She might have felt inadequate — her bubble of happiness was never very thick — but the cider buoyed her up, so she smiled at the handsome Egyptian sitting on her right. “A cold world proved by logic,” she murmured.
    The Egyptian released a flow of flattery in her direction, as though she had pressed a button.
    Undaunted, she tried again. “While I fill my physical inside with foul smoke, my mental inside blossoms with the desire to seek truth.”
    The Egyptian was a little startled, but John Drake answered, faithfully ensconced on Anne’s left side whether she paid any attention to him or not.
    â€œI think the foul smoke facilitates the blossoming of the soul.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œIt relaxes the body and therefore the mind. When the mind is relaxed it opens up like a flower, imbibing new ideas and perceptions in the process.”
    â€œEven if cigarettes help my mind to open — yes I will have another one thank you John — wouldn’t draft cider cloud it?”
    The Egyptian leaned forward and whispered in Anne’s ear, “Would you like to come back to my rooms in the university for a cup of tea?”
    Anne thought it might be fun. She lurched to her feet and turned around to say goodbye to the table. John looked disgruntled, “Isn’t it rather late?”
    â€œFor a cup of tea? I’m dying for one.” Anne leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Don’t worry, Cambridge students are all well-bred men, indoctrinated with British public school values. No matter their colour.”
    Anne didn’t notice when the