Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

It was intense, too intense. She seemed to be passing into another world, and she wasn’t sure if she could come back to this one. From somewhere far away, she heard his shower of curses as he came. A shudder grew at her core, and she let go. He stroked her head on his chest.

For a while she was elated. As that passed, something else floated in, some long-ago forgotten joy. Then everything got mixed up and she couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad. A river of tears began to rise inside her, prickling her eyeballs and constricting her throat.

A small choking sound burst out of her like a misplaced hiccup. She pushed her head into the pillow to stifle the sobs.

Next morning, he was still in bed beside her, sleeping. She showered then ran down to the local shop and bought croissants and fruit for a late breakfast.

‘Why are you called Dylan? Are you Welsh?’

He sat at the table, watching her, as she waited by the grill for the croissants to brown.

‘My dad was.’ A note of pride entered his voice. ‘He liked Dylan Thomas. His poems.’

She thought of her own father, the man she couldn’t talk about.

‘Do you want marmalade?’

‘No thanks – jam, if you’ve got it?’

She joined him at the table. They talked almost continually as they ate. She felt as if they’d been together for weeks, not one night.

‘You’ve really cheered me up, Dylan,’ she said, after their third cup of coffee.

‘You don’t look so pale now. I was worried you might collapse, after last night.’

‘Work takes its toll, I guess.’

‘How often do you have to work?’

‘Three times a week. But it’s good money, that’s why I do it. I’ve already paid off the rent I owe, pretty much. I just need a bit more to tide me over till I find a real job.’

She went over to the sink with their dirty plates.

‘I like you, Laura.’ He came up to her. ‘You’ve got a lot going for you.’ She waited for the rest. She could guess what he was going to say: she was doing damage to herself, she needed to change pretty quickly or she’d end up on a cold slab. ‘You should stop working there.’

‘I know,’ she said, turning to him. ‘I will, soon.’

It wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear, she knew that as soon as she’d said it. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t just said yes, why she hadn’t promised to stop there and then.

He said he would call the next day, but he didn’t.

The disappointment went away after a few days. It wasn’t that she’d expected him to call her – she was a lap dancer now, which didn’t make her the sort of girl that a stable, intelligent, good-looking guy with a career would want to hang out with. But it would have been good to see him again.

‘He said if I didn’t behave, he’d pull down my knickers and give me a good smack on the bottom,’ Rachel said with a giggle, puckering her small mouth. ‘I said “OK then, go ahead”.’

Laura swallowed another hunk of bread and cheese. She hadn’t expected this meeting with her friend, but it was a relief to have this meandering, light-hearted conversation on a warm April afternoon.

They were sitting on a rug in Richmond Park. Below, the hillside tumbled into fields and clusters of distant buildings. Further out, church spires punctuated a whitish haze. Food cluttered the rug, mostly from Rachel’s local deli. Her friend had called at 10 o’clock that morning and suggested they have a picnic somewhere since it was Good Friday and the weather was fine. Despite feeling tired from the previous night, she’d agreed straight away – they hadn’t met up in over a month.

‘What are you doing next week? Do you want to go and see a film?’

‘I don’t know.’ Rachel helped herself to another olive. Her hair, fastened behind her head with a slide, gleamed in the sun. ‘Jake keeps texting that he’s got to see me. And I’ve got dinner with a friend on Tuesday, and a rehearsal on Wednesday.’ Rachel smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I could do Thursday evening, if you’re free?’

‘I’m working at the club on Thursday. Can we make it Friday?’

A couple of weeks ago, she’d admitted to Rachel that she was working in a lap dancing club. Rachel was the only person she’d told, apart from Dylan. She’d told her brother and her mother that she was serving drinks in a nightclub.

‘I thought you were going to give that up and look for another job?’

‘I am, but I haven’t found anything yet.’

‘What happened with that job you applied for the other week?’

‘I didn’t even get an interview.’

‘Have you got any interviews coming up?’

‘There’s one next week – an admin assistant job at an insurance company.’

‘You can’t get anything better than that?’

‘There’s not a lot of work out there, Rachel. I can’t just waltz into my ideal job.’

‘Which is what?’

‘I don’t know. I wish I did. I’m not like you. You’re lucky, you always knew you wanted to work with kids.’

Her friend was in the middle of a work placement at a school for children with autism, part of her Masters in Educational Psychology. She had impressed them so much that they had virtually promised her a full-time position upon completion of her course.

Rachel chewed a stick of celery, her face thoughtful. A breeze stirred the grass, lifting a paper plate off the rug. A dog barked as it chased a small boy who was struggling to steer his kite.

‘You’re managing to pay the rent OK now?’

‘Yes, thank goodness. I’m getting some good tips at the club.’

‘What happens at this place? You’ve hardly said anything about it.’

Her friend stopped eating and looked at her intently. What could she say? She knew it would be better not to tell Rachel in too much detail what went on at Rascals, or her friend would be even more displeased than she was already. But she didn’t want to lie about it either.

‘We dance – up on stage and one-on-one.’ She hesitated. She’d better not mention striptease, or the pole. That would definitely give the wrong impression.

‘One-on-one?’

‘They sit and you do a dance for them. You wiggle your hips, stick out your boobs and try to look sexy. They’re not allowed to touch.’

‘You have to take all your clothes off?’

‘Mostly it’s just down to a G-string.’

Rachel stared. ‘My God, Laura. I didn’t imagine you doing something like that.’

‘Well, that’s what you have to do in these places. That’s what they expect.’

She looked down at her hands. It had been a mistake to tell the truth. Why hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut?

‘Don’t you mind men looking at your body?’

‘I don’t like it, of course I don’t. It was really hard, at first.’

‘At first? So, you’re used to it now, are you?’

‘I had to get used to it.’ Panic flurried inside her. This was going all wrong. ‘It’s not that bad, Rachel. You’re imagining it to be worse than it is.’

‘You don’t have to keep on working there, do you?’

‘I’m not going to be there forever. It’s only until I get something better.’

Rachel sighed and stared into the distance. ‘I know you can’t see it, Laura,’ she said slowly. ‘But you seem to be doing your best to fuck up your entire life.’

Laura picked up a lump of cheese and put it into her mouth. It tasted like nothing at all.

They sat in silence. Eventually, Rachel looked up.

‘Are you still having those bad dreams?’

‘Yeah, the same one keeps coming back.’

‘Which one?’

‘Someone’s chasing me. I know I have to get away from him, or he’ll kill me.’