Free The Look of Love by David George Richards Page B

had
done.
    Victoria threw
up.
    Louise held on
to her, holding Victoria’s damp and untidy long hair out of the way
as she leaned against the wall, retching. There was nothing left of
the Barbie image that she had first seen in Edward’s Bar.
    A voice behind
them said, “I thought it was you.”
    Louise looked
round expecting to be attacked. But it was Jo. She was hand in hand
with the boy she had been kissing. Louise sighed with relief. “You
frightened the life out of me!”
    Jo smiled. “I
see you found her then. Me and Mike are going for a curry, do you
want to come?”
    Victoria
retched even louder. Louise stroked her back and said, “I think
we’ll give it a miss.”
    “Suit yourself.
See ya! Come on, Mike!”
    Mike smiled
drunkenly, and the two of them wandered off. It was almost as if
they hadn’t noticed the state Victoria was in.
    After a few
more violent heaves, Victoria finally stopped retching. She
remained doubled up, her hands pressed against the wall and her
head down. She was panting loudly. Louise bent down next to her,
trying to see her face.
    “Are you
alright?” she asked her, realising a moment later how stupid the
question was.
    “No…,” Victoria
gasped. “I don’t feel very well…my tummy hurts…and my head
hurts…”
    “I’m not
surprised. You’ve been beaten up. Do you want me to get an
ambulance?”
    “No!” Victoria
said more strongly.
    “Are you sure?
There’s blood in your hair. You might be hurt!”
    Victoria
straightened up. “I said no!” she snapped. And then she swayed,
staggered, and fell into Louise’s arms.
    Louise got a
quick clear glimpse of Victoria’s face before she fell forward. Her
nose was bleeding, she had a split lip, there was a long scratch
down one cheek, and her right eye was already swelling. Louise
couldn’t help crying. She held on to Victoria tightly.
    “Oh, Vicky!
What do you want me to do?”
    “Take me home,”
Victoria gasped.
     
     

Chapter
Eleven
An Accidental
Meeting
     
    Chrissy crossed
over into Spring Gardens at the end of King Street and walked
quickly towards Fountain Street. She wasn’t thinking about where
she was going. Her conversation with Scott was still fresh in her
mind and she was already feeling the first pangs of guilt and
remorse.
    Why had she
done it? Scott was alright. He was nice, he liked her, and he had
done his best to please her all night. She had thrown it all back
in his face. She had practically called him a loser. But she had
to, hadn’t she? If she had let herself fall in love with him she
would have ended up living the very kind of life she despised. But
she had liked him. And he knew it, the sod. No, better to kill it;
stifle it, right at the beginning, before it was too late.
    Chrissy was
walking past the Athenaeum when several young men all emerged from
the entrance at once. They were rowdy and boisterous, and very
drunk. They all cheered as soon as they saw her, and two of them
lunged at her, grabbing her.
    Chrissy had
been deep in thought and was taken by surprise. She was quickly
surrounded, and she felt their hands on her body and in her hair.
She panicked. She smacked and kicked at them, broke away, and ran.
With a shout they chased after her.
    Chrissy ran
across the road just outside Rosie’s Bar and was halfway across
when her heel broke and she stumbled. She didn’t even feel the taxi
hit her.
    It was her own
fault, really. Her heels were much too high to be running in, and
she should have waited for a longer gap in the stream of cars and
taxis before trying to cross the road. But the men were chasing
her, and she had only had the time for a quick glance. She had seen
a gap in the traffic and she had thought she could get across in
time. Then her heel broke.
    Why did fate
conspire against you? Why did her heel have to break at that
moment? Why was everything trying to destroy you from the moment
you were born?
    All these
thoughts passed through her mind as she lay in the road