With No Crying Read Free Page B

something of the kind, had they not? For a while, the two conspirators hung about in the doorway, their eyes darting this way and that among the crowd, bright and intent as blackbirds watching for worms.
    But he didn’t come; and presently, when they began to realise it was hopeless, it became necessary to apply their minds to the next item on the agenda—Trevor Marks. It was Sharon who must stick her neck out this time, and see if she could do better on Miranda’s behalf than Miranda had on hers.
    Systematically she set about her task, working her way back and forth across the packed dance floor, quartering the ground, with Miranda like a gun dog close on her heels.
    It didn’t take so long this time. Within a very few minutes they had their quarry cornered, and proceeded, with a fine display of averted eyes and calculated unconcern, to close in on him. It so happened that at this particular moment Trevor Marks was deeply engaged in conversation—but what of it? The conversation was only with another boy, and therefore didn’t count. Planting herself sturdily in the victim’s direct line of vision, Sharon boldly interrupted in mid-sentence whatever it was he was saying.
    “May I introduce my friend Mira—?” she was beginning—then took a step back in surprise as he immediately whirled round on her with a dazzling smile, beaming it first upon her and then swivelling it expertly towards Miranda.
    “Hi!” he greeted them collectively. “Can I get you both a drink?” Cider?—No, wait, I’ve a better idea. Stay here, don’t go away, there’s good girls, I’ll be back in a sec.—”
    But by the time he returned, a glass of foaming beer in each hand, Sharon had loyally (and according to plan) disappeared.
    “Where’s your friend?” he asked, glancing round enquiringly; and Miranda, opening her mouth to reply, found herself incapable of uttering a single word. It was as if she’d suffered astroke, like an old woman of ninety, right there on the dance floor.
    Never mind about being witty and brilliant, as in her dreams; all she could pray for now was the strength to say something. Anything.
    “I don’t… that is… well, she was here a minute ago,” she managed at last, and tried to hide her burning cheeks by raising her glass and taking a gulp of beer. It tasted awful.
    “Oh.” He didn’t pursue the subject; and after a few more halting exchanges (“What class are you in, then?” “Four A.” “You like it there?” “It’s O.K.”), the conversation ground to a halt.
    She was boring him, she knew, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was like the princess in the fairy story, only in her case it was not toads but monosyllables that leapt out every time she opened her mouth. Presently (and who could blame him?) he gave up, and stood lounging against the wall in silence, watching her drink her beer, waiting for her to finish.
    How she got it down she did not know, it was so bitter, and such a lot of it, but she could hardly abandon it unfinished with him standing watching her like that through half-closed eyes. But she came to the end of it at last, and no sooner had she set the glass down than her companion seemed suddenly to spring to life. Seizing her by the elbow, he proceeded to steer her swiftly and purposefully through the crowd in the direction of the main doors.
    “Let’s get out of here!” he mouthed into her ear—the din by this time was terrible—and then, as the crowds began to thin out a little as they neared the exit, he added softly, “Feel like a stroll outside?”

CHAPTER III
    T HE MOON WAS full, the air heavy with the scent of roses, but already, before he’d even kissed her, Miranda knew that it was over. She was in love no more. Somewhere during the course of this glittering long-awaited evening, between the moment when she’d entered the dance hall half faint with joy and this present moment of walking out under the moon arm in arm with the lover of her