Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [15]
Frankie cried out, “Sludden, you’re a sadist, leave the mystery man alone! Don’t bother about Sludden, mystery man. He thinks he’s God but he can only prove it by torturing people. Isn’t that true, Sludden?”
Sludden raised an imaginary hat from his head and bowed, but her wrath was too impressive to seem a joke. She stood up saying, “Anyway, McPake’s taking us to this party, so come on, everybody. Rima, you don’t care about fashion, give up pretending to read that magazine and look after Lanark. Try to stop rotten things happening to him. I can’t do it.”
She walked off toward the stairs. Toal, McPake and Sludden grinned at each other and pretended to wipe sweat from their brows. Everybody stood up. Sludden said to Lanark, “Come along, it might be fun.”
“Who’s giving this party?”
“Gay and I. It’s our engagement party. But the house belongs to a friend and the army is providing the booze.”
“Why?”
“Prestige reasons. The army likes to be liked.”
Outside the cinema a steel-grey truck was parked beside the pavement and they scrambled through the sliding door into the narrow seats. Only McPake, in gauntlets and fleece-lined jacket, was dressed for the intense cold. He gripped the wheel and the truck charged smoothly forward. Sludden hugged Gay to his side with one arm and Frankie with the other. Frankie resisted fretfully until he said, “I need you both, girls. This frost is killing me.”
Toal and Nan embraced in the seat behind but Rima sat so forbiddingly erect that Lanark (who was beside her) folded arms on chest and clenched his teeth to stop their chattering. Gradually the heater raised a comfortable temperature. The truck nearly had the streets to itself but when passing a tramcar or pedestrian McPake sounded a clanging blast on the horn. Lanark said, “Rima, will there be dancing at this party?”
“I suppose so.”
“Will you dance with me?”
“I suppose so. I’m not selective.”
Lanark clenched his fist and bit hard on the thumb knuckle. After a moment he felt his arm touched. She said quietly, “I’m sorry I said that—I didn’t mean to be nasty. I’m more nervous than I seem.”
He almost laughed with relief and drew her gently against him saying, “I’m glad you told me. I was deciding to leave the truck and walk home.”
“You’re too serious.”
The truck travelled down broad streets between overgrown gardens, then entered a drive which curved through a shubbery. The headlights made points of frost glisten among the dark leaves. McPake sounded his horn and stopped before a large mansion and everyone got out. The mansion was a square three-storey building with outhouses and a conservatory at the sides. The enclosing larches, hollies and rhododendrons gave it a secret look, although the windows were lit, music resounded and many cars were parked on the gravel near the porch. The front door was open, but Sludden pressed the bell before leading his party into the hall. This was heavily magnificent, terrazzo tiled and oak panelled, with a pair of black marble columns separating a space where the staircase began. A small figure looked out of a door on the right. It was Gloopy. He was shorter and fatter than Lanark remembered, his hair was streaked with grey and he wore a silver lame jacket. He said, “There you are, Sludden. Leave the coats in here, will you?” The room was hung with paintings of fruit and lobsters in gilded frames. There was an oval table in the centre nearly covered by coats and scarves. As Lanark helped Rima remove her coat Gloopy gazed at him with a grin and said, “Hello, hello! So you’ve arrived after all. You’d have been here sooner if you’d come with me.”
“Is this your boardinghouse?”
“It’s not mine in the sense of owning it. I suppose you could call me the concierge.”
“What’s a concierge?”
“Why must you be nasty to me? I haven’t hurt you.”
“You don’t understand our mystery man, Gloopy,” said Sludden, who was straightening his tie at a mirror. “He’s never nasty. He’s just very very serious all the