Neil flicked on the lamp and closed the front door behind him. He walked to the top of the close and turned left on the main road, out of earshot and out of sight. He held the scrap of paper in his palm and punched the digits into his keypad. He held the phone to his face and listened and then a mere couple of seconds later, there it was, sweet music that he had imagined he might never hear again. His little girl’s voice.
‘Heeello?’ She sounded cheery, playful.
The tears that clogged his nose and throat made speech almost impossible.
‘Hello?’ she repeated.
Neil pushed the phone into the side of his face, trying to get as close to her as possible. ‘Gemma?’
‘Who’s this?’
He hesitated, coughed. ‘It’s me, it’s Dad.’
He expected her to hang up. He waited. The silence connected them, a thin sinew from one silent vocal cord to the other, stretching approximately twenty miles across the dark.
He spoke slowly, with caution, as if bent low with hand outstretched, trying to lure a mistrustful pet. ‘Gemma, just listen, love. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I just want to know that you are safe. I want to know that you are happy.’
‘I am,’ she whispered. It reminded him of when she was small and would whisper in the dark across the hallway, with bedroom doors open:
‘I’m scared, Daddy.’
‘No need, my little love, nothing to be scared of. It’s just the dark and Mummy and I are right here, we’re always right here.’
‘I don’t understand what’s happened, I thought we were happy.’ His tears ran down his face.
He could hear her breathing.
‘You were happy, Dad, you and Mum, but not me.’
‘I only ever wanted what was best for you, we both did. We love you so very much.’ It was becoming harder and harder for him to speak with clarity. ‘Could you give us another chance? Show us how to make you happy, because that’s all we want.’ It was his parting shot, to put her in control whilst trying to get her home.
‘Well then, you should be pleased, because I am happy, Dad.’
There was the smallest of clicks and then, just like that, she was gone.
A New Life
Alyssa was thin, her ribs poked against her navy vest. And she was shorter than the platform-heeled sandals peeping out from beneath her tight jeans led you to believe. She swished her white-blonde hair over her bony, bare shoulder and held the smouldering cigarette aloft with her index and middle fingers; a slender white stick perched between two red talons. The long thumbnail of the same hand was hooked under her front tooth. Her kohl-rimmed eyes were narrowed against the yellow smoke that curled in front of her face. The bare inside of her arm revealed a tiny peppering of angry blue bruises. Gemma had to concentrate on the words; her English was far from perfect.
‘The bathroom.’ Alyssa waited in the open doorway and indicated with her cigarette. Her speech was heavily accented, her nonchalance doing nothing to help her enunciation. Gemma guessed correctly that she was Eastern Europe and wondered if she and Vassili had arrived there together. Maybe they were related.
She cast her eyes over the cramped room, maybe six foot by eight in size. The lemon-coloured plastic bath displayed residual grime in various lines. A shampoo bottle of no recognisable brand was tipped upside down and rested in a well on the bath top intended for soap; the owner was clearly trying to eke out one final blob, big enough to work into a lather.
A large metal-framed frosted-glass window was covered with a dirty orange and green striped towel. The frame was rusted: Gemma doubted it had been opened in a very long time. The loo was filthy; months of neglect had left it encrusted with every variety of human waste. The whole room stank of urine and damp, not the most pleasant combination. Gemma tried to breathe only through her mouth.
The floor was covered in pale green lino, which seemed to highlight the splats of blood and streaks of wee that surrounded the bowl. Dark pubic hair had gathered in little nests that lurked in every corner and behind every pipe. It was disgusting. A white plastic-coated wire shelving unit was cluttered with matted combs, splayed make-up brushes, bottles of peroxide, tubes of cream, boxes of condoms, three disposable razors and tampons in various stages of wrap. She felt embarrassed to bear witness to such intimate items. There was a round mirror above the sink, whose hot tap ran cold and dripped constantly.
Gemma tried to picture having a bath in this room; she shuddered involuntarily, blinking away the image of the family bathroom at home, with its clean white sink and fluffy towels. She followed Alyssa as she sashayed down the corridor at a leisurely pace.
Gemma felt a mixture of excitement and fear. This was it, her new, grown-up, pressure-free life. The moment she had pulled her sweatshirt over her head and laced up her high-tops after the play, she had known that the time was right. Fingering the folded piece of paper in her jeans pocket, which had nothing more than an address and a telephone number scrawled in biro, her adventure had begun. He had said that it would be her ‘get out of jail free card’. He was right, and now was the time to use it.
Vassili was where he said he would be, at the back of the precinct, in a red car. Her stomach had flipped as she climbed into the passenger seat.
‘You can always rely on me, Jemima. I am your friend now.’
She smiled. He still couldn’t get her name right, but that didn’t matter. Jemima, Gemma, whatever, she was free.
She swallowed the tears that threatened as his car crawled past her parents’ house.
He patted her thigh. ‘Don’t cry, Jemima. I said I would look after you. I can find you work and you shall live with me and the other girls. We are a happy home, we look after each other.’ He ran his thumb over her cheek. ‘A very pretty girl like you, you will always find work. Don’t look so sad. You want a cigarette?’
She nodded, took one from the packet he held out to her and sparked the flint.
‘Have you told anyone?’
She shook her head, recalling how she and Vassili had met. She had been hovering on the pavement outside the station, her face tear-streaked, and he had been strolling in the sunshine, in his mirrored shades and leather bomber jacket.
‘No, I haven’t told anyone.’ She pictured Victoria and then Luke. It amazed her how easily she could discard her friend and her lover, both of whom had meant the world to her. Especially Luke, who had taken her body and broken her heart.
‘Here is your room.’ Alyssa drew her into the present with her slow drawl.
After the bathroom, Gemma’s expectations were not high and she was proved right. She pushed open the door, which she noticed had a big hole kicked into the bottom of it, the giveaway being the large imprint of a boot that had misjudged one of its blows. Smudges of polish and lines of black rubber indicated a man’s kick. Gemma hoped he would not be coming back any time soon, whoever he was.
The first thing she noticed upon entering was how dark the room was, despite it being early afternoon. A thick woollen blanket covered in indeterminate stains hung over the window. It had been tacked up with rusted nails that had been driven through the fabric and into the plaster.
‘Laurel has only just gone two days ago and so now room is free, for you. If you want it. Vassili has lots of little girlfriends, no pressure.’
The slope of the girl’s shoulder against the doorframe and the way her eyes closed as she delivered the words told Gemma that Alyssa couldn’t care less if she took the room or not. She half expected her to add, ‘If not you, then someone else.’
‘Where is Laurel now?’
‘She is dying.’
Gemma could not hide her shock; her hand flew up to cover her mouth. ‘She is dying! Oh my God, that’s terrible. Where is she? Why’s she dying?’
Alyssa threw her head back and laughed, loud and open-mouthed, snorting through her nose, pausing only to regain composure. Her laugh quickly turned into a cough, which she allayed by taking a deep drag on her dw
indling cigarette.
‘Oh my God! No… No, I’m sorry, it is my bad English. She is not dying.’
Gemma exhaled with visible relief.
The girl continued. ‘Laurel is not dying. She is dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘Dead. Yes.’ Alyssa nodded and fished in her pocket for another cigarette.
‘How did she die?’ Almost as soon as the enquiry had left Gemma’s mouth she regretted it, knowing that she did not want to hear how Laurel had met her end.
‘She is killed by boyfriend, he is strangling her. It was a money thing, you know.’ Alyssa shrugged as though it was of little consequence.
Gemma stared at Alyssa. No, she didn’t know. She was unable to hide her horrified expression as she tried to picture the faceless Laurel’s last moments and replayed the nonchalant tone with which the information had been given.
Alyssa registered Gemma’s reaction. ‘But don’t worry, it was not in this bed.’
She pointed to a soiled double mattress that lay bare on the floor. Gemma was once again relieved but also bemused.
‘It was over there in the corner.’ The girl finished her sentence as she jerked her cigarette towards the edge of the room.
Gemma swallowed the naked fear that leapt in her throat.
Turn Off the Lamp
Neil hated lying to his wife but knew that he was better off handling things alone; she was too fragile to deal with any more disappointment right now. He spent hours trawling the streets of Paddington, driving up and down the main thoroughfares and snaking along cut-throughs, circling housing estates and loitering on any quiet corner. And then one day, six weeks after being called in by Gavin and Melanie, he spotted her.
He had pulled up at a crossing and was thinking that it might be time to end his covert search for the day, when she emerged from a crowd and stepped off the kerb, walking across in front of him. She didn’t say thank you as they had taught her, didn’t wave her hand in recognition, but instead almost trotted over the black and white stripes. It took all his strength not to jump out of the van, shove her in the back and haul her home against her will, but he knew that if he did that, she would only leave again. He needed her to want to come home, it was the only way it would work. He also figured, correctly, that if he called her again, she would ditch the phone and he would lose the only means he had of contacting her, although the temptation to call the number that was indelibly etched in his brain was torturous.
He sat and stared as she walked down the opposite side of the road, his gaze following his daughter as she blended with the crowd. She looked taller and thinner than he remembered and was wearing clothes he had never seen before: high sandals and a short red leather jacket. He was only aware that he should be moving when the driver in the car behind beeped at him. Pulling away, he crawled as slowly as he was able, indicating left as if he was going to park and allowing the irate procession of vehicles behind him to overtake. He managed to stay a couple of feet behind Gemma’s field of vision, when she suddenly stopped at a narrow wooden door between a fried chicken shop and a launderette. He watched as she pulled out a key and entered the building. Neil made a note of the address and, fighting every instinct in his body, he drove away, leaving his little girl in the squalid building with a man about whom he knew two things: his name was Vassili and he was a nasty piece of work.
~
Gemma threw the keys down on the kitchen table and fell into one of the chairs. Vassili closed the newspaper, pulled his cigarettes from his shirt, lit one and inhaled deeply.
‘Jemima, we need to sort what will happen now for you.’
She shrugged. ‘What do you mean?’
He leant forward and tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘You know what I mean. What we spoke of before: you earning money for us, like Alyssa and Stasia. It can’t be that you live here free, no one lives here free.’
Gemma tucked her arms around her trunk. ‘But it’s different. You love me and you don’t love them.’
Vassili laughed. ‘Yes, yes, that is true. But how can we run away together and live by the sea if we don’t have money?’
She shrugged again. ‘I could get a different job!’
He shook his head. ‘You can’t get a different job because we have to hide you from your parents and if you get a different job, I would never see you and that would make me so sad.’ He turned the corners of his mouth down and pushed out his bottom lip.
‘I don’t know if I can do it, Vas.’ She looked at the window, the brick wall covered in graffiti opposite made for a depressing view. Still, it wouldn’t be forever, not much longer until they left London and went to the coast.
‘You said you would do anything to make me happy, anything for us.’
She nodded.
‘It would be so sad if we finished and you had to leave the house just because you would not commit to our love and to making me happy. There are bad people out there, Jemima, and I hate to think of you not being safe.’
She considered this and swallowed the swell of panic that rose in her chest. She had nowhere else to go.
‘I don’t want us to finish.’ Her voice was small. ‘I really love you.’
‘Well, I don’t want us to finish either. I love you too. It would make me so happy if you did this one thing. You shouldn’t think about it so much, it is only doing what you and I do, but without the love. That should make it easy, no?’
‘I’m not sure. I do want you to be happy and I do want us to be together.’
‘Then it’s easy, Jemima. You work for me and we save and then we go forever!’
‘To our house by the sea?’
‘To our house by the sea. Where we can sit in the garden and make barbeque and dance under the stars.’ He gripped her hand.
She smiled. It sounded lovely.
~
Neil managed to stay away for two days. On the third, he finished his rounds and pulled up on the edge of the road around the corner from the chicken shop. He hadn’t slept for two nights, mulling over the options, trying to decide what to do next. He had come up with a plan. He figured that if he could just get her to come home, they could work on her, persuade her and make it so comfortable that she wouldn’t ever want to be anywhere else. He would tell her about the caravan holiday that they could book and the iPod they would buy her. She could leave school; do whatever. Nothing mattered more than getting her home and keeping her safe.
~
Gemma applied her make-up in the bathroom mirror. Alyssa watched and smiled, nodding her approval as Gemma painted her lips a glossy red.
‘You look beautiful!’
Gemma smiled, embarrassed. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. And such a great little figure. This will be easy for you, Jemima.’
Gemma pulled at the short denim skirt that kept riding up and tried to make the gap between the over-the-knee boots and the skirt smaller. She swigged at the little glass of vodka that Alyssa had poured her; it certainly helped soothe her nerves and made the whole event feel like a bit of an adventure.
~
Neil sent a text to Gemma’s mobile.
I am around the corner, Gemma, on the edge of Praed Street and Junction Place. I’m in the van and would dearly love to talk to you, Gem. If you don’t want to come home, that’s fine, but this is our chance to wipe the slate clean and start over. You would make Mum and me the happiest people on the planet. We love you and we miss you and nothing else really matters. Please, Gemma, come to the van. I shall wait for you. Dad x
~
Gemma stepped from the bathroom.
Vassili stood in the corridor and whistled. ‘Wow! Jemima, you look so hot! Really hot!’
She looked at Alyssa, embarrassed by her boyfriend’s attentions.
‘Do I?’ She wasn’t sure.
‘Ay ay ay, you are perfect and you shall earn so much money that it will only be matter of time.’ He winked at her.
They had agreed not to tell Alyssa of th
eir plans to leave London and go to the seaside. She felt her cheeks flush. Alyssa had talked her through the ropes; there was a long list of dos and don’ts. It was just business, a job. The secret was not to think about it too much.
Alyssa slipped a little white oval into her palm. ‘Take this, Jemima, it will make it easier for you.’
Gemma popped the tablet on her tongue and washed it down with the last of the vodka. She was all set. Climbing down the stairs in her high heels, she felt invincible and sexy. This was life. This was living.
Vassili called from the top landing. ‘I’ll be waiting for you, hot chick!’
She waved up at him through the stairwell. She sauntered out of the front door and strolled along Praed Street, enjoying the looks that she got from every pair of male eyes and feeling a swell of excitement in her stomach that she had never experienced before. She crossed over and her phone buzzed in her bag.
There was a text from Vas: Tonight, you are so beautiful.
She smiled. Tonight she felt beautiful.
There was another text. She opened it and the breath caught in her throat. It was from her dad and he was close. Gemma looked up. There were two white vans in the road, parked one in front of the other, and a gap of three yards between them.
Gemma headed towards them and as she got closer she could make out the ‘Delivery Devils’ logo on the back door. Walking slowly, she tried to decide what to do for the best. It was confusing, her head swam. She loved Vassili and wanted the life he promised her, a grown-up life by the seaside. But going home to Ennerdale Close where there would be clean sheets, her little sister and hot water on demand, it would be so cosy. The memory of school life pawed behind her eyes, when all she’d had to worry about was writing essays and meeting her friends.
Gemma approached the vehicles and could make out the shape of her dad’s head in the driver’s seat. Her heart lurched and her stomach flipped. Daddy… She smiled.
Stories From The Heart Page 11
