by Martina Cole
You name it, they had it, and this was to be the blind. To all intents and purposes this place was a legitimate spa which just happened to have extra good-looking therapists.
There was more than a smattering of women guests too. Jon Jon had allowed for this and had a couple of fit-looking boys milling around that he had pulled from a discreet escort agency. If things worked out they would go full-time here and make much more money than they were now. If any of the male customers preferred men then they were willing to cater for them as well.
As Paulie was convinced that all upper-class men were shirt lifters, as he so succinctly put it, no request would surprise him and Angel Girls could just as easily turn out to be Boys. All his workforce could take on punters of either sex, quickly and efficiently. In fact, Jon Jon’s research had shown that many women were willing to pay for sex these days and Paulie was willing to bankroll anything if he thought it would bring a hefty return.
As Jon Jon pushed his way through the throng of people he saw himself reflected in the glass wall opposite. He was wearing a black Versace suit, white ruffled shirt open at the neck, and hand-made shoes. He looked the business and he knew it.
Kira would have loved seeing him like this. She used to love seeing people ‘sparkle’. Unconsciously he straightened his dreads and as he did so caught Paulie’s eye. He made a foppish movement with his hand, making Jon Jon grin. Then his boss motioned him into the office with a movement of his head and Jon Jon followed him up the thickly carpeted stairs, the R&B music pumping out behind him.
The office was austere and functional; steel-fronted filing cabinets, a glass-topped desk and polished oak floorboards. It was as up-to-the-minute as it could be, air-conditioned, sound-proofed. A monastic retreat from the spurious ‘luxury’ of the working booths below.
Paulie grinned.
‘It’s a hit, son, you done me proud.’
Jon Jon was thrilled by the praise. It was sincere and it was heartfelt.
‘I’m glad to hear it, Paulie. I’ve been shitting bricks all week.’
Paulie laughed.
‘I know the feeling, mate! But I can tell you, this lot love it. Something a bit naughty for them to do and talk about after to their mates. Regale the whole pub with stories of the good-looking bird they humped. And all the time they’re actually paying for it! I could understand them bragging if it was free. Complete cunts, the lot of them.’
Thus Paulie contemptuously dismissed his clientele. He hated the men who frequented his parlours, saw them as inadequate, born losers. No matter how much money this lot might have they were still useless as far as he was concerned.
‘You know what the next step will be, don’t you?’
Jon Jon shook his head.
‘What?’
Paulie pursed his lips and answered tartly, ‘We’ll lose some of our girls to the punters. That’s the kind of dicks we’ll be dealing with here. They’ll fall in fucking love! Seen it time and time again though I’ve never understood a man who’ll marry a whore. She’ll give it to anyone, it’s the nature of them. Why they flog their arses in the first place.’
Jon Jon didn’t answer, just stared at Paulie until he realised exactly what he had said. He wasn’t about to apologise, especially not to someone he employed, but it took the shine off the night for both of them.
There was a heavy silence. Eventually Paulie put his hand out and said gently, ‘Congratulations anyway. You did good, kid.’
Jon Jon hesitated for a moment before he clasped the hand offered to him. He looked up to Paulie, even understood what he had meant, but Jon Jon’s main loyalty was to his mother and he knew that Paulie respected him for that.
It was a strange relationship, and in many ways a loving one. Jon Jon was like a son to Paulie, and they both accepted that too without labouring the point.
Linette came into the office then without knocking and looked askance at Jon Jon, fully expecting him to leave because she was there.
‘I want to talk to Paulie . . .’
She put on a baby voice, as irritating as it was false. She was also out of her box and still had white powder underneath her nose - not something that would endear her to Paulie Martin but Jon Jon decided to let her find that out for herself.
She paused before she said huskily: ‘Alone.’
Jon Jon smiled at Paulie and cocked an eyebrow, taking the piss as he said loudly, ‘Is she fucking sure about that?’
Paulie walked over to the scantily clad girl who smiled at him, her best professional smile, which was her second mistake of the night.
He said in a low, level voice that was far more terrifying than if he’d yelled at her: ‘If you ever pull a stunt like this again I’ll make sure no man would fuck you for free, let alone pay good money for it! You fucking cheeky mare.’
Her whole demeanour changed. She looked shell-shocked as indeed she was. She’d believed she had Paulie Martin under her thumb, but now like many a woman before her she was finding out different.
Then he bellowed in her face, one finger pointing to the door as if she was an errant schoolgirl.
‘Out! Out now, and don’t come back without my express fucking say-so.’
She rushed from the room near to tears. Paulie looked at Jon Jon, holding up his hands as he said in jokey fashion, ‘You give them eight inches and they take the piss.’
Jon Jon started to laugh and then they were both at it, roaring with mirth. It put them back on the right footing somehow. They went down to the party together and watched the money rolling in.
Joanie was in a safe cab. She had got in touch with an old friend-cum-customer and he had sorted her out with a minicab from King’s Cross to Sheffield, no questions asked. The man driving was a Bosnian with little command of English and this suited her right down to the ground. He shouldn’t have been driving at all so there was no fear of him turning lippy after the event.
He had been refused asylum and was in effect on the run. Joanie liked him for that fact if nothing else.
She lay back in the seat as they drove up the M1 and tried to get a few hours’ sleep, but she already knew it would not be possible. She was far too excited about the coming event. She checked inside her holdall and smiled once more.
Joanie was equipped for any eventuality. She was actually looking forward to getting the dirty deed over with once and for all.
She had always protected her children as best she could. Now she must teach Little Tommy exactly what a good mother did if anyone dared harm her child. It had to come from her, Joanie Brewer, not from Jon Jon or the police. From her, Joanie Brewer, the mother of the child he had destroyed. She wanted retribution and she was going to get it.
If she left it to the police - that is, if they could even tie him to Kira’s disappearance, of course - Tommy would go to prison and be stuck on a VPU unit. And there he’d be laughing, his life hardly changed in fact; he would have access to computers, cups of tea as and when he wanted them. Such prisoners were classed as passive. Passive? After what he’d done?
She had asked around her friends and neighbours, talked to men who had been banged up and found out exactly what happened to the scumbags on Rule 43. It actually meant they could do what the fuck they liked all day because they were classed as passive! That word again.
Every other fucker was locked up for twenty-three hours a day, but not them. Oh, no, the nonces had the time of their fucking lives. The stories she had been told were unbelievable!
She was goading herself into feeling angry; she was going to need all that anger to help her do what she had to do. She was nurturing her anger now, making sure she didn’t bottle out of what she had planned.
She knew what the general prison population thought of nonces, and rightly so, which made it worse to hear that the Vulnerable Prisoners’ Units were veritable havens for like-minded individuals. By the very nature of their offences they were an abomination to everyone else so in the VPUs they flocked together for safety.
Most of them had never met another sex offender in their lives until they got banged up. Then, suddenly, it was like all their Christmases and birthdays rolled into one. They didn’t have to hide what they were any more, and they didn’t feel isolated or alone. Suddenly they were surrounded by people just like themselves. It made them feel normal. They were over the moon to discover that their hitherto clandestine activities were in fact as routine as making a cup of tea to the people surrounding them now. Or so they told each other anyway.
Well, she was going to see to it that Little Tommy paid for what he had done, and she was going to make sure he never had the opportunity to do it to anyone else. Joanie was humming under her breath as she lay back against the seat and tried to relax. The cab driver looked in the mirror and smiled at her. She smiled back. Then, lighting yet another cigarette, she let her mind drift back to the job in hand.
Jeanette had asked around about Pippy Light and had been told the same thing, by Karen Copes and even by Jasper. The best person to ask, it seemed, was Lorna Bright who had known him for years. In fact, she had once been his girlfriend. But Lorna was terrified of Jeanette these days, thanks to Jon Jon and his threats. Didn’t even talk to her any more if she saw her up the shops.
Still, Jeanette was determined to find out what she wanted to know and she was willing to run the gauntlet to do it.
She walked up the stairs to Lorna’s maisonette and knocked on the door. It was dark and it was late so she felt safe enough for the moment. She only hoped the place wasn’t full of wasters as usual. Someone or other would want to get into Jon Jon’s good books and grass her up to him to do just that. He was like a god round here now. Everyone revered him, especially since he had taken the law into his own hands with Little Tommy.
The burning of the nonce had made him a big man in the community; he had always been hard, even as a little kid, but now he was hard and respected - something everyone in their world strived to become.
Lorna opened the door, and the smell of skunk wafted out into the lobby. Jeanette could see that she was stoned out of her mind. Smiling tentatively, she said, ‘All right, Lorna? How’s the baby?’
Lorna did not find it in the least strange to have someone knock late at night and enquire about her child. This was par for the course for her and her so-called friends.
‘Ain’t you going to ask me in then?’
Lorna stepped aside and Jeanette walked past her into the sour-smelling dimness. In the lounge the only light was from the TV which was on as usual, and the new baby was lying on the floor. It had soiled itself and the smell was ripe. On the settee a man lay snoring, his naked body glistening with sweat.
The baby started to cry and Lorna jabbed at her with a dirty foot. Then, kneeling down on the carpet, she said gaily, ‘Who’s Mummy’s little fucker, eh?’
Jeanette sighed.
‘Shall I change her for you?’
She saw the gleam of calculation in the junkie’s eyes. Yet another unpleasant task avoided. Lorna really was a piece of shit.
‘Social Services are coming for her tomorrow. They already have the other bugger, Laeticia. She got so jealous of the new baby she tried to give her a clump!’
Lorna laughed.
‘Anyway, I need a break. She can go for a few weeks and then I’ll get some sleep.’
A few weeks would turn to months and they both knew that. When she had had her first daughter, the child had been born with a club foot and was very underweight. The story was that when Lorna went to the hospital eventually to bring her home, the child was already four months old and the nurses had refused to hand her over because they didn’t know who Lorna was. She had not visited her baby once.
Lorna’s own mum admitted how embarrassed she had been when the nurses had said, ‘We’ve never seen you before, you could be anyone.’
It had taken two social workers and a court order to get the baby home with its far from doting mother. She had kept it long enough to draw benefits and family allowance before the frequent sojourns in care started. Laeticia was now a pretty if nervous child, and this one would be the same as she grew up.
‘What did you call her?’
Lorna sighed.
‘Trelayne Sioux.’
Jeanette smiled.
‘Jerry Springer again?’
She laughed.
‘Spot on! Those Americans have great names, don’t you think? I wanted her to be different like, you know. A name is important, ain’t it?’
The sad thing was, Lorna really meant what she said.
‘She’ll be different, all right!’
Jeanette wasn’t sure whether Lorna was too stoned or too thick to take the insult for what it was.
‘What brings you here anyway?’
Lorna was watching her changing the baby quickly and efficiently.
‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’
Jeanette cleaned Trelayne up and dressed her, then cradled the baby in her arms and nursed her.
‘She’s starving, any chance of a feed?’
Lorna jumped up.
‘I always forget they need feeding all the time . . . that’s why it’s best she goes away for a while. You know, until she’s easier to handle.’
She came back with some baby feed that had obviously been given to her in the hospital, and equally obviously had just come from the fridge. The baby took it anyway, grabbing at it and sucking hungrily, the noise loud in the room. The child’s nails were already ingrained with dirt and she had a small bruise on her cheekbone. Courtesy of Laeticia, Jeanette supposed, though it wouldn’t surprise her if Lorna had done it herself and blamed the poor child.
She remembered her own mother feeding Kira, who had always smelled sweet, and was always clean and tidy. It was strange but Jeanette was only just learning to appreciate how good a mother Joanie was.
‘You’re a natural, you should have one yourself.’
It was meant as a compliment and Jeanette knew that. But it still annoyed her. Lorna had no other ambition but this, having kids and getting the benefits. What a life! Not only for Lorna but for her poor children who would be in and out of care their whole lives, and then carry on the family business. Get what you could off the State, what you were entitled to.
It was that word entitled that always annoyed Jeanette’s mother when she spoke to Monika about it. Monika couldn’t take on board that you should have paid some tax in your life before you got handouts. She didn’t see Joanie’s logic: that the dole and benefits should be there only until you got on your feet, got yourself work, that they were never meant to be a lifestyle.
Now, watching Lorna, Jeanette understood why her mother had always been on at her to get herself an education.
Well, it was too late for that now.
Lorna opened a couple of cans of Red Stripe and placed one in front of Jeanette. She gulped deeply from her own can and burped loudly.
The man on the sofa groaned and turned over. Lorna didn’t even look in his direction. He had a half-erection and it was pushing through his grubby underpants, Jeanette felt her skin crawling.
‘Who’s that?’
Lorna shrugged.
‘Peter something or other, I met him in the pub yesterday. He’d had a win at the bookie’s. I ain’t supposed to you know what yet, but I was pissed as usual.’
She laughed loudly at her own wit.
‘What do you want, Jeanette? Only your brother ain’t exactly my biggest fan, is he?’
‘Listen, Lorna, he can’t tell me who to be friends with.’
‘So he ain’t sent you here then?’
She shook her head and saw the relief in Lorna’s eyes.
‘’Course not! He don’t fucking own me, girl.’
It was the right approach.
‘Where can I lay the baby down?’
Jeanette followed Lorna through to a small bedroom; it held a mattress with a quilt thrown over it and a small Moses basket. Nothing else, not even a toy. There were a couple
of dirty nappies on the mattress and the smell was ripe once more. Jeanette guessed that the mattress was probably wet anyway from the other little girl.
As she laid the baby down she said gently, ‘She’s beautiful. Is it true that Pippy Light’s the father?’
Lorna shrugged.
‘Could be, I suppose. At least she’s come out white so I know who ain’t the bleeding father!’
She was laughing now and the baby stirred in her basket.
Jeanette couldn’t help grimacing with distaste at Lorna’s words. Fortunately she misunderstood and nodded conspiratorially.
