by Louise Wise
Sally spat out her cigarette and fumbled in her handbag for another. She lit it, and looked at Charlie through a haze of smoke. ‘You inviting her to this patch, Jan? If I go short tonight I’ll know who to blame.’
‘Aw, don’t give her a hard time, Sal, she’s new,’ Jan protested. ‘Take no notice,’ she said in a lowered tone in Charlie’s ear. ‘She’s probably out of dope again.’
‘Hey, I heard that! You calling me a pot-head, bitch?’
‘We all know you ain’t a druggie, Sal, now lighten up, would you? Oh, there’s Julie. She’s a married mum of two kids, would you know, and her old man thinks she’s stacking shelves in Tesco,’ she said, and she led Charlie away from the bristling Sally.
Charlie was introduced to Julie, who told her the same story as Jan about her pretending to go to work at the supermarket: ‘Why shouldn’t I get paid for doing something I enjoy instead of putting tins of beans on a shelf?’
Looking at it like that, it made some sort of perverse sense.
‘Hi ladies.’ A man walked up to them. He evidently knew Jan, and circled her waist with his arm. ‘Hey, babe, fancy giving a little freebie to an old favourite?’
Charlie was disgusted and found it hard not to voice her opinion. The man was old enough to be her father. But Jan giggled, and allowed him to lead her away. Left to her own devices, Charlie began to ‘idly’ chat to the prostitutes while secretly taping their conversations.
She felt old amongst them; wise. They seemed oblivious to the dangers and disease whereas it was all too real to her. She leaned against a lamppost, half wishing she still smoked and observed them. For most of the time it was cold and boring being a prostitute. Her feet ached, and her forced smile hurt. Pretending to be a street worker had certainly opened up her eyes to what it was really like. Interviewing them journalist style had closed them off to her, but here, like this, it was real.
A man had crossed the road and was heading towards her. She aligned her mic, planted a smile on her face and said, ‘Hi, after a lil’bit of fun?’
‘Absolutely darlin’,’ he said. ‘Not seen you here before?’
‘No, I’ve er moved location.’
‘This is dangerous territory. You’ll need someone t’look out for you.’ His presence was menacing. He hadn’t stopped advancing and was backing her against a wall, which she only knew about when the back of her head made contact. He placed his hands either side of her on the wall, barricading her in. ‘I got hash.’ He lowered his face, and brushed his lips against her cheek. ‘How about it?’
‘N-no…’ she had to stop and clear her throat of the squeak. ‘No, thank you,’ she tried again.
‘You’ll love it.’ He pressed something hard into her hand and Charlie was so shocked she snatched her hand away.
He swore and dropped to the ground to pick up whatever he had tried to press into her palm. Charlie was so relieved to see it was nothing more than a roll-up that she wasted precious seconds before she ran.
Her heart was beating so fast she thought it was going to burst out of her chest like in the film Alien. She dodged across the road and was almost knocked over by a red car; its horn tooting furiously at her.
She stopped in the safe lights of a shop doorway. It didn’t look like she’d been followed. Breathing hard, she bent over clutching her sides.
‘Bloody hell, Wallis,’ she muttered to herself.
She spotted Sally, and decided she’d be safer with her than on her own. She headed over and Sally, blowing out smoke from her cigarette, watched her approach. She seemed to forever have one between her lips.
‘Do you have a pimp?’ Charlie asked, forgetting her previous snappish attitude.
‘Piss off and get your own bloke,’ she said. She studied the diminishing tip of her cigarette, and then rummaged in her bag. ‘Where’s the f –’ she muttered as she rummaged. ‘Here hold this,’ she said and plonked her tatty bag in Charlie’s arms. With both hands free, she was able to delve inside for more cigarettes, but Charlie couldn’t help but notice some of the contents in her handbag, and one was a glass pipe wrapped loosely in toilet paper.
‘Meths?’ Charlie asked grimly.
Sally’s eyes lit up and her face, as battered as her handbag, broke into a yellow smile. ‘You have some? I’ll give you my next trick – ’
‘No, I don’t have anything like that.’
‘Piss off then,’ Sally said, grabbing up her cigarettes and handbag. She spat out her dying cigarette, and with shaking hands lit another and sucked on it like a hungry baby.
‘It’s a disease, you know, Sally,’ Charlie said. ‘You think you can control it, but in the end it controls you.’
‘Go ‘ome, Julia Roberts. This world ain’t for you, any frigging twat can see that.’
‘It needn’t be for you either, Sal.’
‘Didn’t I tell you to piss off, bitch?’ She turned away and began to walk along the kerbside, trying to catch the eye of every motorist that passed.
‘Hey, got any Poppers?’ another prostitute asked as she bounded up towards Sally. Charlie turned away, short of getting her face smacked there was nothing she could do. The two women walked off, Sally puffing on her cigarette while the other danced around her, obviously high on something.
A Vectra pulled into the kerb, and the window rolled down. ‘You wanna join me and Aunt Nora, sweetheart?’
Charlie looked around. The street was quiet.
‘I don’t do threesomes,’ she called back, she was still spooked by her earlier encounter and carried on walking.
The man grinned and kept his car in pace with her. ‘New?’
‘No, I’ve been doing this for years.’ She placed a hand on her hip, while covertly switching on the mic with the other. ‘What about you? Is this your normal patch? Got any regulars?’
‘I want sex not a bloody conversation, darling,’ he said. His window rolled up and he drove away.
She decided to move to another street, but found that as empty as the one she had left. Maybe the women had been smart enough to stay indoors. She was glad when Jan returned; knowing she had unconsciously stayed to make sure the girl was safely back.
‘You’re back!’ she cried and stopped herself from flinging her arms around her.
‘Of course, why wouldn’t I?’
Charlie shrugged. She felt miserable suddenly. This kind of life was harsh and she likened it to drowning in a swamp. If you fell in, it was extremely hard to climb out again. Her book, if it ever got written, wasn’t going to be pretty.
‘Why’d you say that Sally wasn’t a druggie?’ Charlie demanded. She was angry for no particular reason – no, there were lots of reasons, only she couldn’t voice a single one.
‘Who?’
‘Sally. You introduced me to her earlier.’
‘Oh Sally, mardy-arse, Readman. She has issues, poor sod, not her fault I s’pose. She isn’t a druggie as far as I know. She doesn’t inject,’ Jan said brightly, and Charlie truly felt that she believed that unless you injected you weren’t an addict. ‘Hey, wake up,’ Jan was waving a hand in front of Charlie’s face. ‘I said, have you had any luck?’
Charlie blinked herself back to the real world. ‘Not really. One bloke wanted a threesome with his Aunt Nora or something. How disgusting is that!’
Jan burst into laughter. ‘Oh, Charlotte, please tell me you’re having me on.’
When Charlie continued to look puzzled, Jan nearly collapsed she was laughing so hard.
‘Aunt Nora,’ she said in-between spurts of laughter, ‘means cocaine.’
‘An honest mistake,’ Charlie said looking at her in disgust. ‘Honestly, is it worth peeing your pants for?’
Jan covered her mouth and snorted.
‘Well, I’m going to call it a night,’ Charlie said. ‘Take care especially with him on the loose.’
‘Come ‘ere, you muppet,’ Jan said, and Charlie was enclosed in a fierce embrace. ‘Dress-down next time you come, eh?’ she said i
n her ear. ‘You might get a few more punters and a lot less dickheads.’
When she was released Charlie looked down at herself. ‘I’m overdressed?’
‘You look like a tart.’
Wasn’t she meant to?
SEVENTEEN
Melvin crossed the office. ‘State of you! Another heavy night?’
Charlie ran her fingers through her curls. ‘Thanks Mel, cheer me up why don’t you?’
He tossed the phone book from his desk to hers and handed her a list of names. ‘Could you find me those numbers? So where were you last night?’ She took the list. ‘Your house phone just rang and rang and your mobile was turned off.’
‘I was with a friend… Jan.’ It wasn’t entirely a lie. ‘She rang me and it was a spur of the moment thing.’ She smiled at him to hide a surge of guilt. There was no way she could ever tell Melvin of her research. ‘We went for a drink.’
‘Can’t say I remember you knowing a Jan.’
‘Mel!’ She half laughed. ‘What is this? The Inquisition?’
‘Sorry. I worry about you. I know you’re still upset about Andy and I don’t want you to do anything stupid over that tosser.’
Andy? Blimey, for an entire night and this morning she hadn’t thought of him once!
‘Coffee?’
Her night as a prostitute had shocked her, and she wasn’t easily shocked. Girls as young as fourteen – children – pestering men for sex in exchange for money. The easy supply of drugs, and her horrible encounter with the pimp had left a nasty taste in her mouth. All what she had written so far would have to be redone, because the reality was much, much worse.
‘Charlie?’
She looked up. ‘Eh?’
‘I said, do you want a coffee?’
‘Oh, thanks. Yes, that would be great,’ she said, and Melvin disappeared towards the coffee machine. Charlie flicked through the phone book and began to retrieve the numbers he needed. He came back and placed a coffee in front of her.
He perched on the corner of her desk. ‘How come you stayed out so late? You were late meeting Sir on his first day, and shouldn’t make a habit of –’
‘I wasn’t late today! I was here before you.’
He snorted sliding off her desk. ‘May as well be late – you’re half asleep! Thought the coffee might help.’
Charlie stuck out her tongue. He grinned and sat back at his own desk. His phone rang and he answered it, and Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.
At lunchtime, people in the office trickled away leaving only a few, including Charlie and Melvin, behind.
‘Coming to lunch?’ Melvin said as he rose from his chair. He slipped his arms into his jacket.
‘I’ll nip out in a bit later,’ she said. She yawned suddenly. Trapping her mouth with her hand, she apologised, ‘Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.’
‘Burning the candle, eh?’ Melvin zipped up his jacket, then caught her expression. He held up a hand. ‘Sorry. That slipped out before I remembered I’m not allowed to query the whereabouts of my best friend.’
Her lips twitched. ‘Oh, shut up, you old fuss pot.’
Melvin grinned back at her. ‘Fussing is in my nature. You’ll have to humour me on that score. Now, can I bring you anything back?’
‘No, I’ll nip out later and fetch myself something.’
‘Sure I couldn’t tempt you with a Subway?’
‘Mel!’ Charlie looked up laughing. ‘Fussing,’ she said, waggling a finger. At that moment, Mr Fanton’s office door opened and Middleton came out. He looked at the empty desk where Fanny had been sitting.
‘Lunch,’ called Melvin.
Middleton came over, and Charlie found her cheeks heating with each step he took.
‘What time is lunch here?’ he asked.
‘Everyone seems to please themselves,’ Melvin said. ‘We’re very laid back.’
‘And tactile,’ added Mr Middleton, his gaze sliding over towards Charlie.
She felt like dying; he knew it was her at the party after all!
‘And lots of things. We’re one big happy family,’ said Melvin.
Charlie felt Mr Middleton looking at her, and she pretended to be engrossed with the contents of her drawer. She picked up her stapler and pretended to fill it – one staple at a time.
‘It’s a nice office. You’re all very friendly,’ Mr Middleton was saying. He cleared his throat. ‘If there are any, er, new leads with regards to the Gentleman Abductor could I have them ASAP? No matter where I am,’ he added.
‘Sure,’ said Melvin, and Mr Middleton walked back into his office and closed the door. ‘ASAP,’ mimicked Melvin, and saluted. ‘Stuck up… Charlie?’ He looked around the office.
She poked her head up from beneath her desk. ‘Found it,’ she said brightly, a staple between her thumb and finger.
Melvin’s mouth twitched. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say Faye was right and you had a crush on Sir,’ he said.
Charlie glared at him, trying to look disgusted. ‘I do not!’
‘You go beetroot every time he speaks to you.’
‘I do not!’
‘Yes, you do,’ he said.
‘I do not –’ she began, but stopped realising she was repeating herself pointlessly. She grabbed her jacket and bag. Knowing Mr Middleton was in the office and that he knew it had been her as at the pop ball was enough to make her leave with Melvin.
EIGHTEEN
She gave one final look at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was backcombed until her curls resembled an afro, and she’d bought new clip-on hair pieces. Becoming adventurous, she had added black to her collection, and the dark hair-pieces were back combed along with her real hair and once blended in her red hair became almost invisible against the black.
Her skirt finished just below her buttocks, revealing the black tops of her stockings and red suspenders. Her upper half was dressed with a white crop top showing her red bra beneath. And to finish off the look she had dug out her red stilettos again, and she could hear her toes groan as she slipped them on.
‘Dressing down indeed,’ she muttered. ‘As if I’d fall for that one!’
Turning from the mirror quickly in case she lost her nerve, she grabbed her denim jacket, which she planned to hold over her shoulder in a ‘come hither’ look as she’d seen models do on the catwalk, and let herself out of the front door. Walking, or stumbling as she became accustomed to the heels, and with her head bent for fear of bumping into a neighbour even though it was late, she hurried towards the lifts.
The doors opened revealing the stale smell of tobacco and body odour, and much graffiti, which Charlie read on the way down. There was nothing new to read, and her eyes drifted upwards to linger on the grubby lit numbers of each floor the lift passed.
The lift jolted to a halt, and Charlie waited for the doors to open. They opened to reveal her neighbour, old Mavis Davis waiting for the lift to take her up.
‘Hi,’ said Charlie, pressing the ‘open door’ button so the pensioner could enter without becoming sandwiched between two slices of metal.
The old lady looked her up and down, then shaking her head she slipped inside, Charlie took her finger off the button and jumped out.
Wow, she didn’t recognise me! Charlie thought. She opened her mouth to tell Mavis who she was, but thought better of it. The pensioner, a nosy old bat, but lovely all the same wouldn’t understand.
*
Ben sunk down in the driver’s seat until his nose was level with the steering wheel. He flicked up his collar and watched the prostitutes from across the road. He checked his watch. It was almost the time that Readman usually made her appearance.
Kevin Locke hadn’t been able to get anything out of Sally Readman, but Ben was certainly going to try. And thanks to the PI’s probing, Ben knew where the woman solicited for business, and the approximate time. Against Locke’s advice, Ben was going to find this prostitute called Sally Readman.
He chuck
led as an amusing image surged into his mind. It was of Ms Charlie Wallis in his office, and the story she told about a relative dying of varicose veins. As he remembered he visualised her: the memory was of her in her tight Union Jack dress.
A noisy group of people passing his car pulled him out of his reverie. He sat up straight, cleared his throat and tried to concentrate on the prostitutes across the road.
According to his PI this was Sally Readman’s patch and Ben was planning to make a pretence of hiring her. Then, when they were alone he would demand answers to the many questions he had over Camilla. He would succeed where his PI failed, he was sure. Charlie tried to steal into his thoughts again, but he pushed her away. A woman had never been in his constant thought like this. It was almost scary.
A skinny woman caught his attention. He glanced at the photo on the passenger seat and again at woman standing against a lamppost. There she was: Sally Readman. She was sucking on a cigarette and talking to a tartly dressed woman wearing red, her dark hair was afro style and looked huge on her slight frame. Ben couldn’t help but stare and was still staring when he noticed her staring back at him.
Remembering breathing was a living person’s requirement Ben let the air out of his lungs. Then he remembered his windows were tinted and she would be unable to see inside and his panic subsided. He wiped sweat off his upper brow. The last thing he wanted was for somebody to become suspicious of his motives.
The tarty woman was rummaging in her oversized handbag – probably looking for cigarettes – and her interest in his car seemed to have waned. Ben’s hands loosened on the steering wheel. Remembering Readman, he scanned the pavement. He was just in time to spot her disappearing around a corner. He started the car, and pulled away from the kerb.
He passed Tarty and her prostitute colleagues, but they didn’t seem to pay him any attention Ben noticed from his rear-view mirror. Around the corner, he edged the Audi towards the kerbside alongside Sally and dropped the window. She was walking half in the gutter and half on the path trying to catch the eye of every motorist, and luckily, she caught Ben’s.
