by Louise Wise
She stopped as Ben slowed beside her, and at once she hung her head inside the car. Her hair was lank and unwashed as were her fingernails, which gripped the edge of the window. Ben doubted he could drive off now even if he wanted to.
‘It’s your lucky night, baby,’ she drawled as Ben quickly snatched up her beaming mug shot from the passenger seat and slipped it into his coat pocket.
‘How come?’ he asked.
‘Open the door and I’ll tell you.’
He did as he was asked, and she slipped in beside him. Her skirt automatically rode up as she sat down, and he had a glimpse of her sparrow like legs. On one thigh there was a tattoo of a fish.
A fish! Ben shook his head, and pulled away from the kerb as Sally pulled her skirt up further until her underwear was exposed. Oh, it was a mermaid, Ben mused as the skirt went up further still.
‘I’m only going t’charge you for’y quid.’ She twisted in her seat, and ran a dirty fingernail down the length of his arm. ‘For’y quid and I’ll make you feel soooo good you’ll not wanna leave me.’
‘I can barely wait,’ he muttered grimly, wishing he’d thought to put down an old towel to cover his precious seat.
Sally directed Ben to her house, telling him the things she could do for him if only he’d hand over more money. Ben had nodded and agreed, and drove quickly. She lived in rented accommodation: a large Victorian house converted into flats. She was only eighteen, yet after years of drug abuse looked much older. The picture Ben had of her must have been an old one.
Sally hung off Ben’s arm as she escorted him into her house. She lived on the second floor, and as they reached the top of the stairs a black Shrek was stood waiting for them. Sally beamed at him.
‘Fifty quid,’ he demanded.
Ben took out his wallet, hesitated and then turned a shoulder so the man couldn’t see the notes inside as he searched for a fifty. He pulled it out and handed it over.
The man shook his head. ‘Don’t take fifties.’
Again, Ben turned away, filed the fifty and took out several tens. Luckily he had withdrawn a considerable amount knowing how much information cost. Shrek pocketed the notes wordlessly, and jerked his head towards the door.
Sally almost pushed Ben into her room. It was as grotty as she, with little furniture. Ben looked around, and was relieved that Shrek hadn’t followed them inside. He doubted he’d take too kindly to his questions.
‘C’mon, baby,’ Sally said, and stuck a finger down the front of Ben’s fly in the attempt of pulling him forward.
Previously he’d questioned the prostitutes on the kerbside, offering money for often useless information. Somehow, he felt out of his depth with Sally. The squalor in which the woman lived, and the imposing protector or, more likely, pimp waiting on the outside landing made Ben feel more than uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat noisily. ‘I’d like a cup of tea, please,’ he said.
‘Tea?’ Sally laughed loudly. ‘Ain’t you posh. I betcha loaded, eh, baby? C’mon, come to mummy, my baby,’ she closed the distance that Ben was trying to keep, and pressed her scrawny body against his reclining one.
‘Tea?’ Ben said, edging away. ‘I’m really parched.’
Sally tutted. ‘Ain’t got all night, you know. I’ll have t’charge ya.’
‘That’s fine. Er, I don’t suppose you have green tea?’
Sally frowned. ‘It’s sorta brown, innit?’
‘That’s fine,’ he said and she turned and went through a battered door, which Ben supposed was the kitchen. As soon as she disappeared, Ben almost dived towards her mobile phone that he had spotted lying discarded on a side table.
The little screen had a smiling picture of an older woman. Ben wondered if it was Sally’s mother, and had a pang of pity for Sally lost in the world of drugs and prostitution.
He located her contacts and scrolled down. There was nothing under ‘C’ or ‘M’, and he quickly scrolled back up towards the initials ‘J.J’, which he had previously ignored. He glanced up at the door where Sally had disappeared, and heard the kettle switch itself off. He realised he didn’t have long left.
Searching in his pocket he found an old petrol receipt and grabbing a pen from his inside jacket he wrote down the number for ‘J.J’, using his lap to lean on. The pen pierced through the paper twice in his hurry and stabbed his leg.
He folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket and returned the mobile and his pen as Sally came out carrying a cracked mug of tea. He sat down in a chair and smiling, took the offered tea.
If his guess proved correct then ‘J.J’ was Camilla. Jane was his mother’s middle name, and Jacob was her maiden name, and this was Camilla’s new phone number.
‘So,’ he’d said with forced brightness. ‘How long have you been doing this?’
‘Long enough t’give you a good time, baby,’ she answered. She hadn’t made tea for herself, but stood looking down at him as he sipped his. It was the colour of malt whiskey – he only wished it was.
‘I’m outa milk,’ she said. ‘But because I likes ya, I’ve given ya a tea bag that’s only been used a few times.’
Ben placed the tea on a scratched side table. ‘I’ll wait until it’s cool.’
Sally smiled. ‘Well, you’re lookin’ hot,’ she said. ‘Wanna blow? For you I’ll only charge an extra tenner.’
‘Charge? I’ve already paid, er, haven’t I?’
‘That was the entrance fee.’ Sally began to hum and moved her narrow hips to imaginary music. She kept her eyes on him the whole time as her fingers moved up to her blouse.
Ben felt sick. ‘No,’ he began. ‘I want to talk –’ He broke off in horror as Sally began to unbutton her blouse, giving him a peek preview of her scrawny chest. ‘I-I’m looking for somebody called Camilla Middleton,’ he said quickly as Sally reached the last button. Her arms fell to her sides, and she turned flashing eyes onto him.
He tried to avert his eyes from her skinny, sagging chest but she closed the distance between them and stared down at him in apparent loathing.
‘What?’
‘Or a-a Jane Jacob; J.J,’ he said, the breasts hung just before his horrified eyes. ‘She could be using both names.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t want the information for free,’ he added as she just stood there and continued to glare. Had she died standing up? ‘I will pay,’ he insisted. Short of physically pushing her away, he couldn’t get up without his face getting too close to the breasts, and somehow the thought of those hanging, empty sacks of skin, close to his face made his stomach churn.
‘You’re the filth!’ she spat at last.
‘I assure you, I’m not,’ Ben said.
‘You is. You the bleedin’ old bill,’ she accused, and closed her blouse much to Ben’s relief.
‘No, no I’m isn’t, er, I mean I’m not. Honest. I’m looking for my sister, Camilla Middleton, or she could be going by the name of Jacob.’
Sally folded her arms across her chest. ‘Really?’ She hadn’t moved at all, and Ben felt trapped in the chair.
‘Really,’ he said. He shoved his hand in his pocket and brought out his wallet. He only had twenties and the fifty that Shrek had refused. He handed her a twenty, which she snatched up before it was barely out of his wallet.
‘You wanted full sex,’ she said. ‘And that’s forty.’
Ben gave her another twenty.
‘An’ a blow,’ she said. ‘That was a tenner.’
Ben offered another twenty-pound note. ‘Have you change for a twenty?’
Sally snatched the third twenty-pound note and stuffed the money in her skirt pocket, and Ben waited hopefully for his change.
‘Now piss off,’ she said.
‘Hey, what about my information and, er, change?’ he said, feeling indignant.
‘I ain’t no bleedin’ citizen’s advice service!’ Sally shrieked. ‘Neither do I gives change! Now, piss off outa my house.’
‘Look, forget my change.
’ He opened his wallet again. ‘Have another twenty, but please tell me where Camilla is.’
‘I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’,’ she said, grabbing the money, which disappeared with the other notes. She opened her mouth and roared, ‘Now, git out of me house!’ which ended an octave higher than when it began. And when he still just sat there, feeling mortified at her rage, she yelled, ‘NOW!’
At last, Ben rose. At the door, he turned back. ‘Please, just tell me where she is?’ He thought he’d try pleading. Aren’t prostitutes supposed to be ‘tarts with hearts’? But Sally began to shriek and bang on the walls. For a moment, Ben wondered if the obvious drugs she’d taken had made her mind implode but after hearing footsteps bounding up the stairs, he realised that she’d been calling for help from Shrek outside.
Ben made a very quick exit with J.J’s number burning a hole in his pocket and with an outraged man, the size of house, chasing him to his car.
NINETEEN
Looking up from sneakily turning off her tape recorder, Charlie glanced upon the red car. It was parked up a side street, facing her. It was too dark to see inside. Charlie frowned, was it the same car she had seen it from the café window Sunday? And yesterday, too, come to think of it. In her panic running from pimpman, she’d remembered, she had run out in front of it and had almost become a skidmark on the road.
Charlie, turning her back on the other prostitutes, tried to look through her notebook for the car’s registration while it was still inside her bag, but it was too dim to read anything. Glancing covertly at the other women, she pulled it out but at that time the red car moved off and crossed towards her. Panicking slightly, Charlie dropped the notebook back into her bag and realising there was safety in numbers rejoined the group of women.
Jan and Max were talking about EastEnders. They all seemed so ordinary within their unordinary lives.
The car swept by and rounded a corner. Charlie hadn’t been able to catch the registration or tell if the car had been an Audi. She cursed her own panic, but as the three women walked they followed the car around the corner. Charlie saw that the car had pulled up alongside Sally Readman. Her too thin body was easily recognisable, as was the tip of her glowing cigarette.
Charlie could see the hand of the driver through the opened window as he spoke to the woman. On nearing, she realised that Sally looked brighter too, almost radiant, so it was obvious to Charlie she’d managed to get herself a fix. Helpless, Charlie could only watch as Sally, tossing her cigarette into the gutter, climbed into the car.
The car drove off as Charlie and the others drew up alongside it, and Charlie had time to glimpse the top of the driver’s dark woolly hat just before his window rolled up completely.
‘Lucky bitch,’ Jan said.
‘Would you say that car was an Audi?’ asked Charlie.
‘It looked new to me,’ said Jan.
‘She said an Audi, not “oldie”, you muppet,’ said Max laughing.
Charlie couldn’t laugh back. She was disturbed and was relieved when they parted company and she was able to go home.
She kicked off her shoes as soon as she was inside her flat. The little room was stuffy, and she moved forwards to slide open the window. She leaned across the sill to look over the car park below. She breathed in the night air, which was full of the smells from takeaway restaurants and car fumes. She looked upwards and was pleased to see the night held a few stars; she missed Northampton at moments like this when she felt compelled to stare up at the heavens. The stars were often lost in London’s night sky.
She closed her eyes, and murmured a little prayer for the lost Sally Readman.
TWENTY
Ben felt smug. There was no other word for it. Over an Eggs Benedict breakfast with his father, Ben was even considering challenging him to a round of golf later. Donald had tried to engage him in the sport in the past, but he was such an aggressive player and always impatient, so Ben had always done his utmost to wriggle out of it.
‘Found Camilla?’
Ben was surprised. It was the first time Donald had spoken her name since the funeral.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But I’ve hired a private investigator.’
‘Who?’ Donald barked. He never spoke, when he could bark.
‘Kevin Locke.’
‘Fire him and get someone else.’
‘He’s doing OK,’ Ben protested. He thought he was doing great so far; he’d led him to Sally Readman, anyway.
‘Does he have any leads?’
Ben nodded smugly. ‘Actually,’ he cleared his throat dramatically, ‘it was me who found a rather important lead, even if I say so myself.’
‘Well, don’t ponce about, boy, tell me.’
But Ben had been waiting for his moment of recognition for a long time, and wasn’t prepared simply to tell his father. He stood up. ‘I’ve something to show you. Wait just one moment while I fetch it.’
Donald pushed his plate away, and patted his stomach in satisfaction. ‘Well, if you insist on making a song and dance about it,’ he said. He reached for The Globe newspaper in the centre of the table.
Ben tossed him the London Core. ‘Why not try that? It’s changed already since we took over.’
‘Don’t read comics,’ Donald grunted and buried his face in The Globe.
Ben headed towards the stairs.
He stared around his room. His bed had been stripped and his clothes, which he had taken off and placed tidily on a chair, were gone. He dived for the wardrobe and rummaged through his neatly hung clothes but the trousers he wore last night, and more importantly, the old receipt where he had scribbled down J.J’s number, was missing.
Ben raced downstairs and towards the kitchen. ‘Where’s Iris?’ he asked his father, who looked up in surprise.
‘Gone to get her hair done.’ Donald went back to his paper. ‘You got me that lead yet?’
Ben felt sick. ‘I, er, I seem to have lost it.’
Donald didn’t even look up from behind the paper. ‘Sums you up, doesn’t it?’ he grunted.
TWENTY ONE
Charlie turned a page in the folder on her desk, and then clicked the onscreen file she was reading. She was working through paper and computer documents, trying to cross-reference both at once. She was determined to finish her work early, so she could use the time to type up some of her notes from last night. She felt she had an outline to a really good fiction story. Her characters were all in place and the plot was growing and taking shape.
She was tired. Knackered, in fact. She had been so afraid of coming into work late that she’d made extra effort to come in early just to create the correct impression except no-one seemed to notice. Why was that? Come late and it would be a certainty that people noticed, yet early? Her eyes drifted across to Juliet’s desk, and fell on a plaque displaying the slogan: Working here is like wetting your pants in a dark suit – it gives you a warm feeling but nobody notices.
She eyed Melvin’s empty chair in front of her. His desk was immaculate; not a thing out of place. Hers resembled a rundown Peckham front garden. She chewed on her lip. She wanted to confide – she needed to confide. Had she seen the Gentleman Abductor at work for the second time last night?
Thinking about him made her angry. He was seeking to destroy the vulnerable.
That had been the main reason she was early for work: early because she hadn’t been to bed. Well, she’d tried, but the red Audi just kept cruising into her mind making her toss this way and that. In the end she’d got up and watched some awful American sitcom.
She sighed. If she confided in Melvin, what would happen? The police would be called, the driver-cum-abductor found, Charlie rewarded and looked at in awe by all and the cleaning lady and then promoted within Core. Or, she drummed her fingernails on her desk, Melvin would have a fit; Faye a field-day. The driver would turn out to be an innocent man and sue her, and Fanny would sack her for being such a twat.
Charlie turned back to her computer. Hopefully,
the red car last night was just a coincidence. Caffeine. She pushed back her chair and stood up. She needed caffeine.
Sarah was chatting with Juliet at the coffee machine as Charlie made her way over. Sarah was moaning about Faye: ‘She’s so spiteful.’
They moved aside for her to press the buttons for her drink. The vending machine was set for drinks to be dispensed free, but occasionally it refused to work at all. This time Charlie was in luck, and her cup was filled with hot coffee. She drank it gratefully.
‘I give as good as I get,’ said Sarah. ‘But she always has a retort. And sometimes they are bloody offensive.’
‘She’s all right with me,’ said Juliet. She stood with her hand on a narrow hip. Her short cropped, dark hair looked more like a man’s than a woman’s. Her many bracelets jangled about her wrists, hiding a previous life where she self-harmed. She had every finger covered with a ring, plus several in her eyebrows, one in her nose and another in her bottom lip. She was also careful how she sat, so God knows where else she had one.
Charlie didn’t dare comment. Instead she said to Sarah, ‘To be honest, I think she enjoys a good old slanging match. I don’t feel offended by her insults. In fact, they amuse me.’
‘Everything amuses you, Charlie,’ said Sarah, grumpily.
‘Not entirely,’ she said biting her tongue against Sarah’s tart remark.
‘I’ve been here a year and you’d have thought I would be used to her by now.’ Sarah seemed close to tears. Charlie looked at Juliet to see if she noticed.
‘I’m going out for a fag.’ She hadn’t.
‘You give as much as she does, Sarah,’ Charlie reminded her gently as Juliet left clutching some Old Holborn and Rizlas. ‘Do you want me to have a word with her for you?’
Sarah looked horrified. ‘Shit, no! She’d love that, the two-faced bitch. If I were to slap her, her other face would still be flinging retorts at me.’
A loud bang and voices behind made Charlie spin around, slopping coffee onto her wrist. Cursing, she watched as two men, dressed in blue overalls came in, talking loudly and pushing a removal trolley.
