The Business

by Martina Cole

  As Jimmy sipped his drink, his eyes scanned the pub. As he looked out of the large picture window into the garden, he saw Imelda Dooley and, as always, her face fascinated him. She was a junkie, that much he had already heard. She was also, apparently, a soft touch for anyone in need of a night’s bed and board. She was basically a fucking dog.

  Even knowing that about her, he still felt an attraction towards her, and that was unusual for him, he generally liked his women clean and tidy, and without any reputation whatsoever. He liked to know that when he finally fucked them, he was going where no one had ever gone before. At least, not too many anyway. He was not a man who was content to fuck a bird who had been with more men than Catherine the Great, and who was not bothered about it.

  Jimmy liked to think of his body as a temple and, even though women like Imelda Dooley were below his radar normally, there was something about her that attracted him. As he watched her, he saw her throw back her head to laugh, and her even white teeth and her high cheekbones were so beautiful that, as always on looking at her, he felt a sudden tightening in his guts.

  She was still laughing as she turned to face him and, seeing him watching her, she smiled at him and waved. It was such a girlie gesture, and it made her look so young and carefree that Jimmy found himself waving back at her.

  He had seen her intermittently over the years, and the state she was in was generally enough to make him back off as quickly as possible. In fact, he would practically run away rather than even acknowledge her.

  But he saw her now, in the winter sunshine, with her twinkling eyes and her tight little body, and he found himself miming a drinking motion with his hand. She nodded her agreement and he watched her come into the warmth of the pub. As she approached him, he saw the effect she had on most of the men around him.

  She had an almost feral sexuality about her that was so blatant, and so powerful, it was almost physical in its intensity. She seemed to have no knowledge of the effect she created, but Jimmy had a feeling that she was more aware of her sexuality than she let on. She smiled at him as she sat down opposite; her long legs were encased in sheer black tights and she had on a short denim skirt. Her boots were high-heeled and they were so tight she wore them like a second skin. She had on a punk rock T-shirt, and a tiny cropped jacket. She had to be freezing, but Jimmy didn’t mention that of course. Instead, he went to the bar and got them both a drink. He made sure that Imelda’s was a large one, he had a feeling that she would expect that from him.

  She took the Jack Daniels and Coke and swallowed half of it before she even spoke to him. ‘How did you know I drank Jack Daniels?’

  Jimmy smiled then, and said with mock guilt, ‘I’ve seen you out plenty of times, and noticed you were on the Jacky D. It ain’t exactly rocket science, is it?’

  She didn’t smile back, she thought he was alluding to her taking heroin. Most people who used heroin drank strong alcohol while they were waiting to score; it took the edge off. But he wasn’t alluding to anything, and she realised that when he said sincerely, ‘I have to be honest, it’s not a drink I have ever seen many women favour. So that was why I remembered it so well.’

  She finished the rest of her drink in one swallow, then, holding the empty glass out, she raised her eyebrows in a questioning motion.

  Jimmy took the glass and went to the bar. He got her a triple this time and, taking it back to her, he watched as she supped half of the drink in two large swallows. She was a real drinker, and obviously she drank large quantities on a regular basis.

  ‘Oi, relax. If you keep sinking them like that you’ll be on your back in no time.’

  Imelda laughed. Then, swallowing the remainder of the drink down, she said huskily, ‘Well, I’m game if you are.’

  He was startled at the effect her words had on him. He felt a stirring in his groin and, as if she had read his mind, she leant forward and whispered, ‘I can feel it too, shall we go?’

  He looked into her eyes, and they were so open, and so honest, that he was once more mesmerised by her. If any other woman but her had propositioned him as she had, he would have fucked her off with a very loud and expletive-strewn tirade. But he found himself following her out into the cold night air and, when they were seated comfortably in his very expensive and very clean Mercedes Sport, she lay back against the black leather seat and closing her eyes she asked him politely, ‘Can we go to yours? My flat is like a bomb site.’

  As Jimmy pulled out of the Prospect of Whitby public house he caught a trace of her body odour - she had a deep muskiness that was apparent even over the cheap perfume she had obviously drenched herself in.

  When they got to his flat in Kensington, they had still not spoken a word to each other and, when he opened the front door, and motioned for her to precede him, she smiled happily at his good manners. Once inside, he saw her looking around in amazement at his home and he felt once more the pride that this flat gave him.

  It was absolutely stunning, and he had got it on the cheap, with all the furniture already in situ; a professional gambler had made the mistake of coming to him for a rather hefty loan. Jimmy had given him the loan without a thought, and he had also given him a second and, eventually, a third loan. The man concerned had been given every chance in life: private school, the works, yet he was still a fucking loser, a gambler who lived off his family. Jimmy had then called all the debts in simultaneously.

  The man in question had brought him to this flat only once, very early in their acquaintance, it had been the prat’s way of showing him that he was a man of means, had a few quid in the pipeline. A way of proving he was more than capable of paying any debts that he might incur. But Jimmy had known it was a scam from the off. He was the usual Hooray Henry, all weak chin and no real bank balance. Jimmy had wanted this place from the off, and he had been determined to get it. Thanks to the bloke’s addiction to the horses and the roulette wheel, he had not had to wait long before he had got it. Fair and square.

  Now he loved the look on people’s faces when they entered it, it was pure class, and you could not buy class. The ponce who had lost the place to him had that much going for him anyway, even if he didn’t have a lot else these days. Why people gambled, Jimmy did not know, it was a real mug’s game.

  ‘Like it?’

  Imelda nodded, her face suddenly serious and reflective. She felt out of her depth and they both knew it. ‘It’s lovely, Jimmy. Can I use your john?’

  He laughed at her earnest little expression, she was really sweet when she wanted to be. It was a side of her he had never experienced before. He decided that he liked it.

  He walked her to the bathroom and opened the door for her, as always the gentleman. He went into the lounge and put on Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road album and then, as he walked out into the hallway again on a quest for ice cubes, he saw that the bathroom door was ajar. Against his better judgement, he could not resist popping his head inside and, as he went to say something funny, he saw her as she was pushing a needle into her groin. She looked what she was then. It was amazing how she had gone from a natural beauty to a filthy skaghead in seconds. Suddenly he noticed the greasy shine on her hair, and the grime under her fingernails. He saw the yellow tinge to her skin that all junkies acquired eventually, and he saw the scuffed and run-down heels of her boots as she lay sprawled across his toilet. He felt physically sick that he had even contemplated fucking her. She was rank, fucking scum.

  She was nodding now, was away with the fucking fairies, and he knew that she would be like that for at least the next ten minutes. So he went back into the lounge and, pouring himself a large brandy, he wondered at how he had nearly succumbed to shagging someone who had such a low opinion of themselves they were willing to dice with death on a daily basis just for a high. He felt that she had tainted this flat, that she had brought the putrid mess that passed as a life right into his home. He was absolutely gutted.

  Fifteen minutes later she came creeping into the room, and
he could see the wasted look on her face and smell the stench of fucking loser all over her.

  She smiled timidly. ‘I needed that, it was so freaky coming here and seeing you, but I wanted to ask you a favour, see. I hope you won’t do your nut like, because I know you and me mum are quite tight.’

  Jimmy was astonished that Imelda had no shame at what she had done. That Imelda did not feel that she had even done anything wrong, yet she had jacked up in his home without even asking him if he minded. Without even caring about how her actions might affect him.

  ‘What, Mel, what do you want to ask me?’ He was barely keeping a lid on his anger now.

  ‘Well, I was going to give you a freebie anyway like, but basically I want a job in one of your houses. I am great at fucking, always was, even as a kid.’

  She was suddenly aware of the atmosphere in the room. And, grinning apologetically, she said seriously, ‘And I promise you faithfully that I won’t ever bring any gear with me again, I can see you don’t like it.’

  He knew that she knew that she had fucked it all up for herself. She knew that he was now desperate to get her out of his flat, and out of his life as quickly as possible and with the least amount of ag possible. She was like a fucking leper to him now, standing there in his home, and she was obviously too embarrassed now even to sit down without a gold-engraved invitation, because she knew she had done a fucking wrong one.

  ‘Get yourself sorted, I’ll weigh you out for a cab home, all right?’

  She nodded slowly then, as she watched him finish his brandy, and search through his pockets for a five-pound note, she felt the anger that was always bubbling away under the surface. He was blanking her, and she knew it. She also knew it was because she had jacked up in his fucking toilet. In his so-called personal space. Well, fuck him.

  ‘So, what about the job, Jimmy? Am I in or what?’

  He shook his head. ‘No way, I don’t have fucking junkies working for me.’

  Imelda laughed then, at his total hypocrisy. ‘Oh, I see, so a prostitute who is clean drugwise is perfectly acceptable, but a prostitute who takes drugs is not acceptable. I can’t really grasp that logic, Jimmy, care to fill in the fucking blanks for me?’

  Jimmy threw the fiver at her and said loudly, ‘Get out of my sight, you cunt. Get a cab home, or go and score, or whatever you fucking people do when you are lucky enough to come across paper money. But whatever you decide to do, just get yourself out of my home now.’

  She picked up the money and, pushing it into her skirt pocket, she held up the tin that contained her works and used it to point at him menacingly. ‘I might be a fucking junkie, but I am a junkie through choice. You will always be no more than a fucking pimp, a purveyor of women’s flesh. So, don’t you come the high and mighty with me, boy. On a scale of one to ten, you don’t rate much higher than me, and don’t you ever fucking forget that.’

  With that she wiped her arm across a nearby table and laughed as all the ornaments smashed loudly on to the floor. Then she walked from the room with as much dignity as she could muster.

  Jimmy waited until he heard her slam the front door behind her. Then he looked at the broken pottery, the broken ashtrays on his lovely wooden floor, he looked around him and he saw her fucking diseased and scrawny body everywhere. That he had actually fallen for her charms, knowing what he knew about her and then, worst of all, he had brought her back here, to his home. To where he lived, and she had desecrated it with her fucking junk. But, even more than that, he was disgusted with himself because he had actually entertained the notion of sleeping with her. What the fuck was he on?

  He showered twice, and then he cleaned up the mess she had made. But the place still felt wrong to him. He felt filthy, he felt violated. And the fact that she had only come home with him in the first place to try and get a job as a fucking brass was rankling him more than he would ever have admitted to anyone, least of all himself.

  ‘Come on, Jordanna, give your nana a big hug.’

  Mary felt the little arms as they circled her neck, and she kissed the child’s upturned face over and over again, enjoying the clean smell of her, and enjoying the feel of her fragile body as she hugged her tightly against her. This girl was her life, and she knew that, no matter how often her daughter abused her, or how much she charged her for this little one’s company, she would pay it gladly. She was like an angel, a little blond-haired angel.

  As she settled Jordanna down on the sofa, she heard a gentle tapping on her front door. She opened it without a second’s thought, and there was her daughter, drugged out of her head, and almost incoherent with rage.

  ‘Oh no. Come on, Mel. Let her alone tonight, eh, she’s just fallen asleep.’

  As Mary spoke she saw the child sitting bolt upright on the sofa, her eyes wide open with fright, and her little hands clenched into fists of terror.

  Jordanna started crying then, calling for her nana, hoping that just once, she might be able to keep her there somehow.

  ‘Look, Mel, I’ve got a onner in the kitchen, take that. Go out and have a good time, you look like you could do with one.’

  ‘Fuck off, Mother. You’re a cunt and so is your fucking scum-bag of a partner, Jimmy.’

  Hearing Jimmy’s name along with hers was so unexpected that Mary wondered if she had imagined it.

  Imelda picked her daughter up roughly and wrapped her in a blanket.

  ‘Please, Mel, don’t take her, leave her here. I’ll go and get the money for you, shall I?’

  ‘Stick it up your arse, and you tell your mate Jimmy that no one fucking treats me like shit and gets away with it.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Mel? What has Jimmy Bailey got to do with anything?’

  She was trying to stop her daughter from leaving her house with the child.

  Imelda pushed her mother roughly out of her way. ‘I have a cab outside, and my baby is coming home with me. You want her, you fucking bitch, well, you can thank your mate Jimmy for cutting your little holiday short. I know that you’ve run me down to him, that’s why he treated me like dirt. But that’s you all over ain’t it, eh? I bet you have fucking slagged me into the ground to him. Fucking putting me down all the time. Well, no more, and you ain’t doing that to my daughter either.’

  Imelda was already halfway up the garden path, and as Mary watched them drive away from her she felt the useless tears of frustration and rage that always accompanied a late night visit from her only daughter.

  She picked up the teddy bear that Jordanna always slept with when she stayed at her nana’s and, hugging it to her chest tightly, she sobbed as if her heart was going to break.

  Lance Bradford was a bully. He had always been a bully, even as a small child he had developed the knack of bullying and at the same time he had also found out that he actually enjoyed the experience very much.

  As he sat in Imelda’s flat, he was now enjoying seeing her anger and her hatred as she shouted and railed at the world in general. He didn’t know who had rattled her cage, but whoever it was had done a fucking brilliant job of it. She was almost beside herself with rage.

  The kid was petrified, she was sitting on the cold floor and her face was white with fear. The pretty little thing was shrewd enough not to move a muscle, she sensed that her mother was just looking for an excuse to let rip. Lance knew that Mel was enjoying the poor little mare’s terror almost as much as he was enjoying her anger. She was like a mad woman, and after a while he decided that he would wind her up a bit. Find out what had caused this latest psychotic break of hers, and then keep on about it until she snapped again.

  As Imelda picked the kid up roughly by her arms and laid her none too gently on the sofa, he was amazed when she actually took the time to cover the child with a blanket. The place was filthy, as always, and the newly scrubbed Jordanna stood out like a sore thumb. He watched as the little girl closed her eyes and attempted to lose herself in the oblivion that was sleep. Imelda was still angry, but she was slowl
y calming herself down. As she poured herself a large vodka, she said seriously, ‘Where’s my fucking money?’

  Lance had forgotten that he had used it to score for them, and he said gaily, ‘I got us some gear with it. I got us a Henry, an eighth.’ He then pulled a plastic bag from his jeans pocket.

  Imelda stood there, staring at him as if she had never seen him before, and Lance knew that look of hers. She even frightened him when she was like this.

  ‘Are you telling me that you stole my money and fucking scored drugs with it? You actually stole my fucking cash, the money I had saved to buy food for my baby, and you bought fucking drugs with it?’ She was seriously on her dignity now, full of self-righteous indignation, and spoiling for a proper fight.

  ‘Are you taking the fucking piss out of me or what? Have I got cunt tattooed on my forehead or something, is that it?’

  Lance started to laugh. He was a fairly big lad, and he knew that once he started to burn the brown she would not be able to resist it. He set about the business of preparing them both a nice little armful, confident that she would not be able to refuse it once it was in front of her.

  Imelda watched him as he began his preparations, and as he opened the plastic bag to measure out the heroin, her booted leg caught him and the bag of smack at the same time. She watched his face as he saw the pale-brown granules go up into the air like a minute atomic bomb. When it finally began to fall towards the floor it was everywhere, all over his jacket, all over the filthy carpet, and all over the coffee table that was littered with everything from overflowing ashtrays to mouldy tea cups.

  Lance was in shock at what she had done. She had just wasted a serious amount of gear, and she did not seem to give a flying fuck. The majority of it was ruined, was unsalvageable.