by Martina Cole
The boy shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
Georgio turned off the shower and pulled a towel around his waist. Going towards the boy, he stood in front of him. ‘Had your look?’
The boy was terrified and Georgio got a small kick out of this fact. ‘You’re scared of me, aren’t you?’
Broomfield nodded.
‘Enjoy raping that little girl, did you? Give you a big thrill that, did it? Want to go back for some more, do you?’
Broomfield’s face was white with shock and distress.
Georgio poked him hard in the chest. ‘Come on, big man, answer me! Scream, did she, when you was giving her one? Frightened out of her life I should think, a bit like you are now, I suppose. Horrible to be scared of someone bigger than you, ain’t it? Knowing that they can beat your head in and you can’t do a thing about it.’
Taking back his fist, Georgio slammed it into the boy’s face. Broomfield started crying, big gasping sobs. Grabbing the younger man by his hair, Georgio forced him into a shower cubicle and slammed him into the wall. Pulling the boy’s head back, he hissed, ‘Shit scared, aren’t you? Tell me what it was like with the little girl, Broomfield. Tell me what you did to her.’
He found his voice. It shook. ‘I never meant it. I swear I never meant it! She wanted me to do it. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Honestly, you’ve got to believe me . . .’ He was hysterical now, his face an ugly mask of fear, blood and tears.
Ricky laBrett came into the shower room with three other men. He smiled at Georgio. ‘You want some, Brunos, you can have him after me.’
Georgio shook his head. ‘He’s all yours. By the way, Ricky, according to him the little girl wanted it, he wouldn’t have done it otherwise.’
Ricky laughed, and tightened the belt strap around his hand. ‘Of course she did, like he wants it now, don’t you, white boy?’
Georgio watched as the boy was pushed to the ground. He lay spreadeagled on the tiled floor, too frightened now to do anything but give out low moans.
As Georgio walked back to his cell he heard the high-pitched scream as Ricky entered him. Sometimes the queerboys came in handy, very handy indeed.
He sat in his cell chatting to Timmy while anguished cries from the shower room carried all over the block.
No one, warden or prisoner, lifted a finger to help Broomfield.
Lewis’s radio was tuned to Classic FM as usual; Mozart’s Horn Concerto provided the accompaniment to the multiple rape in the showers.
‘You’re looking better today, Donna.’
‘I feel better actually, much better. I slept very well last night. Don’t bother with any breakfast today, just tea, I think.’
Dolly nodded, cursing Donna under her breath. In the oven was eggs and bacon. She knew Donna must have smelled it while it was cooking.
‘If anyone wants me, I’ll be over at Maeve’s, OK?’
Dolly nodded and watched Donna slip from the room. She listened out for the car’s engine before going to the back door. Outside was Terry Rawlings. He was smoking a roll-up and sipping a mug of tea.
‘She’s gone to her mother-in-law’s, and will you stop coming so close to the bloody house! She’ll suss something out. Come in, I’ve got a plate of breakfast for you.’ Terry grinned. Taking out his mobile, he rang through to Big Paddy to inform him of Donna’s destination and then sat down to a large plate of bacon and eggs.
‘Everything all right last night?’
Terry nodded, his mouth full of bacon. ‘Not a whisper, Mrs Parkins. I think that Lewis has made his point now, with the car lot like. I reckon she’s safe as houses.’
Dolly made a snorting sound. ‘I don’t trust that bugger as far as I can throw him!’
Terry grinned. ‘Neither do we, Mrs Parkins, so stop worrying.’
Dolly made herself another cup of tea and lit her fifth cigarette of the morning. She wished to Christ she had as much faith as this lot.
‘Well, you tell Paddy that she’s cute, my Donna, and she’ll suss you lot out sooner or later.’
Terry didn’t bother answering, he just carried on eating his breakfast.
Maeve was happy. Her sons were all out, Pa Brunos was at the wholesalers, and she could sit down and read the paper in relative peace. In the middle of the problem page, her favourite part of the paper and the only reason she bought the Sun, there was a loud banging on her front door.
Annoyed, she got up to answer it, clumping down the stairs of the flat in a huff. Seeing Donna’s outline her spirits soared. Flinging the door open, she shrieked, ‘Hello, darling! Come away in. I wasn’t expecting you today!’
Donna smiled. ‘I thought I’d give you a visit before I went into work.’
She followed Maeve up the steep flight of stairs to the flat. While Maeve busied herself making another pot of tea, Donna took off her jacket and settled herself at the kitchen table.
The flat as usual was a mess, but a homely mess. Not dirty, untidy. Georgio had always hated his mother’s haphazard housework. Maeve’s attitude was, a house is for living in. Georgio wanted a showplace, a magazine advert home. Donna had argued over the years with him about this. His mother had brought up a large family, four boys and two girls, in a three-bedroomed flat - not an easy task. Every penny Pa and Maeve had accumulated had gone on the children’s clothing or education or back into the business. Their restaurant was well known in Canning Town, and both Maeve and her husband worked there from early afternoon until late in the evening. Georgio, like all the boys, had had to work as a waiter there, but unlike the others, Georgio had hated it. He looked back on those days with pain.
In a strange way Donna could understand his feelings. Georgio was a person who cared deeply what impression he made. Donna herself had helped out when she was younger, and sometimes she missed it. The rushing around, the laughter, the smell of Kleftiko and Retsina. The large brandies after a hard night’s work and the long discussions about the evening and the different diners. Yet Georgio liked to eat there, liked to be seen in his parents’ restaurant, as if he was saying to people: ‘Look how far I’ve come. Look at the boy who ran ragged-arsed around Canning Town flats with his friends.’
Unlike Georgio, Donna had hated his mother having to wait on her, feeling all the time it was wrong.
‘So what brings you here bright and early in the morning?’ Maeve’s voice was jocular but Donna knew that the older woman was aware she was there for a specific reason.
‘Actually, Maeve, I’m after your Visiting Order. I know my name’s on it, and I want to ask you a favour really. Do you mind if I use it and visit Georgio by myself? I need to talk to him.’
Maeve shrugged. ‘It’s yours, darlin’. I’ll root it out for you in a moment. Everything all right, is it? Between you and him?’ Maeve sipped her steaming tea nonchalantly, and Donna felt an urge to laugh.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Maeve was surprised at her daughter-in-law’s answer. ‘Listen, Donna, I know my son’s failings better than anyone. All my children have faults, and being a mother I’d be a fool if I didn’t know about them. With Stephen it’s gambling, with Nuala it’s a penchant for the wrong kind of men. With Mary - well, you know Mary. She’s a snob. Now Patrick, he’s a ladies’ man, and Mario . . . well, I wonder at times whether Mario likes the men too much, you know. Seems he spends more time with his friends than with women if you get my meaning. But Georgio, my Georgio, my firstborn, the apple of my eye and his father’s namesake - Georgio always had his eye on the main chance.’
She gave Donna a wry grin. ‘When he married you I sighed with relief, child. I’d always expected him to come home with some tall blonde eejit, with more between her legs than between her ears. That’s the type he favoured until you came along. But for all that, I know my Georgio better than anyone else. He thinks Mary’s a snob, they fight like cat and dog, and I know for a fact she hasn’t even dropped him a line all the time he’s been inside, but in his own way he’s a bigger snob than
her. Because Georgio always had the idea he was better than everyone. Too good for this place, too good to be a Brunos. In fact, I think he wished Pa had taken my name, Sullivan. I think he’d feel more English then. He always hated being Greek, or half-Greek anyway. Always at pains to tell everyone he was English. They used to call the kids “Bubbles” when they were small. You know the rhyming slang, Bubble and Squeak, Greek. If he’s giving you any grief now, I’ll lather the arse off him, big as he is. You just tell me and I’ll be up that prison and slapping his face before you can say knife! No matter how hard he thinks he is, I can still frighten the life out of him with a look!’
Donna laughed at the incongruity of Maeve telling Georgio off in Parkhurst’s visiting room.
‘Everything is fine, Maeve. I just want to see him again, on my own. We don’t get much chance for visits, you know, and nine times out of ten someone else is there. I had a fight with Big Paddy yesterday because he wanted to accompany me, even though he wasn’t even on the VO! I just want to see my husband again, that’s all.’
Maeve smiled. ‘You’re a good girl, Donna. I hope that big eejit of mine realises that.’
‘He does, Maeve.’
‘You’re a beautiful girl, a credit to him. Has he told you yet what really happened?’
Donna was taken back by her mother-in-law’s words. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Maeve laughed gently. ‘I’m not so green as I’m cabbage-looking. I know that more went on there than meets the eye. You don’t get accused of all sorts like my Georgio did unless you was on the fringes at least. Did he take the fall for someone bigger than him? It wouldn’t surprise me if he was in it up to his neck! After all, he admitted supplying the cars, didn’t he? So he knew more than he was letting on.’
Donna stared down at the grubby white tablecloth. ‘He never admitted that, Maeve. He admitted selling the cars to Wilson, that’s a different thing altogether.’
‘Wilson had on a posh suit in court. Did he look the type to you to be able to buy two expensive cars for cash? I mean, it seemed fishy to me and I’m Georgio’s mother.’
‘Georgio and Davey sell to anyone with the money, and I myself have dealt with car dealers who look like they’re on the dole and yet have wads of money in their pockets. So, no, it doesn’t seem strange to me at all.’ Donna could hear her voice rising and fought to keep it at an even level.
‘All right, love, calm down, it was just a thought. You’re his wife, and I’m his mother. We’re the two women closest to him. We both know him inside out, but maybe in different ways. Stephen says he stripped the businesses, do you know why?’
Donna stood up and went to her handbag for cigarettes. ‘Look, what is this, Maeve? Am I on trial now along with Georgio? You missed your vocation, you should have joined the CPS.’
Maeve was flabbergasted. Never once, in all the years she had known Donna, had the girl spoken to her like that. But she wasn’t a girl anymore, and Maeve admitted this to herself. She was a woman, a woman of nearly forty who only looked like a girl because she had never been scarred by the trials of childrearing. Only the want of them. They had all looked after Donna and now, after all these months without her husband, it seemed she could look after herself.
‘I’m sorry, Donna, I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I apologise for interrogating you like that!’
Donna turned to face her and smiled. ‘I’m sorry too, Maeve. Maybe I’m too touchy. If I could just have the VO . . .’
Maeve jumped from her seat and left the kitchen to find the Visiting Order. ‘Of course, I’ll get it for you.’
Donna closed her eyes and lit herself a cigarette. Never had she had cross words with Maeve before. But her saying all those things about Georgio hurt Donna, because deep down she knew they were all true. Now Georgio wanted to drag her into the mire with him, and after yesterday she knew in her heart she was going to let him.
Stephen was in his office when Donna turned up there. He was interviewing two girls from Manchester who had decided to take on TS, as it was known, as a sideline. Telephone Sex brought Stephen in nearly eight thousand pounds a week. He was forever buying new airtime and changing numbers, because Oftel caught up with him, but the legislation was no problem. It was only a warning and maybe the threat of a fine. Within twenty-four hours they were up and running once more. The regular clients had a landline phone number where they called, gave their credit card number, explained what they wanted and then were given a number to ring. A lot of the girls had phones at home; others had mobiles. It depended on the girl’s situation. Some worked from their local park, chatting into the phone while they watched their kids on the swings. Others worked from pubs and clubs. That was the best thing about it: you could do this work anywhere. One thing all the girls had in common was that they despised the customers and joked about them shamelessly.
Della Markham and Josie Whalley were both young prostitutes who wanted to take on TS as a way of making extra money. They could average ten pounds from each call, which meant up to a hundred pounds a day tax free.
Donna sat outside Stephen’s office and waited while he finished his interview. His secretary Carmel was an austere woman in her forties who took her job seriously. She made Donna a coffee and then went into the office to announce her arrival. Donna was amazed to see the two girls who were interviewed. They didn’t look like escorts any sane man would want to be seen with. She picked up a magazine and flicked through it. Stephen’s offices were white, almost clinical. Two large prints were on the wall, both of women in high-fashion poses. Carmel’s desk was practically clear with only two phones and a large ledger. A fax machine stood inside Stephen’s room. It seemed very sparse to Donna but she didn’t really give it much thought.
This was only her second visit here, and the constant ringing of the phones amazed her. She had never realised escorts were in such demand. Georgio had gone to great pains to assure her this wasn’t anything to do with call girls, but after looking at the two young women in Stephen’s office, she was beginning to wonder.
Since the revelations from Georgio she was beginning to wonder lots of things: it seemed she had been just a bit too naive to be true. She heard a high-pitched laugh and stared at the office door. It opened and Stephen was seeing the two girls out.
‘You can rely on us, Mr Brunos, we know all the tricks, believe me!’
He smiled tightly. ‘If you could leave your details with my secretary, I’ll get back to you.’ He turned to Donna, obviously embarrassed. ‘Donna, do come in. Carmel, a pot of coffee when you’re ready.’
Carmel was looking at the two girls with distaste. She nodded almost imperceptibly at his words.
Donna stepped into the office and sat down. ‘I can’t see them escorting anyone, Stephen.’
He grinned. ‘Neither can I, Donna! One of my friends sent them. I had to see them as a favour really. They’ll never get any work from me, I can tell you. My girls are all like Miss Jean Brodie’s!’
Donna smiled as she said: ‘The crème de la crème!’
‘Precisely. Now what can I do for you?’
‘I want some help from you actually. I was wondering if you could give me some advice.’
‘Of course.’
‘I want to pass over the main work on the sites to Paddy. I’ve done all that I can there now, and there’s no real reason any longer for me to be constantly on the sites. Everyone knows I can do it, so if I delegate to Paddy I think I’ll probably have more time for the office work, which is what I do best.’
‘So what do you want from me? You seem to have everything sorted out OK.’
‘What I want from you is advice on how much I should pay him for the extra work. I was thinking of bringing him in on a percentage, like a bonus scheme, you know. Say two percent?’
Stephen raised his eyebrows and shook his head. ‘I don’t know what Georgio will have to say about that.’
‘With respect,’ Donna told him, ‘Georgio isn’t running the b
usinesses - I am. I feel that Paddy has put in an awful lot of time and energy and should be rewarded.’
‘Well, yes, I can see what you’re getting at . . .’
‘Good,’ she said briskly. ‘I always find it helps to talk things through, don’t you? By the way, I was unaware until last night that Georgio has a twenty-five percent interest in this place. Or should I say, I have a twenty-five percent interest? I was going through Georgio’s papers and wondered exactly what Talkto Enterprises was. Then I finally found an address for it in Georgio’s phone book, and it was here. I thought this was called Brunos Escort Agency? I assume you changed the name at some point. What I am really interested in, Stephen, is where my twenty-five percent of the profits is going?’
The atmosphere in the room was electric. Stephen’s dark handsome face looked amazed. Donna relaxed in her leather chair and smiled at him charmingly.
He regained his composure. ‘The profits for Talkto are being ploughed back into the business for the first two years, Donna. Georgio will tell you that much himself. You should start realising a profit in the next few months. I will get my accountant to have the books ready for your perusal by the weekend. That’s if you insist on seeing them?’ His voice was stiff.
‘I do insist, Stephen. I insist because it seems you and my husband have a habit of starting up businesses and putting my name on them. Now the money from this enterprise would come in very handy at the moment - I need capital and I hope you are going to tell me that I have some. Because these premises in Soho can’t be cheap, the escort agency must be doing a roaring trade, and Talkto - whatever that is - must be doing OK or I would have thought the partnership would have been dissolved. So how well is it doing and what exactly is it?’
Stephen was saved from answering by Carmel arriving with the coffee. When she had left the room, Donna sugared her own coffee in silence.
‘Talkto is a phone line. You see them all the time in papers and magazines. You know the ones. “How to cope with bereavement” or “How to cope with arthritis”. We have been gradually setting up a small library of different lines; they are going quite well in fact. We also do sex lines. You know: “How to achieve orgasm”, “What to do if your husband’s impotent”. They are the bigger moneyspinners, I admit, but they are perfectly legal and they provide a service.’
