Discarded

by M. A. Hunter

  ‘I don’t want no more talk about nerves,’ Precious continued, standing and heading into the kitchen area, removing a bottle of wine from the shopping bag on the table and carrying it back to the table. ‘Now, I want you to pour us both a large glass of this to settle any remaining anxiety while I go and find us something pretty and sparkly to wear.’ She paused, running her fingers through Joanna’s hair. ‘Yer so lucky to have such long, smooth hair. It takes me hours to comb mine into anything nearly as straight as this. Hey, I know, why don’t we both wear wigs tonight? I can be blonde for once, and you can be…’

  ‘Violet,’ Joanna blurted, picturing the exact hairpiece she’d seen in Precious’s room when she’d been rifling through the drawers last week.

  The excited grin and bounce in Precious’s step as she headed towards the bedroom confirmed she concurred with the selection. ‘We should dress first,’ she called back over her shoulder, ‘and fit the hair right before Grey comes calling for us.’

  Joanna shuddered at mention of his name. Although he’d never laid a hand on her, she now recognised that lustful look in his eyes when he lowered the camera when he didn’t think she was looking. The fact that she was only eleven didn’t seem to matter to him.

  ‘You’ve no idea how beautiful you are, Kylie,’ he said yesterday, running his index finger the length of her arm.

  They both knew he wasn’t allowed to do anything about his lust – Mr Brown would be livid – but Grey had made his intentions clear. If she was prepared to keep quiet, he was ready to make his move. He enjoyed reminding her that she still owed him for sparing her life that night in the woods.

  She shuddered again, and brushed his imagined finger from her shoulder, like a scurrying spider. She’d never asked what happened to all the photographs he took – where they ended up; who’d requested them in the first place – and she knew better than to ask Precious and wake the beast within. But the question remained near the surface of her mind. She knew they weren’t just for Grey’s own gratification, though she was certain he enjoyed the experience more than he was probably supposed to.

  Tonight’s party had been Precious’s idea too.

  ‘Parties are where the big money’s at, Kylie,’ she’d told her two nights ago. ‘You want to earn some serious cash? That’s how.’

  That was the only reason Joanna had agreed to tag along tonight. All she knew was that Grey would collect them from the caravan at seven and drive them to wherever the party was being held. The exact location was only known to Grey, as far as Joanna knew, but what did it matter where it was? They wouldn’t be left alone long enough to disappear, so it could be in the far reaches of Timbuktu and it wouldn’t matter.

  Precious hadn’t said how much she would earn for just attending, but if it was more than the ten pounds she earned per photoshoot then it would help supplement the secret stash she’d been building for close to a year. A pound here, two pounds there – not a lot, but small enough amounts that Precious wouldn’t notice. She hadn’t discussed her plan with Precious – the beast wouldn’t like it – but if she could squirrel away enough cash, she would be able to make a break for it, and maybe get far enough away that Grey and Mr Brown would simply give up looking for her. The night she tried to escape before had been flawed from the start because she had involved Chez, and he’d suffered as a result of her actions. She wouldn’t allow Precious to fall to the same fate.

  Opening the bottle of wine, she filled two glasses, grimacing as she sipped the tepid liquid. ‘The wine’s warm,’ she called out.

  ‘Just drop some ice in it,’ Precious called back, her head popping out from behind the bedroom door. ‘It’ll chill quickly enough.’

  Joanna nodded as the head disappeared again and she opened the fridge-freezer, plopped two cubes in each glass, and turned on the radio.

  ‘Oh, I love this song,’ Precious called from the bedroom, singing along to it and dancing out of the bedroom, clutching two dresses in her hands and holding them out for Joanna’s approval.

  Joanna didn’t like the short red dress as it barely covered her bottom and had a tendency to ride up, which made it one of Grey’s favourites to photograph her in.

  She scrunched up her nose. ‘The red one? Really?’

  Precious wasn’t listening, draping the garment over the arm of the chair, the message clear: the choice wasn’t up for debate. She continued to dance, twirling in the spotlight overhead. It made Joanna suddenly self-conscious about her own lack of breast development. The bra Precious was wearing could barely contain her, but Joanna at eleven was as flat-chested as when she’d first arrived.

  Precious caught her looking and Joanna quickly averted her eyes, but it was too late. Dropping onto the seat beside her, Precious said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll give you a bit of extra padding for tonight; make you feel like a proper lady.’

  It wasn’t what Joanna had been hoping for, but she didn’t disagree.

  ‘What will the party be like?’ she asked, gnawing at one of her fingernails.

  Precious rolled her eyes in frustration, sensing the nervous energy radiating from her roommate. ‘Listen, it’ll be in some fancy house, right? We’ll be asked to wait in some room where there’ll be wine to drink, and when the time is right, Grey will open the doors and we’ll be invited into some boardroom or whatever and we’ll meet the clients. Some will be overweight, some balding, but their eyes won’t leave us for a moment. They’ll ask us to sit and talk, and the one thing you need to remember – I can’t stress this enough – be nice. Compliment them on what they’re wearing, or how handsome they look, or whatever. Our job is to make them feel special by any means. Okay?’

  Joanna tried to ignore the wave of nausea bubbling nearby. ‘And then what happens?’

  Precious sighed loudly – a sign that she was losing patience. ‘And then if the client yer paired with wants to talk privately, he’ll invite you to his room. But you don’t need to worry about that. Like I said, you won’t have to do anything you don’t want because it’s your first time. Grey knows yer not ready for that yet, and you coming along tonight is just so that you see what it’s like.’

  Joanna didn’t want to upset her friend further, but she couldn’t stop herself blurting it out. ‘W-w-what happens in the bedroom?’

  Precious turned her head and glared. ‘What do you think happens in the bedroom, Kylie? It’s a sex party! You know how Grey makes you pose and play with things in the studio? Well, that’s what’ll happen in the bedroom, only it won’t be toys you’re holding.’

  Tears burned behind Joanna’s eyes but she knew better than to let them out.

  Precious reached for the packet of cigarettes on the table top and lit one, blowing the smoke at Joanna in frustration. ‘That’s what we’re doing here, Kylie. Don’t you understand that yet? We’re paid to provide a service that these men can’t get elsewhere. Mr Brown runs a club that relies on the discretion of its clients and the willingness of its employees, the likes of you and me. You can hate it, but that’s what this is.’

  Joanna nodded frantically, breathing in deeply and exhaling to control her emotions and repress the need to shout and scream and cry.

  ‘I-I-I’m sorry,’ she whispered, barely audible over the sound of the radio.

  Precious folded her arms before offering the cigarette like an olive branch. Joanna accepted it gratefully, and put the butt between her lips, allowing the smoke to fill her mouth, before drawing it down into her lungs as Precious had taught her, and then exhaling through her mouth and nose simultaneously. She passed the cigarette back, her panic slowly settling; the beast was back in its cage for now.

  A knock at the door was followed by Grey entering, tottering slightly, the smell of whisky on his breath overcoming the cigarette smoke hanging overhead. ‘How are my two favourite young ladies tonight?’

  ‘Half-dressed,’ Precious snapped back, infuriated by the interruption.

  ‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ Grey replied, holding his h
ands out in some kind of surrender. ‘Why don’t you run along and finish getting ready while I keep Kylie company?’

  He tottered over to where she was sitting, the lust in his eyes more determined tonight.

  Joanna couldn’t bear to look at him when he leered in that way, and was relieved when she felt Precious tugging at her hand.

  ‘We both need to get ready,’ she growled, pulling Joanna out of his clutches and towards the bedroom, dragging the dresses with her. ‘Don’t worry about him,’ she said quietly when the door was closed. ‘He knows his place.’

  Joanna allowed her friend to pull the T-shirt up and over her head and raised her arms when instructed to do so, as Precious fastened the loose bra at the back, before shoving in soft fillers. With the red dress then pulled over her head, Joanna fixed her makeup as she’d been shown, applying the eyeliner, mascara, and bright red lip gloss, before Precious tied her hair and fitted the violet-toned hairpiece. Ten minutes had passed, and it was like she was watching someone else now in control of her body, and Joanna merely a casual observer.

  With Precious also dressed, and the platinum-blonde wig secured over her tight black knots, they admired the results in the mirror. ‘Grey will probably spunk himself when he sees you walk out,’ Precious said, as if that was a perfectly normal reaction to a child dressed to look older than her eleven years.

  Exiting the room, Precious wolf-whistled as she presented the new Kylie, but froze when she saw Mr Brown glaring back from the table.

  ‘Change of plans,’ he barked. ‘Tonight we’re going to the studios. And take that ridiculous-looking thing off your head. When the client orders a coloured girl, he doesn’t expect half-measures.’

  Precious pulled the wig from her head, without even removing the pins, and allowed it to drop to the floor. Lowering her eyes, she walked quietly to the door, Joanna cowering behind her, and then both climbed into the back of Mr Brown’s waiting 4x4.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Now

  Hayling Island, Hampshire

  Poor Victoria doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself as we continue to use the vicarage as a makeshift base of operations. Jack has taken his phone call with his boss at the NCA outside, and I don’t blame him for desiring a bit of privacy; I too wish I could go for some air and try and get out of my own headspace.

  Rick is still sitting in the tall-backed armchair, but judging by the way he keeps glancing at his watch when he thinks I’m not looking, I sense there is somewhere else he needs to be. However, when I meet his gaze – inviting him to say something – he just smiles empathetically, before breaking the eye contact.

  ‘Do you need to go?’ I venture when I can’t take the suspense any longer.

  He checks his watch again, even though it’s only ten seconds since he last looked. His jaw tautens into a grimace as if he’s just pulled a muscle at the gym. ‘I do kind of need to head back in a bit. I’m on an early shift tomorrow, and want to grab a few hours’ sleep beforehand. I can wait with you a bit longer. Hopefully your… I mean, Jack will get an answer on next steps soon.’ Another check of the watch. ‘I’d have said if it was my relative’s grave where a body was suspected of being hidden, I think I’d be comfortable with the coffin being exhumed to check. Don’t you think?’

  I don’t blame him for his naivety because he hasn’t lost anyone dear to him, so can’t imagine the heart-wrenching pain that such a request could cause to Jean-Claude Ribery’s family. That said, I share his frustration that, without an exhumation, we’ll never know for certain whether Cormack/Chesney is buried there. If the suspicion was that Anna was buried in the grave, would I be so considerate of the Ribery family? In truth, probably not.

  ‘We’ll just have to wait and see what Jack can sort,’ I say diplomatically. ‘But listen, if you need to get back, I don’t want to be the reason that you stay out. I can probably get a taxi and a train back home, which I’m absolutely fine with.’

  There’s a momentary widening of his eyes – excitement maybe? ‘Are you sure? I feel responsible for you, as it was my idea that we come here and I was the one who drove you.’

  If only all men were so considerate!

  ‘Listen, seriously, you’ve already done enough for me, Rick. I really appreciate you being here today, and if it weren’t for your eagle eyes, I probably wouldn’t have spotted that postcode, and I’d still be at home scratching my head about why the two pictures had been sent to me.’

  ‘Pretty incredible that Jack was the one who found Faye McKenna’s remains so soon after you were sent the picture too.’

  I don’t correct him on the fact that the remains were discovered on Thursday before Maddie received the image, but there’s no doubt that the timing feels a little too coincidental. So much so that I can’t accept it as merely coincidence. Whoever sent Faye’s picture to me must have known that we’d discovered remains, or that we were about to. It still feels like there’s someone taunting me. It also has me terrified at the prospect another photograph might turn up tomorrow or in the days to come.

  ‘At least her family will be able to lay her to rest at last,’ I agree, not adding how envious that makes me feel.

  Rick sits forward in his seat. ‘Listen, it’s fine for me to wait around for a bit longer. I’m sure traffic on the way home won’t be too heavy, and I don’t mind dropping you in Weymouth before heading back to Dorchester.’

  I actually look at my watch as I don’t know how late it is. ‘Thank you, Rick, but I really can’t ask you for anything else. You go on and get some rest. The last thing I want is for you to be tired when you’re on duty tomorrow.’ I stand, offering a mock salute, and putting on a fake drawl. ‘The good people of Weymouth need you, son.’

  He frowns, and I cringe inwardly at the lame impression, but he stands and comes towards me, taking my hands in his. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t manage to solve the mystery of who is sending you those photos, but I don’t doubt you’ll crack it as you always do.’

  This is not a good moment for my hands to become clammy.

  ‘And in case I haven’t made it clear to you yet, Emma, I want you to know how much I dig you.’ His cheeks redden as he half-smiles. ‘I understand if you’re already spoken for, or if whatever you have with Jack is where your head’s at, but if not, I’d love to ask you out on a proper date.’

  What I would give for the chance to live in Jane Austen’s England, where such courting was only ever undertaken in letter form. I know Rick is a good guy – his devotion to his mother is proof of that – and in any other situation I’d kick myself for not swooning at his suggestion, but there is just too much going on in my head to really know what I want in my future. I want my sister back, and until that happens, any thoughts about romance or relationships or even dating have to remain on hold.

  I can’t keep him waiting much longer. A good ten seconds has elapsed and I’m yet to speak. I want him to know that I appreciate the offer, and the courage he has shown to cross that bridge.

  Fifteen seconds.

  I want to be honest about my feelings, but I don’t want to see that hurt expression he’s desperately trying to keep hidden.

  Twenty seconds. If only I had a pen and paper.

  ‘You don’t have to answer straightaway,’ he says, cutting through my thoughts. ‘I just wanted to float the idea and see what you think about it. With everything that’s going on today, I’m sure your mind is probably everywhere but here, and it’s unfair of me to put you on the spot like this.’ He releases my hands. ‘I’m gonna go and head back to Dorset, and give you the space to think about what I’ve said, and when you’re ready, you have my number and can let me know. Yeah?’

  I nod, as I still can’t find the words I want to say.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around and give you a lift?’

  ‘You should go,’ I manage to say. ‘I will speak to you soon.’

  He smiles once more before disappearing out of the room, and as I hea
r the front door close, I finally exhale the breath that has been trapped in my throat.

  ‘Can I fix you a cup of peppermint tea?’ Victoria asks, apparently alerted by the closing of the front door and surprised to find me still camped out in her living room.

  ‘That’s very kind, but no, thank you. And I promise we will be out of your hair as soon as possible.’

  She smiles warmly. ‘Please don’t rush off on my account. The Lord clearly has brought you to our little island for a reason, and who am I to question his motives?’

  Come to think of it, with Rick now gone, and Jack already outside, there really isn’t any need for me to remain inside the vicarage. Jack has already packed the box of Peter Saltzing’s belongings in his boot, so I thank Victoria for her help again, and leave a donation in the small charity box hanging by the front door as I take my leave.

  The air is so fresh against my cheeks and I’m grateful for a few minutes on my own when I don’t have to pretend that everything is okay. I’m not sure I share Victoria’s sentiment that I was brought to Hayling Island for any particular purpose; it certainly doesn’t feel like I’ve achieved anything in the few hours I’ve been here. If anything, I have more questions than answers, and the one question I’m trying to avoid is who is sending these photographs? I’m not a riddle solver, I don’t like crosswords, and I’m even less keen on puzzles.

  ‘The boss was on the fifteenth hole with the ex-Met Commissioner when I called, and not pleased by the interruption,’ Jack explains glumly, turning the corner and finding me leaning against the door to the vicarage. ‘He says we don’t have enough for exhumation.’

  ‘Figured as much,’ I reply, hoping he can’t see just how close to tears I am. ‘Where do we go from here?’

  He doesn’t answer, looking at me for too long. ‘Are you okay? I didn’t want to say too much when we were inside, but the news about your sister must have been a shock to hear. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to deliver it in person.’