Page 44 of The Engagement

‘Them lasses. One was here about a job.’

Another piece of me shrivels inside at the thought of Belle even being here, let alone asking about work.

‘She said this Jack person had promised her a job. Maybe that was Darren too.’ He croaks out a laugh, revealing several missing teeth. ‘Silly bugger gone changed his name.’ He knocks back the whisky just as I hear someone call out behind me.

‘Sign here, Derek, willya?’

I swing round to see the delivery guy standing there with a clipboard. Weaselly man goes over, so I slip off my stool and head towards the exit, wanting to get out while I can.

‘I’ll come back another time,’ I call out, while Derek’s preoccupied chatting and checking the order. I head out into the dark corridor again, relieved to be leaving, but it’s just as I’m walking past one of the other doors leading off it that I hear something that makes my blood run cold.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

MOLLY – THEN

Molly had never expected to make a friend, least of all one as glamorous and confident as Hannah. If they’d been at school together, then she’d bet her entire non-existent packed lunch that she’d have been picked on by the older girl or, at the very least, she’d have been ignored. All the mean girls she’d known in her life had acted and looked like Hannah. That was part of the reason why she’d hated school: the impossibility of fitting in. The inexplicable exclusion of a select few like her, singled out, bullied or ignored without fail. She supposed it was a Venn diagram of unfortunate circumstances; if poverty, neglect, average or unusual looks and shyness were your central segments, then your chances weren’t good. Instead of a tattoo burned onto her thigh as Molly had now, it was as if she’d previously had one on her forehead statingloserin capital letters. The other kids had given her a wide berth. And if they hadn’t, it was only to hurt her in some way.

But as things stood, Hannah was kind to her. Protective. They’d become close.

At the Cloisters, they got one day off a month and, on Molly’s first one, which seemed like ages ago now, Hannah had told her she wasn’t allowed to waste it. That was the day Hannah threw some clothes in Molly’s direction as she slumped on the old sofa, smoking weed, and told her they were going out. Since she’d moved to the Cloisters, her will to do anything had been washed away. She figured it was probably all the bleach.

‘Not having you sitting around like a wet weekend,’ Hannah had said.

And so off they’d gone, parading around Camden in their heeled boots, tight jeans and luminous crop tops, veering off into a bar that Hannah said she knew. They were hit on by several men, but they brushed them off. They weren’t working today.

‘You’re not like the others,’ Hannah had told her – the exact same thing Molly had been thinking about Hannah. While most of the girls kept themselves to themselves – and certainly the ones on the third floor from Eastern Europe who barely spoke a word of English – Hannah had a way about her that not only made her one of the most popular with the men, but also with the girls. Everyone wanted to be like her. ‘I think you’re a clever little thing, aren’t you?’ She’d peered at Molly over the rim of her fishbowl gin glass, her big round eyes ringed with smoky-grey shadow. It was her trademark look, and one that Molly had tried to copy – lashes like spiders’ legs and a plump scarlet pout. They had similar features, though Molly didn’t make the most of hers. Hannah got the best tips of everyone. ‘WishIwas clever.’

After the pub they did some lines in the loos from Hannah’s secret stash and took the Tube before walking to Brick Lane. Molly had never been on the Underground before, and she screwed up her eyes as she clung onto the grab rail while the train thundered and rattled between stations. She imagined they were on a rocket heading into outer space.

‘Where’s your mum?’ Hannah asked as they walked along the concourse.

Molly didn’t miss a beat. ‘Dead. Where’s yours?’

‘Dead too. The bitch.’

It was the first time Molly had ever seen tears in Hannah’s eyes, and it made her think that all the girls’ mothers at the Cloisters were probably dead. Or dead to them, at least. No one wanted to have to admit to or explain about what had really gone on before they arrived; how there was no one in their lives who cared enough to prevent them ending up in a brothel.

They went into a huge vintage clothes shop that was as big as a football pitch, where Molly spent some of the money she’d saved from tips on clothes that were newer than her own. ‘For when I leave,’ she’d shouted to Hannah above the loud music, justifying the black and white Adidas top that cost her ten pounds.

‘No one everleaves,’ Hannah said, her pupils as big and black as the nuggets of coal her mother used to stoke the back boiler with. ‘They just disappear,’ she whispered in her ear as they waltzed out past the security guard at the shop door.

‘Want to see what I got?’ Hannah chirped when they were around the corner. She whipped a sequined boob tube from under her denim jacket, then pulled out a pink leather belt and a paisley scarf as though she was doing a magic trick.

‘You stole them?’ Molly stopped in her tracks, giving a furtive look behind her.

‘No, they just fell under my jacket, stupid,’ Hannah said, chewing hard on her gum. ‘Present,’ she said, thrusting the scarf at Molly.

‘Really?’ Molly watched as Hannah tied the silky fabric around her wrist.

‘Come on, Milly Molly Mandy, I know a place.’ And Hannah led her off, holding onto the end of the scarf.

Christmas was only a week away. It was much like any other time at the Cloisters, though Darren and his girlfriend Luba had decorated the entrance hall and the waiting area downstairs with a white plastic tree and paper chains that the girls stuck together one morning. Silver tinsel and ruby-red baubles made it seem festive, but then Molly was no expert on what the holiday season should look like.

‘I’m going to do the towels and sheets,’ Molly said when her tongue was dry and sticky from licking hundreds of gummy paper strips. It was her daily job to stock the working rooms with fresh laundry when they were delivered back from the cleaner’s. It was one of the few things she liked about being here – the smell of fresh bedding at least ten times a day. Every client got a clean set, and Molly got to enjoy the chemical scent of washing detergent. Something she was unfamiliar with back home.

‘Don’t forget to count your blessings,’ Hannah called out. Molly knew they’d bump into each other as they did their rounds to get everything ready for opening later, when she’d recount them to Hannah. It was Hannah’s job to make sure there was enough massage oil, tissues, clean toys and condoms in the many rooms spread over seemingly endless floors, as well as checking all the bedside tables to make sure the beauty supplies were stocked up – items to touch up their make-up and manicures between clients. Luba was fussy about their presentation.

‘Number one,you,’ Molly said over her shoulder before heading down to the basement. It was a thing Hannah had taught her to do every day, especially when she was feeling low, which was often, and her friendship with Hannah was always top of the list. She was only five years older than Molly, and she’d never admit it, but sometimes Molly pretended that she was her mum. Though in reality, big sister seemed more likely. She’d never had one of those either.

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