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‘What, then?’
Belle sits up and I help her plump up the pillows behind her, just like I used to when it was story time. How she loved being read to. I can’t remember when the ritual stopped exactly, or why, but it’s been many years since she pored over the pages of a book with me, her breath warm and sweet on my neck, asking me to read certain sentences again and again, marvelling as the story unfolded.
‘I did a stupid thing today,’ she says without looking at me. ‘I drove the car Jack gave me.’
‘Oh Belle,no…What were you thinking?’ I try to stifle my shock. ‘Are you OK?’ I imagine the BMW wrapped round a lamp post, Belle’s head flopped against the airbag, police surrounding her. For some reason, lurking on the pavement just out of sight, I picture Jack standing there, laughing.
‘I don’t know why I did it,’ she confesses. ‘I could have killed someone.’ There’s a tremor to her hand as she reaches for her tea.
‘Or yourself,’ I tell her, shuddering. ‘Where is the car now?’ I ask, realising I hadn’t noticed it on the drive when I came home. Pulling in and parking in my usual spot had been easy without it in the way, but at the time, I didn’t twig why.
‘At work.’
‘Work?’ It takes me a moment to realise. ‘You mean…that awful place?’
‘It’s not awf—’ Belle stops herself, and it’s obvious that perhaps she’s now thinking that yes, it isn’t a place she wants to be associated with. ‘Yeah, there. Jack’s going to be so mad with me. I wasn’t sure how to turn the car around once I’d parked it down that narrow lane, so I got the bus back. It’s not in a very safe spot.’
‘OK, OK,’ I tell her. ‘Don’t worry. Your dad and I will go and fetch it. We’ll bring it back.’
‘No, don’t tell Dad.’ Belle’s face crumples with concern. ‘Please?’
I sigh. ‘OK. I’ll ask Natalia to drop me off. Where are the keys, love? I’d better get it done now.’
Belle fishes in her handbag, handing them over, while I ask her to take care of Amber. Then I call upstairs to Natalia and ask if she’ll help me out.
‘This is right place?’ Natalia asks as we pull down the side street twenty minutes later.
‘Yup. Look,’ I say, pointing at the BMW parked crookedly, half on, half off the pavement. It’s completely blocking the narrow lane. Even if Jack’s intentions were good – buying a car for Belle – a flash BMW like this one is a ridiculous choice for a novice driver. But I know his intentions are far from wholesome. It’s all part of winning her over, of making her indebted to him.
‘That is another homophobe,’ she says proudly as the engine of the little Fiesta idles. ‘Place and plaice. The fish.’
‘Homophone, you mean,’ I say, unable to crack even a glimmer of a smile. I reach into my bag for the BMW keys. ‘You get off home, Natalia,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the lift.’ I guide her back out onto the main road then go to the big black car. I’m about to get in when I hear voices.
Three girls slightly older than Belle are walking up the side street, their arms linked as they teeter in heels towards the closed door of Scarlett’s. A couple of them are smoking, while another is on her phone having a heated conversation that involves a lot of swearing from her end.
They stand around outside, finishing their cigarettes and chatting in a huddle.
‘Hi,’ I find myself saying, leaving the car and walking slowly up to them. They swing around as one, looking me up and down. I’m a far cry from them – a woman approaching forty dressed in grey sweatpants and an old T-shirt, my hair bundled up into a clip. No make-up, and a sour expression that probably reminds them of their own mothers. ‘Do you work here?’ I ask, glancing up at the broken neon sign above the door.
One of the girls nods – the taller one with white-blond hair tumbling around her shoulders in a river of nylon extensions. ‘Why?’ she asks. ‘You…you got a massage appointment?’
I swallow drily.Massage appointment. No massages were ever given, not really. Sure, there was oil and some skin rubbing to kick things off, but none of us were giving actual massages – unless there was a police bust and we got questioned.
‘No, no, I haven’t,’ I tell her. ‘Have you been here long?’ I ask. ‘Are you OK? I mean, you know, doing this?’ I shift from one foot to the other, knowing how I hated such inquisitions from well-meaning people.
I see them bristle, their postures becoming defensive as I dare to question their choices. Except I know it’s not a choice – I can guarantee that not one of these girls, or any of the others who will turn up for work at Scarlett’s,choseto use her body to earn money this way. It will have been born out of desperation, lack of other options, and, more insidious and damaging, the grooming by people like Darren to get them to even consider it in the first place.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he’d told me as I’d stood naked in front of the photographer, shivering. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re perfect?’
I’d shaken my head, catching the warm, musty scent of myself as I stood in the flare of the bright light. When we first started, we all had our photos taken for the website. ‘No,’ I’d whispered. And it was the truth. No one had ever said that to me.
‘Who are you, the bloody Good Samaritan?’ one of the girls asks. She tucks her phone back inside a big bag slung over her shoulder. It’ll no doubt contain clothes for wearing home later – garments that don’t reek of sex or draw attention to her as she either walks back to wherever it is she lives or takes the night bus.
‘Sorry, no – no, I’m not. Just…just someone checking you’re OK.’
And with that, the three girls in their heels and short skirts and tiny tops made from flimsy fabric give me a derisive look up and down before going through the rotten, flaking door of Scarlett’s.
CHAPTER THIRTY
