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How do you find someone when you have an entire city to search? An entireworldto search? How do you find someone when they don’t want to be found, when you can’t involve the police because it will put more lives at risk and you don’t trust them to take you seriously? And if you did convince them your daughter was in danger, they’d lockyouup because of what you’d have to admit to get them to believe you. Then finding that someone would be impossible because you’d be in a cell.
‘Jesus!’ I say behind my hands, my mind in overdrive. The bench is cold and hard against my back, despite the day being stifling, the earth baked to tinder by the heat. I phone Belle again, vainly hoping that it will connect even though I know it won’t. One last attempt before I must face the unthinkable – going inside the Cloisters.
I walk the couple of streets back to Winlow Court, knowing that Vaughn will be in the building. His visits always spanned several days to ‘take care of business’. I tell myself that he won’t recognise me, that he won’t even remember me. Many, many girls will have passed through this place since then, though I can’t help imagining the ghosts they’ll have left behind.
I press the buzzer again before I change my mind.
‘Hello…’ comes a cheerful voice.
‘Hi,’ I say, leaning close to the intercom. ‘It’s a bit awkward…’ I let out a laugh. ‘I was wondering if you could help me—’
Miraculously, I don’t have to continue with what I’d planned on saying as the door buzzer sounds and pops open when I push it, presumably because I’m a woman. Less of a threat. I step inside, ignoring the voices in my head, the creeping sense of being nothing more than an innocent kid again when I first arrived here, with no idea of what my future held.
I stare up the never-ending staircase and hear the echoes ofher– screaming…begging…pleading…
I cover my ears, screwing up my eyes.
Then I go through the hallway, knowing to turn left into the reception area. It takes my breath away how little has changed, so much so that it’s almost impossible to speak when I’m greeted by a woman behind a desk. And it takes everything inside me not to blurt out her name.Luba.
‘Hello, hello,’ she says in that way of hers that makes every word sound like a bubble, as if it might pop in the air between us. I stare at her, shocked by her face. Her left eye is sunken and semi-closed, a staring prosthetic where her real one once was. Below it, there’s a three-inch scar on her cheek. Aside from this, she doesn’t look much different to how I remember – a little more overweight, but the same smile fixed on her round, disfigured face, her hair still thinning and pulled back tightly in a ponytail, though the lines around her mouth are more pronounced, her jaw looser. ‘How can we help you? Is OK, you come right in, we don’t bite.’ But there’s no ‘we’. She’s the only person in the room.
‘Hi,’ I say, wrapping my arms around myself. I can almosttastethe past – the vodka that gave us courage to do it, the coke that kept us going and the weed that helped us sleep. The sound of footsteps on the stairs, the thunk of doors closing behind us, the men who smelt of other homes, other lives. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing, really,’ I begin.
Luba comes out from behind the desk, her good eye sweeping over me. Does she recognise me? Surely not after all these years – I look completely different now with my dyed hair, fine lines on my face, clothes she’d never have seen me in before.
‘Is OK,’ she says, laughing. Her hand settles on my elbow. ‘Come, seet down. Is not busy today yet.’
I sit beside her on one of several chairs beneath the blacked-out window. The blinds were never opened.
‘Tell me how I help. And we seen it all in here, believe me, so nothing is embarrassing. You want a massage, is that it?’
I shake my head. ‘No, no, it’s not that.’ I remember the female clients who occasionally visited, some regulars, some just one-offs to fulfil a need. But most of the punters were men.
‘It’s my husband’s birthday soon and…he’s always had this fantasy.’ I smile, looking away coyly, play-acting. ‘It’s not something I’d be into, but I want to make him happy. You know.’
‘We cater for all the fantasies, so you come to right place.’ Luba’s throaty laugh takes me back. ‘What he like, being tied up, is that it?’
‘Yeah, yeah, that’s it. That’s what he wants. Thing is… he’d like her to be…’ I cough, not wanting to hear myself say the words. ‘He…he’d really like someone young. Perhaps inexperienced. Can you do that for him?’ My mouth is so dry I can hardly speak.
‘Oh, yes, that no problem. When he want to come for…?’ Luba hesitates. She’s probably trying to work out if I’m a cop or some other threat, so she plays it safe. ‘He can have a nice young girl for his relaxing massage, that is fine. You want a voucher? We can do prepay.’
‘Sure, yes, thanks,’ I find myself saying. ‘Would it be possible to have a look round? You know, as his wife, I’d like to check it out first.’
‘I’m sorry, that not how we work. Our girls are all clean and rooms are spotless. We take great pride in hygiene.’
‘Oh yes, I’m sure,’ I say, suddenly feeling nauseous. My hands are shaking in my lap. I can’t do this. Ihaveto get out. ‘I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have come. It’s just…’ My brain is working faster than my mouth and I can’t stop myself. ‘It’s just that we’ve been having, you know, problems in the bedroom, and I wondered if something like this might kick-start things for us. It was a stupid idea. I’ll go. Thank you.’ I stand up to leave, but Luba grabs my arm.
And that’s when I see it – a scarf left on one end of the reception desk.
‘We have new girl who is perfect for the massage. She really pretty. Come, I show you around, OK? I want to help.’
I open my mouth to reply but nothing comes out. My eyes are still fixed on the scarf.
I want to help, I repeat in my head, turning to look at her again. I remember the times she travelled to Romania, Poland, Latvia, recruiting girls. Like us, Luba didn’t have a choice either. She was –is– under their spell. She doesn’t know any different.
Then something catches between us. A knowing look, her good eye narrowing to a slit, making me wonder if she recognises me. Luba was the only one here with a sense of what we girls went through.
‘This new girl,’ I say, my voice wavering. ‘Do you have a photo?’ I look at the scarf again.Belle’sscarf.
