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‘She sick, not working now,’ Luba replied, holding the front door open. But the man didn’t leave.
‘Christ, it’shim,’ Hannah said, leaning back against the wall, though Molly could only see the top of his head. She’d never met him and didn’t want to after all the trouble he’d caused. ‘I should speak to him. He’ll never go otherwise, and then there’ll be a major scene…’ She cramped up in pain again, stifling her cry as she leant forward, gripping the wooden rail as hard as she could, rocking through the contraction.
‘Jesus, Han, breathe…It’s OK, breathe through it…’ Molly stroked her forehead, feeling the sweat pouring off her. The man in the hall was still blaring out his demands to Luba, and Molly assumed that Darren must have gone out somewhere, because he wasn’t intervening – though Luba was quite capable of handling tricky situations herself. For now, her main concern was Hannah, though she was acutely aware that a punter was waiting for her in one of the rooms below and if she didn’t get to him soon, he’d be complaining and then Luba would march upstairs to find out what was going on. Christ, what a mess.
‘Let’s get you back to bed,’ Molly said as the pain eased. ‘Come on now.’ She guided Hannah back to her bunk, where she lay down and closed her eyes.
‘I…I need to see him,’ she whimpered, drawing up her legs. ‘Oh, God…’ she wailed as another bout of pain engulfed her. Her face went bright red until she relaxed again. ‘Please let me…’ she begged. ‘Tell him to come up here…It’s important…’
Molly was torn. She paced about, gripping the flimsy black robe around her. Suddenly, everything apart from Hannah and her baby seemed insignificant. Two lives depended on her and she felt out of her depth, floundering. ‘OK, OK,’ she said, her heart racing madly. ‘Then after my next punter, I’ll have more time to be with you. We can see how you are, if it’s still possible for you to get out tonight. Meantime, I’ll get him to come up. If Luba hasn’t kicked him out already.’
Hannah nodded, looking grateful as she grabbed a pillow and bit down on it, fighting her way through another contraction. She pulled her legs up again and her head rocked from side to side. Molly rushed down a floor and leant over the banister again, calling down to Luba. She appeared in the hallway, peering up, hands on hips.
‘Hannah says that she’ll…that she’ll see him,’ Molly called down. ‘Send him up to the top floor though. Is that OK?’
Luba glared up at her, unsure what to make of this unusual request. She glanced back into the waiting area, where Molly presumed the man still was.
‘Mol, it’s OK, I’m coming,’ Molly suddenly heard from the floor above. When she looked up, Hannah was waddling down the stairs, dressed in her huge kaftan and looking as if every cell in her body was fighting against the pain. ‘I’ll see him…in here…’ she said breathlessly, reaching the landing and opening the door of room four.
Molly frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
Hannah nodded and disappeared inside just as Molly’s client stuck his head out of the room next door. ‘Am I gonna have to wait all fucking night, or what?’ he growled at her.
‘I’m sorry, I’m coming now,’ Molly replied obediently, her expression changing into what she hoped was alluring as she turned to face him. Then, just as she followed her punter into the room, hoping she could get it over with as quickly as possible, she heard someone coming up the stairs, a young man’s voice calling out Hannah’s name. She prayed that if Hannah needed help, he’d have the good sense to keep quiet and do what was needed for her. It was all his fault, after all.
It was only when her punter had left an hour later, after Molly had tried to block out all the piercing screams coming from room four next door – praying that Luba and Darren hadn’t also heard the commotion – that everything got so much worse.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
HANNAH – NOW
I pace about the same small spot where I’ve been staking out Winlow Court for hours, making sure I can see both ends of the passageway, not knowing which direction Belle might come from. But I can’t help worrying that it’s too late, that I’ve missed her, that she’s already inside. My plan is that as soon as I see her, I’m making a grab for her, manhandling her away if I must. From what Luba told me, I know she’ll be coming back here at some point. If it wasn’t for Darren, I’d never have left the area in the first place. Now I’m kicking myself for wasting time phoning Rob and buying a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, though they’ve been keeping me going as I wait. That, and chewing off all my nails.
If there’s no sign of her soon, then it’s time for plan B. I’ll go inside at seven o’clock, somehow convincing Luba that I’ve changed my mind about making a surprise appointment – whatever it takes. I don’t want to risk it any earlier in case she’s not there, but then I don’t want it to be too late either.
‘Oh God,’ I mutter over and over, another cigarette between my fingers. My feet are aching, my mouth is parched and I need the loo, but I don’t care. All I know is that tonight has to be the end of this nightmare and, one way or another, I will be leaving London with my daughter.
As I keep watch, trying not to draw attention to myself and mindful that Darren or Vaughn or Luba could easily spot me if they should come past, I try to focus on all the wonderful family times we’ve had and how we’ll soon be back to that and more, with Belle back at school, Rob’s work troubles sorted out and this dreadful summer forgotten. But my mind insists on swerving back to the night Belle was born, the events afterwards and how I’d escaped, still bloody from her birth, with Belle swaddled in my arms as I fled down this very street with her. She was less than an hour old as I grappled with her and the bags, desperately trying to keep her safe. It hadn’t been the escape we’d planned.
I look at my watch. Six fifty-five. I can’t stand this any longer, so I stub out my cigarette and march up to the door of the Cloisters, praying that it’s only Luba in there. Apart from a couple of girls earlier, I’ve seen no one else coming or going – but who knows what awaits me inside?
‘Hello,’ comes a voice through the intercom. It’s not Luba.
‘Oh, hi,’ I say nervously, looking up and down the street in the hope Belle will miraculously appear before I venture in. ‘Is…is Luba there, please?’
‘Not right now. Can I help?’
‘Maybe. I was here earlier about…about making an appointment for my husband. Can I come in?’ It takes a moment but eventually the door buzzer sounds. My skin crawls as I breathe in the scent of cheap body sprays and the whiff of fresh laundry. But underneath it all, I still catch the stink of everything that goes on in this dump. The scent of desperation.
The woman meets me in the hallway, blocking the door to reception.
‘I’m Gail. How can I help?’ She looks me up and down, instantly suspicious like she always was, though she doesn’t seem to recognise me. Her arms are folded across a long black cardigan that hangs off her skinny frame, and her brassy bleached-blond hair is scooped back in a hairband, the black roots showing through. It takes all my willpower to force a smile. I can’t afford to get thrown out. Not yet. In a hushed voice, I explain that I want to organise a surprise for my husband.
‘Thing is, I’m after a particular type of girl,’ I say, edging towards the waiting area. ‘He’s…he’s quite specific with what he likes.’ I know that behind the reception desk, they always kept a folder with pictures of the working girls. ‘Do you have any photos?’
‘Come on, then,’ she says, leading me through, a small scowl on her face. There’s a man waiting in the reception room, sitting with one leg cocked over the other as he scrolls on his phone. He glances up as I enter, perhaps thinking I’m his girl come to collect him, then immediately looks away, uninterested when he sees me. Belle’s scarf is still on the counter, and it’s everything I can do not to grab it and press it to my face, inhaling the scent of her.
‘What sort of massage is he after and when’s it for?’
