by Kate Bradley
Aleksander gives me a beer before rolling himself a joint. As he burns the gear, Gary looks at the beers with that expectant wide-eyed look like a dog that can see a bone on the kitchen counter, but isn’t allowed it; I could almost hear him salivating, so ignoring Aleksander’s dark look, I took one and passed it to him.
‘Thanks, Destiny,’ he said, his voice pitiful with gratitude.
Aleksander glared at Gary but he didn’t say anything. He never liked me being kind to Gary, but I’d always have the row later for Gary: Gary was my friend. Gary gave me a little smile – it’s a secret one and a big risk for him to give it, but I loved it, it was cheeky and just for me. I smiled back only with my eyes. I didn’t want to make his life any harder than it was.
Gary’s sweet and pure and he never wanted anything from me and I’d never had anyone else be like that in my entire life. Most people could never understand the power of that – most people have people love them with no expectation and have had that from the moment they were born. I know I will never meet my dad because my mum doesn’t know who he was. I’ve never had grandparents. I never had a brother or sister. No aunt, no cousin, no nothing— that’s a double negative: I wish I could double negative family into a positive, into existence.
Even my beloved foster family still needed me to be my best self and all the time I was with them, the self-control I needed to stay perfect was like holding my breath. When you come from shit, you are shit. I remember my mother screaming that at me when I was about four. I remember squeezing my eyes tight, my arms around myself, while her alcohol breath flecked spittle on my face, the smacks on my head, my shoulders, my arms, landing to punctuate every word and thinking, no, no, no, I’m not like you.
But she was right. I am.
But Gary doesn’t criticise and he doesn’t want anything from me. He will risk a severe beating to give me a smile of thanks. And for that I don’t need to do anything in return. I don’t have to be sexy for Gary, I don’t need to be smart or sweet, I don’t need to be anything. And for that, I wouldn’t just give him a beer, I’d give him anything.
Aleksander was looking at his phone, perhaps choosing to ignore our exchange.
‘It’s out on Facebook and we seem to have got a few possibles. We need to do it tonight because the connection won’t like a delay. He’s been chasing me for the last hour, and I’ve been putting him off.’ Aleksander checked his watch, a huge gold Rolex.
It’s fair that he’s got that because it’s his contacts we’re using, and he’d been in this sort of game for a while before he met me – but just a bit of dealing and touting the homeless. He’d take their beggings and give them protection in return. But he didn’t do haulage, as I like to call it, that was my idea – and it started with a homeless woman. I saw her when making Aleksander’s round with him; she’d come in from some other country and she slept on dirty cardboard and her life was shit, and I thought it was a shame she couldn’t try again somewhere else, and then a little light went off in my head: bing! Aleksander made some enquiries back in Poland and found someone who’d pay amazing cash to take females and move them on and that’s how it started.
We watched the Facebook account.
And we waited.
Friday
22:50
Destiny
We drank the beer and Aleksander smoked while we waited. People wouldn’t leave the pub until nearer midnight, so we had time to kill between now and then.
The waiting was hard. I couldn’t drink too much because I needed to be top of my game. But nerves made me want to drink – I always worried I couldn’t become the person I needed to be for the business.
Sometimes becoming the person I needed to be was hard. Sometimes it came easy – then I might just punch them because I could. When I could be like that, it actually made me feel better – it made me feel that my mum was right. She used to tell me that I had the word bitch running through me like Brighton ran through a stick of rock. When I was really young, I used to look at my body and think it was real, that I really did have the word bitch inside of me. I imagined it as long, black letters stretching up each finger, up each arm and all the way down through my body to my toes. I remember the tears on her face when I cut my finger looking for it – at first I thought she was crying. I remember holding up my bleeding finger, the blood running down it scaring me, and her shoulders were heaving. But I realised she was howling with laughter, complaining her sides were going to split, before telling me, ‘It’s not really there, you bloody doughnut.’
Doughnut. Stick of rock.
Bitch. Cunt.
But sometimes I’m not the bitch she said I was. Sometimes I feel like candyfloss. Then I don’t want to do it. I only said that once and Aleksander put me right. ‘Remember why we are doing this,’ he told me. ‘I can’t do it without you.’
And he can’t, because girls feel safe with other girls. They trust us because they only deal with me.
I allowed myself to down my first beer, then had a second straight away. Now I was safe, among friends, my hands began to shake. The last few hours had been shit and I allowed myself to realise exactly how scared I had been at times.
It had been so weird seeing Miss like that – convinced I’d asked her for help, when I hadn’t. At first, when she grabbed me and kept going on and on about my ‘aunt’, I thought she was on drugs or had confused me for someone else. I tried telling her: I don’t have an aunt, but she ignored me like I hadn’t even spoken.
Once when I was ten, I had tried to kill myself and I spent a week in a psychiatric ward for teenagers. It stopped me from ever trying to kill myself again. If I do decide to do it in the future, I’ll just jump off the tallest cliff I can find and then I’ll be so smashed up there’ll be no saving me, no locking me in a place like that ever again.
When I was on the ward, there was a girl of about seventeen who used to hear people talking to her, telling her to do bad things. Proper mental, the same as Miss. Miss thought I’d told her to help me, but I never. The only good bit was when I decided to play along and told her to take me to Hull. Aleksander says that’s a sign of being clever, getting what you can out of a situation. I saw a sign once in a shop: if you have lemons, make lemonade, or something equally shit, but if you’ve had a life like mine, you don’t make lemonade, but you do learn to adapt.
You learn to survive.
Maybe some people would say I used her and that I wasn’t really scared. Sometimes I wasn’t; sometimes it felt like she was normal. And then sometimes she would not be there, even though she was there, and sometimes she would talk about conversations we had but we never had them. Then I would get scared. But mostly I’m good round nutters, I’ve been round nutters all my life. Most nutters have never even see the inside of a psychiatric ward. Most nutters walk the streets or sit on sofas with a needle in their arm.
As I lifted the bottle to my mouth, Aleksander, who never missed anything, saw the tremor in my hand. ‘Why are you shaking?’
‘Because I’ve just been abducted,’ I snapped, pissed off that he’d caught me being nervous. I liked to show him my stronger side. Last week I had shown him how strong I could be. I think we were both surprised. Even when the rabbit fought back, even when I got a black eye, I didn’t stop.
‘Dee, you were always safe. I used that app to track your phone – you never go anywhere without me knowing about it. I know where you are all the time – you know that.’
I smiled, but felt a prickle of discomfort. I knew he was tracking me, of course I did, he’d been doing it for over a year. The app had saved me, but it occurred to me then, that being taken and being followed may not be so different.
‘You understand, Destiny, that we couldn’t grab you just because you wanted us to? We could hardly drive her off the road without risking your life or getting the filth involved.’ He paused. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have told her that you needed to go to your aunt’s.’
I felt peeved – how could he crit
icise me after what I’d been through? Hadn’t I explained all this, back at the hotel? ‘I think I played it pretty cool.’
‘Girl,’ he said, his voice cold, ‘you were not cool.’
I remembered the panicked messages I sent him and I cast my face downwards. I felt ashamed – I’d behaved like a baby. Although Miss was crazy, I should’ve known that she would never hurt me. She was simply confused. I never knew it before. I couldn’t tell when she was teaching – but I already know there can be a difference between what you can see about people and how they really are. Behind closed doors people change. Some little kids are scared of monsters – but I never was. I learnt early that real monsters look like normal people, act, talk, even laugh like them, but there’s a big difference in what someone is really like inside. Most people are rotten inside. They just pretend not to be.
I let myself think about it for a bit and reminded myself if wasn’t the worse thing that’d happened to me. Yes, at times I had been really scared when Miss was rambling about some bollocks and I knew then that she was living in a different world, but I still, when it came to it, knew she wasn’t going to hurt me. No matter what, I trusted her. I had got out of her car and it had ultimately not been any more than a lift back to Hull. It wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to me.
Then I started to think about the worst things that had happened to me.
*
It had only been a few minutes, but it was enough. I packed up my thoughts like putting things in a suitcase like someone once, I don’t know who, had taught me to do. Maybe I had taught myself that, I don’t know. I take hold of each memory and call it something like jumper; socks; shoes. I say it, this man, what he did to me is shoes. I think what type of shoes then. That man, that time, he is trainers with pink laces. I focus on the details of the pink laces, I imagine my thumb running along their rough texture, I rub the plastic ends between my thumb and forefinger. Then I imagine picking up the trainers and putting them in a suitcase. Then I take the next memory, and the next, and pack them all away. Sometimes it can take a couple of hours. Sometimes I can do it in ten minutes. When I’m at my worst, it can take all night. But no matter how long it takes, I always get to the point of when I can pull shut the lid. I then zip it up. Then I tie chains around it and drop it into the ocean. Many a time, I’ve put some horrible experience into that case, zipped it up, put the iron padlock on, wrapped it in chains that are as thick as my arm, and pushed it off the side of the boat, so it drops deep into the deepest part of the ocean, so dark that there’s no light down there, only the occasional fish that is so scary-looking, no one’s going to open my Pandora’s box.
Then I go and do something else. I don’t, won’t – can’t – think about what has happened to me.
Because I was going to the dentist, because I don’t like . . . interference with my mouth, I had spent ages packing the night before. That’s why I had overslept. That’s why I had been late and pissy by the time I got to school. That’s why I had been cranky and looking for an argument in tutor time.
That’s why I took Aleksander’s call.
It was only later, much later, that I realised that Miss thought I’d wet myself. I’d seen her take other staff to one side about me, but at the time, all I could think about was getting to Aleksander. I wasn’t expecting him until later. But him being outside my school meant that he wanted to leave for Hull early. And leaving for Hull early meant that I wouldn’t be going to the dentist.
I hadn’t wet myself. Miss had sat heavily on the table and knocked over her water bottle. She jumped back up and hadn’t seen that she’d simply knocked her lidless bottle over. Then she’d left the room and I’d tidied up. There was nothing more on me than a few splashes. I never realised until she’d said that she had thought I’d wet myself.
I got up, grabbed a third beer and found my make-up case. Tonight was work. I had bruises to cover and so did Aleksander. I looked closely at his face. ‘I’m not sure I can cover all this.’ His nose was swollen and still plugged with bog roll. Both eyes were also swollen.
He took my mirror, turned his head so he could seen the damage from different angles. ‘I can’t work tonight.’ He looked at me. ‘Can you do it without me? With only Ollie and Jay?’
Gary never does the work. He always stays out of the way until later. ‘Yes, sure. I’ll work the front of house and Jay and Ollie can do the usual.’
‘OK,’ said Aleksander, still looking at his face. ‘I’ll stay in the basement with Gary.’
I had to get ready. The bruise under my eye would have to go – it made me look dangerous or damaged when I needed to look fun – normal.
I finished my make-up and felt pleased – my bruise was covered, the bruise that had started all of this. How ironic Miss looked at my bruised eye and assumed I was the victim.
I felt a jab of self-doubt: perhaps all this was my fault. If I hadn’t have been involved in all of this, then the rabbit wouldn’t have punched me. If I hadn’t got up late, I would’ve had time to cover the bruise with concealer. If I hadn’t taken the phone call from Aleksander in front of Miss, she wouldn’t have known about him; I could’ve just nipped off to the loos before my lesson started. I didn’t have to balls it out in front of her.
I checked my make-up again. I checked my phone. There were likes on Facebook and Jay had messaged me to say they were bringing back some girls they’d found in a bar. ‘We’re on,’ I told them.
Gary gave an excited chuckle and clapped his hands. Aleksander nodded as if he never doubted it. ‘If I had grabbed you,’ he said, as he leant against the counter, ‘then it could’ve got nasty and public. Much better to watch you and wait for the right time.’ He touched his nose again.
Why couldn’t he let it go? ‘You’re right, it was.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Of course I’m right.’ His hand hovered above the other, his fingertips dancing on the ring he wore.
I took a step back. ‘If you grabbed me, she could’ve kicked off. It would’ve been a nightmare.’
‘Why? Do you think I couldn’t handle her kicking off?’ The fingertips danced, light nervous butterflies as if they wanted to settle.
‘You can handle anything.’ I wanted this conversation over. ‘You outsmarted her for sure.’ I stared at my beer bottle.
Gary, stupid or brave, broke the silence. ‘She sounds mental. Poor you, Destiny.’
Aleksander cuffed him on the ear with his palm. ‘This is a private conversation, dickhead.’
Gary’s head rocked with the connecting slap, but he didn’t touch his reddened ear.
Aleksander got me a glass of wine and I knew the moment had passed. I glanced at Gary, who sat away from us. He flashed me a small smile: I realised then how brave Gary was. He was brave for me.
Friday
22:53
Destiny
Aleksander skinned up and passed it to me to light. Again I was his queen. After a moment, he said, ‘You were all right. I knew you would be. Although I was less than chuffed when you checked into a hotel.’ His eyes narrowed, ‘She didn’t try any lezzy stuff did she?’
Gary giggled. Even he could tell that, although we were still talking about it, the mood had changed, the danger had passed.
‘No! She’s not like that.’ I paused. ‘I mean, she might be, but not with me, not with her pupils. She’s nice. She wanted to take care of me. Even if she’s a nut job.’
‘I take care of you.’ His hand lazed through my hair, my head rested on his shoulder. I knew we could talk about it now.
‘You showed her your gun. If you hadn’t done that, it might have been all right. She thought you wanted to fuck with me and she called the police and the social worker.’
‘I knew the school would do that – that’s why I sent Jay in. He used the fake social work ID we had from the Kennington job. I am always one step ahead.’ Aleksander checked his phone. ‘He and Ollie are on their way. Gary, put some music on, make it feel like people can
party here.’
I was barely listening. Now Aleksander was no longer angry, I felt able to be. ‘Fucking social services wouldn’t send anyone out for me.’
He drained an energy drink, crunched the empty can in his fingers, then reached for another. Once he’d taken a swig, he threw one to Gary. Gary had put on some garage music on the serious stereo we lugged from party house to party house. We were united again, ready for the job.
‘Thanks, guv. Destiny,’ Gary said, turning to me, ‘We didn’t forget you, you know. We followed you the whole way.’
I said, ‘Thank you, Gary,’ at the same time as Aleksander said, ‘She knows that, you pleb.’
Aleksander looked me up and down. ‘So, you’re all right then? I mean, you were messaging me the whole time, so I wasn’t worried.’
I paused. I wanted to say I wasn’t worried, but I couldn’t. Even to think of it brought back that horrible sick feeling I’d had when I realised that she was imagining whole conversations with me. I remember the screaming fit I’d had, shouting and pleading to be freed. I flexed my hands, remembering how I had hurt them banging them repeatedly against the consol. Then, later, the constant low-level beat of anxiety that she was never going to free me, that perhaps she was going to . . . going to . . .
‘Were you worried?’ Aleksander asked me, curiosity in his voice.
I saw concern etched in his eyes. He always saw me as strong, clever, resilient. I wasn’t sure that it suited me for him to see me as anything else – what if he didn’t like me any more? Without Aleksander I would be alone. Again. I never wanted to be alone again.
I forced a laugh out. ‘It would take a lot more than Miss to make me worried.’
He flashed a smile; he was pleased. Then: ‘I don’t know how she got you in the car anyway.’
I felt a jab of anger at the easiness of his accusation. ‘She got me because she’s much stronger and bigger than me. I had no choice.’ I remembered being bundled into the car.