by Martina Cole
Her voice was strong and happy with the visions the twins’ words had conjured up before her eyes. The thought of making plenty of money, and being in the company of real prostitutes again, was like a dream come true. Denise knew it was all she could expect from life. Even as a child she had accepted that for her, life would be a harsh struggle. It was how it had always been.
‘You do realise what we have to do to get out, don’t you?’ she pressed.
Cathy nodded, her face clouding over for a moment, and then she smiled grimly. ‘I’ll do it and so will you. I’d do anything to escape this place.’
Both were quiet then, as if the enormity of what lay before them had rendered them both speechless.
Which was pretty much what had happened.
Mary Barton, for the first time in her life, was up against a brick wall.
A troublesome woman called Betty Jones had been asking all and sundry about the Connor child. She’d somehow found out about the initial scheme to foster her and kept asking why there had been no letters from or any news of the child. For the first time in her life, Mary was experiencing real fear.
Until Cathy Connor, she had done pretty much as she had pleased, both with the people she dealt with and the children she so cavalierly placed in homes, foster care or institutions. Now people wanted to know what was happening to her charges and she was having to justify herself. It was a sobering exercise.
Basically, like most bullies, Mary Barton was a coward. She was happy when in complete control and lost once someone questioned her power.
Catherine Connor should never have been placed in Benton School for Girls and they all knew it. The little minx herself had actually had the effrontery to question her about the situation. Unheard of! No one ever questioned Mary Barton. It was like an eleventh Commandment, an unwritten law. But now everyone at work was querying her decisions and she was finding it difficult in the extreme.
How to explain why she’d placed the child here instead of with a private family? She had made out a report saying the child had attacked her and also Miss Henley. This was all it took normally. Now suddenly, the magistrate wanted to see the child for himself.
This Betty Jones was also causing untold trouble by offering the girl a home with her. As if Mrs Barton would allow a child to be put at risk in a house of ill repute, with a woman who sold her body to strangers for money! Miss Henley chose to forget the treatment meted out within Benton School for Girls by so-called respectable members of the establishment.
All in all, it was very worrying.
She found herself resenting the Connor girl more and more. She had never liked the child from the moment she had clapped eyes on her; now it seemed she might actually begin to hate her.
It was all the child’s fault, of course. You did not bite the hand that fed and clothed you. It would be a hard lesson and the Connor child would learn it the hard way.
Of that Mary Barton was determined.
Once this little fiasco was sorted out, the girl was going into lock up in one of the more obscure mental establishments. That should take the leap out of her gallop.
Betty Jones’s face was devoid of make-up and her hair was brushed into an unaccustomed bun. At first she had tried being herself, but as this seemed to get her nowhere she’d decided that the less like a whore she looked, the more chance she’d have of getting people to take her seriously. There was something up with Cathy; Social Services weren’t being straight with her, she just knew it.
She’d decided to enlist the help of Richard Gates but all he could do was laugh at her changed appearance.
‘I knew I recognised that face, but I couldn’t place it. What on earth’s the matter with you, woman? You look even worse than usual. You ain’t joined the Salvation Army, have you?’ He put back his head and roared with laughter once more.
Betty, forgetting what she was there for, snapped, ‘Up yours, Gates. How dare you take the piss?’ She stood up and made to walk out of the room. He stood up too and pulled her roughly back.
‘Calm down, Betty. Be fair - you’d be shocked too if you saw me with a full head of hair and a Colgate smile, so it’s the same difference, ain’t it? Now, what can I do for you?’
Unlike his fellow policemen, Gates listened to anyone and everyone. You never knew where valuable information would come from next and he was a firm believer in taking all his sources seriously. Pillow talk had brought him more information than any amount of money. ‘Even blaggers brag to brasses’, was a favourite saying of his, and consequently he listened to them all.
Betty’s face was still grim. Feeling magnanimous, he ordered them both tea and smiled at her. Betty allowed herself to be mollified.
‘It’s about Madge’s girl - I heard through the grapevine that she’s been fostered but now word is out that they’ve put her in some Home or other in Deal. Apparently it’s a proper lock up. Well, she ain’t done nothing so I can’t understand why she’s there. They won’t let me see her, I’ve asked and asked.’ She shrugged. ‘You’re me last resort.’ She sipped her tea and warily watched the big man before her. If Gates gave her the heave-ho there was nothing left for her to try.
He stared at her for long moments. ‘You don’t half look rough, Betty. You wasn’t all that great in your war paint, but now . . .’
Betty felt the sting of tears and Gates realised he’d gone too far.
‘Come on, I was only joking. Lighten up, eh? Now, about little Cathy Connor . . . what’s the full SP? She left the station with some hatchet-faced old bitch who was supposed to be taking her to a good foster home, apparently. How the hell did she come to be in a lock up?’
‘Search me, Mr Gates. That’s what I want to find out, see. I can’t bear to think of her in one of them places - it ain’t right after what she’s been through, is it?’ Betty could tell she had an interested audience in Gates. Finally she was going to get some help, even if it was just advice, and after the runaround of the last few weeks this in itself was a result.
Richard Gates’s expression gave nothing away as he listened with growing concern to the plight of the girl he had already helped out of one very tight corner.
Cathy was amazed to see Denise by her bed at nine in the evening.
‘How’d you get in here?’
Denise shook her head and pulled her up by her arms. ‘Get dressed, we’re out of here.’
Cathy’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You what?’
‘Miss Brown gave me the nod. I’m for the off tomorrow. If I get sectioned, I’m away for the duration. They’re going to try and say we’re not all the ticket. You’ll be next, as soon as they think you can travel. We must go tonight!’
Cathy was frightened and it showed. She was still in pain from her fingers and had difficulty keeping her balance out of bed.
‘Come on, Cathy, I’ll help you. Let’s just get a move on.’ The older girl helped her to dress, the urgency in her movements giving Cathy the impetus she needed to get herself moving.
‘I’ve got keys to the front and back doors. All we have to deal with is the old fucker outside. We’ve already discussed that and I’m depending on you not to let any of it get you down. Just remember why we’re doing it and you’ll find the strength to tackle whatever has to be done. OK?’
Cathy nodded, and waited impatiently while her friend tied her shoelaces for her.
‘Throw on your coat and get any personal things you want. We have about an hour to get shot.’
Cathy carefully dropped her few belongings into a paper bag then faced her friend resolutely. ‘I’m frightened,’ she admitted.
Denise’s Oriental face looked grave, as if the wisdom of the ages was etched on it. ‘I’m shitting meself too, if you want to know, but it’s now or never as Ol’ Elvis is always saying. Let’s go. The Two Misses have both promised to be out of circulation until ten o’clock. That gives us an hour to be on our way. Down the back stairs and out the back will be easiest. You sure you can hack this?’
Cathy nodded. ‘I ain’t got much choice, have I?’
As they crept down the back stairs, darkness added to their mounting fright. But when they stepped into the brightness of the kitchen, the twins were waiting to urge them on.
‘I’ve done you some sandwiches.’ Maureen’s voice was quivering with suppressed excitement. ‘I only wish I had the guts to go with you both.’
Doreen was wide-eyed with excitement. ‘We’re going to start murders at ten o’clock in our dorm. We’ll have the place jumping. You know what we’re like when we have a fight. No one interferes.’
The twins grinned at one another in delight. Their fights were legendary, though they only ever fought one another.
‘Thanks, girls. Look me up when you get out, OK? I’ll see you both all right,’ Denise promised.
This was said sincerely and the twins nodded.
‘Take these, Cathy, they’ll help your hands.’ Doreen gave her a pair of woollen mittens. ‘I nicked them off Henley.’
They all laughed.
‘Now get yourselves through the back door and off. You’ll get a lift, no trouble. Take care.’
The girls hugged each other, and suddenly Cathy was terrified of what waited for her outside the walls of Benton School for Girls. Like a man kept in prison for years and years, she found herself actually craving the comfort of the prison cell and fearing to leave it. After all, what was waiting outside could be even worse . . .
The cold air hit the two girls like a slap in the face. As they carefully locked the last door behind them, each took a deep breath. They were within the grounds now and that meant officially they were already runaways.
Both knew they had no chance of getting over the fence. The only way out was to go through the front gate - which meant they had to deal with the Jailer. That was the nickname given to Barney Jennings. He was old by the girls’ standards, being in his late-fifties. He was also the next worst thing to Hodges, being an incorrigible lecher. When he had to work inside the house itself, he had a nasty habit of trying to touch the girls, though most of his harassment of them was verbal. He would keep up a stream of filthy asides and innuendo.
The thing that really disgusted them about Barney was the fact that he had six fingers on each hand. Being gardener and odd job man, he often said that these were his green fingers, and made disgusting remarks to the girls about what those extra fingers could do. But getting past him was a doddle for older girls in the summer. When he knew they only had a few weeks left, for a small sexual favour he would let them out for the night.
The Two Misses also gave the girls who were about to leave more freedom than they would otherwise get, and if they were willing to service the old man in return for a few hours on the seafront, the warders turned a blind eye. It was the Two Misses’ way of getting back at their employers and they turned a blind eye often enough to keep the Jailer a very happy man. Tonight, though, he would not be so amenable.
Denise was aware that Hodges and Barton would have explained the situation to him, and that he would be wary of losing the job he loved, even if they offered him sex.
The Jailer was inside the small lodge cottage as they knew he would be. As they came through his door he was drinking cocoa and reading the Evening Standard. The shocked look on his red-veined face told them all they needed to know.
Standing up, he began to bluster.
Denise pushed him back into his seat with a strength born of fear. ‘Sit down, you old bastard, and shut your trap.’
Barney, a wiry man, strengthened by years of hard physical work, was wondering if he should retaliate when Denise pulled out a sharp knife.
Cathy’s face was white with shock.
‘I’ll split you like a fucking pig, mate, from end to end. You just try and stop me and see what the fuck you get!’ Denise’s Oriental face was hard, eyes disappearing into their slanted sockets as she glared at the old man before her. ‘They won’t let me out anyway so I’ll happily do more time for you, old son. Now give us the keys to the gate and we’ll be on our way.’
She had not counted on his being the type who could not stand to be bested. No one put one over on Barney, he prided himself on that fact. Even in the war, Jerry had not got one over on Barney Jennings. The fact that he had bought and paid for his exemption certificate did not bother him one iota. While other men gave their lives for their country, he settled into a nice job out in Kent, without fear of raids, rationing or call up papers.
If Denise had judged her man properly he would immediately have come to some kind of arrangement with them. But now he felt he had to do something. This chit of a girl was actually threatening him!
Smiling, he said pleasantly, ‘Keep your hair on, girl. Let me see where I put me keys . . .’ Standing, he played to perfection the part of an old man unsure where he’d put something. Placing his reading glasses on the arm of the overstuffed chair, he scratched his chin.
Denise and Cathy watched him warily.
‘I know, girls, they’re in my jacket pocket in the bedroom.’ He began to walk towards Denise as if he was going to the bedroom. Instead he made a grab for her.
Without thinking, Cathy picked up a heavy ornament in one clumsy gloved hand and managed to hit Barney square on the skull with it. Denise saw the shocked look in the man’s eyes before he crumpled on to the hearthrug. Shaking her head, she looked at the little figure before her and, laughing hysterically, said: ‘You’ll do.’
Cathy dropped the ornament, the pain in her hand excruciating. ‘Is he all right?’ Her voice was faint.
Denise nodded. ‘Knocked out, that’s all. I would have stabbed the fucker, I would. Just to get away from this fucking dump!’
Her hysteria had given way to choked-back tears. Finally collecting herself, Denise looked around the small cottage. It was comfortably furnished, and the rosy glow from the wood-burning fire made the place look jolly, cheerful even. It looked as if an old couple should live there, spending their twilight years chatting by the fire and eating home-made bread. It was a fairytale place.
The girls systematically turned it over without a second thought as they searched for money and valuables to keep them in food until they could start earning.
In an Ovaltine tin on a kitchen shelf Cathy found his hidden stash of money: ten five-pound notes secured with an elastic band. ‘Here, look at this, Den.’
They split the money between them.
‘This’ll keep us going, my lovely.’ Denise’s face was alight with excitement.
Barney groaned.
Picking up the ornament, Denise thumped him once more.
‘Denise, for fuck’s sake!’ The blow was very hard and as the man sank back on to the hearthrug, Cathy became scared.
‘You could have killed him!’
Denise pushed him over on to his back with her toe. She stared at the Jailer for a few moments then, looking at her friend, said nastily, ‘Fuck him. Fuck the lot of them. No one ever gave me nothing. I don’t want nothing from them. I earned this every time I did Miss Henley her favours, every time I had Hodges bollocking me. I ain’t learned much, but one thing I have learned is this: everyone wants to fuck you, girl, either physically or mentally. You have to put a limit on the shit you’re willing to take and no turning back. I don’t care if the old fucker does die. Why the hell should I? No one gives a toss about us, do they? Come on, let’s get going. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.’
Five minutes later they were outside and running as if their lives depended on it.
The bright lights of Deal seafront looked welcoming. The rain began just as they hit the pier. A smell of fish and chips was tantalising and Cathy made to enter the chip shop, her hand automatically going to the money in her pocket.
Dragging her friend roughly away, Denise snapped: ‘What are you, fucking stupid? If we go in there and crack a fiver it’ll be all over Deal within half an hour. No, we make our way to the main road, we get in a lorry and then we concentrate
on things like eating, sleeping and shitting, all right?’
Denise’s sarcasm stung. Feeling small, Cathy followed her past the ruined castle and towards the road to London. She realised she was not as streetwise as she’d thought. Then again, she consoled herself, she had never been on the run before, so no wonder everything was new.
All she hoped was that she wouldn’t make any more stupid mistakes like that. As they approached the road she thought of Eamonn and her heart gave a small lurch inside her chest. When he saw her, when she explained everything to him, she would be safe.
Cared for.
Loved.
Suddenly her hands were not so sore and the biting wind and rain weren’t stinging her face as much. She felt a warm glow of anticipation, and, hurrying now, caught up with her friend.
Holding hands, they kept to the shelter of the roadside bushes, watching out for police cars and lorries. As they tramped through the mud, the two girls were quiet. Each was preoccupied with her own thoughts and each knew that until a lorry turned up and they were on board, they were still in grave danger.
Hodges, Henley and Barton would skin them alive and laugh while they did it if ever they set eyes on them again.
Derek Salmon was whistling along to Freddie and the Dreamers when he thought about his wife Abigail and the cheerful sound abruptly stopped. Suddenly ‘How do you do what you do to me?’ assumed a different significance. He switched off the radio and stared gloomily out into the dark night.
Abigail had left him six weeks previously for a sailor. She was a big accommodating woman of thirty-nine. Older than him by seven years, she had been the motherly type yet had loved sex. She would do anything sexual and enjoy every second of it.
Derek was small - wiry, he liked to call it - and afflicted with acne which had plagued him all his life. Abigail had not just been his wife, she had been everything to him: lover, friend, confidante. He had worked his arse off for her and now he was in digs and the sailor was snug in Derek’s bed, with Derek’s wife.