Jackie and Neil sat on the two chairs opposite the police officers. Over the last few months the line between law enforcers and friends had become smudged.
‘I’m so excited! I can’t believe it. Where is she?’ Jackie fidgeted in her seat, grinning.
The two officers had never seen Jackie so animated.
‘I need you to calm down a bit, Jackie.’ Gavin gave a brief smile.
‘You’re the second person to say that to me!’ Jackie nudged her husband.
Gavin looked at Melanie, nodding slightly, handing her the reins.
Melanie sat in the chair on the other side of the table. She linked her fingers and placed them in front of her, looking more formal than she ever had in their little lounge in Ennerdale Close.
‘We have all worked hard, waiting for this day, Jackie, you know that.’
Jackie nodded, still beaming. ‘Yes, and we are so grateful, Mel, really grateful!’
‘We have found Gemma and she appears unharmed.’
‘That’s wonderful! Thank you, thank you so much,’ Jackie interjected. Neil was starting to ask himself the obvious question. If she’s unharmed, then where has she been and who with?
‘We found her living in a flat in Paddington, with three other occupants. One of them is a man called Vassili Salenko; is that a name you know?’
They both shook their heads.
‘The flat was raided on an unrelated matter and we found Gemma, going by the name of Jemima.’
‘He must have taken her, that Vladimir or whatever his name is,’ Jackie jumped in. Her smile had faded. Her chest heaved.
‘Here’s the thing,’ Gavin cut in, his words coming slowly. ‘I have spoken to Gemma at length and she is adamant that she went with him of her own accord.’
‘What? Why? I don’t understand.’ Jackie shook her head as her eyes squinted in confusion.
‘We’re still not sure.’ Gavin’s tone was restrained.
‘He’s just making her say that! She’s a schoolgirl, for God’s sake!’ Neil couldn’t hide the edge of aggression in his voice.
‘Possibly.’ Gavin tried to throw the man a rope.
‘You know what,’ Neil stood and raised his palms, ‘It doesn’t really matter right now, who did what and who went where, we are just bloody glad to have her back. So if we can get her home, let her have a bit of a rest and then we’ve got all the time in the world to sort out what happened. You can talk to her to your heart’s content, but we just want to get her back.’
‘I’m afraid it’s not that straightforward, Neil.’
‘What d’you mean, not that straightforward? Course it is! Now if you could please just let us have our daughter back!’
‘She doesn’t want to see you.’ Gavin looked away, having delivered the cruellest blow.
‘Don’t be silly, Gavin, of course she does!’ Jackie spoke to him as if he were a child.
Melanie stepped in. ‘I’m sorry, Jackie, but she doesn’t.’
Neil sank back down into the chair and both sat in silence, trying to digest the information.
Jackie spoke to her lap. ‘He’s brainwashed her or something. Why wouldn’t she want to come home?’
Melanie swallowed the memory of her interview with Gemma. ‘You have put them through hell, Gemma. They are nice people, would it hurt to give them one quick telephone call?’
‘Can I just see her, please, Mel? Please.’
Melanie hated the way Jackie was almost begging. ‘She’s not actually here, she’s at Paddington Green, but they can only hold her for so long.’
Jackie placed her head in her hands and sobbed. ‘I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it.’
Neil rubbed her back as he tried to order his own thoughts.
They collected Stacey and the three of them made their way towards the van.
‘Neil?’ Gavin called from the top of the steps.
Neil walked back up to talk to him.
‘This breaks just about every rule and if you tell anyone, anyone at all, I’ll be in serious shit, but here is a mobile number for Gemma.’
Neil took the scrap of paper and pushed it into his jeans pocket. ‘Thank you. Is it as bad as it sounds, Gavin?’
He looked into Neil’s eyes. ‘Salenko is a nasty piece of work.’
‘How the hell has my Gemma got mixed up with someone like that?’ Neil asked, not expecting a reply.
He walked back to the van feeling exhausted and beaten. They drove home in silence, not bothering to stop and pick up food.
Jackie would not have believed that it was possible to sink any deeper into despair, but this was a whole other level of sadness and confusion. She was gripped by a numbness that left her feeling blind and deaf, unable to see, hear or communicate with the outside world. She climbed the stairs and lay on top of the freshly laundered duvet on Gemma’s bed, unable to cry, unable to sleep.
Neil flicked on the lamp and closed the front door behind him. He walked to the top of the close and turned left on the main road, out of earshot and out of sight. He held the scrap of paper in his palm and punched the digits into his keypad. He held the phone to his face and listened and then a mere couple of seconds later, there it was, sweet music that he had imagined he might never hear again. His little girl’s voice.
‘Heeello?’ She sounded cheery, playful.
The tears that clogged his nose and throat made speech almost impossible.
‘Hello?’ she repeated.
Neil pushed the phone into the side of his face, trying to get as close to her as possible. ‘Gemma?’
‘Who’s this?’
He hesitated, coughed. ‘It’s me, it’s Dad.’
He expected her to hang up. He waited. The silence connected them, a thin sinew from one silent vocal cord to the other, stretching approximately twenty miles across the dark.
He spoke slowly, with caution, as if bent low with hand outstretched, trying to lure a mistrustful pet. ‘Gemma, just listen, love. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I just want to know that you are safe. I want to know that you are happy.’
‘I am,’ she whispered. It reminded him of when she was small and would whisper in the dark across the hallway, with bedroom doors open:
‘I’m scared, Daddy.’
‘No need, my little love, nothing to be scared of. It’s just the dark and Mummy and I are right here, we’re always right here.’
‘I don’t understand what’s happened, I thought we were happy.’ His tears ran down his face.
He could hear her breathing.
‘You were happy, Dad, you and Mum, but not me.’
‘I only ever wanted what was best for you, we both did. We love you so very much.’ It was becoming harder and harder for him to speak with clarity. ‘Could you give us another chance? Show us how to make you happy, because that’s all we want.’ It was his parting shot, to put her in control whilst trying to get her home.
‘Well then, you should be pleased, because I am happy, Dad.’
There was the smallest of clicks and then, just like that, she was gone.
A New Life
Alyssa was thin, her ribs poked against her navy vest. And she was shorter than the platform-heeled sandals peeping out from beneath her tight jeans led you to believe. She swished her white-blonde hair over her bony, bare shoulder and held the smouldering cigarette aloft with her index and middle fingers; a slender white stick perched between two red talons. The long thumbnail of the same hand was hooked under her front tooth. Her kohl-rimmed eyes were narrowed against the yellow smoke that curled in front of her face. The bare inside of her arm revealed a tiny peppering of angry blue bruises. Gemma had to concentrate on the words; her English was far from perfect.
‘The bathroom.’ Alyssa waited in the open doorway and indicated with her cigarette. Her speech was heavily accented, her nonchalance doing nothing to help her enunciation. Gemma guessed correctly that she was Eastern Europe and wondered if she and Vassili had arriv
ed there together. Maybe they were related.
She cast her eyes over the cramped room, maybe six foot by eight in size. The lemon-coloured plastic bath displayed residual grime in various lines. A shampoo bottle of no recognisable brand was tipped upside down and rested in a well on the bath top intended for soap; the owner was clearly trying to eke out one final blob, big enough to work into a lather.
A large metal-framed frosted-glass window was covered with a dirty orange and green striped towel. The frame was rusted: Gemma doubted it had been opened in a very long time. The loo was filthy; months of neglect had left it encrusted with every variety of human waste. The whole room stank of urine and damp, not the most pleasant combination. Gemma tried to breathe only through her mouth.
The floor was covered in pale green lino, which seemed to highlight the splats of blood and streaks of wee that surrounded the bowl. Dark pubic hair had gathered in little nests that lurked in every corner and behind every pipe. It was disgusting. A white plastic-coated wire shelving unit was cluttered with matted combs, splayed make-up brushes, bottles of peroxide, tubes of cream, boxes of condoms, three disposable razors and tampons in various stages of wrap. She felt embarrassed to bear witness to such intimate items. There was a round mirror above the sink, whose hot tap ran cold and dripped constantly.
Gemma tried to picture having a bath in this room; she shuddered involuntarily, blinking away the image of the family bathroom at home, with its clean white sink and fluffy towels. She followed Alyssa as she sashayed down the corridor at a leisurely pace.
Gemma felt a mixture of excitement and fear. This was it, her new, grown-up, pressure-free life. The moment she had pulled her sweatshirt over her head and laced up her high-tops after the play, she had known that the time was right. Fingering the folded piece of paper in her jeans pocket, which had nothing more than an address and a telephone number scrawled in biro, her adventure had begun. He had said that it would be her ‘get out of jail free card’. He was right, and now was the time to use it.
Vassili was where he said he would be, at the back of the precinct, in a red car. Her stomach had flipped as she climbed into the passenger seat.
‘You can always rely on me, Jemima. I am your friend now.’
She smiled. He still couldn’t get her name right, but that didn’t matter. Jemima, Gemma, whatever, she was free.
She swallowed the tears that threatened as his car crawled past her parents’ house.
He patted her thigh. ‘Don’t cry, Jemima. I said I would look after you. I can find you work and you shall live with me and the other girls. We are a happy home, we look after each other.’ He ran his thumb over her cheek. ‘A very pretty girl like you, you will always find work. Don’t look so sad. You want a cigarette?’
She nodded, took one from the packet he held out to her and sparked the flint.
‘Have you told anyone?’
She shook her head, recalling how she and Vassili had met. She had been hovering on the pavement outside the station, her face tear-streaked, and he had been strolling in the sunshine, in his mirrored shades and leather bomber jacket.
‘No, I haven’t told anyone.’ She pictured Victoria and then Luke. It amazed her how easily she could discard her friend and her lover, both of whom had meant the world to her. Especially Luke, who had taken her body and broken her heart.
‘Here is your room.’ Alyssa drew her into the present with her slow drawl.
After the bathroom, Gemma’s expectations were not high and she was proved right. She pushed open the door, which she noticed had a big hole kicked into the bottom of it, the giveaway being the large imprint of a boot that had misjudged one of its blows. Smudges of polish and lines of black rubber indicated a man’s kick. Gemma hoped he would not be coming back any time soon, whoever he was.
The first thing she noticed upon entering was how dark the room was, despite it being early afternoon. A thick woollen blanket covered in indeterminate stains hung over the window. It had been tacked up with rusted nails that had been driven through the fabric and into the plaster.
‘Laurel has only just gone two days ago and so now room is free, for you. If you want it. Vassili has lots of little girlfriends, no pressure.’
The slope of the girl’s shoulder against the doorframe and the way her eyes closed as she delivered the words told Gemma that Alyssa couldn’t care less if she took the room or not. She half expected her to add, ‘If not you, then someone else.’
‘Where is Laurel now?’
‘She is dying.’
Gemma could not hide her shock; her hand flew up to cover her mouth. ‘She is dying! Oh my God, that’s terrible. Where is she? Why’s she dying?’
Alyssa threw her head back and laughed, loud and open-mouthed, snorting through her nose, pausing only to regain composure. Her laugh quickly turned into a cough, which she allayed by taking a deep drag on her dwindling cigarette.
‘Oh my God! No… No, I’m sorry, it is my bad English. She is not dying.’
Gemma exhaled with visible relief.
The girl continued. ‘Laurel is not dying. She is dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘Dead. Yes.’ Alyssa nodded and fished in her pocket for another cigarette.
‘How did she die?’ Almost as soon as the enquiry had left Gemma’s mouth she regretted it, knowing that she did not want to hear how Laurel had met her end.
‘She is killed by boyfriend, he is strangling her. It was a money thing, you know.’ Alyssa shrugged as though it was of little consequence.
Gemma stared at Alyssa. No, she didn’t know. She was unable to hide her horrified expression as she tried to picture the faceless Laurel’s last moments and replayed the nonchalant tone with which the information had been given.
Alyssa registered Gemma’s reaction. ‘But don’t worry, it was not in this bed.’
She pointed to a soiled double mattress that lay bare on the floor. Gemma was once again relieved but also bemused.
‘It was over there in the corner.’ The girl finished her sentence as she jerked her cigarette towards the edge of the room.
Gemma swallowed the naked fear that leapt in her throat.
Turn Off the Lamp
Neil hated lying to his wife but knew that he was better off handling things alone; she was too fragile to deal with any more disappointment right now. He spent hours trawling the streets of Paddington, driving up and down the main thoroughfares and snaking along cut-throughs, circling housing estates and loitering on any quiet corner. And then one day, six weeks after being called in by Gavin and Melanie, he spotted her.
He had pulled up at a crossing and was thinking that it might be time to end his covert search for the day, when she emerged from a crowd and stepped off the kerb, walking across in front of him. She didn’t say thank you as they had taught her, didn’t wave her hand in recognition, but instead almost trotted over the black and white stripes. It took all his strength not to jump out of the van, shove her in the back and haul her home against her will, but he knew that if he did that, she would only leave again. He needed her to want to come home, it was the only way it would work. He also figured, correctly, that if he called her again, she would ditch the phone and he would lose the only means he had of contacting her, although the temptation to call the number that was indelibly etched in his brain was torturous.
He sat and stared as she walked down the opposite side of the road, his gaze following his daughter as she blended with the crowd. She looked taller and thinner than he remembered and was wearing clothes he had never seen before: high sandals and a short red leather jacket. He was only aware that he should be moving when the driver in the car behind beeped at him. Pulling away, he crawled as slowly as he was able, indicating left as if he was going to park and allowing the irate procession of vehicles behind him to overtake. He managed to stay a couple of feet behind Gemma’s field of vision, when she suddenly stopped at a narrow wooden door between a fried chicken shop and a launderette. H
e watched as she pulled out a key and entered the building. Neil made a note of the address and, fighting every instinct in his body, he drove away, leaving his little girl in the squalid building with a man about whom he knew two things: his name was Vassili and he was a nasty piece of work.
~
Gemma threw the keys down on the kitchen table and fell into one of the chairs. Vassili closed the newspaper, pulled his cigarettes from his shirt, lit one and inhaled deeply.
‘Jemima, we need to sort what will happen now for you.’
She shrugged. ‘What do you mean?’
He leant forward and tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘You know what I mean. What we spoke of before: you earning money for us, like Alyssa and Stasia. It can’t be that you live here free, no one lives here free.’
Gemma tucked her arms around her trunk. ‘But it’s different. You love me and you don’t love them.’
Vassili laughed. ‘Yes, yes, that is true. But how can we run away together and live by the sea if we don’t have money?’
She shrugged again. ‘I could get a different job!’
He shook his head. ‘You can’t get a different job because we have to hide you from your parents and if you get a different job, I would never see you and that would make me so sad.’ He turned the corners of his mouth down and pushed out his bottom lip.
‘I don’t know if I can do it, Vas.’ She looked at the window, the brick wall covered in graffiti opposite made for a depressing view. Still, it wouldn’t be forever, not much longer until they left London and went to the coast.
‘You said you would do anything to make me happy, anything for us.’
She nodded.
‘It would be so sad if we finished and you had to leave the house just because you would not commit to our love and to making me happy. There are bad people out there, Jemima, and I hate to think of you not being safe.’
She considered this and swallowed the swell of panic that rose in her chest. She had nowhere else to go.
‘I don’t want us to finish.’ Her voice was small. ‘I really love you.’
The Game Page 5