by Martina Cole
Imelda Dooley was a shrewdie all right. He had to give her that much credit. She was a great girl in many respects, she made sure that everything ran smoothly and, even though she was a fucking junkie, she also knew how to function in the real world when it was necessary. She could be out of her tiny mind, but she was never so far gone that she didn’t know what was going on around her. In many ways Basil admired her for that. She was the only person he had ever come across who could junk and still function. In fact, she functioned better on the needle than most people in their game did without it. She was the anomaly, the wild card. She was also having him over big time, and he had sussed that out only recently. It was his own stupidity that was really getting his goat up.
In reality he had never expected anything less from Mel. She was always up for the con, always up for the thieve. It was why she was so good at her job in the first place. But knowing that she had been skimming him royally for months still fucking rankled. She must have been laughing up her fucking sleeve at him, and she would pay for that. She would not walk away from this lot. Not this time, she needed a lesson in priorities, and he was just the man to give it to her.
A quiet tapping at his office door caused him to take a deep breath, and forcing himself to calm down he called out loudly, ‘Come in.’
A young girl with deep-brown eyes and thick brown hair timidly popped her head around the door. He felt a sudden sorrow for her, knew that she was terrified at what she was going to be asked. He knew also that she would probably answer him truthfully. She was too young to have mastered the art of real lying. Brasses had a whole different approach to lying than the rest of the population. They were forced to learn to lie by the very nature of their profession. They pretended and lied from the moment they went to work to the moment they left. They were liars by nature.
This one, though, had been conned along with him. She was also a real little newey. She was also capable of getting them all banged up if she happened to get herself nicked. On closer inspection she looked about twelve. He felt the anger rise up inside him once more.
He beckoned her inside, and offered her a seat. When she was finally settled in the chair opposite him, he leant on the huge oak desk he had purchased on a whim and, smiling kindly, he said, ‘How old are you, love?’
Amy Dart looked at the man who ensured she had a roof over her head and enough money to do pretty much what she wanted to, and she decided then and there to be as honest as needed. That alone told him how green she was.
‘Fourteen.’
Basil digested that information and felt the heat of shame wash over him. She looked younger than that. He knew that he had not spoken to her before now because he had not actually known of her existence. She, though, believed that she worked for him. She probably told people that. Bragged about it. Basil was finding it very difficult to keep a lid on his colossal anger.
‘Where did Imelda get you from? Were you introduced by one of the other girls?’
Amy shook her head vigorously. Believing that she was doing all involved a favour with her honesty, she said proudly, ‘I am the one who has brought in most of the other girls; Mel pays me a fee for every one I procure. I was in a children’s home in Surrey, then I ran away to London. I met Mel at King’s Cross station. She approached me, offered me somewhere to stay, and warned me about how dangerous London could be if you didn’t have someone to look out for you. She was really nice. She helped me get on my feet. So I got in touch with some of the other girls I know, and they came here as well. We like it, and Mel is really good. She looks out for us.’
Amy believed that she was doing Imelda a favour by talking her up to the boss, telling him what a great girl she was. In fact, Amy actually harboured the secret hope that Basil would tell Mel how she had sung her praises.
Basil was seeing the girl as the punters must see her, the heavy make-up that she believed made her look older than her years, but which in reality only emphasised her extreme youth. The clothes, cheap and garish, that caressed her slim frame and made the illusion of childhood even more apparent. Made her seem vulnerable. Just what the nonces were looking for. Amy looked like she was dressed up in her mum’s clothes, and Basil knew how alluring that could be to certain people. Basil had no interest in employing girls like Amy Dart though. Girls in their early teens who had been through the care system. He believed that the care homes were the hotbed for prostitution. Most of the girls he employed had been the products of children’s homes, care facilities or fostering. He would not touch them until they were over the legal age of consent though, and looked it.
He had seen the young ones off, and he had made sure none of the girls he employed got under his skin. Only one had ever got his attention and he was determined not to let that happen again.
Basil had found out about Imelda’s little sideline purely by accident. He had trusted her to run things for him, had known she was more than capable, and had immersed himself in his other businesses, happy to be away from her, and quite content with how she would be running things in his absence.
But then a regular client had mentioned to him that the girl he had requested had been a bit too young for his tastes, and so new to the game that she was still a bundle of nerves. The man in question had laughed it off, but Basil knew he was being told not to make the same mistake again. The man in question was very well-to-do; he wanted a woman, and he expected a woman. Also, if his pasttime should ever become common knowledge, he might live down paying for sex, although that would be bad enough in itself. But if it was a little girl he was meeting once a week, that would destroy him completely. And so it should, as far as Basil was concerned. That was a market Basil had never wanted to explore, even though real money was there for the taking. He knew that there were a lot of men willing to pay a lot of poke for the chance to fuck a child. The thought of it going on was enough to make him feel sick with disgust and anger. After the chat with the client he had pondered the situation, as he pondered any decision he had ever made. He had asked around, and he had not been told what he wanted to hear.
Basil had then started his quest for the truth, and the truth had blown his mind. Thanks to Imelda, he now had a reputation as a peddler of children, and as such he had no real protection any more. The police he paid off would not look the other way if this ever became common knowledge. Imelda had dragged him into the sordid world that she loved, and such was her vileness, her baseness, she was willing to trade these little girls in his name. She was willing to hide behind him. Use his good name and his friendship, and earn herself a lot of money and, at the same time, destroy everything he had ever accomplished for himself. If anything had gone wrong, if the girls had been discovered, she would have said he was the boss and, as such, he would have had to take the flak. But he had taken her on and given her the opportunity to better herself. She had been his number two, she had been his stand-in, his namesake. She worked for him, and she had taken advantage of his good nature. Of his good name. Imelda Dooley was fucking scum. She was without any moral code whatsoever. But then, deep inside, he had always known that.
Amy Dart was watching the man before her with the fascination of all children who were worried because they did not know whether they were in trouble or not. She sensed that she was not telling him what he wanted to hear and was sick with fear that he might get rid of her. If he did, where was she to go?
‘The house you share with the other girls, who pays for that?’
Amy grinned, her small, even teeth were coated in the yellow custard of heroin and cigarettes, and Basil wanted to scream in despair at what he had inadvertently stumbled into. The house turned out to be a squat in Brixton, and Basil knew it would not have been long before it was raided by the police and social services. He was a hair’s breadth from a long sentence and permanent shame. He was only pleased he had found out Imelda’s scam before it was too late.
He had trusted her, he had helped her. He had been good to her. She had found a niche with him t
hat had given her a measure of respect. She had then mugged him off without a second’s thought, had seen fit to put his whole operation in jeopardy for her own ends. She had not even thought of how her little sideline might have affected him. She was such a fucking junkie that she had not allowed for what would happen to her if he was closed down, what she would do if that ever occurred. She had jeopardised all their livelihoods, and he would not fucking let that one go. Now she was going to find out just how vindictive he could be. She was going to find out just how dangerous the world she inhabited actually was for the people who were foolish enough to take advantage of their betters. Imelda Dooley was going to be made aware of just how far she had pushed him, and shown just how far he was willing to push her back.
But first he had to make sure that Amy Dart and her little cohort were dismissed from his world, that they understood that the mentioning of his name by any of them would result in serious aggravation. In extreme cases, even death.
Chapter Sixteen
Jordanna was nervous, but then she spent the best part of her life being nervous. Her mother’s sudden interest in her children would make anyone nervous, let alone a small child. Especially a child who had spent the best part of her life on the receiving end of her mother’s whims, her paranoia, or her plain bloodymindedness. Jordanna knew that her mother only turned to her when the rest of the world was beyond her reach. She knew that her mother only needed her when everyone else within her orbit was fed up with her, were sick of her demands, and her mother needed to believe that she had someone who would always care for her, no matter what happened.
Jordanna played the game. She had played the game where her mother was concerned since she had been old enough to understand what hate was, had understood that the majority of people in her world were not capable of anything even remotely resembling love or caring. Although they did understand the power of usefulness, and they made a point of using it, accompanied with either fear or emotional blackmail. Depending on the circumstances.
Imelda’s need to have Jordanna there beside her was also larger, for no other reason than that she needed her to watch over Kenny Boy; she was the only person for whom he would do as he was requested without a fight of some kind. Imelda also knew that Jordanna was the only person in the world who she could rely on to keep her son happy.
So Jordanna was seeing much more of her mother than usual. Since she had met Jed, Imelda had taken to playing at grown-ups, and it was not something she was any good at. In fact it was almost painful to watch her as she pretended an interest in her two children that was so forced it was traumatic for everyone concerned.
Kenny was still quite small, but he already knew that he had his mother’s love, even if it was a haphazard only-when-it-suited-her kind of love. But it was there nevertheless. Jordanna, on the other hand, had to make do with Kenny’s adoration of her, and Jed’s genuine kindness and gentleness. He was always ready with a hug or a kiss and he made her mother acknowledge her existence. So, for the first time in years, spending time in her mother’s presence was almost tolerated.
As Jordanna curled up on her mother’s sofa with her little brother cuddled into her arms, the usual stench of overflowing ashtrays and stale lager surrounding her, she made a point of not looking around her, made sure she didn’t judge her mother or her lifestyle. She just kept her ears open and she ensured that the dirt and filth that denoted her mother’s life didn’t affect either of them too much.
Jordanna was used to her granny’s spotless home and the cloying aromas of bleach, furniture polish and freshly cooked food simmering on the stove. So the dirtiness of her mother’s flat and the absence of baths or even washes, made her feel dirty and unkempt. She was not used to the stickiness of her own sweat any more, nor the sweet smell of her brother’s unchanged nappy. He was not even offered the opportunity to use a potty or the toilet. Imelda had no bother with such things. Like she had no bother with proper meals, they had to eat as and when food was available, and Jordanna had to keep in the forefront of her mind that whatever they were given might have to last them for days.
Jordanna had thick blond and lustrous hair that hung down her back like a curtain. She was used to it being brushed until it shone like spun gold, her granny loved it and said it was her crowning glory. Jordanna loved having her hair brushed by her granny, the action itself had proved to her that there was love involved. Jordanna also knew that her hair was really beautiful, was very unusual. People had been remarking on her locks since she could remember.
Yet here, at her mother’s, it was tied up and left until she was once more relegated to her granny’s house. She was always scratching her head when she stayed here, she felt cooty, as if something was crawling under her skin. She knew, even at her young age, that it was only because she hated being there and hated feeling dirty. As she watched TV with her little brother, she was listening with a growing nervousness to the argument that was erupting in the kitchen.
Jed was angry, but he was always angry about something lately. As young as she was, Jordanna knew that Jed’s expectations where Imelda was concerned were so off the wall they were just about impossible. She was never going to be mother of the year, she found it hard to even talk to her kids for more than a few minutes at a time. Even then she was only interested in getting them to say something to Jed that she thought was hilarious. She got poor Kenny to swear, to sing dirty songs for her. She just wanted them to repeat things parrot fashion and, in doing so, she was entertained for a few moments but, more to the point, Jed was being entertained. Imelda felt that Jed’s interest in the kids was all that was needed to keep him interested in her.
He was sometimes a bit too interested in her, and Jordanna knew that her mother was more than aware of this. He would take her into the bedroom, and when it was over Imelda would give her sweets, and then at some point an argument would start and the episode would be forgotten about. She knew her mother felt jealousy at times when she was getting too much attention from Jed. Attention she didn’t want, had never asked for. Jordanna knew that her granny didn’t like them coming here so often, but was powerless to do anything about it. She kept quiet about Jed, as she did about everything else. It made life much easier for all concerned. Her mother had the edge where their futures were concerned. Imelda knew how to play the game, and she played it without any conscience, or care for her children’s welfare.
Jordanna had already found out how important money and power were in her mother’s world. She understood just how hard it was without any kind of real money, without anyone in the world to see that you were treated fairly, with decency, with respect. If you had nothing to use as leverage, then you were destined to spend your life doing what other people wanted. Jordanna knew how the world she inhabited worked, and she hated it. But she accepted the inevitable, telling herself that one day she would be grown, and then she would be in charge of her own life, her own destiny. Until then, she had to look out for her brother, and see that he was cared for. Her granny had to swallow her real feelings for her daughter too, and she had to wave her grandchildren off as if she was thrilled at their golden opportunity to be in their mother’s care once again. She had to let them go to someone she knew was not fit to look after a dog, let alone two young children.
Kenny was restless, and lying with his head in her lap, he watched the film with bright eyes. It was very late and the film was about aliens who had come to earth and were now killing everyone they could lay their hands on. It was violent and bloody.
Jordanna didn’t like it very much, but Kenny Boy was flushed with excitement; between the overload of sweets and fizzy drinks and the violence on the TV screen, he was where he loved to be. Up late, and without any boundaries or guidelines whatsoever. Jordanna was stroking his hair, trying to calm him down, knowing that until he dropped off to sleep she couldn’t drop off herself. She would not allow him to be let loose in this flat without her to watch over him. He was too young, and he was also much too reckless.
He had inherited his mother’s disregard for rules or regulations of any kind. Like her, he felt that if he wanted to do something, anything, then that was his prerogative. He had the same selfish streak that Imelda had, only with little Kenny it was overlooked because he was a child. But Jordanna knew that it was not something he would ever grow out of, despite what her granny seemed to believe would one day be the case. Kenny was ruined already, had been since his birth. He was his mother’s son but, unlike her, he had the ability to love back when it suited him.
As Jordanna heard the argument reaching its crescendo, heard the cursing and the viciousness of her mother’s mouth, she turned the volume up a little more, trying to blot out the car crash that was her mother’s life. But the voices were still audible, and still had the strident angriness that seemed to be the norm in this household.
Mary was like a ship without a rudder. She sat in her pristine home alone and wondered, as always, if the kids were all right without her to take care of them. That they were with their mother was not something she felt easy about; in fact, it was what was worrying her so much. Imelda was not what could be classed as a person in possession of maternal instincts. As she poured herself out yet another whisky and dry ginger, she told herself to relax and stop worrying so much. She reminded herself that Jordanna was there, and she would make sure that they were both safe. What she meant was that Kenny Boy would be safe with his sister to watch over him.
She knew that relying on a child of only four years old was wrong, but she really didn’t know what else to do. If she brought in the authorities, she could lose the kids for ever. She knew that Imelda was capable of putting Jordanna up for adoption if the fancy took her. She would do it as well, just to prove a point. And, as she had the law on her side, Mary knew she had to keep her daughter sweet. She was stuck, as always, between a rock and a very hard place.