by Roberta Kray
‘Oh, black coffee, please. That’d be great.’ Lily stood up again and gazed around the room. ‘God, you’ve been busy. I hardly recognise the place.’
‘I only did a bit of tidying up.’
‘More than that, love. It was a right tip. Ta, you’ve done a grand job.’
‘Well, it was good of you to give me a bed for the night.’
‘No skin off my nose,’ Lily said. ‘Now, how about that coffee? And then we’d better get to work if we’re going to pay the rent this week.’
And so, that afternoon, Helen’s education into Lily’s world began. It started with hot tongs to curl her hair, and then a lesson on applying make-up so she could look a little older than she actually was.
‘The punters won’t complain, love – they like the young ones – but the cops might pick you up if you look under eighteen. You’ll have to watch out for the filth; they’re all over the place and they’re not in uniform, so you just have to sniff ’em out.’
‘I can do that,’ Helen said. From time to time plain-clothes detectives had come into the Fox, sniffing around after Joe Quinn and the firm. Tommy had always pointed them out, and after a while she had learned to spot them for herself. ‘I know you explained it all last night, but tell me again how it works, this corner game thing.’
‘It’s easy,’ Lily said, as she patted loose powder on to Helen’s face. ‘We head up to Soho and hang around some clip joint until a likely punter comes along. It won’t take long, trust me. You tell him that you’re working for the club and that you can’t get away straight off, but you’ll meet him round the corner in fifteen minutes. Say you’ve got a flat there, somewhere you can go.’
‘And then?’
Lily laughed. ‘And then you take the cash and leg it, love – once they’re out of sight, of course.’
‘But what if they won’t pay?’
‘Then you walk away. But that doesn’t happen very often. Most of them are so desperate for it, they’ve left their brains in their pants.’
Helen gazed into the mirror, absorbing all this information while her face was being gradually transformed. ‘Don’t they go to the cops? Don’t they report it?’
‘Well, what if they do? The law aren’t going to waste their time trying to find you. Be like looking for a needle in a haystack. And anyway, most of the punters don’t even bother. They’re too scared of their wives and families finding out that they’ve been after a quickie on the quiet.’
Helen, who was nothing like as confident as Lily, bit down on her lower lip. ‘It’s still risky, though, isn’t it?’
Lily’s eyes met hers in the mirror. ‘That’s half the fun of it,’ she said. ‘You’re not getting cold feet, are you?’
Helen knew that it was too late to change her mind now. Anyway, how else was she going to survive? ‘No, no way. I’m fine. I’ll do it.’
After the make-up was completed, Lily raided her wardrobe for clothes. The two girls were more or less the same size and height, and after numerous garments had been tried on and discarded, Helen found herself dressed in a black leather miniskirt and a silky red scoop-necked top. The black platform shoes were a size too small, but she managed to squeeze her feet into them.
‘Well, what do you think?’ asked Lily.
Helen frowned at herself in the full-length mirror. She certainly appeared older. However, she thought she looked not so much like a tom as a rather ludicrous impersonation of one. ‘Are you sure I look all right.’
Lily stood back and gave an appraising nod. ‘You’ll make a bomb.’
At five o’clock, they walked down to the station to catch a bus to Piccadilly. Helen, who wasn’t used to platform shoes, tottered unsteadily on them, occasionally clinging to Lily’s elbow for support. Lily found this hilarious and didn’t stop laughing all the way down the road.
They were both wearing fur jackets over their skimpy tops, which Helen was thankful for. She was worried, however, that she might bump into someone she knew – Yvonne, perhaps, or Karen and Debs – and kept a watchful eye out while they waited for the bus. Knowing that the Fox was only a hundred yards away gave her a strange yearning feeling in her stomach. She tried not to think about it. She was moving on, leaving that part of her life behind her.
It was only when they were sitting upstairs on the bus that Helen’s nerves began to kick in again. ‘What if I can’t do this?’ she asked, turning to Lily. ‘What if I do something wrong or nobody’s interested?’
Lily gave a laugh. ‘Believe me, hun, you won’t have any problems. The guys will be queuing up. You should see some of the girls working round there – they’re out-and-out dogs.’ She lit a cigarette and took a puff. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll be with you. I won’t leave you on your own.’
Helen stared out of the window, trying to remember everything she’d been told. What if she blew it? What if she was so nervy and awkward that the punters smelled a rat?
‘You’ll be fine,’ Lily continued. ‘I mean, what would you rather do – spend a few hours making a ton in Soho or sweat your guts out in a café for a weekly pittance and a few lousy tips?’
Put like that, Helen could see the logic of it. ‘How much do I ask for?’ she said, realising that she hadn’t even covered this basic question.
‘Oh, it depends what they’re after. Anything from thirty for a quickie to… well, whatever you think you might get.’
‘That much?’ Helen said, shocked by the amount. She hadn’t earned that in a week at the Fox.
‘You kind of have to play it by ear, check out their clothes, their shoes, work out how much they might be willing to pay. Just stick by me and you’ll soon get the hang of it.’
At Shaftesbury Avenue they got off the bus and walked up Dean Street into the centre of Soho. Helen had never been there before, apart from an afternoon shopping trip to Carnaby Street with her mother. And Soho at night was a very different place. It was the bustle she noticed first, the crowds of people on the streets. Slowly she took in the neon signs, the strip clubs and porn shops, the hustlers and the pimps, the toms waiting to do business. There was so much female flesh on offer, both in the pictures in the windows and in real life on the pavement, that she started to wonder how she’d ever compete. Girls in satin hot pants and Lurex halter tops stood in doorways with feather boas draped around their necks.
Lily, however, had none of Helen’s doubts. She strutted along confidently, her head held high, her long hair swinging down her back. Men turned to look at her as she walked past, their eyes raking her body like foxes eyeing up a chicken. Helen tried to keep track of the street names, to remember her way back in case they got separated. She sensed the danger of the place they were in, felt the atmosphere humming with a barely suppressed excitement.
Lily finally stopped across the road from a club displaying a neon sign that said Striptease. It was squeezed into a row of similar establishments offering peepshows and films and exotic dancing. She gave a wave to the bouncer on the door and then blew him a kiss.
‘That’s Doug,’ she said. ‘He’s sound. He’ll get shot of any troublesome punters.’
Helen looked towards the giant on the door. He must have been six foot six or seven and had the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. ‘Troublesome?’
‘You know, the ones who come back looking for you when you don’t show up. Doug sends them on their way. They don’t tend to argue with him.’
‘No,’ Helen said, still staring at him. ‘I don’t suppose they do.’ Her nerves were starting to get the better of her again, giant butterflies flapping in her guts. She tugged self-consciously at the hem of the miniskirt. She felt exposed and embarrassed, as if she actually was about to sell her body.
Lily unzipped her jacket and took out a full half-bottle of vodka. She unscrewed the cap and passed the bottle over. ‘Here, have a swig of this.’
Helen shook her head, wondering where the alcohol had come from. Hadn’t Lily claimed that she had no money for booze last nig
ht? ‘No thanks. I’ve still got a headache from that cider.’
‘Go on,’ Lily urged. ‘It’ll make you feel better, honestly it will.’
Helen hesitated, but then went ahead. She took a mouthful, swallowed it and grimaced. It was the first time she had ever drunk neat vodka. Although she didn’t care much for the taste, she liked the warm glow that rose up from her throat. It took the edge off the fear, and she giggled as she passed the bottle back.
They had another mouthful each before Lily declared that it was time to get to work. She lit a fag and scanned the crowd with expert eyes. ‘What you’re looking for,’ she said, ‘are the nervy ones, the shy ones or the out-of-towners. All you have to do is catch their eye and smile. You can leave the rest up to them.’
Helen looked around. There were so many men, she didn’t know where to start. They prowled the streets like hungry wolves, some shifty and furtive, others with a more predatory look in their eye. She shuffled from foot to foot, convinced that none of them would ever come near her.
It was Lily who was approached first. An overweight middle-aged man with a spare chin and a receding hairline sidled up to her.
‘You looking for business, love?’
‘Sorry, sweetheart, I’m busy,’ Lily said. ‘But my friend here might be able to help you out.’
Helen looked at her aghast. Lily grinned, gave her a little push towards him and stepped back into a doorway, leaving the two of them alone. Helen, aware of the man’s eyes sweeping over her body, was immediately gripped by panic. What should she say? What should she do? She swallowed hard, feeling her pulse beginning to race.
‘How much, then?’ the man said. ‘For the full… you know.’
Helen glanced quickly over her shoulder, but Lily was staring off down the street. ‘Er… thirty?’ she said tentatively, turning back to the punter. ‘But… er… I can’t… not right now. I mean, I can’t get away right this moment. I’m supposed to be working for the club, you see? I’ll have to talk to my boss and… er, it’ll be about ten minutes or so.’ The explanation came out in a rushed, hurried way, sounding – at least to her ears – about as truthful as the spiel from a second-hand car dealer.
‘Ten minutes?’ he muttered, pursing his lips.
‘I’ll have to talk to my boss,’ Helen said again. All she wanted now was for him to leave her alone. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t brazen enough. A sudden image of her grandmother jumped into her head, her face stern and disapproving. Oh God, this was all a big mistake. She shouldn’t be here. She was completely out of her depth.
But then, just as she was on the point of taking to her heels, the man reached into his pocket, took out three crumpled ten-pound notes and pressed them into her hand. Startled, Helen gazed down at the cash for a second before shoving it into the pocket of her skirt. ‘Round the corner,’ she muttered. ‘Brewer Street.’ She plucked a number from the air. ‘Number twenty-six. I’ll meet you there. Wait by the door.’
As the man skulked away, Lily hissed at her from behind. ‘Walk over to the club, make it look as though you’re going in there.’
Helen did as she was told, forcing herself not to look towards the man. Was he watching her? Was he about to change his mind, to rush back and demand the return of his money? Her heart was beating hard in her chest as she sauntered over to the door as casually as she could manage.
Doug grinned at her. ‘Don’t worry, love. He’s well gone.’
‘Is he?’ Helen said, her breath rushing from her lungs in a gasp of relief. She turned to stare into the crowd, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
Lily strode up and grabbed her by the elbow. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’ She gave Doug another breezy wave. ‘See you, hun.’
‘You be careful,’ he said to Helen. ‘Watch yourself. There’s some right nasty bastards out there.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Lily said. ‘She’s got me to take care of her.’
Before Helen had a chance to say goodbye to the giant – he reminded her a little of Frank – Lily had propelled her away. ‘Come on,’ she said again. ‘You can’t afford to hang about.’
They hurried into a side street, and then another, Helen quickly losing track of the direction they were going in. She felt a mixture of emotions: elation at having succeeded in her task, and a creeping revulsion at how she had achieved it. ‘You got any more of that vodka?’
‘Sure.’ Lily stopped by a sex shop and passed over the bottle. ‘You did great. The first time’s always the hardest. You’ll soon get used to it.’
Helen took a swig from the bottle, slowly beginning to relax. ‘God, I didn’t think he was going to pay.’
‘Oh, they always pay, babe – so long as you pick the right ones.’
‘So what now?’
Lily tucked the bottle back inside her jacket and smiled. ‘Now we go find ourselves another sucker.’
44
Christmas had come and gone, the New Year beckoning in 1975. And now it was February already. Tommy sat back on his bunk, trying to clear his head of everything but the music that was playing on the radio. But even as Cockney Rebel generously invited him to Come up and see me, make me smile, his eyes were inevitably drawn back towards the picture of his girls on the wall. He reached out a hand and touched their faces. It was too long since he had last seen them, and now they were miles away, living a new life in Spain.
Karen wrote to him occasionally, short, scrawled letters telling him about their house near the beach, her latest boyfriend or her job in a shop near the harbour selling T-shirts and flip-flops to tourists. She never mentioned the trial or what had happened. From Debs he had only received a card at Christmas. His older daughter, he knew, was still angry – angry about Shelley Anne, about his betrayal of her mother and the part he had played in attempting to dispose of the body of her grandfather.
Tommy had long ago given up protesting his innocence – at least to his family. It hurt that he wasn’t believed by the two people he loved most in the world, but he knew that Yvonne would have been whispering poison in their ears. His soon-to-be ex-wife wasn’t content with robbing him blind – Jesus, he should never have put the Fox in her name – but was determined to ruin his relationship with his daughters too.
After the trial, Tommy’s first few months in jail had been a nightmare. While he’d been on remand, there had still been hope, but once that was swept away, the long term of imprisonment stretched ahead of him, the years filled only with emptiness. The first thing he had learned was to stop feeling sorry for himself – what was done was done; the second was to stop yearning for the day he’d be released.
What he couldn’t stop, however, was going over the events of that fateful night. He played them over and over in his head, trying to spot the clues, trying to remember everything Connor had said and done. Had he been acting normally? But what was normal for Connor? He’d been crazy for most of his life. And his brother’s anger in the courtroom hadn’t helped matters either. The jury had taken against him, hearing only arrogance and lies in his evidence.
Tommy got out his cigarette papers and rolled a couple of skinny fags from his meagre supply of tobacco. With no extra cash coming in from outside, he had to make do with the weekly prison rations and the tiny salary he got from working in the print room. Yvonne, of course, hadn’t sent him a penny since he’d been convicted.
He frowned as he lit one of the fags, pulling the smoke into his lungs. If only he hadn’t taken the car keys off Connor. If only he’d just let him walk out of the Fox. If only Frank Meyer had cleared off after last orders and left him to deal with his brother alone. Tommy felt bad about Frank, really bad. He’d had no contact with him since the trial, didn’t even know which jail he’d been sent to.
There was someone else Tommy felt guilty about too, and that was Mouse. Had she voluntarily gone back to her aunt’s in Farleigh Wood or had Yvonne kicked her out? The latter, he suspected, although Karen claimed she had left of her own accord. Janet Si
mms, he was sure, wouldn’t have welcomed the renewal of old responsibilities. Still, at least the kid was safe, with a roof over her head. Mouse was different to most girls of her age, less worldly, more fragile. Tommy sighed out a narrow stream of smoke. He had promised her a home for as long as she wanted it, but now – even though it was through no fault of his own – he had broken that promise.
Although it did no good to dwell on things you couldn’t change, Tommy couldn’t always help himself. He’d lost his girls, the Fox and most of his hopes for the future. The Dagenham fraud had probably gone for a burton too. As soon as the guilty verdicts had come in, Alfie Blunt would have ordered goods up to the credit limit, had a closing-down sale and scarpered with the cash. He was probably lying on a beach right now, soaking up the sun and sipping on a cocktail.
Tommy heard the flick of a page being turned on the bunk beneath him. He was sharing the cell with a taciturn Scot, which suited him just fine. There was nothing worse than being banged up with some hyped-up geezer who was desperate for a fix and wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. Mal, who was serving a long sentence for a spate of robberies in Newcastle, spent most of his time reading true-life crime books, although whether this was pure escapism or an attempt to hone his skills, Tommy hadn’t yet figured out.
There was the sound of heavy boots outside, and then the noisy clink of the key turning in the lock. A grey-haired screw came into the cell and looked up at Tommy.
‘Quinn,’ he said. ‘You’re wanted in the office.’
‘What for?’
‘Just shift your arse, will you. I haven’t got all day.’
Tommy carefully put his fag out, saving the remainder for later, and climbed down from the bunk. ‘You letting me out then, Mr Patterson? Finally realised that I’m an innocent man?’
‘Yeah, right. You and all the others in here.’
The screw locked the door again and Tommy followed him along the landing. He glanced down through the tall metal rail at the wide safety nets strung from one side of the cell block to the other, a deterrent to any inmate who might get ideas about splattering their own, or someone else’s, brains on the concrete below.