We Promise Not to Tell

by Albert Able

  It was true, I was more than tired; I was completely exhausted and so happily responded to Naomi’s invitation.

  The little bedroom was neat and clean but in spite of Naomi’s assurance that I ‘would be perfectly safe’, I wedged the chair under the doorknob before throwing myself into bed to fall almost instantly asleep.

  I had no way of knowing what time it was because I did not possess a wristwatch in those days. However, some time later I was woken by the sound of breaking furniture and Ahmed’s voice shouting and cursing.

  When the piercing screams started, I leaped out of bed and checked that the chair was still firmly wedged under the doorknob and then stepped back and listened. The next few seconds of unaccountable silence were suddenly shattered, as Ahmed shouted something unintelligible and the woman screamed again followed by the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs, as I backed hesitantly into the room a violent crash on the door sent me cowering and trembling with fear to the other side of the bed. I pushed my hand under the pillow and felt for the bag that contained my few precious processions in it; I found the little pair of nail scissors. It was not much of a weapon but somehow it gave me a modest feeling of courage.

  “You must let me in little lady, I have got your work permit!” Ahmed’s voice called from the landing.

  I shivered, desperately thinking what to say. “You said you would come with it tomorrow?” I tried.

  “Well it is tomorrow, its half past twelve.” he chuckled and banged again on the door. “Come on, you better let me in or Naomi will get another taste of my hand!” This time the humour had left his voice.

  “Go away!” I called back.

  “Have it your way” Ahmed answered lightly “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I was naturally relieved when I heard Ahmed crash back down the stairs but that changed very quickly when a scuffle, followed by a high-pitched hysterical scream, sent me cowering into my pillow again.

  “Please no please” I could hear Naomi pleading, followed by Ahmed’s growling voice “It’s your little friend’s choice not mine” which was followed by several more heart wrenching screams.

  Something inside made me very angry. “Stop, please stop!” I shouted as I raced across the room, pulled away the chair and opened the door. “You very bad man.” I shouted defiantly at the top of my voice. My English always used to suffer a bit when I was under pressure in those days.

  I remember Ahmed racing up the stairs again and facing me. “Yes I am indeed a very bad man but I can get work permits and that’s what you need isn’t it?” Still panting from all the exertion he reached into his pocket produced a piece of folded paper. “And now you must pay?”

  Seeing the savage glare in Ahmed’s eyes, I retreated slowly into the bedroom and as he moved towards me he continued to wave the piece of paper tantalizingly.

  Of course by now, I knew what was coming. I had not been exactly raped before but I had been obliged to give myself to that dirty old man from the Town Hall, as an extra payment to secure the travel documents. God knows what my father would have done to the man had he known what his precious daughter had sunk to and now it was about to happen all over again.

  Suddenly I was thinking perfectly clearly and how with ice-cold determination I was going to resolve the situation on my terms.

  Although he had not yet spotted the scissors held firmly in my hand, I did not expect he would see them as much of a challenge.

  Ahmed stood in front of me blocking any chance of escape. “So now if you are sensible, I will arrange the kind of work which pays more than anything else you can earn by making beds or washing toilets; which is about the only work you’re going to find otherwise” he picked at his teeth with a corner of the piece of paper “and it’s the only way you’re ever going to pay for this!” Ahmed casually waved the piece of paper and smiled.

  I tried to return the smile “Okay so what exactly do I have to do to earn all this money?” I asked trying to appear innocent.

  Ahmed quickly explained the full extent of the life he had in mind “and remember most importantly, my girls only call on gentlemen in hotels, they don’t loiter about on street corners.” He explained, proudly emphasising the apparent quality of his service.

  “Okay, so now I understand the deal can we sort all this out tomorrow morning, I’m really tired tonight?” I tried to delay the inevitable.

  “Sorry, I have to know tonight or I’ll let the only vacancy to another hungry young lady” he moved menacingly towards me “and I’m sure you’ll understand I have to test fly the goods first!”

  I thrust out my hand towards his stomach; I had slipped the scissors onto my middle fingers so that it protruded like a dagger.

  Ahmed stopped dead. “What?” He exclaimed stopping abruptly.

  “You pay first!” I hissed waving the scissors threateningly.

  “Pay?” Ahmed queried.

  “The works permit.” I gestured for him to pass it to me. “You wouldn’t expect me to work without taking the fee first would you?” I set my head on one side and waggled the scissors again.

  “Well you’ve got the nerve, I’ll give you that” he conceded and held out the piece of paper.

  Crouching, as if about to pounce and still waving the scissors aggressively, I grabbed the work permit and stuffed it into the pocket of my dressing gown. After a moment and realising there was little more I could do to delay the inevitable. I stood up erect and lowered my hand. “Okay what happens next?”

  “Now we sign the contract.” Ahmed smiled undoing his belt.

  I knew there was no point in resisting so I sat on the edge of the bed and let my mind wander for a moment. After all, I was sexually mature, having enjoyed two full-blooded love affairs at university and of course the rather sordid ten-minute romp with the man from the Town Hall. Then my thoughts were interrupted when I realised that Ahmed was standing completely naked before me.

  “Don’t worry, I always take precautions with my Ladies; wouldn’t want to take anything unwanted home to my wife?” He laughed and expertly rolled a condom onto the erect penis he was proudly displaying.

  I resigned to lie back on the bed. I winced briefly as Ahmed first lay across me but then somewhat surprisingly, literally closed my mind to his physical presence. In fact, in spite of his grunting and groaning I managed let my mind drift again and started to wonder if perhaps a life as a prostitute might not be so bad. After all, the potential of a life in a luxury apartment, a wardrobe full of wonderful clothes, lots of champagne and amazing meals in smart restaurants, it might have some appeal?

  As my mind rumbled on, I hardly noticed that Ahmed had stopped writhing around on top of me.

  After a brief pause, Ahmed stood up. “Well I suppose you’ll do but if that’s you’re idea of a performance, you’ll never earn any tips.” He spat derisorily, picked up his clothes and vanished into the bathroom.

  Then as I lay back on the bed and reality returned, I suddenly felt incredibly dirty and used, yet my mind was still tussling with the desperate position I was in.

  Ahmed, now fully dressed, reappeared and interrupted my thoughts again. “Okay so you start tomorrow, I’ll pick you up in the morning.” He left without saying another word.

  I rolled off of the bed and went wearily into the bathroom, where I spent the next half an hour in the shower, trying to wash the sordid experience away. Then I remembered Naomi and quickly dressed and went cautiously down stairs. I found her slouched on the settee with her hands held to her face, her torn Sari stained with blood from the vicious cut above her eye.

  I found a clean cloth and ran a bowl of warm water in the kitchen. “Who is this man and why would he do this to you?” I asked, as I gently bathed the wound and other ugly bruises.

  “I’m so sorry that you should have fallen into his grip. I’m embarrassed to say that he is my brother and he is an evil man” Naomi hugged her rib cage “he only knows one way with women.” She winced from the pain in
her ribs as she sobbed. “Now you listen to me,” she sat upright “you are an educated girl so I’m sure you can make a better life than the one he is offering?”

  Taking Naomi’s lead, I resolutely squared my shoulders. “You are so right and I will.” I said with renewed determination.

  Finally, we both went back to our beds and surprisingly I slept dreamlessly until several hours later, Naomi, mug of tea in hand, gently roused me. “I think you should be away from this house early. Then I can say to Ahmed you ran away whilst I was asleep?”

  Not wanting any more harm to come to Naomi, I readily agreed.

  It was barley daylight as I prepared to leave. Naomi stood at the door “Good luck my dear.” She drew in her breath as I unwittingly hugged her damaged ribs.

  “Sorry.” I stepped back apologetically.

  “That’s okay my dear; here” she pressed a note into my hand. “I’m sorry it’s not more but it’s all I have.”

  I looked at the Five-pound note and immediately tried to push it back into Naomi’s hand.

  “No you must take it,” Naomi insisted “just promise me that when you’ve make your fortune you’ll remember me?”

  The tears welled up in my eyes, I was too emotional to reply but managed a whispered “I promise” and with a sniff, turned and walked briskly towards the lights of the main road.

  As I left the house on that misty morning, I had no idea where I was going but somehow I knew, that what ever else I would find out there, it would be a better future than being one of Ahmed’s ‘Ladies’.

  When I reached the main road, I simply turned right following the pavement; after a couple of minutes I saw a Double Decker bus coming towards me. Without a care in the world and not knowing what else to do I stepped into the road placed my suitcase on the ground and waved both arms to stop the bus.

  It pulled up less than a metre away and the driver leaned out of the window. “What’s wrong with the bus stop luv?” he asked good-humouredly.

  “Thank you” I smiled weakly, shrugged my shoulders and stepped onto the platform.

  “Morning; where to luv?” The conductor asked cheerfully.

  “Where is bus going?” I asked absently.

  “Victoria Station.”

  “That is good.” I paid for the ticket and sat gazing through the condensation trickling down the window but I did not actually see anything, because my brain was in overdrive trying to make sense of the last twenty-four hours of my life.

  Stopping at regular intervals the bus gradually filled up. Eventually we crossed Vauxhall Bridge and stopped in front of a yet another queue of early morning commuters.

  Only one man from the queue chose to get onto the bus but it was not until he squeezed into the seat facing me that I noticed he was Asian and in almost the same instant I thought I recognised Ahmed.

  Shocked by the realisation that I had not escaped I panicked, grabbed my suitcase and dived for the exit. At that precise moment, the bus started to move throwing me completely off balance and causing me to catapult, suitcase in hand off the boarding platform and cart wheeling into the gutter to end up in an undignified heap at the feet of an old tramp, whilst my cheap compressed cardboard suitcase skidded to a halt under the wheels of the old tramp’s pram a couple of meters away.

  “Good morning” The tramp bent down and greeted me. “That was quite a spectacular way to get of the bus, are you okay?” He offered me his hand.

  I looked up at the voice; at first I was more embarrassed than hurt. “Thank you,” I said grabbing the offered hand and pulling myself to my feet.

  “Looks as though you’ll need a bit of a tidy up.” The old tramp concluded as he tried to brush some of the oily water from my coat; he was right it was soaked but he pulled his hand away as I looked up apprehensively at him.

  Strangely I felt no threat, the contrary in fact for when I looked more closely at the old tramp, with that flowing silver white beard he looked just like ‘Father Christmas’ and that in turn made me think of my home and family and the tears welled up in my eyes but the brief vision vanished, as the pain in my knee made its presence felt.

  When I looked down, I was not surprised to see blood trickling down my leg. “Oh bugger,” I swore in Polish.

  “What’s that luv?” The tramp questioned in surprise. “Where d'you hail from then eh?” He did not wait for a reply; he had also noticed the blood “Here” surprisingly he produced a box of tissues from his pram “use these.”

  I accepted the tissue and dabbed at my knee.

  “Press hard it will help to stop the bleeding.” The old man suggested and then picked up the battered old suitcase. “She must be as poor as me, if this is anything to go by.” I clearly heard the old tramp mutter.

  It took only a few seconds to stop the bleeding and so I turned my attention to the oily stains on my coat.

  “Best thing for you my dear is to go into that hotel and sort yourself out in the ladies washroom” the tramp pointed to a large marble-fronted building less than fifty metres away “they’re very posh, the loos that is and have all the bits and pieces you need.” The old tramp handed the suitcase back to me.

  “Do you think they’ll mind?” I queried.

  The tramp smiled encouragement. “Not at all, there’s so many people rushing about in there, no one’s going to notice one extra young lady.”

  “Okay, I think I’ll do that and thank you for your help.” I formally shook the old tramp’s hand.

  “My pleasure; may see you again later eh?” He threw up a casual salute.

  I nodded and walked nervously towards the hotel entrance. Inside the lobby, it was just as the old tramp had said, with people of every colour and creed dashing about or reading newspapers, talking in small groups or just some drinking tea or coffee. The tramp was right no one was going to notice one more person in that crowd.

  I also noticed that several clocks above the reception announced the time in various capital cities around the world. It was only eight fifteen in London; my first twenty-four hours in London had been very different to my dream.

  I found the Ladies Powder Room and wallowed for a while in the perfumed toiletries; I even managed to make my old coat look quite respectable again and emerged feeling refreshed and hungry. The clock over the reception desk showed that it was almost nine o’clock in London.

  The open plan lobby had numerous blocks of comfortable seating and so I moved to the nearest, sat down and casually picked up the discarded newspaper and looked for the ‘job vacancies’ section. As I eagerly scanned the pages, a voice interrupted me.

  “Can I get you anything Miss?”

  A little startled I looked up to find a waiter expertly balancing a tray on one hand and smiling down at me. “Well err. I’m well...” I stuttered.

  “Excuse me” the young man leaning closer asked discreetly “but are you one of those young ladies waiting for an interview?”

  I really did not know why but something made me simply say, “Yes I am.”

  The waiter relaxed “Ah, in that case there is complimentary tea, coffee and other stuff being served in the committee room over there.” he pointed to the other side of the lobby.

  I thanked him and walked across to find several other young women in a bedroom size room, where a table with tea, coffee, fruit juice and biscuits, immediately caught my eye. The others were all ready sipping drinks and nibbling biscuits.

  “Any idea how many places available?” A young girl approached me.

  “Not sure.” I mumbled from a mouth full of chocolate biscuit.

  The girl huffed and turned away.

  I shrugged my shoulders and stuffed several biscuits into my pocket.

  A uniformed porter entered the room. “Your attention please, I have your application forms. There are pens over there,” he pointed to a desk in the opposite corner “you will see that there is a separate section for each vacancy. Fill them in please and then hand them to the receptionist. You can wait in here
, until you are called to your interview.”

  The girls gathered around him to collect their forms. I was the last. “Which do you think is the best job?” I whispered conspiratorially.

  “It all depends.” The porter looked carefully at me. “Smart looking girl like you, reception I suppose” he winked and left the room.

  Two and a half hours and several biscuits later, I was called into my interview.

  Sitting behind a small desk, the female head receptionist and the under manager, looked up expressionlessly as I entered.

  Having interviewed seven completely unsuitable young women so far, they were obviously bored and had almost certainly concluded that they were not going to find anyone in this round of applications.

  The under manager briefly scanned my application form “Polish?” he mumbled and then asked with a bored drawn out sigh. “I see you want to be a receptionist?”

  “Yes I do.” I answered softly.

  “How’s your English?” The woman sneered.

  Instantly provoked by her arrogance I sat up proudly and replied defiantly.

  “I have a degree in English language and I expect to become more familiar with local colloquialisms in time” by chance, it was an opportunity to use one of those pet English phrases I had perfected at University.

  The under manager‘s head snapped up. “Profuse apologies, we didn’t mean to insult you. We’ve seen so many people who claim to be fluent in English but in practice are not” he picked up the application form again “so” he drawled looking for my name on the sheet “Connie” he looked up at me smiling “tell me a little bit more about yourself?” he asked with renewed interest in the interview.

  An hour later, I almost had the job but there was still one tricky problem, the ‘Work Permit’.

  “I’m afraid that this document is a forgery.” The man facing me waved my hard-earned ‘Work Permit’ between two fingers as if it were dirty.

  I anxiously sucked my lip. “Oh God” I muttered to myself in Polish and sank into the chair like a deflated balloon.

  “However let me see what we can do” the under manager winked “I will have to speak with the General Manager, Mr Marcus. I’m sure that he will have a solution!”