Papercuts

by Colin Bateman

The nurse disappeared behind the curtain, while Rob mouthed the name: Marja, Marja...

  He heard a hushed but nevertheless agitated exchange without quite being able to make out what was being said. Then the nurse came back and asked, with a little hint of embarrassment if he had any photo ID on him. Rob hesitated between his press card and his driver’s licence, before going with the press card. The nurse took it from him without comment and returned behind the curtain. Another, briefer exchange, and then she was ushering him in.

  Marja was lying on top of the bed; she smiled nervously at him; he started to explain who he was and she cut him off with, ‘I remember. I remember everything.’

  He could see bruising on her forehead, and down her bare left arm; each time she shifted on the bed she gave a little grimace. Her hair was dyed blonde with the black roots showing; it was also tangled and matted. She was free of make-up and naturally pretty, but there were dark rings under her eyes; her fingernails were brightly painted, but he could see the natural colour growing up from the quick. Her accent was indeed Eastern European, Czech as it turned out, but her English was good. She said she was here on holiday with friends and they had an argument and she jumped out of the car in a temper but didn’t actually remember anything about getting knocked down until Rob was giving her the kiss of life.

  Rob listened and nodded sympathetically, but he was also aware that she was avoiding eye contact, and that her story felt somehow rehearsed. She appeared nervous when footsteps sounded in the ward beyond the curtain; she was crumpling the top bed sheet in her fists so hard that the skeletal whiteness of her knuckles shone through her pallid skin.

  Rob said, ‘And have your friends been to see you?’

  ‘No – not yet, their English is not so good. I think perhaps they do not know where I am.’

  ‘They didn’t hang around at the accident. Friends would...’

  ‘We were having an argument. That happens with friends sometimes, no? I think they then panicked when I was knocked down...’

  Rob said, ‘Well – that’s unfortunate. If you tell me where they’re living I can certainly let them know where you—’

  ‘No,’ Marja cut in, ‘you should not do that. They will be worried, of course, but they will be working. I should not worry them. I will be home tomorrow, next day perhaps, they will see me then.’

  ‘Where do you work, Marja? Do you want me to call them or anyone to—?’

  ‘I am secretary, but – how you say, between jobs? No, there is no need. Mr...?’

  ‘Cullen. Rob Cullen.’

  ‘Mr Cullen – thank you for seeing me. And for the kiss of life. But I will be fine now. Thank you very much.’

  And that, clearly, was his cue to go. He had a dozen questions he wanted to ask, but he just stood there, nodding for what seemed like an eternity. He felt awkward, and somewhat small. He eventually summoned a reassuring smile, and said that he hoped she would be feeling better soon. Then he took one of his business cards from his wallet and left it on her bedside locker and backed away. He tramped unhappily back down the corridor and out to his car, frustrated that he hadn’t really been able to get her talking and that she had dismissed him so easily, like a sparrow giving an eagle its marching orders. He was supposed to be the big experienced journalist, not a floundering cub reporter. He got into his car, but he didn’t start the engine. Marja wanted to be left alone, but at the same time everything about her seemed to scream out the opposite. Her pinched face and large eyes gave an impression of abandonment and fear.

  Rob called the office. Maybe if he didn’t quite have the tools in his kit any more, he knew someone who would.

  He explained the situation, before adding: ‘I’m just not very good with—’

  ‘Women,’ Alix said.

  ‘...teasing these kinds of stories out, it takes a more sympathetic... but thank you for that vote of...’

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘I’m in the car park.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll drive over.’

  Twenty minutes later she was opening the passenger door and climbing in; he quickly jumped to move the garage-bought flowers from the seat.

  ‘You shouldn’t have bothered.’

  ‘I didn’t, I—’

  ‘No, I really mean it, you shouldn’t have bothered. I get paid for this.’

  ‘Alix, I—’

  ‘So basically you want me to go in there and offer her a shoulder to cry on.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘You want me to ruthlessly exploit a woman who has recently been mown down by a car so that you can get a story for your rubbishy local rag?’

  ‘Yes, Alix.’

  ‘Are you upset because she didn’t throw her arms around you and pepper you with kisses for saving her life?’

  ‘No, Alix... Have you had one or two extra cappuccinos today?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I’m just high on life.’

  She climbed back out. She came round to his side. When the window came down she said, ‘You know what Pete said?’

  ‘She’s not local, what’s the point?’

  ‘Exactly. And you know what I said?’

  ‘No, but I can probably guess.’

  Alix smiled. ‘Why don’t you go back to the office, let the real reporters get on with their job?’ Then she wheeled away without waiting for a response.

  Rob watched her walk towards the hospital entrance, and then quickly looked away when she glanced round to check if he was.

  *

  Michael, now abandoned by Sean, followed Crilly at a snail’s pace as he lazily perused his way through the charity shops that in recent years seemed to have taken over much of Main Street. Crilly didn’t actually buy anything, but rather looked as if he was just killing time. Eventually he turned onto Hamilton Road, and Michael fell in about twenty metres behind him. Crilly passed along the trees at the edge of Ward Park and then the new library and continued on as far as the dole office. He stopped outside the gates to finish off a cigarette, before throwing it down and disappearing inside. Michael took up a position on the other side of the road just down a bit from the entrance, leaning nonchalantly against a lamp post while ostensibly studying his phone, but actually preparing it to take a photo of Crilly when he emerged. Here was a man who was not only exploiting an Indian family to the extent that their children were forced to work to make ends meet, but was also clearly signing on the dole as well. This more than justified the time Michael had spent following him. He began to imagine variations of the headline Rob might put on the story, most of which involved the words benefit cheat and puns to do with the car wash. Ten minutes later Crilly came sauntering out, lit another fag and headed back towards Main Street. Michael fired off another couple of photographs as he passed on the other side of the road, then, satisfied with his morning’s work, began to walk back to the office, all ready to impress Rob with his story of dogged journalistic persistence. He was just passing the library and approaching the entrance to the park when Crilly suddenly stepped out from behind a tree and grabbed him by his lapels. He marched him backwards until he was forced hard up against the same tree.

  ‘What the fuck are you playing at?’

  Michael, who could immediately smell cigarettes and alcohol, spluttered out: ‘I... I... I’m not playing at—?’

  ‘You’re following me you little shit...’

  ‘I’m really not...’

  Crilly shoved him again. Michael’s head bounced back off the bark. ‘Just fucking tell me or I swear to God I’ll—’

  At that moment a woman pushing a pram came walking out of the park: she glanced over at them. Crilly immediately dropped his hands from Michael’s jacket and stepped back. Michael should have taken advantage of her interest to call for help or to run, but he couldn’t quite form the words or make his legs work. His heart was beating ninety to the dozen and he felt slightly groggy from striking the tree. All he could do was rub at the back of his head and mutter, ‘Fucking hell...’

>   The woman walked on. Crilly stared after her, then, apparently satisfied, back to Michael. But his intensity was evaporating. His hands moved slowly to his own face until he was covering his nose and mouth; he swore into his cupped fingers. His hands came down again and he said, ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean... I just get angry when... You’re the reporter, right? You were at the car wash earlier...?’

  Michael nodded warily. He straightened his jacket.

  ‘Just... tell me why you’re following me.’

  ‘I... wasn’t following... exactly... I just wanted to grab a word... waiting for the right... opportunity...’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘The... the... the... accident and—’

  ‘I told youse about that...’

  ‘And... and... we were... concerned... for the well-being of that family you have working for you. For the kids.’

  ‘The... are you joking?’

  ‘No... my... my... my editor wants to run a story about... immigrant families being... exploited by...’ He cleared his throat. ‘...I mean employed by...’

  Michael felt a little bad about trying to shift the blame to Rob. But it was more or less the truth. And also, he didn’t want to be assaulted again.

  But Crilly was shaking his head incredulously. ‘Man,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to be fucking joking.’ He jabbed a finger at Michael and then at his own face. ‘But I’m telling you this, if you put my mug in your fucking paper, I’ll find you, and I’ll beat the fucking life out of you, okay? And you can quote me on that.’

  Michael swallowed. He nodded. He would indeed quote him on it, but now wasn’t the time to say so.

  ‘Exploitation,’ Crilly laughed suddenly, ‘exploi-fucking- tation! Tell you what you should get... a fucking life.’

  He gave Michael another shove, before stalking away.

  Michael stood where he was, trying to catch his breath for what felt like a very long time. At least until Crilly had completely disappeared and his own heart had stopped racing. He was a reporter, he wasn’t supposed to respond to intimidation or provocation, and he hadn’t. But he felt a little bit diminished for acting so meekly.

  *

  Rob was just starting to get worried about Alix – she’d been gone for two hours and wasn’t answering her phone – when she came charging back into editorial, face flushed, hair flying. She barely paused to take her coat off before she came into his office and threw herself into the chair opposite.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’

  ‘No one expects the Spanish Inquisition...’ said Rob.

  Alix’s brow furrowed. ‘You what...?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Rob, with only a hint of despair. ‘So what happened with—?’

  ‘She’s a hooker!’

  ‘She—?’

  ‘I’ve been all over the bloody place with her. Hold on. I need another coffee.’ She was up and out of the chair again and back out of the office and into the kitchen.

  Pete came and stood in the doorway. ‘What’s got her knickers in a twist?’

  Rob shrugged. ‘But take a pew, I think we’re about to find out.’

  Alix returned, sipping her coffee as she did. She gave Pete a look before taking her seat. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘that’s better already. Now, where was I?’

  ‘She’s a lady of the night,’ said Rob.

  ‘Who is?’ Pete asked.

  ‘My damsel in distress. Marja.’

  ‘Not only that but she’s...’ Alix stopped herself. She held up a hand and said, ‘Breathe... breathe... okay, I’ll start at the very beginning.’

  ‘It’s a very good place to start,’ said Rob, acutely aware from the blank look on Alix’s face that she wasn’t getting this reference either.

  ‘Okay, whatever – I got to the hospital, okay? I went to the ward and there’s a bit of a scene going on, some guy had walked in and she spotted him and locked herself in the toilets and was screaming blue murder and the nurses called the police but he took off before they arrived. Then she wouldn’t come out for ages and wouldn’t say anything to the cops when she was eventually persuaded out. She was in a dreadful state – really terrified.’

  ‘And they let you stay?’ Pete asked.

  ‘Absolutely not, they chased me as well. I said who I was and they told me to call the press office. Then about ten minutes later I’m still there in the car park when she comes walking out, real slowly and there’s a taxi waiting there and she goes up to it and speaks to the driver, but he shakes his head, and she just stands there like she doesn’t know what to do next, so I guessed she had no money. I went up to her and asked if she was okay and she basically just collapsed in my arms, still clearly in a lot of pain but she says she can’t stay in the hospital because ‘he knows where I am’ and can I help her? So I did. I gave her a lift to the Women’s Aid place, in Castle Street, and along the way I said who I was and of course she remembered you and that made her a bit more trusting. I got her there and luckily they had a room and I hung around until she got settled in and I got talking to the staff and I’ve done some volunteering...’

  ‘You have?’ said Pete.

  ‘Before I was working here, but they know me okay, and they said they see girls like Marja all the time, they answer adverts in Prague or Poland or Romania for nannies or hotel work and then when they arrive at the airport these guys take their passports and force them into sex work.’

  ‘In Belfast,’ said Pete.

  ‘No,’ said Alix, ‘well, yes, in Belfast, but here too.’

  ‘In our town?’

  Alix’s brow furrowed. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘In Bangor?’

  ‘Yes. Duh.’ Pete looked absolutely perplexed. ‘Do you not think our wee town...?’ Alix laughed suddenly. ‘You really don’t! Pete, for Godsake, you really think we’re some sort of perfect wee chocolate-box town where nothing like this could ever happen?’

  ‘Well I’m sure—’

  ‘She’s forced to work in a brothel! Right here in town, walking distance. And not just our town, every town.’

  ‘I’m not convinced that’s necessarily—’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake – Rob, tell him, every town has its pimps and prostitutes and—’

  ‘Oh absolutely,’ said Rob, ‘they’re all over the place.’ And then he became aware that he’d said it with a little too much enthusiasm, and that there was an involuntary colouring of his cheeks going on. ‘Not that I...’ he added hurriedly, which only served to make matters worse. He faked a cough, to help explain the colour, and it didn’t work at all. He swore to himself. He’d covered plenty of down and dirty stories in his time in England and he was pretty sure he hadn’t blushed once, but there was something about even talking about prostitution, and therefore sex, in front of Alix that his subconscious seemed to find deeply embarrassing. ‘So,’ he said, getting up from his desk and moving to the window and looking out, resting his hands on the windowsill and leaning down with a pose of studied nonchalance, ‘what’re we going to do about it? Her, I mean.’

  ‘I was going to give her a couple of hours to settle in, calm down,’ said Alix, ‘and then see if she’d be willing to talk. I mean, she’s going to have quite a story to tell, and if we can expose the people who are doing this...’

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Pete asked. ‘I mean, we’re a small, community paper and if there is a... brothel... in town, do we really want to publicize the fact? Better just to hand it on to the police and let them deal with it. Or tip off one of the nationals and they can do a proper exposé. It’s not really our thing, is it?’

  Rob, calmer now, turned from the window in time to see Alix shaking her head. ‘Our thing,’ she mimicked. ‘Christ, Pete, you’re so parochial.’

  ‘And there’s nothing wrong with that. People buy the paper for local news about local people, not—’

  ‘Local news for local people. And this is local news.’

  ‘No, it’s a bu
nch of foreigners who come over here to make money and end up fighting amongst themselves.’

  Alix swore.

  Pete folded his arms. Then he sighed. ‘I’m just listening to myself, and I’m thinking that I’m sounding somewhat to the right of Hitler. I don’t mean it like that.’ He nodded at Rob, back behind his desk. ‘All I’m saying is, your predecessor had a very fixed idea of what our paper was – a family newspaper which old women and young children could read without ever getting offended or having to ask or answer awkward questions. He’ll be turning in his grave if we start plastering hookers and brothels all over the front page. We shouldn’t give them a platform.’

  Rob nodded from one to the other. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘let’s see.’

  ‘Let’s see,’ Alix repeated incredulously.

  ‘Yes, let’s just see.’ He smiled. ‘And before you climb onto your high horse, I happen to believe that anything that happens in this town is going to be of interest to our readers, and whatever we do report will be handled responsibly, so that old women will not suffer heart attacks and young children won’t be corrupted. But we have no story yet. We have a road accident involving a foreign national. Get me the story, then I’ll decide how we handle it. Deal?’

  Alix looked at him for what felt like a long time, then nodded.

  Pete, with a bit of a smirk on his face, turned back out of the office.

  Alix glared after him. ‘He really annoys me.’

  ‘I know he can be—’

  ‘And you’re not much better.’

  ‘Alix...’

  ‘You should just tell him to fuck off or go edit the Church Times or something.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  Then she got up from her chair and went back to her desk, fuming quietly at Rob’s lack of commitment while simultaneously being a little turned on by his rosy cheeks.

  Wise up, she told herself, concentrate.

  *

  Michael was still annoyed with himself. He knew what Rob would say – you’re not supposed to respond, you’re supposed to report, you did the right thing – the trouble was it didn’t feel like the right thing. Crilly was bigger and stronger than he was, for sure, but he still should have done something. Shoved him back, at the very least. Threatened him with the police. The trouble was that every time he imagined himself doing it, he sounded all high-pitched and whiney, like a little girl running to tell the teacher. He knew if he told Sean about it, he would take the piss out of him, and he certainly wouldn’t be allowed to forget what had happened. To Sean it would just be a bit of a wind-up; but it would still hurt. There was also a story in benefits cheat assaults reporter, but it wasn’t one he wanted to write. He didn’t want to star in a story that would make him look like a coward. Rob would tell him to take the moral high ground. His revenge would be writing a good and powerful story about the exploitation of the Indian family by a local bully boy, and he knew he would do that, but he really didn’t want to mention the assault or the fact that he’d been threatened. That was the thing about small towns – if you fell out with someone, you would inevitably bump into them at some point. Crilly was a hard man and he’d threatened to beat the fucking life out of him. Crilly knew Michael had been scared, and he could exploit that for ever.