The Madam

by Jaime Raven

  Mark loves his little nephew and he used his disability welfare payments to buy him a giant panda that sings nursery rhymes. Mum’s bought him more toys than I can be bothered to count.

  She’s been able to spoil him because I’ve paid for everything else, including all the food and wine and their new 42-inch flat-screen television. The money from the escorting has made it all so much easier. Before I started whoring we were living hand to mouth and life was a struggle. What little I received in benefits I squandered on fags, booze and drugs because it was the only way I could relieve the pressure. My choices were limited and my prospects were grim. And the longer it carried on the worse I felt about myself. But after swallowing my pride and seizing control of the situation, I’m now flush with cash and the future’s looking much brighter for Leo.

  Of course, my mother has no idea what I really do when she’s looking after Leo. She thinks I’m holding down two jobs – one in a restaurant and the other in a bar. It accounts for the odd hours I work. I hate to think how she’d react if she ever found out the truth. But as far as I’m concerned that’s never going to happen.

  As I look at my kid brother playing with Leo a great wave of sadness rolls over me. I’m reminded of what happened to him all those years ago when he came to my rescue. The damage to his brain from hitting his head on the kerb has blighted his entire life. He’s never had a girlfriend and he’ll almost certainly never have children. It’s such an awful shame.

  My mother has thankfully stopped telling me that it was my fault, but I know she still thinks it. I can see it in her eyes sometimes when she looks at me. It makes me wonder if she wishes I was the one cursed with a disability.

  ‘Well merry Christmas everyone,’ I say in order to banish the negative thoughts from my mind. ‘And let’s hope we have many, many more.’

  I get up from the sofa and walk over to my brother to give him a kiss on the cheek. Then I turn to my mother and give her a hug.

  She pats my back affectionately and says, ‘Thank God you’re getting your life together at last, Lizzie. That little boy has changed you for the better. For his sake you have to follow a righteous path from now on. No more drugs and drink. No more consorting with unreliable men. Stay on the path and all will be well.’

  I woke up with my mother’s words ringing in my ears. The memory of that Christmas Day was still vivid and I often dreamt about it. We all had such a great time and we were like a normal family again.

  I’d been full of optimism back then, and I’d even dared to hope that my mother was beginning to think I wasn’t such a wretched daughter after all.

  But, of course, I should have known better than to believe that things would turn out well for me, especially given the fact that I never did stick to that righteous path.

  I didn’t want to get out of bed. I would have been content to lie there for the rest of the day, making love to Scar and slipping in and out of sleep.

  But there were things to do. People to see. So I forced myself up and into the bathroom for another shower.

  It still felt weird to have freedom of movement. In my head I’d been conditioned to the monotonous routine of prison life. Not having to ask for permission to do things would take some getting used to.

  I wondered what it was like for lifers when they were tossed back into society after so many years inside. How the hell did they cope? Did they ever settle back into a normal rhythm? Or did they struggle to adjust until the day they died?

  In the shower I reflected again on how lucky I’d been not to have been convicted of murder and given a life sentence. Three years and eleven months had been bad, but I still had a strong sense of who I was and what I wanted out of life. And the sense of injustice within me had not been replaced by a grudging acceptance. In fact it now burned more fiercely than ever.

  The threats and the attack on my brother had only served to fan the flames inside me. They’d also made me realise that I wasn’t wasting my time.

  Whoever had murdered Rufus Benedict and stitched me up was already running scared. And that was even before I’d got started.

  6

  Scar offered to come with me to see Ruby Gillespie, but I told her that I thought it best if I went alone.

  ‘How do you know she’ll be in?’ Scar said.

  ‘I can’t be sure, but in all the time I knew her she hardly ever left her house.’

  Scar offered to give me a lift, but since Ruby lived only about half a mile away I said I’d walk.

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Wait for me to call you,’ I said. ‘You can pick me up and take me to the station to see Detective McGrath.’

  ‘Please be careful, Lizzie,’ she said. ‘I heard a lot of bad things about that Gillespie woman. She sounds really unpleasant.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure I can handle her.’

  It was warm but gloomy outside. The clouds had thickened above the city and there was moisture in the air. But I was conscious of a spring in my step as I walked along Onslow Road with its colourful shops and takeaways. Last night I’d been drunk so I’d failed to appreciate how liberating it was to be walking the streets again. One thing that prison teaches you is to never take such things for granted.

  I tried not to reminisce as I walked, but of course it was hard to keep the memories at bay. I passed a Tandoori restaurant and the flat above it where I’d lived for a time, and then the Aldi supermarket where I used to take Leo shopping. I could see him in my mind’s eye as he sat in the trolley while I pushed him around the aisles.

  He was a happy and contented little boy, full of life and always smiling. He’d be five now if he’d lived, and at primary school. And I would no doubt be a proud, doting mother. But all I had were memories. I would never see him leave school, fall in love, marry or have children of his own. I’d never see him ride a bike or start work or pass his first exam.

  It was easy for people to say that the meningitis would have claimed him even if I hadn’t been locked up. But I was convinced otherwise. I would have known instinctively that there was something seriously wrong with him and I would have taken him straight to the hospital.

  I didn’t blame my mother for not having the same maternal instinct. But I did blame those who had robbed my son of his own mother when he needed me most.

  Ruby Gillespie lived just north of Bevois Valley close to Southampton’s vast city centre park known as the Common.

  I was shocked to see the state of her house. Before I went to prison it had been a smart semi with a cream-coloured façade and a neat little front garden.

  But over the last four years it had fallen into disrepair. The paint was chipped and stained and the garden colonised by hardy weeds. There were two overflowing wheelie bins in front of the downstairs window and a dead pigeon lying on the path.

  It was hard to believe the place still doubled as a brothel. Would punters really want to be entertained in such a dump?

  On the third ring of the bell the door was opened and there was Ruby. She was wearing a black top and beige skirt that must have taken an hour to squeeze into.

  She looked older than her forty-odd years. She’d grown thicker round the middle, and her plump face was made heavier by a double chin. The sight of her unleashed a deluge of memories, all of them unpleasant.

  ‘Hello, Ruby,’ I said.

  Her mouth hardened and her bloodshot eyes tightened as she studied my face.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Her voice was hoarse and croaky.

  ‘Looking up an old friend,’ I said.

  As she sized me up, I noticed the lines on her face through the heavy make-up. She’d lost her looks and was trying hard to disguise it.

  ‘I heard you got out,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t expect you to turn up on my doorstep.’

  I shrugged. ‘I thought I’d surprise you. Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

  Her jaw stiffened. ‘What do you want?’

  This time
when she spoke I smelled the booze on her breath.

  ‘I want to ask you some questions,’ I said. ‘I didn’t get a chance to ask them four years ago, and they’ve been playing on my mind ever since.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you, Lizzie. So bugger off and don’t come here again.’

  She started to close the door in my face, but she wasn’t quick enough. I put my hand against it and pushed past her into the hallway.

  ‘What the fuck?’ she yelped. ‘You can’t …’

  ‘Shut up, Ruby,’ I said. ‘Close the door behind me and let’s go talk.’

  Inside it smelled like a giant ashtray. The stale, cloying air reached into my throat and made me cough.

  I stomped along the hallway and into the kitchen. My last visit here had been two days before Benedict’s murder when I’d come to pay Ruby her share of a night’s cash takings. Back then the large kitchen had been spotlessly clean, with newly fitted cupboards and polished surfaces. Now it was a mess. Unwashed plates and cutlery were piled in the sink and the worktops were cluttered. There were dark, sticky stains on the lino flooring and damp smudges on the ceiling. Through the rear window I could see an overgrown lawn and a slatted wooden fence that was missing a couple of panels.

  ‘If you don’t get out of here right now I’m calling the police,’ Ruby said as she entered the kitchen behind me.

  I spun round to face her, and a surge of fierce anger whipped through me.

  ‘You’re a callous fucking bitch,’ I yelled. ‘I was banged up for four years because of you.’

  She bared teeth that were stained with nicotine and coffee.

  ‘I didn’t tell you to kill Benedict,’ she said. ‘You did that all by yourself.’

  The red mist came down and I lunged at her. She jerked her body backwards and hit the wall. I grabbed hold of her top with both hands and fought the urge to smash my forehead into her puffy face.

  ‘You lied in court, Ruby,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘You said that I carried a knife around in my bag for protection. You know that wasn’t true. And you must have known how it would play with the police and the judge. So why did you say it?’

  Her eyes grew wide and her lips trembled. I felt a fire ignite in my belly. All the anger and grief that had built in prison was threatening to explode.

  ‘Please stop, Lizzie,’ she pleaded. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  I came close to losing it completely, but her words pulled me back from the brink. I let go of her top and felt the tension leave my shoulders.

  ‘Sit down,’ I said. ‘And start talking.’

  As she shuffled across the kitchen to the table, I took a couple of deep breaths to slow my heart as it beat furiously against my ribs. For a moment it was like being back in prison where confrontations with other inmates were an almost daily occurrence. There I’d learned that the best way to handle bullies and troublemakers was to be aggressive and physical. That way they thought twice about picking on you.

  Ruby pulled out a chair and sat down at the table with a heavy sigh. She reached for a pack of cigarettes, extracted one and wedged it between her lips. Her hands trembled as she lit it with a cheap throwaway lighter.

  I stood with my back to the sink and stared at her. She avoided my gaze, and her eyes seemed to go out of focus as she watched the smoke from her cigarette curl upwards towards the ceiling.

  ‘You must have known I’d come here,’ I said. ‘Or did you actually believe that I’d just forget that you stitched me up?’

  She sucked at her lower lip. ‘The police warned me that you might turn up, but I thought you’d have the good sense not to.’

  ‘And why did you think that?’

  She gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘Because there’s nothing for you any more in this city except bad memories and people who hate you.’

  ‘There’s my son’s grave,’ I said.

  She looked at me then and turned down the corners of her mouth.

  ‘I heard about that. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘If I hadn’t gone to prison there’s a good chance that Leo would still be alive,’ I said. ‘Which is why I’m holding you partly responsible for his death.’

  Panic seized her face, and her breathing suddenly became laboured.

  ‘You can’t be serious. It wasn’t just my testimony that got you jailed. You were caught red-handed in that hotel room. There was a mountain of evidence proving that you killed Benedict.’

  ‘But the main thing was the knife, Ruby. I’d never seen it before, but the police didn’t believe me because of what you told them.’

  She swallowed hard and started to say something, but then stopped herself and drew on her ciggy instead.

  ‘So come on,’ I said. ‘You at least owe me an explanation.’

  I expected her to remain defiant and dare me to cross the line. The Ruby of old would have brazened it out, knowing that I wouldn’t want to risk going back to prison for assaulting her.

  But four years on she was no longer the woman she was then. The drink had made her weak and vulnerable. So instead of fixing me with a steely stare her face twisted into an uneasy frown, and tears began to form in her eyes.

  Then, much to my surprise, she started to sob, her cheeks streaming with rivers of black mascara.

  I watched and waited, saying nothing. It was obvious to me that the tears were genuine. It wasn’t an act. But even so the only emotion they evoked in me was one of complete contempt.

  After about thirty seconds she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and said, ‘I had to do it, Lizzie. I was given no choice.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  She drew a shaky breath. ‘I was told that if I didn’t tell the police that you kept a knife in your bag then this house would be burned down with me in it.’

  Ruby’s words put a hard knot in my stomach and sent my pulse racing.

  For nearly four years I’d wondered what had possessed her to lie in court. And now I knew. She’d received a death threat.

  I had a sudden, intense flashback to the trial. Saw her telling the court that I’d boasted of carrying a knife in my bag for protection. The prosecution claimed I’d used that knife to kill Rufus Benedict in the hotel room during a struggle.

  It had been the perfect set-up and Ruby Gillespie had played a pivotal role.

  ‘I’m so very sorry, Lizzie,’ she said, her voice now thin and fretful. ‘I was too scared not to do what they said.’

  ‘So who are they?’

  She pinched her eyes shut to stop more tears from falling. ‘I don’t know. Honest. Three nights after you were arrested there was a knock at the door. When I answered it there were two men standing there. They were wearing balaclavas, and they forced their way in and roughed me up. They told me what they wanted me to do and said that if I didn’t do it or went to the police they’d kill me.’

  ‘And you have no idea who they were.’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Were they white? Did they have accents?’

  ‘They were wearing gloves so I don’t know if they were white, black or brown. But they didn’t have accents. At least I don’t think they did. It’s hard to remember.’

  ‘So what about their ages?’

  ‘I don’t know. Thirties, forties, I suppose.’

  ‘Did they say why they wanted you to lie?’

  ‘They said that you’d murdered Benedict, and they wanted to make sure that you didn’t get off.’

  ‘And you believed them?’

  ‘It was hard not to. At the time everyone was saying you must have done it. You were alone in that room with him, and his blood was all over you. What was I meant to think?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t kill him, despite what I said at the trial,’ I snapped. ‘Two men came into the room and attacked us. That’s why they got you to lie. I was framed.’

  Her eyes glazed over with tears and her hands rested in her lap, clenching and unclenching.
/>   ‘Those men,’ I said. ‘How often have they been here?’

  ‘Just the once. But I had threatening phone calls in the months leading up to the trial. And since you went down they’ve called about a dozen times. They’ve told me they’re watching me and that if I ever go back on what I said they’ll come for me.’

  ‘You have to go to the police, Ruby. There’s no way they’ll do anything to you now that I’m out.’

  She studied her smouldering cigarette for a moment, then shook her head. ‘I’m not doing that. I’ll be done for perjury at the very least.’

  ‘But what you did to me was fucking evil,’ I fumed. ‘I went to prison for a crime I didn’t commit and lost my only son. You owe me, Ruby.’

  ‘I’ve suffered too,’ she said. ‘I became a nervous wreck because of what happened. I lost business and got into debt. Why do you think I started letting myself go? It’s been a nightmare.’

  ‘Poor you,’ I said sarcastically. ‘But I can tell you it was no picnic for me inside.’

  ‘Well, at least you’ve served your sentence and can begin over again. You’re still young enough to start a new life. If I confess and go to jail my life will be over.’

  ‘Well, you can’t stop me telling the police what you’ve said.’

  ‘Jesus, Lizzie. Are you so stupid that you think they’d believe you? I’d just deny it. Say that you came here to harass me.’

  I felt a bolt twist in my gut. The bitch was right. No way would the cops take my word against hers.

  ‘Just forget it, Lizzie,’ she said. ‘Be grateful that you’re out and move on. You’ll only get more grief if you go down this road.’

  A cold breath of air flooded my lungs, and my chest heaved. I had to suppress a powerful urge to hurl myself across the room and beat the shit out of her.

  I sensed that her contrition was half-hearted, probably because she wasn’t convinced of my innocence despite what I had told her. But at the same time I wasn’t entirely sure that she was telling me the whole story. Instinct told me that she was holding something back. But what?