by Holly Archer
‘Hello?’ I said.
‘I’ve got some people for you,’ Kev said. ‘Be at the end of the street in ten minutes.’
I didn’t even think twice. I picked up my jacket and walked downstairs, past Mum and Phil, who were still sitting at the kitchen table. I almost tripped over one of Amy’s toys and she gave me a sad little look as she saw that I was once more heading out of the house.
I turned away.
Phil stood up, gathering the plates to take them to the sink. I could just tell he was about to say something.
‘Before you ask, I’m going to Carly’s,’ I said. ‘It’s not a crime.’
Mum turned to me. ‘Doesn’t Carly’s mum get sick of you hanging round there all the time?’ she asked. ‘Doesn’t Carly ever want to come here?’
I sighed. Carly was an only child, so at least I had the perfect excuse. Even though we hardly ever spent any time in her house, it was far less chaotic than mine.
‘No!’ I said. ‘Why would she want to come round here and listen to you two make up some crap about me sounding like a Pakistani? Plus, it’s too crowded here. Hers is way quieter. At least we get some peace there.’
Mum looked a little hurt as I headed out the door, but she was still completely and utterly clueless.
Kev told me we were heading to a takeaway on the other side of Telford. I’d seen so many takeaways that they all seemed identical, and sometimes I couldn’t remember if I’d been in the same one twice.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You better give me some of those sponges. I’ve got my period.’
I was a bit surprised when Kev opened the glove compartment and told me just to take all of the sponges there, but I figured he maybe just wanted me to stock up. I shoved them in the pocket of my denim jacket as we drew up outside a grey building. On first glance, it seemed completely indistinguishable from all of the other places I’d been. It was only the tatty, weather-beaten sign that told me it was a kebab house.
We usually went to curry houses or Chinese places, because that’s where most of Kev’s customers worked. I later discovered that he picked most of them up in a betting shop near Dad’s flat. He’d just stand there most of the day, looking for people he thought might be interested in buying an underage girl, after they’d put their coupon on, or had a flutter on the horses. It really was quite sick.
Where Kev had come across these men was the last thing on my mind back then. All I knew was that I’d have to sleep with them. Why bother thinking about their background or who they were? I had absolutely no interest in any of them. I didn’t even want to know their names. The only way my brain could cope with what I was doing was to keep them completely anonymous, to avoid eye contact as much as possible. It made my skin crawl when one of them tried to kiss me, or if they tried to have sex with me slowly, like I imagined you might do with someone you actually liked and wanted to be with. To me, that was just a way of making it last longer, and I absolutely hated it. Not that I could say anything, of course. I just had to lie there, silent and compliant.
Just like when Kev sold me to the Bangladeshi man who had been attacked by Lily Brown, there was a huddle of men on the stairs, all whispering and talking in a language I didn’t understand. They were Asian, but they didn’t look Chinese or Pakistani, and they weren’t speaking Urdu or Mandarin or Punjabi, or any of the other languages I’d come to recognise. Their skin was lighter than Mr Khan’s and Kev’s and Beaver’s, so I guessed they must be Turkish, or maybe Kurdish. They were all young compared to Kev, but still way older than me. I figured the range to be from mid-twenties to early thirties, but I didn’t even take in any of their faces, as I stood at the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t know which one of them wanted to buy me, but it hardly mattered.
‘This is the girl,’ Kev said, as a hush fell upon the group of men. ‘You want her, you pay upfront. Hear that? You want her, you give her the money first, before you do anything. And queue up on the stairs.’
He turned to me before it sank in that he was offering me up to each and every one of them.
He led me to a room at the back of the shop. I expected it to be much like the room where the chef with the strange-looking head and his younger colleague had slept, but it was much bigger, like a dormitory. There were probably ten beds, none of them made properly. The walls were a dull magnolia colour and, again, the putrid smell of damp was everywhere. Kev pointed at one of the beds.
‘Can I go to the loo first?’ I asked.
He sighed, remembering my ‘inconvenient situation’. ‘Well, I guess you better, eh?’
I scuttled down the hall and pushed open a few doors before I found the bathroom. It was so tiny I could touch the door with my legs when I sat down on the toilet. There was no towel and, when I ran the tap, no hot water. There wasn’t even any loo roll. I quickly pushed the sponge inside me and walked back down the corridor to the bedroom, where I lay on the bed I’d been shown, fully clothed but waiting.
The first man walked in. I deliberately tried not to look at his face or to take in any of his features. I just looked at the mould-streaked ceiling above me.
‘Take your clothes off,’ he said. He chucked a pile of notes on the floor next to the bed. I knew I should have counted them, as Kev would be mad if I hadn’t got the right amount, but I didn’t have the energy.
I faced the wall as I peeled off my top, then my jeans, and unhooked my bra. This man – my first customer of the evening, it appeared – was already pawing at my crotch and pulling my knickers down. I just zoned out as he started doing what he’d paid to do. He wasn’t wearing a condom so, as I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling, I started to wonder how I’d get hold of the morning-after pill the next day. By now, I’d got it ten, maybe fifteen times. It wasn’t even a big deal. I always went to the same walk-in clinic and it was usually the same nurse who gave me it. Often, I’d even be in my school uniform but no one ever asked any questions or even tried to tell me about safe sex. I guess if they acknowledged how often I was in there, they’d have to delve a bit deeper and they probably didn’t have the time or resources to do that. They seemed to be content with just making sure I didn’t get pregnant.
The first man was still having sex with me when the second entered the room. I was a little confused at first but well beyond being embarrassed. By now, it was obvious that he was going to do exactly the same to me in a few minutes. He just lay on his own bed and popped his headphones in, as if we weren’t there.
When the first man had finished, he said, ‘You can go to the bathroom now.’
I got up off the bed and walked down the corridor, stark naked, past all of the men queuing on the stairs. I’m not sure how many of them there were. Maybe eight, perhaps nine. They looked like they were lining up to get into a nightclub, not to have sex with a fourteen-year-old girl. It was surreal. They all gawped at me as I pushed open the bathroom door but I didn’t care. It was like I was in a trance. It’s obvious I’m going to have to shag them all, I thought. What difference does it make if they see me naked now, or in ten minutes’ time?
I took the sponge from inside me and rinsed it out. I felt a little bit sick, as my blood stained the sink red. It really was disgusting. Still, I put it back in and walked back down the corridor, back to the big bedroom and my next customer.
Every single one of them came to me, one by one, tossing their money down before they climbed on top of me. Often, they’d be only halfway through when the next one in line would come in and lie on another bed, willing it to be their turn. After one man had finished, I’d go off to the bathroom, clean myself up a bit, maybe put another sponge in, and go back to the next.
I felt so empty, like I couldn’t feel what was happening, and that I was watching myself from above. It genuinely felt like a weird, out-of-body experience, but I guess that was the only way my brain could cope with what I was doing. I had to completely shut off. My body was there, on that grubby mattress with its thin, dirty blanket, but my mind most certainly was
not.
I’m not sure how long I’d been in there when the last one finished, but it must have been at least a couple of hours, as some of them really took their time. When this last guy crawled off me, panting in sick satisfaction, I expected to feel relief – but none came.
Instead, I felt pain. Real searing, sudden, gripping, stomach-churning pain down there, like I’d never had before, not even with Mr Khan. I could tell it would take me days to feel normal again, but I wouldn’t get any respite. Tomorrow was Tuesday, so Mr Khan would rape me after school and then I’d have to see the Chinese man with the posh house, as always.
I almost forgot to pick up the money, as I climbed back into my clothes. Most of the men were back in the room now and were talking loudly in their own language. I can’t remember their faces, only their voices. I knew they were talking about me – making crude, disgusting comments about my body and how I looked, comparing notes on my boobs and my bum and what it had been like – but I didn’t give a shit. I just wanted to get out and get as far away from the kebab shop as I possibly could.
I winced in pain as I walked back out to the car where Kev was sitting with the engine running, and I winced again as I lowered myself onto the passenger seat. I expected him to shout at me for taking ages, but he didn’t say a word. He just grabbed the money from me. It was only as he started counting it out that I realised how much of it there was. There must have been well over a grand there, maybe closer to two. I didn’t understand how men like that, working in a grubby takeaway, probably for less than the minimum wage, could afford to spend hundreds of pounds on sex, but I didn’t want to give it much thought. They’d found the cash from somewhere, hadn’t they? Who was I to argue?
Kev tossed me a few of the notes but they sat in my lap for a few seconds before I even picked them up. When I did, I didn’t even bother counting them.
How much had I been worth that night? I didn’t want to know.
12
Omar
Before I’d yet reached my fifteenth birthday, Kev was making more and more appointments for me and my little stash of cash under the floorboard was growing by the week. I was still terrified Mum would discover it, so I gave it away whenever I could, mainly to Carly, because none of my other friends really knew what I was up to, but sometimes to Beaver, if he was really skint.
I felt a bit sorry for him, really. He told me things weren’t going well with his wife. They’d just sort of been thrown together and they hadn’t really had any time to get to know each other before they’d got married. Now she was pregnant and Beaver wondered how they’d manage to make ends meet when their baby came along. He delivered pizzas and she worked in Tesco, so they were hardly loaded.
‘I’m happy I can talk to you,’ Beaver would say, then he’d give me that bashful, toothy grin that made me feel really sorry for him.
One good thing about Beaver, and perhaps even Kev, was that when I was out in their cars with them, I was away from all the local teenage boys who still hassled me and goaded me for blow jobs. Carly and I hardly ever walked to the church now, next to the bench where we’d first met Ali and his mates, and this whole thing had begun. Whenever we did see them on the street, though, they went nuts, constantly asking for blow jobs and other horrible sexual favours. I tried to ignore them, but it was hard.
‘Sort it!’ they’d always cry. ‘Go on, sort it!’
Sometimes, I answered back and told them they were dickheads and they should fuck off, but mostly I ignored them. It didn’t stop them calling me, though. I must have got scores of phone calls a day, and texts too, all asking for the same thing. So when my phone rang one December evening with a number I didn’t recognise, I felt I knew what was coming.
I decided to answer it. Sometimes I ignored the calls, but sometimes it was easier to pick up or the boys, or men, would just keep hounding you until you did.
‘Hello?’ I said.
‘Hey, is that Holly?’ The voice on the other end sounded young and chirpy, but I didn’t recognise it. I didn’t say anything for a few seconds, as I waited for a crude remark, but none came. ‘Are you there?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I said. ‘Who is this?’
‘You’re going to think this is really weird,’ the caller said. ‘But my name is Omar. I go to school with your friend Carly. I’ve seen you around and I think you’re really pretty. I’d like to meet up with you. Are you around tonight?’
I immediately felt this was some kind of trap, a trap I’d fallen into before and one I was sure I didn’t want to fall into again.
‘No,’ I snapped back. ‘I’m not. I don’t even know you.’
‘Holly, I honestly don’t want anything,’ he said. ‘I know what people say about you but I don’t care. I just want to talk to you.’
‘Well, talk to me on the phone,’ I retorted.
‘Come on,’ Omar said. ‘Just come and meet me by the church. Please. Just for fifteen minutes.’
I don’t know why I decided to say yes. I think it was just because he was the first boy my own age who’d called me up and not asked for a blow job before he’d even said hello. He’d been nice to me and, God knows, I needed someone to be nice to me.
It was early evening and I’d already had a horrible hour in the car with Mr Khan. He hadn’t beaten me, but he’d been really aggressive when we’d had sex and he kept saying something about how he’d beat up Liam if I told anyone what was going on. No one in my family was immune, it appeared.
There was a sharp chill in the air and it was too cold for my denim jacket, so I pulled on a big winter coat and started to walk to the church. I was halfway there when my phone beeped with a text from Omar’s number.
Meet me next to the bench x.
I felt really uneasy, wondering who would be around the corner and what they’d say to me, but the streets were fairly quiet and, because I’d pulled the hood of my coat up, I didn’t attract much attention. It was only as the church came into view that I realised I had no idea what Omar looked like. He could literally have been anyone. I didn’t even know for sure he was my age and I half-expected to see a burly man in his twenties standing by the bench as I approached, ready to bundle me into his car and do what everyone seemed to think they had the right to do to me.
So I was pleasantly surprised when I saw Omar for the first time. He was indeed my age and really fit. It makes me laugh now, but I remember my stomach somersaulting as I thought to myself that he looked a bit like Peter Andre, with his floppy black hair, smooth, sallow skin and deep, dark eyes.
‘Hey,’ he said. He was a little more awkward in the flesh, but I didn’t really mind. ‘Eh, well, do you want to go for a walk or something?’
I nodded, equally awkward. ‘OK,’ I said.
We meandered down the street in silence and, for a few precious moments, I felt like a normal teenager. Here I was, with a boy I had a crush on, but neither of us knew what to say to each other. It was strange, really. I was ten times more sexually experienced than any other teenage girl I knew, yet I hardly had a clue how to speak to a boy I liked. I guess, apart from Imran, I hadn’t ever really fancied a boy before. I hadn’t had the time, or the energy.
My mind flashed back to Imran and how he’d been when we first met – all smooth and chatty, always knowing exactly what to say. In a way, I was kind of glad Omar wasn’t confident, otherwise I’d have felt he too was tricking me, and that this was yet another trap to get me to give someone a blow job.
We sat down on a high wall at the end of the street. Omar was the same height as me, and his legs didn’t quite reach the ground. They swung in mid-air a little. It was quite sweet, really.
‘I know everybody slags you off,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘But I’m not like the other boys.’
I was instantly defensive. ‘Who slags me off?’
Omar looked at the ground, shyly. ‘You know what people say. Don’t you?’
I shrugged, sadly. Of course I did. There was no point in denying it.
‘Do you actually do all of those things?’ Omar asked.
‘No!’ I gasped, a little too quickly, my cheeks flushing. ‘Why? Is that what you want? One of your silly mates started a rumour that I give out blow jobs and now you’ve asked me here to see if you can get one?’
Omar shook his head emphatically. ‘No!’ he said. ‘I promise you, I’m not like them. I didn’t think you did all that. I think you seem nice.’ His hand brushed against mine and I felt butterflies swirl around in my stomach. ‘Really nice.’
We sat there on the wall, just looking at each other for a few minutes, and giggling a little. It felt so weirdly normal and I wished we could stay there for the rest of the night, until it was time to go home. Above anything else, it was just nice to feel something and not to want to completely switch off my brain and my emotions.
But after a short while, I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. I took it out to see Kev’s number flashing impatiently on the screen and my stomach flipped again, but not in a good way this time.
‘I . . . I think I have to go,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’
Omar looked a bit disappointed. ‘Already? We’ve only been here, like, ten minutes.’
‘It’s my mum,’ I lied. ‘She’ll go mad if I’m not home soon. I said I’d baby-sit my little sister.’
Omar smiled, revealing his perfect row of gleaming white teeth. He had one of those lovely smiles that lit up his whole face. His brown eyes seemed to dazzle as he looked at me.
‘OK,’ he said, finally. ‘But I’ll call you tomorrow?’
I nodded, trying not to look too eager. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Well, if you want.’
Then he slowly placed his hand on the small of my back and pulled me close to him. His body felt so warm, compared to the frosty December air. Suddenly he didn’t seem awkward or nervous at all. I relaxed, too, as he tilted my face towards his and planted his lips on mine. Slowly and softly, he began to kiss me. It felt nothing like the forceful kisses of Mr Khan or the men Kev took me to, where I clamped my mouth shut and their horrible tongues collided with my lips. It didn’t even feel anything like when I’d kissed Ryan at the underage disco, which seemed like a lifetime ago.