He knew that her novelty value would go a long way in his line of work. Most of the people who needed his services were faces, villains, etc. He had a feeling she would fit right in once she got over her nerves.
‘When can you start?’
‘How about tomorrow?’
She looked around the scruffy little room and then gazed at him in a friendly way. ‘I’ll bring cleaning stuff, shall I?’
He nodded, amazed to find that he actually liked her. She was far stronger than most people would be in her position.
Yes, he liked her a lot – and that was not something he’d ever have expected to say of a murderess.
Joey Carr was big, fat and ugly. His mother had once remarked that at his birth the midwife had slapped his face instead of his arse. Joey had thought this hilarious and repeated the story to friends and enemies alike.
He was a self-made man with no scruples, no feelings and no morals. His clubs were seedy dives for seedy people and he understood that fact and revelled in it. He drove a gold Rolls-Royce, had enough diamond rings on his pudgy fingers to keep a family in luxury for a year, and wasn’t the greatest at personal hygiene.
He took one look at Tiffany in her school uniform and thick make-up and grinned widely. She was just his cup of tea: young, scared and desperate to make some money.
‘Tiffany, ain’t it?’
He had a gravelly voice from the fat Churchill cigars he smoked constantly. They had made his teeth brown and his breath stink. Again, not things that bothered him. He bought company and knew that if the price was right he could buy any female company he wanted.
This girl was about to put out for a job even if she didn’t realise it yet.
‘Show me your tits, love.’
‘Eh?’
Tiffany was shocked at the barefaced cheek of the remark.
‘Show me your tits. I need to see what the punters will see, don’t I?’
She undid her blouse slowly.
‘Pop them out of the bra. You’ll be naked round the pole, love, so I need to see the goods properly. If you have stretch marks we have professional cover-up you can buy at trade price, OK? I know you have a kiddie.’
He was so matter-of-fact it made Tiffany relax a bit. He was only doing his job. Eventually she was naked before him. His office was cold and her whole body was shivering as she stood there.
He walked around her as if she was a horse he was going to buy. She half expected him to look at her teeth. She put her mind on auto-pilot and concentrated on the office around her. It was lovely, all mahogany desk and thick pile carpet. He obviously liked his comforts.
As his hands squeezed her breasts she closed her eyes.
‘You’ll do. A bit on the scrawny side, but the older men like that. You are over sixteen?’
‘Of course!’
‘Well, that cunt Patrick brings me babes in arms sometimes. Fucking jail bait!’
She ignored what he was saying. She really didn’t want to know. He sat at his desk and surveyed her.
‘You could earn in excess of three hundred a night dancing from seven-thirty till two-thirty in the morning. You can earn more. I take twenty per cent and for that the bouncers keep the beady on you in case you have hag, whatever. As the drink flows, the abuse grows. One of the girls coined that phrase and it’s true. So be prepared. Now then, do you want the job?’
She nodded hesitantly and smiled. Over a grand a week! What she couldn’t do with that.
He started to undo his trousers and she watched him in amazement. He was already erect. She looked into his little piggy eyes.
‘Well, come on then, it’s fucking freezing in here. You do this as and when I request it as part of the deal, OK? It gets you the front tables, the real earning tables, so get your laughing gear round that and stop playing the wilting fucking virgin.’
Tiffany hesitated and he began to replace his member in his pants.
‘Fair enough, love. But in excess of a grand a week is sitting here and you should think long and hard about that.’
She walked over to him and dropped down on to her knees. She just prayed she wouldn’t throw up all over his nice carpet.
This was for her daughter, for her child.
It was the same thing her mother had told herself many years before, though Tiffany didn’t know that.
Ten minutes later he gave her a glass of brandy. The burning sensation was worth it. Someone had once told her that alcohol was like bleach, it killed bugs and germs. She hoped it was true.
Tiffany couldn’t bring herself to kiss her daughter for days afterwards, but it was for a thousand quid a week. It was worth it in the long run.
At least, that’s what she repeatedly told herself.
Marie answered the knock on her door warily. It was Amanda Stirling. She carried a half-bottle of white wine and two glasses. She also held a large brown paper bag.
‘Congratulations. You got a job!’
She was genuinely pleased the first big hurdle was over and it showed. She unscrewed the wine and poured it out. As she passed a glass to Marie she saw the confusion in her face.
‘I ain’t had alcohol for years. Even inside I never bothered with the home-made.’ She didn’t take the glass. ‘Do you mind if I pass on this? I was an addict and that means I’m addicted to any kind of stimulant or drug. Especially alcohol.’
Amanda felt bad to have put her on the spot but she smiled.
‘Sure. I brought these for you.’
She placed the brown paper bag on the bed. Inside were two black tailored suits. They were newish and smart. Marie was overwhelmed.
‘Just what I needed. I was wondering what the hell I was supposed to wear to work. I guessed I would need new stuff.’
‘Well, I hope they fit. I put them aside when they came in as I thought they’d be ideal for you.’
Marie was overcome with emotion. The kind act made her feel like breaking down and sobbing her heart out. It was so long since anyone had thought of her expressly it overwhelmed her.
‘I can’t thank you enough.’
‘You’ll have to get shoes, of course, but I think we have enough in the kitty to provide them. A couple of blouses and some tights and you should be OK for a while.’
‘I was going to go to Romford when I got paid and look round. I need a coat, a proper coat.’
‘A bit of make-up and you’ll look a million dollars.’
‘I don’t need make-up.’
‘True. What I wouldn’t give for your skin and eyes.’ Marie was shaking her head in embarrassment.
‘I didn’t mean it that way . . .’
Amanda laughed gently.
‘I know! I was only joking. But you are a very attractive woman.’
‘For all the good it’s ever done me.’
The two women looked at each other for long moments.
‘This is a new life, Marie, and you have to embrace it. Leave the past right where it is - in the past.’
‘I’m trying but it’s hard.’
A little while later Marie was wearing one of the suits. It fitted like a glove and she knew she looked good in it. Her eyes strayed to the glass of wine Amanda had left on the bedside table. She picked it up and smelled it.
The aroma was tart. It was cheap wine and she remembered drinking stuff just like this as a forerunner to going out when she was a girl. Carole and she would drink a litre of cheap Liebfraumilch to get them in the mood for the night’s events. They had to be out of their heads to enjoy themselves then. Drink made them lose their inhibitions, made them relax. She remembered the feeling as if it was yesterday.
The temptation to take a sip of wine was strong. But she knew that one sip would lead to one glass and that in turn would lead to one bottle. She poured it down the sink and washed the glass out, then she went back and tried on the other suit.
She felt good about herself. Better than she had in a long time. She could handle Alan Jarvis. She would keep the job and get a lif
e. For the first time that seemed a possibility.
When she finally went to bed she slept like a baby. The usual dreams and worries were put on hold for a while.
She had made a start. Now she would take one step at a time.
Tiffany was drunker than she had ever been in her life and she knew it. She had tracked Pat down to the gym and now he was looking at her as if he didn’t know her.
The gym was closed, they were in his office. She started to strip off and he stopped her.
‘Leave it out, Tiff. I’m knackered. I have an appointment in a while anyway.’
‘You bastard! Who you going to see this time of night? A fucking bird, that’s who.’
‘So what if I am?’ In a parody of a black woman’s voice, holding up his hand he cried, ‘I don’t see no ring on my finger, baby.’
Tiffany knew she was defeated, inside her drink-fuddled mind she knew it, but reason was tossed aside.
‘If you go to another bird then we are finished, right?’
It sounded childish even in her own ears.
‘Fair enough. Goodbye, Tiff.’
He was hard, so hard, and he loved it.
‘Give me some money.’
‘Bollocks! You want to be Miss Independent, you get your own money.’
‘I need a cab. I need to get home to our child.’
Pat laughed.
‘You make me fucking die. You really think you are something else, don’t you? Why do you think I got you that job, Tiff ? It was to get shot of you, my love. I knew you were just like your mother, that you’d blow that fat cunt for the money. It’s in the blood, love. Enjoy it, did you?’
Somehow Tiffany had believed Patrick would never find out what she had done. It had never occurred to her that he could have set her up for the night’s events. She felt suddenly sick, her stomach rebelling at the alcohol and the unpalatable truth. She walked unsteadily from the room.
Outside in the street the cold hit her and she pulled her coat tighter around her. Then the tears came, maudlin tears because she felt so sorry for herself. A little later she heard Pat’s BMW. He passed her by without a second glance.
As drunk as she was, she’d learned a valuable lesson. She was alone with her daughter, and would always be alone. It was a sobering thought. She had crossed a boundary tonight and she knew it. But it was a boundary she would have to cross frequently to keep her head above water and give her child all the things she herself had never had.
Carole had once said that Pat had brought her mother to ruin. Finally it occurred to Tiffany that she might have been right about that. Because if he had treated her mother as he had just treated her, then it must be right.
Tiffany threw up in the gutter and it made her feel physically better at least. But the mental wounds would take a lot longer to heal.
Chapter Four
Alan Jarvis was pleased with Marie. The office looked so different. It was clean and he could find anything he wanted. The VAT man would be happy about that too. He had even taken down the more lurid calendars though Marie had never said a word about them. It felt odd coming in in the mornings. There was fresh milk for his coffee and now the place didn’t have that unkempt odour that used to cling to his clothes and hair.
He kept his sidelines private so Marie had no knowledge of what went on here late at night, and that suited them both. Alan was in over his head there and he knew it. But the money was phenomenal.
Marie had the computer up and running and also had everything but his private business on disk. It was great to come in and see her sitting there in her black suit. She was easy to be around. Unlike most of the women of his acquaintance, she didn’t feel the urge to talk all the time. His ex-wife Beverley could talk for the Olympics and get the gold. It was one of the things he had eventually hated about her.
He liked the way Marie was quiet, in her voice and demeanour. He was pleased he had employed her. He only hoped he could pass over all the legal stuff to her soon and then he could get on with his other businesses in peace. This place was a good front and he knew it.
‘You had a few parcels turn up.’
He nodded.
‘I’ve been expecting them, Marie. Where are they?’
‘I put them in the back office. I know it’s none of my business but they have “Medical Supplies” written on them.’
Alan frowned. ‘Do they?’
He walked into the back office and cursed his associate in France who was so thick he thought he could get away with that scam in a scrapyard.
‘Leave it with me, Marie. I’ll sort it out. Now have you mastered the overseas stuff yet? Africa is one of our biggest money spinners and I have a batch of fridges to go there in the next few days.’
He shook his head sagely.
‘Amazing, really. All our old crap is recycled out there. Makes you think, don’t it? In a few months that scrap will be up and running again and people will be buying it hand over fist. All the shit we dump, they love. There’s money in rubbish, love. Big money.’
Marie smiled.
‘It’s certainly been an eye opener for me.’
She was always polite to him. He liked that about her. She called people ‘sir’ when they called, and she had a deep sexy voice that sounded great over the phone. Two men he had dealt with for years wanted to know where the hell he had found her and were convinced he was shagging her. He let them think it. He wasn’t about to lose her to more money.
The strange thing was, where her past should hinder her, in his game it was a help. Everyone he dealt with had had their collar felt or had done real time so she was just like one of the lads. Except for those great big tits, of course, but he wasn’t looking at them now as often as he had been and felt that was an advance in itself.
‘I’m putting your money up from next month, Marie. Seven-fifty an hour. You’ve earned it, love.’
She just smiled and looked at him.
‘Thank you. I really need to get myself sorted. I might be able to get a flat in another few months if I start saving.’
He cleared his throat noisily. When she talked about what she might be able to do it always made him feel bad. He couldn’t for the life of him imagine what it must be like to have to watch yourself twenty-four hours a day. It had occurred to him that her presence might lead to Old Bill poking about, but he didn’t have so much as a parking ticket outstanding so that wasn’t a real worry. He knew that any checks on her would have been done by now and the fact that he had heard nothing spoke volumes. Anyway he enjoyed sailing close to the wind, it was in his nature.
‘Me mate rents out places. I’ll see what I can do, OK?’
She was saved from answering by the door opening. A short copper-blonde woman came bursting into the confined space.
‘Hello, love, all right?’
She smiled at Marie in a friendly fashion, all Elizabeth Arden and expensive perfume.
‘You must be the new girl. I’m Beverley - you can call me Bev. I’ll be on the phone a lot so it’s best we’re mates, eh?’
She laughed loudly and Marie saw that for the first time her boss was not his usual jovial self.
‘If he shakes your hand count your bleeding fingers and check your rings, right? He’s about as trustworthy as a fucking starving yeti.’
Bev turned on her ex-husband then.
‘Where’s me money? The kids’ school fees are due and that bleeding nun is giving me grief.’
He grinned good-naturedly.
‘Oh Beverley, light of my life. Been to evening classes again, have we? How to make the best of a limited personality?’
Beverley laughed.
‘One thing I will give you, Al, you are a crack. Now, money or your nuts ripped off. It’s your choice, sweetie.’
Alan shook his head and tried not to laugh.
‘Cheque book it is then.’
‘You know it makes sense.’ She turned to Marie. ‘How do you stand it here with him? Miserable fucker he is. Mind
you, it smells better. Still bring your little tarts here of a night, do you, Al? He keeps the slag population in leggings and home perms, don’t you, darling?’
Alan ignored her and Marie watched, fascinated by a woman with so much confidence she didn’t care what she said or who she said it to.
‘Christ, but he has had some rough ones! Don’t let him sweet talk you, my love. He’d shag a fence in the right light.’
‘All right, Beverley, give it a rest now. Remember what the judge said.’
She took the cheque.
‘He said if I didn’t keep quiet he would have me removed from court. But that was when you was up for trying to get out of your maintenance payments, darling. Nothing to do with the divorce, was it?’
She kissed the piece of paper in her hand.
‘Jessica needs a new horse as well. I’ll send you the bill, OK? And don’t forget to pick them up on Saturday early. I’ve got a date with a man.’
‘Where did you find him then, Bev? Rent a Coma dating agency?’
She laughed again.
‘I’ll chalk one up to you this time, Al.’ She turned to Marie. ‘Ta-ra, love. Remember what I said.’
Then she was gone and the office seemed very small and quiet after she’d left.
‘Sorry about that.’
Marie started to laugh. It was a high-pitched sound that was almost hysterical in its intensity. She laughed for a full five minutes. Alan watched as she wiped her eyes with a tissue. Tears were streaming down her face.
‘I’m so sorry, but she is a scream.’
Alan laughed with her. He realised this was the first time she had really laughed in years and for once was glad of Beverley’s big trap.
When Marie had finished laughing she looked different somehow. Looser.
‘You want to try living with her,’ Alan growled. ‘Do you know what she done once? I was seeing a little bird from Romford. Nice she was . . . thick as two short planks but nice. Beverley only went round her mum and dad’s. She was waiting there when I dropped the girl off. I nearly died.’
Marie started laughing again.
‘There I was in their living room with their only daughter, and me wife chatting away like she was a long-lost relative. But that’s Bev. What you see is what you get.’
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