I Looked Away, page 7
‘Not as big as the package in my daughter’s stomach,’ wheezed Grandma Greenway as we prodded and felt the presents to guess what was inside. ‘They reckon she’ll have it in a couple of weeks or so.’
‘How will they unwrap it?’ I asked.
She gave me a sharp look. ‘I wouldn’t ask if I were you. It will only scare you half to death.’ She shuddered. ‘If someone had told me what it was really like, I might never have let a man near me.’
‘What do you mean?’
She waved a hand in the air. ‘It doesn’t matter. Now why don’t you play me the tune on that precious music box of yours?’
On Christmas Eve, in the old days, we used to go to the carol service for children at church in town. We’d each get a little present. Once, I’d received a small angel made of silk to hang on the tree. I didn’t know where it had gone. Lots of things from those days seemed to have disappeared after my new mother had had ‘a bit of a clear-up’.
‘Do we have to go?’ she moaned when my father suggested we went to the service. ‘My back is aching.’
‘Not if you don’t want to, dear.’
‘But we always do,’ I burst out. ‘Please.’
My father hesitated. ‘I could take her on my own if you don’t mind.’
He spoke to my new mother as if I wasn’t in the room.
She shrugged. ‘Go ahead.’
It was a lovely service. We sat next to Peter Gordon and his parents and sang my real mother’s favourite carol, ‘Away in a Manger’. Mrs Gordon gave me a big hug afterwards and Peter wished me a ‘Happy Christmas’ rather awkwardly, as if he knew this was a particularly difficult time for me. Lots of people patted my head afterwards. Someone told my father that they ‘wished him well’. He held my hand tightly as we went home. ‘I know life has been hard, Ellie. But it will be all right now.’
Yet as we got to the house, he began to run. ‘What is it, Daddy?’ I called out. ‘Wait!’
There was an ambulance outside. My new mother was being carried into it on a stretcher.
‘It’s started,’ she whimpered. ‘I told you not to leave me.’
That wasn’t true! She’d said we could go.
‘My darling. I’m so sorry. Don’t worry. I’m here now. I’ll come with you.’
‘May I come too?’ I pleaded. Daddy was upset. Surely he’d need me?
‘No.’ To my dismay, he steered me towards the house as though he didn’t want anything to do with me. ‘Go inside, Ellie. Mrs Greenway will look after you.’
‘You’ve made me tread on a pavement crack,’ I howled.
‘What are you talking about? Just go inside, will you?’
On Christmas Day, Grandma Greenway and I didn’t know how to cook the turkey, so we ate the sliced ham in the fridge instead. We both looked longingly at the presents under the tree. ‘Better not open them until they come back,’ she said. I agreed, although I was itching to know what was inside. Then we stayed up really late and watched a film called It’s a Wonderful Life. I was so tired that I fell asleep on her shoulder. When I woke up, she had her arm around me. I felt warm and cosy. Please don’t let my new mother come back too soon, I found myself wishing. Then I immediately felt guilty for such an uncharitable thought.
The next day, I woke up with a start. I was nine now. Not eight like yesterday! ‘It’s my birthday,’ I said to Mrs Greenway.
‘So it is, love,’ she said. But I couldn’t see any presents. Maybe Daddy was going to bring them when he got back from the hospital.
‘I hope everything’s all right,’ Mrs Greenway kept muttering.
Then I felt selfish for thinking about my birthday when my new mother was in hospital. Mrs Greenway and I had boiled eggs for breakfast. The yellow bits were all hard, although I ate them to be polite. Finally, my father returned. He seemed tired but he was smiling. ‘You’ve got a baby brother!’ he said.
Never have I seen my father look so happy. Not even when my real mother had been alive.
I jumped up and down with excitement. A brother! I’d look after him and play with him. I’d love him for ever and he would love me too.
‘When can I see him?’ I asked, hugging my father tight.
‘We’ll visit just after lunch if you want.’
I counted the hours down on the clock. Grandma Greenway and I sat in the back of the car, holding hands. Every now and then she squeezed mine tight as if to say, ‘Don’t worry.’
Why should I? What was there to be nervous about?
My new mother was in a room all of her own. She was sitting on a bed with a white blanket in her arms. ‘Go and say hello to your baby brother,’ said my father.
I tiptoed up. He was so tiny! What a funny face! So red and crinkly.
My new mother was looking down at him, ignoring me.
‘Would you like to hold him, Ellie?’ said my father.
Really? But I’d never held a baby before. ‘Sit down on this chair by the bed and make your arms into a round circle like this,’ said my father, demonstrating. Gingerly, I did as I was told. ‘That’s right.’
My new mother hesitated. ‘Go on, darling,’ said my father. ‘It’s important for Ellie to bond.’
She placed the little bundle into my lap. I could hardly breathe with the weight of love and responsibility. ‘Hello,’ I whispered. ‘I’m your big sister and I’m going to love you for ever and ever.’
Then he suddenly moved and my arms wobbled.
There was a scream. ‘Catch him, Nigel!’
My father steadied me just as my new mother snatched the white bundle away from me. ‘You could have dropped him, you silly girl.’
I burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’
‘It’s all right,’ soothed my father. But my new mother’s furious face made me shiver with fear. Then my little brother burst into tears as if he was cross with me too. ‘Come on,’ said Grandma Greenway, putting her arm around me. ‘Let’s leave them to it. I’ve never been particularly fond of babies anyway. Not at all interesting in my opinion. Get us a taxi home, will you?’
This last remark was directed at my father.
‘It’s all right, Ellie,’ he said. ‘Mum’s just tired. She’ll be fine when she comes home.’
‘Thank you for the baby,’ I said. ‘He’s the best birthday present I could have had.’
His face changed. ‘Of course,’ he said quietly. Then he patted me on the head. ‘Nine years old today. How could I have forgotten? I’m sorry, Ellie. I’ll make it up to you soon.’
8
Jo
I hang out in a park for a few hours but it’s started to rain. I go under some trees but I still get wet. You have to be careful on the streets. Pneumonia can be a killer in winter. So I head back into town, keeping my eyes peeled, and slink into a smart shopping centre. The first place I see is a mobile-phone shop. Great. I go right in, pretending to look at the display cabinets.
‘Can I help you?’ says a young bloke.
‘Yeah. I need a pay-as-you-go.’
Of course I can’t afford one but I pretend to be interested while the kid talks me through the different models. I have my back to the door, expecting that any minute someone will come in and tap me on the shoulder.
But no one does.
‘Ta,’ I say eventually. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Timewaster,’ I hear him muttering as I leave. But I don’t care. The coast seems clear. With any luck, that policewoman will have found someone else to bother by now. Even so, I can’t take any chances. A bus is coming. I jump on through the exit doors even though I haven’t got a card or cash to pay the fare. No one seems to notice. I wait a few stops and then I get off again.
There’s a crowd of schoolkids coming towards me, jabbering away in a foreign language, with teachers trying to keep them in order. Shoving myself into the middle of them, I elbow my way through. When I come out the other side, I glance behind. I can’t see anyone. I keep on running, down a side street, across a road, and then onto another main road again. I stop, panting for breath.
Reckon I’m safe now. But I’m bloody starving. Then I see a bloke in a suit eating chips out of a paper bag and then chucking half of them away in a rubbish bin. I make a dash for it but someone else beats me to it. From the back, she looks like she’s posh with that smart red coat. Then she turns round and I see her face – it’s all scrawny and she has a desperate look in her eyes. ‘Go on,’ she says, holding out the paper. ‘Take a few.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Not that many,’ she snaps before walking on, hugging the chips close to her. I want to cry with disappointment. Once more, I walk on, riffling through every bin I pass. I get lucky with a squashed banana and half a Yorkie bar with teeth marks on it.
Then I go past this big building with huge pillars and a sign saying BRISTOL CITY MUSEUM AND ART GALLERY. FREE ENTRANCE.
Ignoring the stand asking for donations, I go through a couple of the rooms and find the quietest one. I sit down on a bench opposite a picture of a river with some children playing on the edge. The artist has done it by drawing lots of dots instead of proper lines. Not bad. Then I realize someone’s standing over me. My heart carries on beating madly even when I see from her uniform that she’s just one of the attendants. ‘Sorry to bother you, madam, but we’re about to close.’
Madam? I would laugh out loud if I wasn’t so freaked out.
I’m back outside again. It’s already getting colder. Where now? Daft question. I’ve got no choice unless I want to sleep on the streets. Slowly I make my way back to the dark empty factory at Stokes Croft.
Paul is there.
‘What you got for me, then?’
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘No one gave me anything.’
Paul shakes his head. He’s smiling but I can tell it’s false. ‘Sure you didn’t keep something back for yourself?’
I put on my ‘What you talking about?’ look.
‘Course not.’
He tuts like I’m a kid who’s done something wrong. ‘You’ve got to earn your keep, Mother, otherwise you can find somewhere else to sleep.’
My chest starts to race again like I’m having a panic attack. I’ve had a few of those before and they’re not nice. ‘I’ll try harder,’ I promise.
Pam and the man in the suit come back. They’re lugging bags of biscuits, sandwiches, fizzy drinks and a bottle of wine. ‘What about the money?’ says Paul sharply. ‘It’s your signing-on day, isn’t it?’
Suit Man grumbles something about ‘bleeding me bloody dry’ and then hands over some cash.
The shopping-trolley lady has a ring. There’s a heated argument about whether it’s a real diamond or paste.
The kid with green hair has a Swiss Army knife which he found in a skip. He’s also brought back a big box of Kit-Kats. ‘They were being loaded off a van and no one was looking,’ he says proudly.
Posh Pam snorts. ‘I loathe chocolate.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ says the man in the suit, laughing like he thinks he’s cracked the best joke ever.
They all go into the ‘pot’.
‘What about her?’ demands the spiky-haired dog woman, pointing at me. ‘What did she get?’
‘Nothing yet,’ says my Irish friend. ‘Give her time.’
‘But she’s got to do her bit,’ whines the bloke who was shooting up when I got here. ‘No point in having her here if she can’t earn her keep.’
‘I’ve told her the same.’ Paul’s voice is low and threatening. ‘She will.’
We plonk ourselves down around a fire someone’s made out of planks of wood. (‘Got them from an allotment,’ says the bloke, looking pleased with himself.) I try to get nearer but the others push in front. Wind is whistling through the broken windows. I can’t stop shivering with cold.
‘Why are you here, then?’ asks Faduma. She seems friendlier than before.
‘What?’
‘Come on. We’re all on the street for a reason. See Hugo over there in the business suit? He used to be an estate agent but lost everything when his wife took him to the cleaners in the divorce. He didn’t have any family to stay with so he ended up here. So what did you do?’
I think of the bracelet. I’m glad it’s gone now. ‘Nothing.’
‘So maybe someone’s done something to you.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘You seem scared of something, Jo.’
‘Dunno what you’re talking about.’
‘Yeah. Right. I’ve been that way myself, you know. I get it.’
‘What happened to you, then?’ I say, trying to change the subject.
A dark look crosses her face. ‘I overheard my dad making plans to sell me to some local sex traffickers.’ She says it like it’s no big deal.
‘Didn’t your mum try and stop him?’
‘Nah. They needed the cash or the landlord was going to chuck us out.’
‘Which country were you living in?’
‘Here, of course. In Birmingham, where I was brought up. I jumped out of my bedroom window. Managed to get down to London and ended up here.’
Paul comes back and she stops.
‘Californian red, anyone?’ he asks. ‘It’s a good year,’ he says, laughing and pretending to examine the label. ‘You did well here, Pam. Go on, pass it round.’
This time I don’t need any persuading. I’m already freezing. Then one of the blokes starts strumming his guitar. The green-haired young man and Pam begin to dance, their faces close. His hands are on her bum. I start to relax. The drink has made me feel loads better.
‘Pipe down, will you?’ says Paul. ‘Or we’ll get done for being drunk and disorderly, not to mention squatting.’
‘Spoilsport,’ grumbles the young man, who’s still got his hands all over Pam.
We settle down for the night. It’s quite early but Paul says the earlier we go to sleep, the earlier we can get up to catch the best pitches. He lies next to me. His breath is sweet and sickly. I don’t do drugs but I saw him rolling something earlier next to the bloke who’d been shooting up.
The next thing I know, there’s a body over mine. I can’t breathe with terror. I try to yell out but a hand covers my mouth. ‘Shut up. Then you won’t be hurt.’
It’s Paul. My Irish ‘friend’.
‘Fuck off,’ I hiss.
He laughs. ‘I like a woman who fights back. But no one’s going to help you, even if you scream. It’s part of our initiation rite, you see. Everyone who joins our little band has the pleasure of my company.’
Pleasure? I have a flash of a man on top of me, pumping away. I’d hated it and done nothing about it. I’d let him do what he liked just to keep the peace. But now something inside me breaks.
‘Ow!’
I can taste his disgusting skin where I bit him on the wrist, but it doesn’t stop him.
‘Feisty, I like that. I’ve always had a thing for older women.’
His hands are pinning mine down. His weight is almost crushing me. I can’t breathe. He bites my left nipple through my top.
I get a leg free and knee him in the groin.
‘That’s enough.’
He’s angry now, like that other man. I’m fucking terrified but I know that if I’m going to survive, I can’t show it. The others must be able to hear us unless they’re all drunk. Then I remember what Faduma had told me. If anyone’s going to help me, she’s the one.
‘Rape!’ I yell out. ‘Faduma. Help!’
He clamps a hand on my mouth again. I’m going to suffocate. His hand works down underneath my trousers.
Then I feel another weight on top of us. I’m going to be broken. My body will snap. ‘You little cow!’ roars Paul. He’s off me now, wrestling with Faduma, who has leapt on top of him. Then they’ve stopped, and my new friend is panting, holding a knife. Paul watches her warily.
‘I warned you last time,’ she hisses. ‘If you try this kind of stuff again, I’ll hand you in.’
Paul laughs. ‘Even if you get murder for it?’ He raises his voice. ‘That’s right. Our little Faduma stabbed her dad. Did you know that?’
She’d left out that bit in the story she gave me.
‘The bastard deserved it,’ she said. ‘And yes, I mean it. Leave Jo alone or I will hand you in. Fuck the consequences.’
For a minute they just stare at each other, and then Paul starts laughing. ‘Stupid bitches, you’re not worth it anyway.’ He swaggers off to his corner and lies down.
Faduma leads me by the hand to the other side of the building. We’re both shaking. We watch as Paul turns over and goes to sleep.
Then Faduma’s fingers press something into mine.
‘It’s a train ticket’, she whispers. ‘Found it yesterday outside the station. Thought it might come in useful but I reckon you need it more than me.’
I strain to read the small writing in the dim light. My eyesight’s not what it was.
‘It’s for some place called Penzance,’ she says.
The name seems to stir something inside me even though I’ve never heard of it before. Still, I need to get out of this place. Penzance sounds good. The name feels safe.
‘Ta. But what about you?’
‘Don’t you worry. I can look after myself. Reckon it’s time for me to beat it too.’
Then she gives me a shove.
‘Just go.’
I don’t need her to say it twice.
9
Ellie
My father and I spent ages getting the house ready for my little brother. It was lovely doing things together without anyone else. We were a team again. Just Daddy and me.
I helped put up the little crib with its blue bows in the bedroom that used to belong to my real mother but was now Daddy’s and his new wife’s. Then I tucked in the blanket with a Peter Rabbit picture embroidered onto it by Grandma Greenway. She’d been sewing it as we’d sat side by side on the sofa in front of Coronation Street. Every now and then she’d cluck loudly if she didn’t approve of something that one of the characters was doing. (The girls enjoy audience participation here in prison too. There’s always a lot of shouting and ‘You silly bitch’ or ‘Don’t trust him!’ when we watch ‘Corrie’ in the communal lounge after tea.)
‘How will they unwrap it?’ I asked.
She gave me a sharp look. ‘I wouldn’t ask if I were you. It will only scare you half to death.’ She shuddered. ‘If someone had told me what it was really like, I might never have let a man near me.’
‘What do you mean?’
She waved a hand in the air. ‘It doesn’t matter. Now why don’t you play me the tune on that precious music box of yours?’
On Christmas Eve, in the old days, we used to go to the carol service for children at church in town. We’d each get a little present. Once, I’d received a small angel made of silk to hang on the tree. I didn’t know where it had gone. Lots of things from those days seemed to have disappeared after my new mother had had ‘a bit of a clear-up’.
‘Do we have to go?’ she moaned when my father suggested we went to the service. ‘My back is aching.’
‘Not if you don’t want to, dear.’
‘But we always do,’ I burst out. ‘Please.’
My father hesitated. ‘I could take her on my own if you don’t mind.’
He spoke to my new mother as if I wasn’t in the room.
She shrugged. ‘Go ahead.’
It was a lovely service. We sat next to Peter Gordon and his parents and sang my real mother’s favourite carol, ‘Away in a Manger’. Mrs Gordon gave me a big hug afterwards and Peter wished me a ‘Happy Christmas’ rather awkwardly, as if he knew this was a particularly difficult time for me. Lots of people patted my head afterwards. Someone told my father that they ‘wished him well’. He held my hand tightly as we went home. ‘I know life has been hard, Ellie. But it will be all right now.’
Yet as we got to the house, he began to run. ‘What is it, Daddy?’ I called out. ‘Wait!’
There was an ambulance outside. My new mother was being carried into it on a stretcher.
‘It’s started,’ she whimpered. ‘I told you not to leave me.’
That wasn’t true! She’d said we could go.
‘My darling. I’m so sorry. Don’t worry. I’m here now. I’ll come with you.’
‘May I come too?’ I pleaded. Daddy was upset. Surely he’d need me?
‘No.’ To my dismay, he steered me towards the house as though he didn’t want anything to do with me. ‘Go inside, Ellie. Mrs Greenway will look after you.’
‘You’ve made me tread on a pavement crack,’ I howled.
‘What are you talking about? Just go inside, will you?’
On Christmas Day, Grandma Greenway and I didn’t know how to cook the turkey, so we ate the sliced ham in the fridge instead. We both looked longingly at the presents under the tree. ‘Better not open them until they come back,’ she said. I agreed, although I was itching to know what was inside. Then we stayed up really late and watched a film called It’s a Wonderful Life. I was so tired that I fell asleep on her shoulder. When I woke up, she had her arm around me. I felt warm and cosy. Please don’t let my new mother come back too soon, I found myself wishing. Then I immediately felt guilty for such an uncharitable thought.
The next day, I woke up with a start. I was nine now. Not eight like yesterday! ‘It’s my birthday,’ I said to Mrs Greenway.
‘So it is, love,’ she said. But I couldn’t see any presents. Maybe Daddy was going to bring them when he got back from the hospital.
‘I hope everything’s all right,’ Mrs Greenway kept muttering.
Then I felt selfish for thinking about my birthday when my new mother was in hospital. Mrs Greenway and I had boiled eggs for breakfast. The yellow bits were all hard, although I ate them to be polite. Finally, my father returned. He seemed tired but he was smiling. ‘You’ve got a baby brother!’ he said.
Never have I seen my father look so happy. Not even when my real mother had been alive.
I jumped up and down with excitement. A brother! I’d look after him and play with him. I’d love him for ever and he would love me too.
‘When can I see him?’ I asked, hugging my father tight.
‘We’ll visit just after lunch if you want.’
I counted the hours down on the clock. Grandma Greenway and I sat in the back of the car, holding hands. Every now and then she squeezed mine tight as if to say, ‘Don’t worry.’
Why should I? What was there to be nervous about?
My new mother was in a room all of her own. She was sitting on a bed with a white blanket in her arms. ‘Go and say hello to your baby brother,’ said my father.
I tiptoed up. He was so tiny! What a funny face! So red and crinkly.
My new mother was looking down at him, ignoring me.
‘Would you like to hold him, Ellie?’ said my father.
Really? But I’d never held a baby before. ‘Sit down on this chair by the bed and make your arms into a round circle like this,’ said my father, demonstrating. Gingerly, I did as I was told. ‘That’s right.’
My new mother hesitated. ‘Go on, darling,’ said my father. ‘It’s important for Ellie to bond.’
She placed the little bundle into my lap. I could hardly breathe with the weight of love and responsibility. ‘Hello,’ I whispered. ‘I’m your big sister and I’m going to love you for ever and ever.’
Then he suddenly moved and my arms wobbled.
There was a scream. ‘Catch him, Nigel!’
My father steadied me just as my new mother snatched the white bundle away from me. ‘You could have dropped him, you silly girl.’
I burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’
‘It’s all right,’ soothed my father. But my new mother’s furious face made me shiver with fear. Then my little brother burst into tears as if he was cross with me too. ‘Come on,’ said Grandma Greenway, putting her arm around me. ‘Let’s leave them to it. I’ve never been particularly fond of babies anyway. Not at all interesting in my opinion. Get us a taxi home, will you?’
This last remark was directed at my father.
‘It’s all right, Ellie,’ he said. ‘Mum’s just tired. She’ll be fine when she comes home.’
‘Thank you for the baby,’ I said. ‘He’s the best birthday present I could have had.’
His face changed. ‘Of course,’ he said quietly. Then he patted me on the head. ‘Nine years old today. How could I have forgotten? I’m sorry, Ellie. I’ll make it up to you soon.’
8
Jo
I hang out in a park for a few hours but it’s started to rain. I go under some trees but I still get wet. You have to be careful on the streets. Pneumonia can be a killer in winter. So I head back into town, keeping my eyes peeled, and slink into a smart shopping centre. The first place I see is a mobile-phone shop. Great. I go right in, pretending to look at the display cabinets.
‘Can I help you?’ says a young bloke.
‘Yeah. I need a pay-as-you-go.’
Of course I can’t afford one but I pretend to be interested while the kid talks me through the different models. I have my back to the door, expecting that any minute someone will come in and tap me on the shoulder.
But no one does.
‘Ta,’ I say eventually. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Timewaster,’ I hear him muttering as I leave. But I don’t care. The coast seems clear. With any luck, that policewoman will have found someone else to bother by now. Even so, I can’t take any chances. A bus is coming. I jump on through the exit doors even though I haven’t got a card or cash to pay the fare. No one seems to notice. I wait a few stops and then I get off again.
There’s a crowd of schoolkids coming towards me, jabbering away in a foreign language, with teachers trying to keep them in order. Shoving myself into the middle of them, I elbow my way through. When I come out the other side, I glance behind. I can’t see anyone. I keep on running, down a side street, across a road, and then onto another main road again. I stop, panting for breath.
Reckon I’m safe now. But I’m bloody starving. Then I see a bloke in a suit eating chips out of a paper bag and then chucking half of them away in a rubbish bin. I make a dash for it but someone else beats me to it. From the back, she looks like she’s posh with that smart red coat. Then she turns round and I see her face – it’s all scrawny and she has a desperate look in her eyes. ‘Go on,’ she says, holding out the paper. ‘Take a few.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Not that many,’ she snaps before walking on, hugging the chips close to her. I want to cry with disappointment. Once more, I walk on, riffling through every bin I pass. I get lucky with a squashed banana and half a Yorkie bar with teeth marks on it.
Then I go past this big building with huge pillars and a sign saying BRISTOL CITY MUSEUM AND ART GALLERY. FREE ENTRANCE.
Ignoring the stand asking for donations, I go through a couple of the rooms and find the quietest one. I sit down on a bench opposite a picture of a river with some children playing on the edge. The artist has done it by drawing lots of dots instead of proper lines. Not bad. Then I realize someone’s standing over me. My heart carries on beating madly even when I see from her uniform that she’s just one of the attendants. ‘Sorry to bother you, madam, but we’re about to close.’
Madam? I would laugh out loud if I wasn’t so freaked out.
I’m back outside again. It’s already getting colder. Where now? Daft question. I’ve got no choice unless I want to sleep on the streets. Slowly I make my way back to the dark empty factory at Stokes Croft.
Paul is there.
‘What you got for me, then?’
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘No one gave me anything.’
Paul shakes his head. He’s smiling but I can tell it’s false. ‘Sure you didn’t keep something back for yourself?’
I put on my ‘What you talking about?’ look.
‘Course not.’
He tuts like I’m a kid who’s done something wrong. ‘You’ve got to earn your keep, Mother, otherwise you can find somewhere else to sleep.’
My chest starts to race again like I’m having a panic attack. I’ve had a few of those before and they’re not nice. ‘I’ll try harder,’ I promise.
Pam and the man in the suit come back. They’re lugging bags of biscuits, sandwiches, fizzy drinks and a bottle of wine. ‘What about the money?’ says Paul sharply. ‘It’s your signing-on day, isn’t it?’
Suit Man grumbles something about ‘bleeding me bloody dry’ and then hands over some cash.
The shopping-trolley lady has a ring. There’s a heated argument about whether it’s a real diamond or paste.
The kid with green hair has a Swiss Army knife which he found in a skip. He’s also brought back a big box of Kit-Kats. ‘They were being loaded off a van and no one was looking,’ he says proudly.
Posh Pam snorts. ‘I loathe chocolate.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ says the man in the suit, laughing like he thinks he’s cracked the best joke ever.
They all go into the ‘pot’.
‘What about her?’ demands the spiky-haired dog woman, pointing at me. ‘What did she get?’
‘Nothing yet,’ says my Irish friend. ‘Give her time.’
‘But she’s got to do her bit,’ whines the bloke who was shooting up when I got here. ‘No point in having her here if she can’t earn her keep.’
‘I’ve told her the same.’ Paul’s voice is low and threatening. ‘She will.’
We plonk ourselves down around a fire someone’s made out of planks of wood. (‘Got them from an allotment,’ says the bloke, looking pleased with himself.) I try to get nearer but the others push in front. Wind is whistling through the broken windows. I can’t stop shivering with cold.
‘Why are you here, then?’ asks Faduma. She seems friendlier than before.
‘What?’
‘Come on. We’re all on the street for a reason. See Hugo over there in the business suit? He used to be an estate agent but lost everything when his wife took him to the cleaners in the divorce. He didn’t have any family to stay with so he ended up here. So what did you do?’
I think of the bracelet. I’m glad it’s gone now. ‘Nothing.’
‘So maybe someone’s done something to you.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘You seem scared of something, Jo.’
‘Dunno what you’re talking about.’
‘Yeah. Right. I’ve been that way myself, you know. I get it.’
‘What happened to you, then?’ I say, trying to change the subject.
A dark look crosses her face. ‘I overheard my dad making plans to sell me to some local sex traffickers.’ She says it like it’s no big deal.
‘Didn’t your mum try and stop him?’
‘Nah. They needed the cash or the landlord was going to chuck us out.’
‘Which country were you living in?’
‘Here, of course. In Birmingham, where I was brought up. I jumped out of my bedroom window. Managed to get down to London and ended up here.’
Paul comes back and she stops.
‘Californian red, anyone?’ he asks. ‘It’s a good year,’ he says, laughing and pretending to examine the label. ‘You did well here, Pam. Go on, pass it round.’
This time I don’t need any persuading. I’m already freezing. Then one of the blokes starts strumming his guitar. The green-haired young man and Pam begin to dance, their faces close. His hands are on her bum. I start to relax. The drink has made me feel loads better.
‘Pipe down, will you?’ says Paul. ‘Or we’ll get done for being drunk and disorderly, not to mention squatting.’
‘Spoilsport,’ grumbles the young man, who’s still got his hands all over Pam.
We settle down for the night. It’s quite early but Paul says the earlier we go to sleep, the earlier we can get up to catch the best pitches. He lies next to me. His breath is sweet and sickly. I don’t do drugs but I saw him rolling something earlier next to the bloke who’d been shooting up.
The next thing I know, there’s a body over mine. I can’t breathe with terror. I try to yell out but a hand covers my mouth. ‘Shut up. Then you won’t be hurt.’
It’s Paul. My Irish ‘friend’.
‘Fuck off,’ I hiss.
He laughs. ‘I like a woman who fights back. But no one’s going to help you, even if you scream. It’s part of our initiation rite, you see. Everyone who joins our little band has the pleasure of my company.’
Pleasure? I have a flash of a man on top of me, pumping away. I’d hated it and done nothing about it. I’d let him do what he liked just to keep the peace. But now something inside me breaks.
‘Ow!’
I can taste his disgusting skin where I bit him on the wrist, but it doesn’t stop him.
‘Feisty, I like that. I’ve always had a thing for older women.’
His hands are pinning mine down. His weight is almost crushing me. I can’t breathe. He bites my left nipple through my top.
I get a leg free and knee him in the groin.
‘That’s enough.’
He’s angry now, like that other man. I’m fucking terrified but I know that if I’m going to survive, I can’t show it. The others must be able to hear us unless they’re all drunk. Then I remember what Faduma had told me. If anyone’s going to help me, she’s the one.
‘Rape!’ I yell out. ‘Faduma. Help!’
He clamps a hand on my mouth again. I’m going to suffocate. His hand works down underneath my trousers.
Then I feel another weight on top of us. I’m going to be broken. My body will snap. ‘You little cow!’ roars Paul. He’s off me now, wrestling with Faduma, who has leapt on top of him. Then they’ve stopped, and my new friend is panting, holding a knife. Paul watches her warily.
‘I warned you last time,’ she hisses. ‘If you try this kind of stuff again, I’ll hand you in.’
Paul laughs. ‘Even if you get murder for it?’ He raises his voice. ‘That’s right. Our little Faduma stabbed her dad. Did you know that?’
She’d left out that bit in the story she gave me.
‘The bastard deserved it,’ she said. ‘And yes, I mean it. Leave Jo alone or I will hand you in. Fuck the consequences.’
For a minute they just stare at each other, and then Paul starts laughing. ‘Stupid bitches, you’re not worth it anyway.’ He swaggers off to his corner and lies down.
Faduma leads me by the hand to the other side of the building. We’re both shaking. We watch as Paul turns over and goes to sleep.
Then Faduma’s fingers press something into mine.
‘It’s a train ticket’, she whispers. ‘Found it yesterday outside the station. Thought it might come in useful but I reckon you need it more than me.’
I strain to read the small writing in the dim light. My eyesight’s not what it was.
‘It’s for some place called Penzance,’ she says.
The name seems to stir something inside me even though I’ve never heard of it before. Still, I need to get out of this place. Penzance sounds good. The name feels safe.
‘Ta. But what about you?’
‘Don’t you worry. I can look after myself. Reckon it’s time for me to beat it too.’
Then she gives me a shove.
‘Just go.’
I don’t need her to say it twice.
9
Ellie
My father and I spent ages getting the house ready for my little brother. It was lovely doing things together without anyone else. We were a team again. Just Daddy and me.
I helped put up the little crib with its blue bows in the bedroom that used to belong to my real mother but was now Daddy’s and his new wife’s. Then I tucked in the blanket with a Peter Rabbit picture embroidered onto it by Grandma Greenway. She’d been sewing it as we’d sat side by side on the sofa in front of Coronation Street. Every now and then she’d cluck loudly if she didn’t approve of something that one of the characters was doing. (The girls enjoy audience participation here in prison too. There’s always a lot of shouting and ‘You silly bitch’ or ‘Don’t trust him!’ when we watch ‘Corrie’ in the communal lounge after tea.)
