The Know, Page 2

  ‘Oh, Mum, you look beautiful!’

  Kira’s voice was tremulous with admiration. She loved makeup and perfume, and her mother’s over-abundance of both made her seem exotic and stunningly lovely to her youngest daughter.

  ‘Thanks, darling. Now, you got your money, ain’t you?’

  Kira nodded, her bright blue eyes still drinking in her glamorous mother.

  ‘You smell lovely and all.’

  ‘She won’t when she gets back. She’ll smell like the men’s lavs in Soho.’

  This caustic comment was from Joanie’s daughter Jeanette.

  Joanie grinned.

  ‘Been there a lot, have you, love? Only you seem to know the place well.’

  Jon Jon and Kira laughed. Joanie laughed with them though inside the comment had hurt, but as usual she shrugged it off. She understood better than anyone did what her kids had to deal with on a daily basis because of her job, and made allowances accordingly. She lit a cigarette and tidied her hair absent-mindedly as she smoked and watched out of the window for Monika’s arrival.

  The estate was a hive of activity as usual: kids running round, radios and stereos blaring, car engines revving - it looked like a bad day in Beirut.

  But it was home to them and they liked it there, or as much as you could like it anyway.

  She sighed.

  ‘Late for her own funeral, Monika.’

  Kira laughed.

  ‘Her, Bethany and me are going to the pictures tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s nice, love.’ Lighting another cigarette, she bellowed, ‘Do us another drink, Jon Jon.’

  He poured her another in the kitchen as he watched his microwave chips rotating. He was stoned and suddenly starving. He took another puff on his joint and walked back into the lounge with his mother’s drink, the stench of skunk hanging round him.

  ‘No wonder they call it skunk - it stinks.’

  He smiled lazily.

  Jeanette, who’d disappeared into her bedroom, came out and Joanie sighed.

  ‘You ain’t going out like that, are you?’

  Jeanette had a full woman’s body and a child’s face. The combination was lethal. But both girls took after Joanie. Even Kira had a little pair of tits on her and she was only eleven. Tonight Jeanette was dressed like her idol Britney and she looked like sex on legs.

  ‘You look gorgeous!’

  Kira was once more in raptures.

  ‘Is that your mate’s new top?’

  ‘No, it fucking ain’t, it’s mine.’

  Kira’s face fell.

  ‘I was only asking.’

  ‘Well, don’t, all right?’

  Jeanette had no time for her little sister and it showed; she just saw her as a nuisance.

  ‘Don’t talk to her like that, you rotten little mare. And anyway, she has a point. If it ain’t your mate’s, where the fuck did you get it?’

  ‘She’s been thieving again up the high street.’ Jon Jon spoke quietly and the room went quiet. ‘You’ve been out on the grab, ain’t you?’ he challenged.

  Jeanette tossed her long curly brown hair over one shoulder.

  ‘So what if I have? What’s it got to do with you? You ain’t me fucking dad.’

  Jon Jon took a step towards her and Kira planted herself between her brother and sister.

  ‘Don’t start fighting, please!’

  Joanie finished her drink and slammed the glass down on the scuffed wooden table.

  ‘All right, that’s enough. Why do I always have to walk out that door in a two and eight, eh? Once, just once, let me go to work in a bit of peace.’

  Jon Jon poked his sister in the chest none too gently as he growled, ‘Watch yourself, girl.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I ain’t scared of you, mate!’

  He stared into her eyes and Joanie watched as her daughter’s bravado turned to real fear.

  ‘Well, you should be, Jen. You should be very scared.’

  Kira was visibly upset now. It seemed as if the whole room was charged with malice and all of them were affected by it.

  The front door flew open then and Monika stumped in, overweight and sporting the most amazing Afro in recorded history.

  ‘I been bibbing away down there,’ she shouted. ‘You ready, girl, or what?’ She scratched one large boob as she adjusted the elasticated top she was wearing. ‘Bloody thing, it’s killing me.’

  ‘Try buying one that fits next time,’ Jeanette said sarcastically, without thinking.

  Before Monika could answer Kira piped up with, ‘I think it looks . . .’

  Everyone, including Monika, said ‘lovely’ with her and once again they were all laughing.

  Kissing the kids, Joanie went to work feeling more light-hearted.

  Kira walked out of the flat and down the steep concrete staircase to the communal washing lines below. No one used them any more so it was a place for the kids to hang out. On the plus side you could hear the music from certain flats so at least you had a few sounds as you sat around jawing.

  The overflowing bins were also housed down there so the smell, especially in summer, could get overwhelming. Last winter a newborn baby had been found in one of the large bins, barely alive. The kids had heard its mewling and retrieved it from the dustbin, called the police and were heroes for a few days. The mother of the unfortunate child had left the area after a near lynching from the neighbours and the child had been fostered out. It was still a major topic of conversation for them all, months after the event, and their parents didn’t mind them hanging round here so much now.

  Kira loved it here, it was her favourite place. Unlike most of the other girls she didn’t live under a loose rein, was not able to sit out till all hours, so made a point of enjoying the time she did have with her mates. It was a bone of contention between her and her brother and mother that she was not allowed the same freedom as everyone else, but she was shrewd enough to know she was fighting a losing battle. Her mother had lost the war with Jeanette, she was not going to lose it with Kira. Consequently, she was watched far more closely and had come to accept and to understand why this was so. Basically she was a good kid anyway and did as she was asked. Tonight, as she settled herself on the low wall, she was happy enough.

  ‘Little’ Tommy Thompson watched the girls as they sat and chatted. His balcony overlooked the washing lines and he had a good view of them. He liked watching the kids, they made him laugh with their antics, especially Kira and her friends. He waved down, smiling, and the girls waved shyly back.

  He had moved to this area a few months previously with his father. At thirty-eight, Tommy was cripplingly obese and unable to work because of that. And, as his father had always pointed out to anyone who would listen, he wasn’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree either.

  Tommy hated his father, and every fresh nasty comment sent him running to the fridge. ‘Morbidly obese?’ his dad would say. ‘Anyone would be morbid around him.’ Tommy kept meaning to find out what this meant but he never had; he was always forgetting things. He hadn’t liked to ask the doctor either because his dad was sitting there with him every time and Tommy had learned just to listen, to let his father talk. It was how it had always been even when his mum had been alive.

  He moved his huge bulk in the chair. This heat was a killer for him and he knew he smelled. He could catch the sweet odour himself every time the wind blew through the flats. It was like a vacuum here because of the way the blocks were situated, and out on the balcony was the coolest place to be. Consequently Tommy spent a lot of time out there.

  ‘All right, Fatty?’

  The good-natured call made him smile. He waved back happily, glad to be noticed. He was practically beaming as he shouted down, ‘Hot enough for you?’

  The man carried on walking without answering and Tommy felt a moment’s embarrassment. He settled himself once more and observed the girls below as they chatted and laughed. He could hear Beenie Man blaring out from Kira’s flat so
knew her brother Jon Jon was still around and that her mother had gone to work. They watched her like a hawk - and so they should after all.

  The thought made him smile, but this was quickly wiped from his face as he heard the front door slam.

  His father was home. Tommy waited patiently for the baiting to begin.

  ‘Why do we come in so early?’

  Monika’s voice was slurred as she drank copiously from a bottle of cheap Bacardi.

  ‘That’ll get you in the end, girl. Quicker than anything, Bacardi is.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off, Lena, and give me a break!’

  Lena, a young Scottish girl, sighed and raised her eyebrows as she looked at Joanie who shook her head, telling her to mind her own business.

  ‘I like that necklace, Lena. New, is it?’ Monika commented.

  The girl preened herself. She had just acquired a new pimp and so presents were still on the agenda; it was always the way with the younger ones.

  ‘It was made for a much slimmer neck, of course.’

  Monika was spoiling for a row and it showed. Lena was a chunky girl and in truth the necklace was far too delicate for her. But it wasn’t the necklace that rankled with Monika, it was what it stood for. They were all aware of that. No one was going to bother cajoling Monika into switching pimps.

  Lena was a laugh though, and said good-naturedly, ‘Well, I’m sorry about that but I don’t know Frank Bruno well enough to borrow his jewellery.’

  Even Monika laughed, then said nastily, ‘Here it comes, Miss fucking World!’

  Lena shook her head.

  ‘She’s too young. I’m sorry, but he should draw the line.’

  The young girl was more than aware of the stir she was causing. It was just getting dark so business would pick up soon and she knew the chances were she would get the next strike. She also knew it would cause aggravation. But she wasn’t too bothered; she had good back up. At fourteen she thought she knew it all, and unfortunately already knew far too much about some things, only she was too stupid to see that for herself. She was a runaway so that made it easy for the men who preyed on women to get her working the street.

  Monika’s tutting was so loud it made Joanie laugh.

  ‘Leave her alone. She has to put up with Todd McArthur - she’ll soon learn.’

  Todd was a young pimp who concentrated on the new girls. He was good-looking, quietly spoken and vicious. All his girls were in love with him, even after he gave them the bad news. Unlike the older women who had no illusions about the men who lived off them, the younger girls had to experience the downside before they actually realised they were stuck there for the best part of their lives. A good pimp could track a girl who absconded within twenty-four hours, and frequently did that. The beating they then received and the fear of a repetition kept them on their toes or on their backs, whichever way you wanted to look at it.

  A week in hospital was something to learn from and anyone too thick to toe the line afterwards was asking for all they got. Or that, at least, was the general consensus among the women.

  A blue Escort pulled up by the side of the road and a small white man with a bad combover smiled at Monika. He was a regular and as she walked to the car she gave the younger girl a smirk that told her all she needed to know. Regulars were what they all wanted; they made life so much easier, gave you a chance to relax - something you could never do with a stranger, especially with the mad bastards they dealt with on a daily basis.

  ‘Thank fuck she’s gone, Joanie. Her drinking is getting worse!’ Lena moaned.

  Joanie sighed but didn’t comment.

  ‘That little girl’s on crack. Look, she’s fucking rocking.’

  They watched her for a few moments before moving away.

  ‘McArthur’s a shitbag, ain’t he?’

  Joanie nodded before answering, ‘Talking of shitbags . . .’

  They laughed as their own pimp, Paulie Martin, chased the girl off, physically as well as verbally. He walked towards them then, his handsome face openly shocked.

  ‘That McArthur will be opening a fucking crèche soon, eh?’

  ‘That child was cracked out of her box.’

  ‘She’ll get a crack across the fucking head if she talks to me like that again!’ He was smoothing down his designer suit. ‘I want you in a parlour, Joanie.’

  She smiled. It was better in the massage parlours though she was only asked if he was desperate and she knew that.

  ‘Okey-doke, how long for?’

  ‘Just get in the motor, will ya? It’s like pimping for William G. Stewart. No questions, just move.’

  One thing in Paulie’s favour, he was funny and the girls appreciated his humour. It had lightened more than a few crap evenings.

  He shouted over his shoulder, ‘Lena, you tell that little cunt McArthur if I see any of his girls within pissing distance of mine again, I’ll break his fucking neck.’

  ‘All right, Mr Martin.’

  As Joanie was driven to East Ham she relaxed. This was a bit of luck and she was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

  ‘You look happy, Joanie.’

  Paulie smiled at her and she melted. He was devastatingly handsome and knew it, from his thick black curly hair to his deep blue eyes. He was heavy-set and not as tall as he would have liked but he had something about him and whatever it was, it made women want him. In his game that was definitely a bonus. He had learned early in life that a smile and a well-timed compliment could get you anything you wanted from certain women.

  Paulie rubbed her leg above the knee as he drove and Joanie smiled once more. He was a bastard but he was her bastard, so she forgave him anything. She knew he was giving her the scrapings but she was also wise enough to appreciate that that was about all she was going to get these days so she enjoyed it while she could.

  She could still hack it with a certain type of punter, though. She had the cheap and cheerful look that appealed to the older men. Joanie was the pensioner’s friend, and she was glad of it. You rarely got a tip but it was over in no time so that was a bonus. In fact, she was perfect for a massage parlour in many respects. The men who used them were lazy and frightened of being seen kerb crawling: locals who tended to use the one nearest the pub, or out-of-towners who worked nearby and came in flashing their money and their false smiles. It was cheap as well; none of the girls was ever going to be in the hundred-quid-a-fuck market anyway so all in all it worked out fine.

  Paulie was clever enough to know the kind of girls who would make him money: not too good-looking but not complete dogs either - that was all right on the kerb, but not in the comfortable surroundings of a parlour. Equally if the girls were too good-looking they frightened the men off; he had noticed that over the years. As Paulie told anyone who’d listen, most men rented a bit of strange so they could feel in control. Men without money and prestige were easily intimidated by women who were too good-looking, they felt that they had to be nicer to them. His girls, and he used the term loosely, were just the right side of trollop to suit his clients’ needs.

  As they pulled up outside the parlour he yawned.

  ‘Ask Jon Jon if he wants a job with me. I’ve heard he’s making a bit of a name for himself around and about.’

  Joanie nodded.

  ‘OK. How long am I working tonight?’

  ‘One of the girls has gone on the missing list. Probably a few days.’ Paulie yawned once again then said, ‘Fucking real, ain’t it? All I done for her and she goes on the trot.’

  Joanie kept her own counsel. She was more than aware of what he had done for the girl; he had done the same for her and look where it had got her.

  ‘Don’t hurt her when you find her . . .’

  He didn’t bother to answer. Instead he leaned across her and opened the car door.

  ‘Be good, Joanie.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Oh, and do me a favour, will you? Keep your fucking opinions on my working practices to yourself in future. I own you, Joa
nie, like I own all my girls, and if I ever found I wanted you lot to have opinions, I’d book myself into the nearest mental institution sharpish just to teach meself a lesson, OK?’

  She nodded once more. The anger in his voice was evident and she knew he could turn on a coin.

  ‘Well?’

  She nodded harder this time.

  He rolled his eyes.

  ‘I mean, fuck off, Joanie! Now!’

  He was bellowing and his voice was loud enough to be heard above the traffic. Joanie jumped from the car as fast as she could and scurried into the massage parlour. She was humiliated and hurt, and the worst thing was, it showed.