Faceless (7 page)

The thought made her tremble.

He could, to all intents and purposes, have been a punter.

That bothered her more now she was out than it had when she had been inside. To acknowledge that there had been a time in her life when the filthiest of old men would have been worth a trick to get a few quid preyed on her mind.

She had that same feeling now she had hated then. Receiving that once-over look men had always given her made her feel she was still the old Marie, the one who would do anything for money.

His office was a Portakabin full of pornographic calendars and the usual crap collected by men who had no real understanding of the female mind, let alone body. He was sad and he knew it and she knew.

The old Marie would have overlooked it all, done whatever he wanted for the cash. Not the new one. The new improved version, like the washing-powder adverts claimed, was stain-free these days. But it took just one look to bring all the shame and humiliation right back.

‘I understand you want the wages and PAYE doing. What else is in the job description?’

He smiled again, a lascivious smile that made him look ridiculous.

‘What else do you want to do, love?’

She stared at him with cold blue eyes. Quiet again, she knew that eventually she would unnerve him. She carried on staring at him and saw confusion first and then embarrassment in his eyes again.

‘Let’s start again, shall we?’

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She didn’t answer him, just raised one eyebrow a fraction.

He pretended to read her CV this time.

‘I see you have a degree in English literature.’

He glanced up at her as he spoke and she nodded.

‘For all the good it will do me. But it made the time pass. Reading is a big hobby in prison, as I am sure you appreciate.’

Mentioning prison first was a good gambit for her and she realised it immediately.

‘Long time, I understand?’

‘Nearly thirteen years including remand. I was cat-A, locked up, and eventually went down cats until I was allowed out. Now here I am, in your office, looking for a job. Time is a funny thing, Mr Jarvis. You think it will never pass but it does. And the next thing you know, a whole new life is opening up before you.’

It was the right thing to say.

He looked ashamed and also relieved that she had put her cards on the table. She knew it had suddenly occurred to him that he was trying to banter with a woman who had already killed twice.

She smiled and the expression completely changed her face.

‘Look, Mr Jarvis, you know what I was imprisoned for - it was a nine-days wonder at the time. But if you give me this job I will work hard for you and can promise I will do whatever is necessary to keep this office running smoothly. I am over-qualified for this job, but as the woman at the Job Centre pointed out, beggars can’t be choosers.’

‘Do you know anything about the scrap metal business?’

Marie grinned.

‘No, sir. But I am willing to learn.’

He looked into her open face, remembering the photos of her in the papers. The Sun had said she was a murderer with the face of an angel, and they were right for once. She had the blonde good looks that many women envied. She had a good bone structure and with the right clothes could be a stunner.

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?’

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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

46

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.

47

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.‘1 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 makeup.’

‘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.’

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‘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 life. 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.’

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‘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.

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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.