G03 - Resolution (26 page)

“Yeah,” said Kilty. “Well, what about the London Collective of Prostitutes? They’re working women who have a union and everything. They want to carry on working and get it legalized. Do you think they’re wrong?”

Leslie was getting annoyed but, feeling cocky because Kilty was there, Maureen decided to have her say. “There is an argument about autonomy,” she said. “People do have the right to make choices.”

“Really?” snapped Leslie. “Is that the right to be exploited by people far more powerful than they are?”

“Aw, come on,” said Maureen. “Everyone’s being exploited by people far more powerful than they are.”

“I’m not,” said Leslie.

Maureen leaned across the table. “Leslie,” she said, “how do you think we get those fags? The tobacco companies have to double their exports to allow for smuggling. Three years ago they were exporting enough to Montenegro to keep every man, woman and child on sixty a day. That’s how unexploited we are. We work for a massive international conspiracy that gets poor people to trade all their disposable income for tumors.”

Leslie sat back and pursed her lips. “I don’t think Joan’s going to make it,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

They gathered their things from the seats and followed her out into the bright evening.

“Shall we just go home, then?” said Maureen.

“Yeah,” said Leslie. “There’s not much point in going up to the office. She’ll be busy now.”

Kilty tutted and shook her head, then stepped away from the street to the wall, looking down the road to the junction. Three women were gathered around a street corner, smoking cigarettes, dressed in short skirts and dirty tops, ill-fitting bras visible under their clothes. “There’s women all over the place at this time of night. All we need are some tenners to give them.”

“I dunno,” said Maureen reluctantly. “They don’t look very friendly to me.”

Kilty turned round and looked down the road. “Come on.”

They stopped at a cashpoint and each took out some money before turning back to the women gathered on the corner. As they approached they could see them more clearly. The smallest was slim with her dark hair tied up in bunches. The woman of medium height was quite overweight but either didn’t know or was making a feature of it: her skirt was very short and her top tight, displaying rolling thighs and an undulating stomach. She had a hard face, badly pockmarked skin and a crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken. The tallest woman was skinny and swaying slightly, drooping forward from the shoulders, her hands hanging redundantly in front of her. They didn’t look happy and they didn’t look like sex workers. They looked like people so lowly and picked on that they had splintered off from the underclass and formed a social stratum all of their own.

The women eyed them suspiciously as they approached, keeping their faces to the road, watching them from the corners of their eyes.

“Hello,” said Kilty, “we’re not the police. I’m a social worker and these two sell fags in Paddy’s. Can we ask you about something?”

None of the women spoke. They shuffled, the smallest sliding away to the far side of the tallest.

Kilty tried again. “Can we ask ye questions about something?” she said.

The smallest woman looked away. A car coming down the hill slowed as it approached them; the driver lowered the window on the passenger side electronically and looked out at them from the safe shadow. He saw how many of them there were and sped up, passing fast and turning the corner.

“We’ll give ye a tenner every fifteen minutes ye talk to us,” said Kilty, “in a public place, no touching.”

The tall, swaying woman turned at the mention of money and the chubby, hard woman stepped towards them. “Pay up front?” she said, and folded her arms. “In a public place?”

“We can talk to ye here, if ye like.”

“Naw,” drawled the tall woman. “Get them away. Punters willnae stop.”

Kilty nodded and they backed away.

“Can we speak to both of you as well when we get back?” asked Maureen.

“If we’re here,” said the tall woman, and stared up the street again.

Kilty led the way and Maureen, Leslie and their new companion followed her. They could tell the woman was wary of them, wondering if they were going to jump her, steal her money maybe. She tottered gracelessly in her high heels, walking with a pronounced limp as though her right hip hurt. Maureen moved round to Leslie’s side so they weren’t flanking her and saw the woman glance at her gratefully.

“My name’s Maureen.”

“Candy.”

Maureen was about to comment that it was an unusual name but managed to stop before she made a complete arse of herself. “Nice and sunny, eh?” said Maureen, trying to keep the ball rolling. “Must be shit standing out here when it’s cold.”

“It’s shit all the time,” said Candy, with deep conviction.

They walked along in silence for a hundred yards until they came to the pub they had been drinking in earlier. Kilty dipped through the narrow door. Maureen and Leslie stepped back to let Candy through first. Candy stopped, crossed her arms and shook her head. “Won’t serve us in here.”

“But you’re with us,” said Leslie. “We’re gonnae buy drink.”

“They won’t even let us buy fags or a half bottle in there. They won’t even let us do a pee. I’m not going in.”

“That’s fucking outrageous,” said Leslie.

But Candy wanted cash, not allies. “Are ye gonnae give me my tenner or what?” She pretended to look at a watch even though she didn’t have one on. “That’s five minutes already.”

Maureen took a loose tenner out of her pocket and handed it over just as Kilty came back out of the pub looking bewildered.

“Candy says she can’t go in there,” said Maureen.

“Why?”

Leslie explained to her as Candy led them round a corner behind a glass and marble office building with a walled car park behind it. She sat down on the low wall, rubbing at a bulging vein on the back of her shin. ” Ye’ve got eight minutes left.”

Maureen settled next to her. “Well, I’ll get to the point, then. Have you heard of the Park Circus Health Club?”

Candy nodded.

“What do ye know about it?”

“It’s a house up by the park. They’ve got a lot of rooms, maybe ten. They’ve got a dungeon for hitting them.” She nearly smiled. “That’s it.”

“Who owns it?”

Candy looked at her bruised knees. “Dunno,” she said. She didn’t sound convincing but Maureen could hardly blame her.

“Do you know anyone who works there?”

“Nut.” Candy was looking around them, at Leslie’s thick hair and good skin, at Kilty’s silly trainers with the lights in the heels.

“Anyone who’s ever worked there?”

“Nut.”

“Doesn’t everyone know everyone else?”

Candy looked at her, annoyed. She had suddenly seen herself in relation to the other women there and she couldn’t stand it. It was unbearable, the power differential between them. “We’re not in a union,” she said, pulling back her lips and baring her gums, shaking her head in Maureen’s face. “We don’t have Christmas fucking parties.”

If it came to a fight Candy could probably take them all on and walk away without making her limp any worse. Maureen held up a hand in surrender. “Sorry,” she said.

“Aye, ye fucking should be sorry.” Candy stood up, shouting, and her voice bounced off the near walls in the lane. “Ye fucking should be.”

“I didn’t mean to insult ye,” said Maureen, standing up to meet her.

“Fuck ye!” shouted Candy. “Ya fucking cunts, the lot of ye!”

She turned to all of them, shouting unreasonably, calling them names and trying to frighten them. She reached out to push Kilty, the smallest, and Maureen and Leslie went for her instinctively, standing next to Kilty before the hand reached her.

“Too far,” breathed Leslie, holding up one finger.

Candy backed down.

“Come on, I’ll walk ye back.” Maureen said it as if nothing had happened but they were both breathing heavily. Candy looked wildly from one to the other and tripped after Maureen making her way out of the alley and into the bright street. “Thanks for talking to us, Candy, that was good of ye.”

Candy said nothing but limped along angrily. Maureen slipped her another tenner and Candy tore it from her hand. Maureen liked it that she was angry, that she didn’t just accept her place. It was no place for anyone, so shunned she couldn’t even go into a pub for a piss.

A car slowed next to them, the man leaning across the passenger seat. He was handsome, with short brown hair and a fine jaw, small eyes and nice teeth. “Show us your cunt,” he said.

“Fuck off,” said Maureen.

“Forty,” said Candy.

“Not you,” said the man, “her,” and he pointed at Maureen.

“You can fuck right off, son,” said Maureen venomously.

“She’s not working,” said Candy. “Thirty.”

The man looked at them and assessed the situation. He glanced down the road to the gangly woman standing on the street corner and slid back reluctantly into the driver’s seat. “Twenty-five,” he said.

Candy broke away and got into the car, slamming the door shut behind her. Maureen watched the car pass and, through the back window, saw Candy and the man ignoring each other, a canyon of space between them, already behaving like an unhappy couple. The car turned up a side street and disappeared out of sight.

Back on the corner the smallest woman was missing. Her gangly pal was bleary-eyed and trying to make sense of a cigarette.

“Are ye all right to walk?” asked Maureen, and she followed her along the road. Suddenly, a fast car full of young men screeched past, crossing the grid, bravely defying the give-way sign. The windows were down and they hung out screaming “Cunt,” and “Bitch,” and “Slit” at the women, whooping and laughing uproariously as they passed. Maureen had a sense that in a few years’ time one of the boys in the car would be back here, harassing the women, raising a hammer to someone’s head in a dark alley. And no one in the car would connect the two incidents because it was just a bit of fun.

“God,” said Maureen, “it’s fucking horrible here.”

“Tell me about it,” said the woman sagely.

“I’m Maureen, by the way.”

“I’m Candy,” said Candy II, and Maureen smiled.

Candy II was less fraught than Candy I, principally because she was so off her tits she could hardly remember where she was. She sat on the wall, blotchy legs drifting out in front of her, her head sagging into her chest, and Maureen thought they should get the questions over and done with. “Do you know the Park Circus Health Club?”

Candy II pressed her lips tightly together and held out her hand. Kilty put a tenner into it. Candy II clenched her fist and retracted her hand, closing her eyes and nodding. “No,” she said. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Have you ever heard of Si McGee?”

“Oh, aye, yeah.” Maureen was afraid to believe her.

“Where do you know him from?”

“Gorbals. His ma lives in Benny Lynch Court. I was at primary school.” She looked up and seemed startled, as though she wasn’t where she had supposed she was.

“Have ye heard of him being in this business?”

“No.” Candy II was certain. “He went to St. Aloysius. He’s a businessman.” She smiled slowly. “He used to sit next to me in assembly. D’ye know his sister?”

“Tonsa?” said Maureen.

“Aye. She’s mental.”

And then a strange thing happened. The inside of a Kinder-egg, an orange and white plastic capsule, dropped from nowhere and rolled on the ground. It was wet and glistening. The sun trickled down the lane, lighting up the egg and shining through it. Inside, a little rectangle of something settled against the side. They all stared at it, apart from Candy II.

“You’ve dropped your …” Kilty trailed off, not knowing what to call it, and Candy looked to where Leslie’s reluctant finger was pointing.

“Oh, aye.” She fell forward from the waist like a rag doll, picked up the wet thing and wiped it clean on her leg. She opened her knees, lifted her bum off the wall, pulled the crotch of her pants aside and fitted the thing back into her vagina. She sat down again and looked at them expectantly.

“I can’t think of anything else to ask ye,” said Maureen.

“Excuse me for that,” said Candy II, knowing she had breached the formal rules of etiquette.

Maureen had to ask: “You’re not using that as birth control, are ye?”

Candy II laughed a high, happy laugh, wrinkling her nose and squeezing her eyes tight. She looked like she’d be a good laugh if she was at herself. She held her hands up. “No pockets,” she said, looking down at her bra. “They’d steal this if it was their size.”

“Why would they steal from ye?” asked Kilty, smiling. “They must have money to come to ye in the first place.”

“Oh, they love ye till they shoot it. Then they fucking hate ye, like ye made them come looking for ye. They want tae hurt ye, a lot of them.”

“Why is that?”

“Shamed,” said Candy II nodding sadly. “They’re all ashamed.” She stood up abruptly and Maureen took an extra tenner out of her pocket and handed it to her. “Ye haven’t asked me why I do it,” said Candy, suddenly coherent.

“Do what?” asked Maureen.

“This,” she said, pointing at the ground. “That’s what everyone wants to know. How did we get started, why we do it.”

Maureen shrugged. “I’m not bothered about that, Candy, everyone’s got their reasons.”

“I do it for my weans,” said Candy II, talking to the far wall, her eyes wetting, her mouth drooping at the corners, “because I love them. I never wanted this. I want them to have all the things I never had.”

The line sounded heavy and hollow, like the words from an old song. Maureen and Leslie looked at the ground, embarrassed. Kilty watched Candy, enjoying the performance.

“I love my weans.” She looked at the two tenners in her hand and wept.

“That’s nice,” said Maureen. “I heard a lot of cars there — I think you might be missing trade.”

Candy II made a sad clown face. “I really love them,” she whispered, and followed Maureen out of the lane.

“Thanks for talking to us, Candy, that was nice of ye,” said Maureen, when they were back in the bright street.

“Why did ye want to know about Si McGee?” asked Candy, no longer sad at all.