Georgia (56 page)

Further down the street the sound of high heels tapped out a staccato rhythm. As the footsteps came closer Brian heard a peal of laughter that made him stiffen involuntarily.

‘What is it?’ she whispered, her lips against his neck.

Brian didn’t answer but concentrated on listening as the feet came closer.

Two pairs, one with a bouncy young step, the other older, more plodding.

‘Did you see that old bloke? He must have been at least fifty.’

The woman speaking wasn’t the one with the laugh that jolted him, her voice common and rough. Brian shook himself and pulled Paula closer.

‘He was quite sweet though.’

This voice sounded exactly like Georgia’s. He’d heard it night after night as his eyes closed with weariness and now he was hearing it again only a few yards from him.

‘Shall we go now?’ Paula was saying, but Brian merely held her tighter, burying his lips in her neck as he watched over her shoulder.

The two women came under the yellow arc of light, their heads close together, blond against dark.

Brian saw only the black pom-pom of hair, the big eyes that looked right into the alley where he and Paula stood and his blood ran cold.

‘Don’t bite me!’ Paula’s squeal of pain made him loosen his grip on her. ‘What’s your game?’

The two women had passed the end of the alley. Brian ran forward, forgetting Paula.

The women stopped outside a door, standing close together whispering. Hearing his footsteps they looked round.

‘What’s up mate?’ the blonde one called out. ‘Isn’t one girl enough for you?’

The dark girl laughed, her hand poised to put a key in the door.

In profile Brian could see it wasn’t Georgia. She was white, at least twenty-five and she had thick legs.

He backed away, feeling shaken and foolish.

Paula was standing at the end of St Anne’s Court with a puzzled look on her face.

The short fur jacket she wore over her green dress hanging off her shoulders.

‘What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I thought I had. I could have sworn that was my daughter,’ he said weakly.

‘That was Shirl and Denise,’ she linked arms with him, urging him along. ‘Nice girls don’t roam around here at night. Come on, let’s go back to my place.’

The small flat was just a block away. A door half hidden between two shops. They climbed up some narrow, grubby stairs and Paula opened a door on the first floor.

‘You did get a shock,’ she smiled and drew him in. ‘I’ll just light the fire and make you a drink. You’ve gone all pale!’

‘You’re very understanding,’ he said, looking all around him furtively as if expecting someone to jump out on him.

It was one room, the walls and floor uneven as if the house was subsiding. A cooker and sink were curtained off in one corner, through the other door he could see a bath and toilet.

She was a hoarder. Every shelf, every surface was full of ornaments. Even the wardrobe wouldn’t close because so many clothes were stuffed in there. The double bed was covered in red satin, a profusion of frilly pillows and soft toys arranged on it. Cheap prints hung over the bed, chosen for their garish colours rather than their artistic appeal. Behind the door hung a green silky dressing-gown with black lace and over one chair hung a red and black basque.

‘This is cosy,’ his spirits rose again as she switched on twin red lamps either side of the bed.

‘Relax dear,’ she said crossing the room to him. ‘Take off your jacket and make yourself at home. Would you like some whiskey?’

Never before had any prostitute offered him a drink. They took their money, did the business and then expected him to go. Maybe he was already special to her? Perhaps this could be the start of something good?

She poured him a large drink, dropped a kiss on his cheek and disappeared into the bathroom.

‘As they say at the movies,’ she shouted through the door. ‘Just slipping into something more comfortable.’

Brian took off his jacket and shoes and sat on the bed nursing his drink.

‘There, I wasn’t long was I?’

Paula was standing in the doorway, a black negligee open to reveal a bra, knickers, stockings and suspenders.

Her skin was very white, her thighs bulged at her stocking tops. Brian could say nothing, instead he reached out for her, putting his arms round her waist and buried his head in her breasts.

She smelt perfect, the perfume just a little too sweet and heady.

‘Let me undress you?’ she said, bending down to him and lifting his face up with one finger. ‘You’re shy aren’t you?’

As her fingers reached out to unbutton his shirt he felt restored. He pulled her down onto the bed beside him and covered her face with kisses. He could feel an erection starting and he knew she wouldn’t insist on turning off the light.

‘You’re lovely,’ she whispered, her tongue flickering over his, ‘Let me get your things off?’

As she slid his trousers down his legs she touched him lightly on the front of his white ‘Y’ fronts.

‘That looks very healthy,’ she smiled up at him impishly, her auburn hair tumbling round her face.

Brian could hear his heart hammering. She knelt up on the bed beside him slowly unbuttoning his shirt. As she undid the cuffs she kissed both his wrists and let her lips travel up the soft insides of his arms.

‘Now the pants,’ she said, gripping the waistband firmly and lowering them, moving her lips down towards his penis as she pulled the pants right off his feet.

He was holding his breath now, wearing nothing but his socks and his vest. Her lips were only an inch away from his penis and her hand was poised to grasp it.

‘What a lovely big one,’ she whispered, looking up at him and smiling. ‘I think I’ve just got to kiss it!’

Her tongue flicked over the end. He drew in his breath and watched her, leaning back on his elbows.

It was his favourite fantasy. A near-naked woman, about to take him in her mouth. Her breasts were full, spilling over the low cut bra, her skin very white and clear. The negligee had fallen off one shoulder and he could see a tiny sprinkling of freckles on her small shoulder.

Her tongue darted out, long and pointed, she ran it along the length of his penis one hand reaching out to cup his balls.

He could feel her breasts touching his leg and he was desperately afraid he would come before they even got started.

‘Not yet,’ she looked up and smiled seductively. ‘First we have to get that vest off.’ She gripped it by the bottom and quickly pulled it over his head.

‘Oh my God!’ she gasped, moving back from him. ‘What ever’s happened to you?’

Her remark was like a cold shower. His penis shrank back like a tortoise into its shell.

Brian had forgotten the scar. In the past months it had become just another part of him, but seeing it through her eyes he saw how fearsome it looked.

The original gash was only an inch and a half. But during surgery they had opened it wider. It was diagonal across the fat part of his belly and as it had healed it had puckered so it looked like a pair of pursed lips.

‘It’s nothing,’ he said too quickly. ‘I fell on a knife.’ He cursed himself for not remembering the old war wound story. Women had enough imagination to understand the thrust of a bayonet. She would have shuddered delicately and changed the subject.

‘When?’ her face was pale with fright now, the seductive look gone, replaced by morbid curiosity. ‘Does it hurt?’

As if it wasn’t bad enough her even remarking about it, she now reached out gingerly to touch it.

‘Don’t,’ he slapped her hand away.

‘Why not,’ her eyes opened wide. ‘Scars are interesting.’

Brian closed his eyes for a second.

It was Georgia again. Somehow she’d even managed to spoil this night for him.

‘Don’t be like that,’ Paula wriggled up to lie beside him and leaned over his face to kiss him.

Brian grabbed her fiercely, thrusting his tongue into her mouth.

But he felt nothing. No reaction. She smelled too sweet, it made him feel nauseous and underneath that perfume he could smell sweat.

‘Let me lick your prick again,’ she said. ‘You liked that.’

She moved back down the bed and once again Brian watched, holding his breath as her tongue slid out, red and pointy.

But all he could see now was the wound. Even from the angle he lay at it looked evil, like the mouth of an old crone.

When she’d done this before it was sweet and exciting, but now he felt a sense of duty in her manner.

She took his penis in her mouth, sucking at it vigorously, but still it refused to grow. Her long red nails dug into his inner thighs and then she yawned.

‘Don’t bother,’ he said, pushing her away. ‘You ruined everything anyway.’

She moved back from him, her eyes startled.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said perching on the bed beside him. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’

‘Yes you did,’ he said, getting up and reaching for his clothes. ‘You women are all the same. Always got to spoil things.’

‘Just a minute!’ she leapt off the bed and pulled her negligee tightly around her. She stood in front of him as he pulled on his shirt. ‘Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? I spent all evening with you because I liked you. I brought you back here for the same reason. I may be a tart but it doesn’t stop me having feelings.’

‘I paid you for a night out and sex,’ he spat at her. ‘I didn’t expect you to pry into my private life.’

‘You call asking about a scar prying?’ she sneered at him. ‘If you were like that to your daughter it’s no wonder she ran off.’

Rage welled up inside him. He saw only the thin pale face and the expression of aversion in those cold green eyes. One moment his hands were buttoning his shirt, the next his clenched fist shot out and punched straight into her face.

‘Filthy whore,’ he shouted.

When he saw her backing away on to the bed, blood gushing out of her nose, he was sorry. The anger wasn’t directed at her, just at Georgia. He pulled on his pants and trousers, searching for the right words to make her forget.

He moved towards her, hands outstretched. She cowered back amongst the pillows, white-faced and frightened.

‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ The force with which she spat out the words surprised him, her eyes blazed and she scrabbled amongst the pillows behind her. ‘I can defend myself you bastard!’

A glint of silver under the red light. A long curved blade, her red nails curled round an ivory handle.

‘I didn’t mean to hit you,’ his words spilt out. ‘It was just –’

The knife drove all explanations out of his head, his legs turned to jelly.

‘I knew there was something weird about you,’ she interrupted, getting up on to her knees, slashing out at the air between them. Her black negligee fell back, revealing her underwear and white skin. ‘This could cut off your prick like a ripe banana. I’d finish what some other woman started.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Brian shoved his feet into his shoes. He was frightened now. She looked fiendish, white-faced, bloodied nose, red hair hanging over eyes that burned almost black with rage.

‘Oh, I do,’ she snapped back. ‘I’ve met dozens of perverts like you. Do you think I’m stupid just because I’m a prostitute? I know a woman made that scar and I can guess why.’

Brian backed away towards the door as she jumped down off the bed moving steadily towards him, the knife held in front of her.

‘Get out you bastard,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘And if I ever see you up this way again I’ll swing for you.’

The bottle was the only way of blanking out that night. Alone in his new flat Paula and Georgia’s faces haunted him. He had to go out, down to the crowded pub until he was drunk enough to blot them out.

Some days he made an effort to forget. He washed and dressed smartly and presented himself at the labour exchange, but even there it seemed as if something was working against him. Manual work, that’s all they offered. They ignored his education and qualifications, almost as if someone had been there first, whispering about him.

He wanted to make his flat a home. But daily he saw things sliding. Clothes dropped on the floor stayed there. Plates filled the sink and empty beer bottles multiplied overnight. His shirts looked grey, underwear and socks disintegrated and he never replaced them.

Bongo drums from a house behind his kept him awake. The landlord pushed notes under his door complaining of noise and smells coming from his flat. Was it before, or after he noticed how low his money was getting when he got arrested for being drunk?

There was another woman, he couldn’t remember now who she was, or even where he met her, but for a time he got back on his feet. Did she help him get the night security job at Jarson’s in Catford?

A period of peace. Not exactly happy, but reconciled. That hot evening in August he walked to work thinking about moving to somewhere with a garden. He even went over to the town hall to look and see what concerts were coming up. He wasn’t drinking then.

There were bands he’d never heard of. Silly names that didn’t give a clue to what sort of music they played.

Funny that he remembered so little about a period of over a year, yet he could see Catford Town Hall as clearly now as if a picture was in front of him.

A rounded front, with two sets of doors going into the theatre and between them a sandwich board advertising the events. There were two teenage boys standing beside him.

‘See, I told you they are coming here,’ one of them pointed to the programme. ‘It’s next Monday.’

Brian looked to where the boy pointed.

‘Who are Samson?’ he asked. ‘Is it jazz or a dance band?’

They looked at him and laughed. He remembered they were both smartly dressed, Italian suits with short jackets and winklepicker shoes.

‘A soul band,’ the smaller one replied. ‘The best in England.’

‘That’s them, there.’ The other one pointed to a poster on the wall.

The picture was of a group of young men. Sitting in front of them was Georgia.

He blinked, afraid that his eyes were deceiving him.

She had that impudent grin that belonged to no one else. Head thrown back, hair longer than he remembered, tumbling over bare shoulders. A tight black dress barely covered her breasts, eyes that held his with all that old magnetism.