Mummy, Make It Stop (23 page)

He asked me for a divorce and told me that the only way we could avoid a £250 fee each was if I admitted to having an affair. This wasn’t true, of course, but I believed what he said and decided to agree, to keep things simple and avoid the costs. There was no way I could have found that kind of money. We got the divorce, and then he said that one day he would show the girls my admission of an affair and tell them I had ruined his life.

I was devastated. I had always trusted Daniel. But he had changed. He had tricked me and was planning to tell our daughters I’d had an affair, when he knew it wasn’t true. I could only hope and pray that he didn’t really mean it, and that if he did, the girls would believe me.

Soon after this, Daniel came round to tell me he was going to South Africa to marry Lisa. He said, ‘I’ll have a better life over there.’

‘What about the girls?’ I asked, shocked that he could think of leaving them. He looked uncomfortable. ‘I’ll write,’ he said. ‘And they can come and see me when they’re older.’

He left a couple of weeks later, leaving me to bring up our daughters alone. For the next few years he had almost no contact with the girls, apart from a few phone calls, and he paid no maintenance.

The person who did come through for us was his mother, Rose. She had been very angry with me after the split, but she didn’t stay angry. We made up and became good friends. And she started having the girls over once a month for the weekend. I felt glad that even though they couldn’t see their dad, they could at least be part of his family.

After Daniel left, I was so broke that I started looking after Tanya’s three children for her, while she was at work. She had gone back on the game after Michelle was born. Then she’d got pregnant again, by Pete, and had another son. When he was a few weeks old she went back to work again, three days a week. Now she was raking in money - she could make between two and three hundred pounds a day. I couldn’t believe how much cash she seemed to have. She was forever buying clothes and fancy haircuts, as well as nice things for her house and kids, while I had nothing.

Tanya worked during the day and was supposed to finish at six. But she often didn’t arrive to pick up the kids until eight, and sometimes she’d stay away all night, without calling me to tell me where she was. She had split with Pete again, and she had loads of boyfriends and a hectic social life, and would just take off with one of them. Despite this, she only paid me £20 a day, for all three children. It was exhausting looking after five of them for hour after hour, especially for so little. I used to feel very jealous of Tanya.

I began to think about how good it would be to have that kind of money myself. I could sort the house out, get things for the girls, have nice clothes and give us a good life. Could I do what Tanya was doing? I didn’t know. I wasn’t at all sure whether I could get that kind of work - or whether I could go through with it.

I told Tanya I was thinking about it. She had always said it was so easy, and that many of the men she saw didn’t even want sex, they just wanted someone to talk to. But when I suggested that I might do it she told me I wouldn’t have the bottle.

That was what decided me. She thought I was too scared, that I couldn’t pull it off. Well, I’d show her. And Mum too.

I was seeing Mum from time to time, and I knew she was proud of what Tanya was doing - mainly because Tanya often gave her money or paid for her nights out. But she didn’t think I could do it - she told me I didn’t have the guts. Mum’s catch-phrase was ‘Why give it when you can sell it?’ She was always saying it. I began to think that maybe she was right. I didn’t have any skills or qualifications. My body was the one thing I had that might be worth something.

Once I’d made up my mind, Tanya decided to help me. She worked for a man who ran two houses, in different parts of the city, and she arranged for me to have an ’interview’ at one of them. She told me what to wear and what would happen and although I felt sick with apprehension, I wasn’t going to let myself back out. I took some speed to help with my nerves, and then dressed as though I was going out for a Saturday night on the town - full make-up, short skirt and sexy underwear.

The house I was told to go to was in a rundown area of town. I walked past the terraced houses - most of which looked as though they had seen better days, some boarded up - feeling glad I didn’t have to live there.

I rang the bell and stood on the doorstep, trying to calm my nerves and wondering what on earth I was doing. Reggie opened the door and told me to come in. He was a sallow, middle-aged man, with dark, slightly greasy hair and a smarmy smile.

I was surprised to find that the house itself was decorated really nicely, with fresh paint and new furnishings. It looked clean and welcoming, and was a total contrast to the rundown exterior.

As I stood in the hallway, looking around me, Reggie beckoned me up the stairs. My stomach turned over. For a moment I had forgotten the interview. He led me into a pleasantly furnished bedroom and told me, in a very matter of fact manner, to undress and rub him down. ‘I want a massage and an oral,’ he said, pointing to a bag of condoms at the side of the bed.

I felt sick and my hands shook as I slowly began to undress. I tried to blank out what was happening, just as I had with George and Terry. All I could think about was getting it over with as soon as possible. I had goosebumps on my arms as I climbed onto the bed where Reggie was lying, naked, on his stomach. He turned his head and eyed me in a strategically placed mirror.

‘Don’t bother with the oil,’ he said, as I reached tentatively for the bottle. Obediently I put it down and began to massage him. The next twenty minutes seemed to last forever. I tried not to look up at the clock, but I couldn’t help sneaking a peek at it now and then, praying that time would go quicker. Then Reggie turned over and told me to perform the oral. I thought about running out of the room, crying, screaming, anything to stop what was happening. I felt panicky and tearful but, struggling not to show it, I did as he asked.

When it was over, he jumped off the bed and dropped the condom in a bin. ‘You’ll do,’ he said, looking at me. ‘You can start tomorrow. But from now on you provide your own condoms - your Tanya will show where you can get them for nowt.’

I pulled on my clothes as fast as I could and followed him out of the room and back down the stairs. ‘You get £40 per customer,’ he said. ‘You give £15 to me, and the rest is yours.’ I nodded and mumbled my thanks as I bolted out of the door.

Outside, I brushed away my tears as I headed back to the bus stop. I’d done it, but I didn’t know whether to be pleased or sad, ashamed or proud. Was this really what I wanted to do? I felt like running back and telling him it had all been a mistake. But I thought of the money and how badly I needed it, and got on the bus.

The next day I dressed up again, in a little mini-skirt, boots and a tight top, dropped the kids off with Mum, who’d agreed to look after them, and went back to the house. He’d told me to report at ten a.m., though I couldn’t imagine men queuing up for sex at that hour. Surely they’d all want to come later in the day?

I was wrong. From the minute I got there, the place was busy. I was one of two girls working that day, and neither of us got much of a break. Goodness knows what the neighbours thought. They must have guessed what was going on, with so many men coming and going, but I was told that they didn’t complain.

Punters would ring up - the number was advertised all over town and the phone rang constantly - and Reggie would ask what kind of girl they wanted and describe whoever he thought would fit the bill. I listened to him describing me - an attractive blonde, nineteen years old, big blue eyes, size ten, 34b chest, with a pert bum. Then he’d give them details of where the house was, opening times and prices.

When clients arrived to see me, I had to greet them and take them upstairs. Reggie had a little monitor next to his chair in the downstairs office, so that he could hear what was happening upstairs. He claimed this was for my safety, but I wasn’t too sure about that. I reckoned he was just a dirty old man who liked listening.

It was the hardest day’s work I had ever done. But I was good at numbing myself to get through it, and none of the customers demanded anything bizarre or scary. I saw thirteen men that day, but I only had sex with five of them. A couple ejaculated before I’d even touched them, and the rest just wanted the massage, or to talk.

When I finished work at six, I went home with £325. I kept opening my bag to look at it. I couldn’t believe I’d made more than most people I knew earned in a week. But it had been hard-earned. I went home, sat in the bath and scrubbed myself for half an hour and tried to forget where I had been and what I’d done.

After my second day at work, I was able to buy us a washing machine and a tumble dryer. I was so proud of myself. I blanked out what I’d done to earn them, telling myself it was the only way we could survive.

From then on I worked two days a week. The customers were very similar to those I saw on my first day - some wanted straight sex, some just a massage or oral sex, and some just wanted to talk or watch me undress.

Most weeks I took home over £500 for fifteen hours work - and it was tax free. I had never before had that kind of money. I bought things for the house, for the kids and for myself. I splashed out on a new TV, furniture, toys and clothes. But the money came at a higher and higher price. I spent a lot of it on drugs, because taking them helped me to blot out what I was doing to myself.

The more I earned, the more I partied, taking more and more drugs and going out three or four times a week. I spent the money as quick as I earned it and never thought of saving any. And I’d started drinking a lot more. Sometimes I’d binge and get really drunk, downing shots and spirits as though they were water. Of course, I’d wake up with a terrible hangover. But then I’d take more drugs, to get high again.

Inevitably, with all this going on, I wasn’t being a great mum. I adored my girls, but I was spending a lot less time with them. Instead of being with them, as I had before, I was buying their affection with toys, PlayStations, games, clothes, TVs and videos. I didn’t stop to think that all this was no substitute for time with their mum.

My own mum was delighted with my new job, because I was paying her to look after the girls. She was earning from both me and Tanya, and she loved it. She was still living with Alan, though they’d never married because she couldn’t track down Craig to divorce him. She looked after all five of our kids in the same flat I’d lived in with her, next to the pub. I’d had doubts about letting her look after my girls - she’d been a pretty awful mother and I didn’t want her mistreating the girls. But I needed someone to look after them, and she was there. And I suppose I hoped she would be different with them and make up for what a rotten mother she’d been.

She wasn’t drinking, which I took as a good sign. But my hopes that she’d mellowed were dashed when the girls began telling me that they were scared of her. It seemed she was losing her temper and shouting at them and they spent most of their time trying not to spark her off. When I realised this, I was horrified. How could I have thought she would change?

Within a couple of days, I had found a new childminder, a girl called Alison, who lived up the road. She was blonde, plump and cheerful, and was on her own with her little boy. She was on the game too, so she looked after my two when I was working and I looked after her little boy when she was at work. The girls settled with her and were much happier and I liked her too. We became good friends, and started going on nights out together.

I soon got friendly with some of the other girls who were working in the same house. Tanya worked at the other one, and in time I got to know the girls there too, through her. We’d all chat between customers and we started going out on the town together after work. They were a nice bunch, all of them trying to make ends meet, just like me and Tanya. And for me, getting to know them was the best thing about the job. I loved having a new set of friends. I felt easy with them, because we all did the same thing, so there was no need to pretend. We gossiped about punters, sympathised with one another, helped each other out and had wild nights on the town.

I’d been there for a few months when Tanya started to get jealous because I was doing better than she was. I was the new girl, and that seemed to attract lots of the clients. Tanya decided to tell Reggie I was taking drugs. He was furious, even though I wasn’t taking them at work. He didn’t want the girls becoming junkies, so he gave me a warning and told me not to come in for a week. Tanya took my shifts and earned double money that week. I was annoyed with her, but I knew I wasn’t supposed to be taking drugs, so I had to accept my punishment.

I thought Tanya wouldn’t do it again, but when I took drugs the following weekend, she told Reggie. This time he sacked me.

I decided that perhaps the job wasn’t for me. Although I liked the money and the other girls, I hated the rest of it. I decided I would find an ordinary job - one which paid less, but would leave my dignity and pride intact. The problem was that I couldn’t stop spending money. I was used to having it and to being able to buy all kinds of things. And of course I still wanted drugs. So I kept spending, and the debts soon started piling up.

Within weeks, I was desperate for money and knee-deep in bills. And I only knew one way to get them paid.

I called up a woman I’d heard about through one of the other girls. She ran a house in the centre of town - a nice place, I was told - where the money was good. I went for an interview - a real one this time - and she told me I could start the following week.