The Runaway (28 page)

‘Me mum never had a maid, but I done her clearing up and that.’

Desrae dismissed Madge with a wave of one well-manicured hand. ‘I’m talking about a real professional here, dear. I have all sorts of outfits and other things that I use in me job. I’ll show you how to take care of them, and of me. And in the process I’ll show you how to look after yourself. Deal?’

She grinned. ‘Sounds good to me.’

She stared at the incongruously womanly figure before her and said gently: ‘Thanks, Desrae. Thanks for helping me out.’

The words were inadequate, Cathy knew that, but they were heartfelt. Placing a long finger under Cathy’s chin, Desrae turned her face up towards his own.

‘You’re welcome, darling. Now listen to Uncle Desrae: you have to keep away from the East End, at least for a while, all right? The filth will be all over you if they catch sight, you understand? You hide out here for a while and we’ll have a rethink in a few weeks, yes?’

Cathy nodded gratefully. ‘I really can’t thank you enough.’

Desrae chuckled merrily. ‘Wait until you’ve maided for me a little while. You might change your bleeding tune, girl. Now, let’s get you bedded down for the night and we’ll talk some more in the morning, eh? You look bleeding knackered. ’

Twenty minutes later Cathy was tucked up in a small single bed in Desrae’s dressing room. Like the rest of the flat it was overdone and over-feminine and the smell of perfume was stifling. Cathy loved it. It was the nicest room she had ever slept in.

As Desrae removed his make-up and brushed out his hair, he wondered whatever had induced him to take on a young girl. Was it the reminder of what it had been like for him when he had first hit the West End as a teenager all those years ago? Or was it the need for company, a need that was becoming ever more pressing as the years wore on?

Whatever it was, the girl was here to stay for as long as she liked, and Desrae hoped that it would be a long, long time. There was something about Cathy, about her demeanour, her attitude, that met a need in himself.

She was vulnerable, and yet she had guts. She had been through the mill and yet she still had the ability to trust. He did not want to abuse that. He adored her already, from her big blue eyes to her tiny graceful little hands.

He only hoped that when she realised what the job entailed, it wouldn’t put her off.

Sighing, he wiped cold cream all over his face and neck and, puckering his lips one last time, smiled into the mirror and said: ‘You’re not looking bad, girl, even at the grand old age of twenty-nine.’ Desrae - Desmond Raymond - Smith was thirty-five, but would not admit that even to himself.

Finally, they were both in bed, each aware of the other’s presence nearby and each glad of it.

Just as Desrae was dropping off, the bedroom door opened and Cathy came into his room in the overlarge nightie he had loaned her.

‘What’s the matter, love? You all right?’

She went to the bed and, slipping back the covers, climbed in beside her new friend. ‘I was a bit frightened in there all on me own.’ Her voice was small.

Desrae grinned. ‘Go to sleep, love. You’re as safe as houses now. I told you that before and Desrae don’t say anything unless it’s true, all right?’

Cathy nodded. Five minutes later her soft breathing told the man that she was indeed asleep. As he listened to her, he marvelled at a God Who could answer the prayers of a homosexual transvestite. He had needed someone in his life and she had been sent to him in the shape of little Cathy Connor.

He lay there and felt that indeed his cup ranneth over. He smiled at the thought. He had known a few vicars in his time, in a professional capacity, and they had a funny old way of talking. They were a bit funny altogether, he reasoned, but he would not dwell on that tonight!

Instead he pulled the covers up over the girl’s shoulders and closed his eyes. They slept like babies together, neither one of them moving till the morning.

Chapter Sixteen

Cathy awoke to the sounds of crockery being banged against glasses and the radio playing. It was all strange to her, and for a few seconds she wondered where she was. Then she opened her eyes and saw the dim winter sunshine coming through the heavy pink curtains and the events of the night before came to mind. She closed her eyes once more rather than think of that man, the alley, and the overwhelming stench around them.

Remembering the man-woman Desrae, though, she found herself smiling widely and a feeling of euphoria washed over her. Even after the terrible things that had befallen her during the last few weeks, she still felt she could trust the person who had saved her.

As she heard his dulcet tones singing along with the Monkees she smiled.
Last Train to Clarksville
had never sounded quite like that before! Bursting into the room wearing a long blue peignoir and with his hair in rollers, he was still singing at the top of his considerable voice.

‘Wake up, Cathy, and come and get something to eat,’ he ordered. ‘I’ve done us my favourite: smoked salmon and cream cheese on toast. Happy Harold will be upset when he sees it’s all gone but what the fuck, eh, girl? Life’s for the living, as a friend of mine always used to say.’ He frowned and looked down at the girl in the bed then added sadly, ‘That was before he died, of course. Took an overdose, deliberately and all. Silly man. I mean, life can be shit, I know, but any life’s better than none at all, don’t you think?’

Without waiting for an answer he put a large towelling dressing gown on the bed and flounced from the room. Wrapping herself in the sweet-smelling material, Cathy followed him. She had already realised that a lot of things he said did not really require an answer.

In the kitchen she looked at the plate before her with interest. There were indeed slices of pink smoked salmon and a mound of cream cheese. In addition there were scrambled eggs and slices of heavily buttered brown toast. Cathy tackled the hearty breakfast hungrily. Finally, feeling a large hand on her arm, she grinned as Desrae said: ‘For Gawd’s sake, girl, no one’s going to snatch the bleeding food away from you. Slow down.’

Cathy ate more slowly, watching as Desrae nibbled his own tiny breakfast then wiped his mouth daintily on a napkin. It made her feel ashamed of how quickly she had bolted her own food.

‘Drink your tea, love, I haven’t sugared it yet. Sort yourself out. And there’s plenty more where that came from so for fuck’s sake eat a bit slower. You’ll end up with indigestion.’

But Cathy had finished and was busy looking round the kitchen.

Like the rest of the flat it was clean and modern. Even the shelves were properly painted. In Cathy’s short life shelves had always been of bare wood and encrusted with grime. She realised that if she was going to maid properly she had a lot to learn. Madge’s slapdash ideas of cleanliness would not be welcome in this place. As if reading her mind, Desrae grinned.

‘Looks lovely, don’t it? I painted the walls meself. I like yellow - it’s a sunny, friendly type of colour, though it washes me out. I mean, it doesn’t suit my complexion at all. Still, sod that! I like to sit here and eat me grub, it puts me in a good mood, like. Colour’s important, you know, in your surroundings. I try and choose happy colours if I can. Pinks, yellows, blues - well, light blues - and greens. Very relaxing colour, green is. Calming sort of colour. I’ll learn you, dear. By the time I’m finished with you, love, you could maid for Danny la Rue.’

‘You’re still set on that then?’ Cathy’s voice was small, hesitant. The more she saw of this outlandish person, the more she wanted to be with him, though for the life of her she didn’t know why. In reality she should have been terrified of him. A man, a grown man, dressed in women’s clothes and acting more like a woman than any Cathy had ever seen.

Oh, she had heard about people like him: shirtlifters, shitstabbers and iron hoofs had been the nicknames used in the East End for homosexuals. They were called all sorts of things besides and treated with the utmost disrespect. There were not many who would dare walk the streets of Bethnal Green in full regalia, though a few worked the docks and took stick from the men and the women alike. Queers, men who looked like men, were barely tolerated, kept their sexual preferences to themselves and didn’t advertise the fact.

No, Cathy had heard about queers, but this was the first queer transvestite she had ever encountered and she was amazed to find that they were such nice people. She could imagine, though, the reception that Desrae would get where he had come from, guessing correctly that he was from the East End himself originally and had moved away quick smart to somewhere more tolerant.

Obviously, his work was lucrative and he was doing very well; his flat was a palace in Cathy’s eyes, filled with objects she had only ever seen in films before. There was even a TV in the corner of the living room, which in itself was amazing to the girl. Though Madge had earned enough over the years to give them what most people would have termed a good life, she had squandered all her money on booze, men and cheap clothes.

Cathy glanced up to find Desrae watching her. ‘Am I still set on you maiding for me? Of course I am, love. The only thing is, I don’t want to shock you, see. I mean, I know this is hard to believe,’ he fluttered his eyelashes in an exaggerated way, ‘but in case you haven’t noticed, I am in fact a man.’

Cathy laughed delightedly. ‘Seriously though, love - pour me out another cuppa, there’s a sweet - I don’t want to start you off on all this unless you’re sure you can really handle it. If you’re wary then we’ll put our thinking caps back on and try to come up with something else, all right?’

Cathy filled up the man’s cup and shook her head. ‘I’ll be all right, Desrae. Me mum was a brass. I mean, I take a lot of shocking.’

Desrae looked very serious for a second and said flatly, ‘You were shocked last night, darlin’, when I helped you out with that bloke.’

Cathy shrugged. ‘That was different, wasn’t it? I mean, I ain’t got to do anything like that, have I?’

It was a question and a plea and Desrae’s heart went out to the girl before him.

‘’Course you ain’t, love. Fuck me,
I
only do that now and again these days, and then only with me regulars. I mean, you have to set yourself some standards, for goodness’ sake.’

‘So what have I got to do?’ Cathy asked eagerly.

Desrae pulled his peignoir around him tightly and lit himself a Sobranie cigarette. It was the same shade as his wrap.

‘Listen, love, I would not harm one hair on your head, let’s get that straight now. You’ve had a bit of a time of it one way and another and I think you need somewhere to hide out, don’t you? Well, I’m willing to let you do that here. Only for a week or two, mind, until the heat dies down. In that time I’ll change your appearance a bit. Teach you a little about make-up and that. Style your hair.

‘That aside, we’re both agreed you’ll keep away from the East End for a while. Myself, I think you’d be better off kissing the place goodbye once and for all, but that’s your decision. As for your young fella, I’d say give him the Big E. But, like I say, that’s up to you.’ He sipped at his tea daintily then continued to speak.

‘First things first, eh? I maided for years when I first came to the West End. Oh, I maided for a bitch of a man. A right bastard he was. Had lovely hair, though, real it was and all. Made a fortune he did. Mind you, he had his good points . . . but I digress. I ain’t had a maid for years. Most of them are up and comings. You know, want to do your job really only they don’t know how to go about it. You take them in, fall in love with the little fuckers and then they tuck you up. Pinch your customers, pinch your gold and pinch your self-respect too if you’re not careful. No, I’ve looked out for meself for a few years. Now, however, I think I have found just the person for the job.

‘I’ll teach you how to care for my things - properly, mind. How to treat the customers, and a few little tricks to get by on. Nothing funny like, just the basics of Soho. Where to shop . . . oh, lots of things. That’s very much in the future though. First, I’ll have to see about getting you some clothes and underwear. You can borrow my make-up until you can get your own. We need to give you some kind of image, don’t we? You’re a lovely-looking girl, and I reckon you’d scrub up a treat. Meantime, while all this is going on, I’ll teach you how to maid. Most of my customers are regulars - always went for the regular trade meself. Built it up over the years. And then there’s me boyfriend, of course.’

He laughed deeply at Cathy’s shocked expression.

‘Oh, I’ve got a boyfriend, love, and what he’ll say about you I really don’t know! Still, we’ll worry about that later. First I’m going to get dressed and then I’m going to take some measurements and after that I’m going to get you some decent clothes. Can’t have me maid looking like something the cat shat on, can I? What would all the other girls say, eh?’

Cathy shook her head in wonderment. Desrae made everything sound fun, easy and exciting. She only hoped that his happy-go-lucky ways rubbed off on her. If she needed anything at the moment it was some light relief. She wanted to hide away here in this nice flat, with this lovely man, lick her wounds and get herself sorted in both mind and body.

Here with Desrae she might have the chance to make a new life for herself. She couldn’t face Eamonn yet, not until she was ready. Until she could meet him as an equal. Eamonn didn’t like being burdened with other people’s problems, he was too wrapped up in his own.

No, she would become a maid for this strange man, and hide herself away from the world until she was ready to make her triumphal return. She couldn’t wait to see Eamonn’s face when she did! Cathy hugged herself at the thought, and Desrae, seeing the stars in her eyes, pursed his lips thoughtfully.

 

Caroline awoke with a deep soreness between her legs and a dull heavy ache all over her body.