A Proper Charlie (15 page)

Her skirt finished just below her buttocks, revealing the black tops of her stockings and red suspenders. Her upper half was dressed with a white crop top showing her red bra beneath. And to finish off the look she had dug out her red stilettos again, and she could hear her toes groan as she slipped them on.

‘
Dressing down indeed,’ she muttered. ‘As if I’d fall for that one!’

Turning from the mirror quickly in case she lost her nerve, she grabbed her denim jacket, which she planned to hold over her shoulder in a ‘come hither’ look as she’d seen models do on the catwalk, and let herself out of the front door. Walking, or stumbling as she became accustomed to the heels, and with her head bent for fear of bumping into a neighbour even though it was late, she hurried towards the lifts.

The
doors opened revealing the stale smell of tobacco and body odour, and much graffiti, which Charlie read on the way down. There was nothing new to read, and her eyes drifted upwards to linger on the grubby lit numbers of each floor the lift passed.

The lift jolted to a halt, and Charlie waited for the doors to open. They opened to reveal her neighbour, old Mavis Davis waiting for the lift to take her up.

‘
Hi,’ said Charlie, pressing the ‘open door’ button so the pensioner could enter without becoming sandwiched between two slices of metal.

The old lady looked her up and down, then shaking her head she slipped inside, Charlie took her finger off the button and jumped out.

Wow, she didn’t recognise me! Charlie thought. She opened her mouth to tell Mavis who she was, but thought better of it. The pensioner, a nosy old bat, but lovely all the same wouldn’t understand.

*

Ben sunk down in the driver’s seat until his nose was level with the steering wheel. He flicked up his collar and watched the prostitutes from across the road. He checked his watch. It was almost the time that Readman usually made her appearance.

Kevin Locke hadn’t been able to get anything out of Sally Readman, but Ben was certainly going to try. And thanks to the PI’s probing, Ben knew where the woman solicited for business, and the approximate time. Against Locke’s advice, Ben was going to find this prostitute called Sally Readman.

He chuckled as an amusing image surged into his mind. It was of Ms Charlie Wallis in his office, and the story she told about a relative dying of varicose veins. As he remembered he visualised her: the memory was of her in her tight Union Jack dress.

A noisy group of people passing his car pulled him out of his reverie. He sat up straight, cleared his throat and tried to concentrate on the prostitutes across the road.

According to his PI this was Sally Readman’s patch and Ben was planning to make a pretence of hiring her. Then, when they were alone he would demand answers to the many questions he had over Camilla. He would succeed where his PI failed, he was sure. Charlie tried to steal into his thoughts again, but he pushed her away. A woman had never been in his constant thought like this. It was almost scary.

A skinny woman caught his attention. He glanced at the photo on the passenger seat and again at woman standing against a lamppost. There she was: Sally Readman. She was sucking on a cigarette and talking to a tartly dressed woman wearing red, her dark hair was afro style and looked huge on her slight frame. Ben couldn’t help but stare and was still staring when he noticed her staring back at him.

Remembering breathing was a living person’s requirement Ben let the air out of his lungs. Then he remembered his windows were tinted and she would be unable to see inside and his panic subsided. He wiped sweat off his upper brow. The last thing he wanted was for somebody to become suspicious of his motives.

The tarty woman was rummaging in her oversized handbag – probably looking for cigarettes – and her interest in his car seemed to have waned. Ben’s hands loosened on the steering wheel. Remembering Readman, he scanned the pavement. He was just in time to spot her disappearing around a corner. He started the car, and pulled away from the kerb.

He passed Tarty and her prostitute colleagues, but they didn’t seem to pay him any attention Ben noticed from his rear-view mirror. Around the corner, he edged the Audi towards the kerbside alongside Sally and dropped the window. She was walking half in the gutter and half on the path trying to catch the eye of every motorist, and luckily, she caught Ben’s.

She stopped as Ben slowed beside her, and at once she hung her head inside the car. Her hair was lank and unwashed as were her fingernails, which gripped the edge of the window. Ben doubted he could drive off now even if he wanted to.

‘
It’s your lucky night, baby,’ she drawled as Ben quickly snatched up her beaming mug shot from the passenger seat and slipped it into his coat pocket.

‘
How come?’ he asked.

‘
Open the door and I’ll tell you.’

He did as he was asked, and she slipped in beside him. Her skirt automatically rode up as she sat down, and he had a glimpse of her sparrow like legs. On one thigh there was a tattoo of a fish.

A fish! Ben shook his head, and pulled away from the kerb as Sally pulled her skirt up further until her underwear was exposed. Oh, it was a mermaid, Ben mused as the skirt went up further still.

‘
I’m only going t’charge you for’y quid.’ She twisted in her seat, and ran a dirty fingernail down the length of his arm. ‘For’y quid and I’ll make you feel soooo good you’ll not wanna leave me.’

‘
I can barely wait,’ he muttered grimly, wishing he’d thought to put down an old towel to cover his precious seat.

Sally directed Ben to her house, telling him the things she could do for him if only he’d hand over more money. Ben had nodded and agreed, and drove quickly. She lived in rented accommodation: a large Victorian house converted into flats. She was only eighteen, yet after years of drug abuse looked much older. The picture Ben had of her must have been an old one.

Sally hung off Ben’s arm as she escorted him into her house. She lived on the second floor, and as they reached the top of the stairs a black Shrek was stood waiting for them. Sally beamed at him.

‘
Fifty quid,’ he demanded.

Ben took out his wallet, hesitated and then turned a shoulder so the man couldn’t see the notes inside as he searched for a fifty. He pulled it out and handed it over.

The man shook his head. ‘Don’t take fifties.’

Again, Ben turned away, filed the fifty and took out several tens. Luckily he had withdrawn a considerable amount knowing how much information cost. Shrek pocketed the notes wordlessly, and jerked his head towards the door.

Sally almost pushed Ben into her room. It was as grotty as she, with little furniture. Ben looked around, and was relieved that Shrek hadn’t followed them inside. He doubted he’d take too kindly to his questions.

‘
C’mon, baby,’ Sally said, and stuck a finger down the front of Ben’s fly in the attempt of pulling him forward.

Previously he’d questioned the prostitutes on the kerbside, offering money for often useless information. Somehow, he felt out of his depth with Sally. The squalor in which the woman lived, and the imposing protector or, more likely, pimp
waiting on the outside landing made Ben feel more than uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat noisily. ‘I’d like a cup of tea, please,’ he said.

‘
Tea?’ Sally laughed loudly. ‘Ain’t you posh. I betcha loaded, eh, baby? C’mon, come to mummy, my baby,’ she closed the distance that Ben was trying to keep, and pressed her scrawny body against his reclining one.

‘
Tea?’ Ben said, edging away. ‘I’m really parched.’

Sally tutted. ‘Ain’t got all night, you know. I’ll have t’charge ya.’

‘
That’s fine. Er, I don’t suppose you have green tea?’

Sally frowned. ‘It’s sorta brown, innit?’

‘
That’s fine,’ he said and she turned and went through a battered door, which Ben supposed was the kitchen. As soon as she disappeared, Ben almost dived towards her mobile phone that he had spotted lying discarded on a side table.

The little screen had a smiling picture of an older woman. Ben wondered if it was
Sally’s mother, and had a pang of pity for Sally lost in the world of drugs and prostitution.

He located her contacts and scrolled down. There was nothing under ‘C’ or ‘M’, and he quickly scrolled back up towards the initials ‘J.J’, which he had previously ignored. He glanced up at the door where Sally had disappeared, and heard the kettle switch itself off. He realised he didn’t have long left.

Searching in his pocket he found an old petrol receipt and grabbing a pen from his inside jacket he wrote down the number for ‘J.J’, using his lap to lean on. The pen pierced through the paper twice in his hurry and stabbed his leg.

He folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket and returned the mobile and his pen as Sally came out carrying a cracked mug of tea. He sat down in a chair and smiling, took the offered tea.

If his guess proved correct then ‘J.J’ was Camilla. Jane was his mother’s middle name, and Jacob was her maiden name, and this was Camilla’s new phone number.

‘
So,’ he’d said with forced brightness. ‘How long have you been doing this?’

‘
Long enough t’give you a good time, baby,’ she answered. She hadn’t made tea for herself, but stood looking down at him as he sipped his. It was the colour of malt whiskey – he only wished it was.

‘
I’m outa milk,’ she said. ‘But because I likes ya, I’ve given ya a tea bag that’s only been used a few times.’

Ben placed the tea on a scratched side table. ‘I’ll wait until it’s cool.’

Sally smiled. ‘Well, you’re lookin’ hot,’ she said. ‘Wanna blow? For you I’ll only charge an extra tenner.’

‘
Charge? I’ve already paid, er, haven’t I?’

‘
That was the entrance fee.’ Sally began to hum and moved her narrow hips to imaginary music. She kept her eyes on him the whole time as her fingers moved up to her blouse.

Ben felt sick. ‘No,’ he began. ‘I want to talk –’ He broke off in horror as Sally began to unbutton her blouse, giving him a peek preview of her scrawny chest. ‘I-I’m looking for somebody called Camilla Middleton,’ he said quickly as Sally reached the last button. Her arms fell to her sides, and she turned flashing eyes onto him.

He tried to avert his eyes from her skinny, sagging chest but she closed the distance between them and stared down at him in apparent loathing.

‘
What?’

‘
Or a-a Jane Jacob; J.J,’ he said, the breasts hung just before his horrified eyes. ‘She could be using both names.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t want the information for free,’ he added as she just stood there and continued to glare. Had she died standing up? ‘I will pay,’ he insisted. Short of physically pushing her away, he couldn’t get up without his face getting too close to the breasts, and somehow the thought of those hanging, empty sacks of skin, close to his face made his stomach churn.

‘
You’re the filth!’ she spat at last.

‘
I assure you, I’m not,’ Ben said.

‘
You is. You the bleedin’ old bill,’ she accused, and closed her blouse much to Ben’s relief.

‘
No, no I’m isn’t, er, I mean I’m not. Honest. I’m looking for my sister, Camilla Middleton, or she could be going by the name of Jacob.’

Sally folded her arms across her chest. ‘Really?’ She hadn’t moved at all, and Ben felt trapped in the chair.

‘
Really,’ he said. He shoved his hand in his pocket and brought out his wallet. He only had twenties and the fifty that Shrek had refused. He handed her a twenty, which she snatched up before it was barely out of his wallet.

‘
You wanted full sex,’ she said. ‘And that’s forty.’

Ben gave her another twenty.

‘
An’ a blow,’ she said. ‘That was a tenner.’

Ben offered another twenty-pound note. ‘Have you change for a twenty?’

Sally snatched the third twenty-pound note and stuffed the money in her skirt pocket, and Ben waited hopefully for his change.

‘
Now piss off,’ she said.

‘
Hey, what about my information and, er, change?’ he said, feeling indignant.

‘
I ain’t no bleedin’ citizen’s advice service!’ Sally shrieked. ‘Neither do I gives change! Now, piss off outa my house.’

‘
Look, forget my change.’ He opened his wallet again. ‘Have another twenty, but please tell me where Camilla is.’

‘
I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’,’ she said, grabbing the money, which disappeared with the other notes. She opened her mouth and roared, ‘Now, git out of me house!’ which ended an octave higher than when it began. And when he still just sat there, feeling mortified at her rage, she yelled, ‘NOW!’

At last, Ben rose. At the door, he turned back. ‘Please, just tell me where she is?’ He thought he’d try pleading. Aren’t prostitutes supposed to be ‘tarts with hearts’? But Sally began to shriek and bang on the walls. For a moment, Ben wondered if the obvious drugs she’d taken had made her mind implode but after hearing footsteps bounding up the stairs, he realised that she’d been calling for help from Shrek outside.