One of Us (6 page)

Paul was leaning back in his seat in the car, engrossed in some magazine about computers. I slammed the flat of my hand down, hard, on the roof of the car, and he jumped, paper flying around him like he had just been hit by a tornado.

He fought his way through it, and wound down his window.

“Jesus. You trying to give me a heart attack, girl? Christ. Just tap on the fucking window next time. You done?”

“Go get Corgan.”

“What? Calm down.”

“I will not. Go get Corgan. Get him, now. Tell him I want to talk to him.”

A slow grin spread over his face. “Just like that, eh?”

“Yes, like that,” I said, “Like this, like however, I do not care, just go and fucking get him.”

The grin vanished. “Is she—is there something wrong with the girl?”

I held his gaze for a long time before I answered. “Not more than there was when she came in,” I said, and he looked away.

“So what is the problem here then?” he asked. “I’m not going to call Corgan just because—”

I slapped my hand on the roof again. “You tell Corgan that I am not going to do what he asks, you tell him that.” Slap. “Phone him and tell him that now. Tell him Anna says he can take my papers back and fuck off. Tell him to come here, and I will tell him why to his face.” Slap.

“You don’t want me to tell him that,” Paul said slowly. “And leave my fucking car alone.”

“Yes, I do want you to tell him that. Tell him just that.”

“No, love, you don’t understand. You want to think about that, and think about who he is, before you go mental shooting your mouth off about I must this, and you will that. Or you’ll end up like her. Be sensible, girl.”

I crouched down so that I was looking right into the window. He moved back in his seat a little, then realised that he had done so, and moved forward again, closer to me, look at me, I’m not afraid. I could see why Corgan had Paul driving cars around and waiting for me. I do not think he was cut out for much more.

“My risk,” I said. “Not yours. Tell him. Tell him I am here, waiting to talk to him.”

“He won’t come,” Paul said. “And you don’t want him to, because you’ll regret it if he does.”

“Tell him,” I said. “Tell him I do not work for men like him. He can stick his papers in his fucking arse.”

He shrugged and started the car. “Well don’t say I didn’t warn you. No offence. But you’re fucking mental.” Then he wound up the window and pulled away with a screech, leaving me standing by the side of the road, breathing hard, my legs weak.

I turned back to walk into the house, and a curtain fell back down over a window a couple of houses down. It was not good to be caught prying into the activities of others on this street. I looked up at the windows of the house I had just left, and saw the woman there, smoking. She did not look down at all, just stared out across the roof tops. I walked back in and up the stairs to wait for Corgan.

I did not have to wait that long. I heard the car pull up outside the house. I expected to hear the front door bang open and the sound of running footsteps on the stairs, but this did not happen. Instead what I heard was a measured, unhurried tread on the stairs, and then a stroll along the landing to the room. The door opened gently, and Corgan stepped in.

“Elena? Go and wait in the car, there’s a love.” His voice was quiet and pleasant, as if he were making small talk at a party. She said nothing, just put her coat on, picked up her cigarettes, and walked out past me, not even looking at me. As she brushed past though, I felt her hand touch mine, just for an instant.

Corgan wandered over to the window, looked out. Then he walked back across the room, and closed the door.

“So,” he said pleasantly. “You wanted to see me.”

I took a breath. I wanted my voice to be calm, not to tremble and show the fear that I felt. I did not want to be like a frightened mouse.

“Yes,” I said, but then I had to take another breath before I could continue. I curled my hands so that my nails dug into my palms. I had to curl them tight, as my nails were not long. The sting kept me focused, and stopped the panic that wanted to rise in my throat and choke me. I took another breath. “I will not do it.”

Corgan didn’t say anything, just looked at me, smiling just a little. Then he arched an eyebrow.

“This—” I waved at the bed, at where Elena had been sitting. “I mean I will not do this, any of this, I know what you do and I will not work for you.”

“Ah, will you not,” Corgan said, shaking his head as if I was a naughty child. “We had an agreement, Anna. You’re not keeping to it. This wasn’t our arrangement. I’m a busy man, yet you call—you demand—that I come out and see you. I thought we had an agreement.”

“Fuck your agreement,” I said. “I did not know that I was making it with a man who sells women like they are sacks of flour.”

I waited for his rage, for a fist, but it did not come. He stood, looking thoughtful. That only made me more angry.

“I spit on what you do, you are shit. And as for what you have asked me to do with that poor girl, you will burn in hell for that, Corgan.”

“Oh, for more than that, Anna,” he said, his voice very quiet and calm. “For much more than that. But she’s hurt, Anna. You’re a doctor. You’re
my
doctor. You doctors have an oath, don’t you? Leaving the poor girl, hurt. You should be struck off.”

“Don’t mock me,” I said. “Bastard. Fixing her up so that the same disgusting men can beat and mark her another time, maybe worse this time, just for their sick fun, that is not part of it, that I will not do, it disgusts me to even think of it, you disgust me.”

“I see,” he said, his voice still quiet, reasonable, his hands still by his sides, no hint of the violence I thought would have come. “And you’re absolutely firm on this, are you?”

“I am. I don’t care what you do, hurt me, whatever. I will not.”

“Not a chance of me changing your mind, is there?”

“Not a chance. Whatever you do to me.”

He pursed his lips in thought, nodded. “OK. I don’t really have any choice but to do it your way, do I?”

I kept my hands clenched to prevent them from trembling. Corgan needed me, he needed what I did for him, and this meant that I had some power, no matter how small. “Then bring her back so I can treat her now”, I said, “one last job. You can have the papers back now, I do not want them. But I will treat her, because she is hurt, and she needs me.”

“Oh no,” Corgan said. “No, no. You don’t need to treat her.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. He pressed a key, held the phone up to his ear, and wandered over to the window, looking down.

“Paul?” he said. “Yes, sorted. No, keep her in the car, she’s done here. Look, shut up and just fucking listen. I want you to drive her over to Nicky’s, ask him to keep an eye on her. Can you manage that? Don’t arse it up, there’s a good lad.” He pressed a button, finished the call, and gave me a pleasant smile and a shrug: staff, what can you do? Then he pressed another button, and waited for someone else to answer. “Kav? The girl Elena—she’ll be at the flat with Nicky. I want the word putting out—she’s back in business. Yeah, yeah I know. No, not at all, she can start today. Ring round some of the clients. Some might want a discount, as she’s damaged goods, but here’s what you do: you up her price, don’t drop it. Up it. And tell the clients that’s because all rules are off now. If they pay, they can do whatever they want.”

“No,” I shouted, and he ignored me.

“I know she’s a bit special, Kav, but you know how it is, plenty more to choose from. If she’s in this condition we can’t blame the punters if she comes back even worse, so just get her back out there, earn what you can while she’s still saleable. I know we haven’t got—yeah I know—but we’ll find another, one who can take it. Or can be made to.”

“No,” I shouted again, and I ran towards Corgan, not knowing what I was going to do when I reached him, but he reached out a lazy hand, gripped my face, and pushed me away hard, so that I fell backwards on to the bed and cracked the back of my head on the metal radiator.

“One second, Kav,” he said, and he lowered the phone and stared down at me, his eyes cold. “What? What is it, Anna? I thought we were finished with each other?”

“You cannot—”

“Do
not
tell me what I can and can’t do. Don’t ever do that. And what’s your problem anyway? You said you didn’t want to be involved with her. So you’re not. You got what you wanted. But if she’s not being treated by you she might as well go back to earning. Otherwise what the fuck is she for?”

“She’ll get hurt again, worse—”

“Not your concern. You washed your hands of it all, remember. Your choice. Your principles.”

I lay on the bed, my head banging with pain. Corgan stood calmly at the end of the bed, holding his phone a little away from his head, waiting patiently.

“Bastard,” I said. “Burn in hell. Burn in fucking hell, pig. Bring her back. But she cannot work until she is well again. She cannot. And you are scum, Corgan.”

He stood there for a moment, looking down at me, and I felt very vulnerable, lying on the bed, conscious of the power of the man, the size of him. Then he smiled, and said, “Good girl. Spin it out though, and I’ll take her off you again, get her back out there. Might even offer you as a side dish. You understanding me here, Anna?”

“I understand you,” I said.

Again he looked, for a long time.

Then he nodded. “OK.” He lifted the phone again, said, “Kav, change of plan. As you were.” Another press of buttons. “Paul, bring her back here. Yes, I know what I said. Do I have to repeat—” He snapped the phone shut and dropped it back into his pocket. Then he held out his hand towards me. “Up you get.”

I did not want to touch him, but I did not dare to refuse in case he changed his mind about Elena. I lifted my hand, and he took hold of me, and pulled me to my feet, his touch strong but very gentle. He held my hand, as if he wanted to kneel down and kiss it. Again he looked at me for a long time. Then he punched me in one of my breasts, so hard I span round and fell down onto the bed. Then he walked over and bent over me.

“Don’t ever demand that I come and see you,” he said. I could feel his breath on my cheek. He ran his hand down my hair, onto my back, very gently, like a lover. Then he punched me again, very hard, in the small of my back, just over one of my kidneys. “Don’t ever.” And then he walked out of the room and left me there.

CHAPTER FIVE

There was no laundry in the building where I lived. Just bedrooms, bathrooms, people, damp. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the nearest launderette. When I was going there, I always offered to take some laundry for the other women. Alice always said no, she must do it herself, she could not possibly ask me to do such a thing. Safeta always accepted gratefully. She spent most of her life washing other people’s things. It was nice for her not to do her own. Sally usually stared blankly at me, and then laughed and sometimes said yes, sometimes said no. I never understood why she laughed, or why the answer was different each time. I gathered the clothes in a blue plastic bag with string handles, and left for the launderette. The air was cold and damp, and it felt like it was raining even though it was not. I could still feel the weight of Corgan’s fist on my breast, there was a dull ache in my kidneys which would not go away, and my skin rose up in bumps, like it was cold, whenever I thought about his fingers trailing the length of my back.

“Hey, it’s the doctor,” a voice said. I looked up and saw Daniel leaning against his car, grinning at me.

“You lied to me,” I said. “I have nothing to say to you. If there is work I must do, then take me to it. He is using you as his taxi driver now, is he?”

For a moment, the grin slipped. Then it came back, and I knew that Daniel had years of practice at hiding how he felt behind that grin, that hair in front of his eyes like a veil.

“Look, Anna,” he said. “I understand how you’re feeling. But I had no idea what Corgan was going to do, honest, none at all.”

“You do not know how I am feeling,” I said. “Not at all.”

“Anna, come on—”

I ignored him and turned left, walking on towards the shops at great speed as if I thought that it was going to rain. I had not got very far when I heard his footsteps.

“Oi, Paula Radcliffe.”

I kept walking, the heavy bag banging against my legs. It was not Daniel who had hit me, who threatened Elena, but it was Daniel who got me into this. It was because of Daniel that I found myself lying on that bed, hurting hands on me.

He bounced past me, stopped in front of me with his hands up so I could not pass on the narrow pavement. I stepped into the road and walked past him without stopping. A taxi swerved and beeped its horn, and Daniel said, “Fucking hell.”

I kept walking. I did not want to speak to Daniel. I had been taken in by his smiles and his sweethearts and I had trusted that what he said was true. I thought that by doing this one job, this one thing that I could do and then bury away in my memory as a necessary evil, I would make myself safe. I thought that I would be able to put away my fears of being sent back to the place that was no longer my home. But he had fooled me, and now I was safe but only as long as Corgan wanted me to be, and now I was owned by him, to come when he whistled, like I was a dog. I walked faster. I was part of what Corgan did, I was part of his filthy business. I thought about what my father might have said. He would not have wanted me mixed up in such a thing. More than anyone, he would not have wanted it.

Daniel caught me up again, but this time he did not try and stop me, he walked beside me, matching my pace, but not saying anything. I ignored him, and walked on past shops with metal grilles on their windows and flats above them where nobody would want to live if they did not have to. This city is full of places like that.

“I’m not as important as you think I am,” Daniel said in the end.

“That would be hard,” I said. We kept walking.

“Look, he doesn’t tell me stuff, OK? I’m not part of his lot, I just do what I do and sometimes he uses me as a runner. I don’t know half of what he does. He was just looking for someone who had the right skills, he was drawing a blank everywhere he looked, and I heard about it and said look, I might know someone who would be just perfect for you, but she’s not going to do it for nothing. It was me who told him you needed your papers, Anna, because I know he can fix stuff like that, you know, it’s sort of down to me that you even have what you have.”

“That is funny,” I said. “I bet that the man with the gunshot wound does not realize that it was you who looked after him.”

“Come on, Corgan just said yes, he said tell her, if she does what we need, she can have her papers. I had no idea he was going to hold it over you like that, it was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you, Anna, honest. Ah, come on, look, at least give me a chance. I didn’t know.”

He stepped in front of me again, the grin gone, his hands down by his sides. I stopped.

“I’m trying to apologize, Anna, if you’ll let me. I’m trying to tell you that I didn’t know.”

I looked at him. He made a pained face, shrugged his shoulders. My voice says sorry, my body says sorry, what more can I do. He does not know about Elena, I thought. He does not know what happened between me and Corgan. He just thinks I am angry because I got asked to do more work for my thirty pieces of silver.

“All right,” I said. “I accept. Now we are finished with being all Hallmark card, I must get to the shops. I have washing to do.” And I started walking again.

“My God, you’re a tough one,” Daniel said, and he followed again. “Look, that was only half the apology, OK? You haven’t had the other half yet.”

“I do not see any flowers. Oh, of course, there’s a graveyard if you walk that way, you can find some there that you will give me.”

Daniel laughed. “It’s all right, I’ve already admitted that you’re a tough one, you don’t have to go breaking my balls all the time to prove it.”

I stopped, tilted my head as if in thought.

“Don’t go getting ideas,” he said. “You’ll make a lot of women cry. Come on, let me give you the other half of the apology. Jesus, it’s not often I say sorry you know, don’t make it harder than it already is. Saying sorry, that is.” The grin came back.

I did not take that bait. “So what is this other half then?”

“Dinner for two,” he said.

I nodded, considering it. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“Who the other person is. Will I like them? Or are they like you?”

“Low, very low. Come on, Anna. Nothing fancy, just a nice Italian or something. Couple of drinks first, all on me, just to say sorry. Because I mean it, yeah?”

“Thank you,” I said, and Daniel made a salute with his fist, as if he had just scored a goal. “But no.”

He looked surprised, as if he was not used to any woman saying no to him. And perhaps he was not. That grin, that tilt of the head. Practised over many years, I thought, and over many women. The rain started.

“I don’t bite, you know,” he said. “I’m a nice bloke, really.” I realized what the tilt of the head reminded me of, when you put it together with his dark brown eyes. My friend Maria had a puppy once which she called Bear for some reason I never understood. Bear would tilt his head, look with those eyes, and wait for you to do what he wanted. Or hope that you would not be cross about the puddle waiting for you on the kitchen floor.

“Not dinner,” I said. “But something else instead.”

“Mmm,” Daniel said. “Sounds interesting. I like a girl who can surprise me.”

“Good,” I said, “carry this.” I dumped the laundry bag in his arms. “And pay for my washing. You can also buy me coffee, while the washing goes round.”

~

I put the washing in the big yellow machine, not wanting Daniel to be pulling out my underwear. But he paid for the wash, and then he wandered over to the battered coffee machine in the corner, studied it for a moment and then made a disgusted face.

“No way,” he said. “Come on. I’ll buy you a proper coffee. I know a place around the corner.”

“But—” I said, and waved a hand at the washing machine.

“Don’t worry,” Daniel said. “No one’s going to nick it, are they, or take it out and dump it on the floor.”

I didn’t say anything, just looked at him.

He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Different world, different world.” He walked over to the old woman who sat in the corner with a pile of magazines about celebrities. The pile seemed to get bigger every week I was there, and I worried that if she did not read faster then one day she would be walled in. Daniel pulled a bank note from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. “Machine number five,” he said. “Be a love, eh. Keep an eye on it, do anything that needs doing, I dunno, whatever. Drying, or spinning, or whatever. And make sure no pervs have a rummage through, eh? You’re a darling. Ta.”

We sat in a cosy café a few streets away, over a coffee that cost more than my laundry did. The café served coffee twenty different ways and you could sit on fat red sofas and read newspapers like it was somebody’s house. It was different from sitting at scratched plastic tables with bowls of sugar clotted around a wet spoon. I was conscious that my coat was scruffy, but I did not take it off because underneath my jumper was scruffier. I had only planned on a trip to wash clothes, not coffee with a man trying to charm me in this place with its fat sofas and thin waitresses.

Daniel did most of the talking, and most of the talking was about himself. I was happy, though, to sit somewhere that was warm and expensive and different from what was now my life. I was amused by Daniel’s confidence, how sure he was that no matter what I said, he could win me around in the end. It amused me, it annoyed me, and just a little bit, I liked it.

“Did you really think I’d have promised you all that, if I knew Corgan wasn’t going to deliver?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It is your world, not mine. You are Corgan’s man.”

Daniel laughed, and made a face as if he had just tasted something that was sour. “I am when it suits him. And then when it doesn’t...” He made an extravagant hand gesture. “Stupid thing is, Anna, I could do so much for him. You should see some of the blokes he surrounds himself with. They’re all muscle, no brains.”

“At least they have one of the two,” I said.

He stuck his tongue out at me. “Muscle’s cheap,” he said. “And I’m strong enough. Being smart though, that’s a talent. And I know I could do so much for Corgan, but he never lets me in. Fucks me right off, sometimes, treats me like I’m his servant boy. Fetch this Danny, carry that Danny, find out this Danny, now piss off Danny, we’ll call you if we need you.”

“So why do you bother?”

He looked past me. I was sat with my back to the wall, but Daniel was seeing something far beyond that.

“Because I don’t want to spend my life hustling crappy forged documents to desperate immigrants—no offence, sweetheart.”

“Some people do proper work. Work that is not a crime, or that involves working for people like that man.”

“Ease up,” he said, and gave me a glance and then looked to see if anyone near us had heard me. “You’re sounding like my mum and that’s just not right, not at all. You think I want to be a sucker, sweating in a suit and tie while some other bastard makes all the money? Fuck no. Anyway, I’m providing a service, me. Working with refugees and the like. It’s a social service, I’m not like Corgan, I don’t do what he does, I don’t work
for
him. What I do is small time and I am going to be big time, just you believe it. And to get there, I need the contacts of someone like Corgan. Or whoever they bring in to take his place if he falls down.”

“They?”

“We all have our masters, Anna. Even Corgan. I hear you’ve met the man.” Daniel fell silent, thinking, playing with an empty sugar packet.

“Doubt he’ll be going anywhere though,” he said in the end. “Not Corgan. Tough bastard, and give him his due, he’s good at what he does.”

“And what is it that he does?”

Daniel looked straight at me. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that, Anna.”

“You should not buy me coffee if you do not want me to ask questions, Daniel. Anyway, I know the answer.”

Daniel smiled, like he did not believe me. “Oh, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” I said, and I told him about Elena, and I told him about Corgan and I told him about the small room and the broken bed.

Daniel leaned over the table towards me, the laugh gone and his face serious.

“Anna.” His voice was low, and the laughter was gone. “Fucking hell. You’re a nice girl. I like you. You’ve got involved in all this and I wish you hadn’t. But please. Don’t talk back to Corgan again. Don’t talk back to him, don’t cross him, don’t talk to anyone about him, don’t do anything that might make you the centre of his attention. Please. You don’t know how lucky you are to still have a face. I’ve seen...Christ. Don’t do it again.”

“He is that bad?”

Daniel shook his head. “He is worse.” But still you work for him, I thought. What does that say about you? And then I thought, I work for him too. And I did not want to ask myself the same question.

Some people who looked like they were out for lunch from their office came and sat down at the table next to ours, laughing and dropping spoons and talking about expensive holidays that they wanted to have and could not afford. I envied them their ordinary, everyday lives. I had one too, one time.

Daniel flicked a glance over to them, rolled his eyes at me. Then he leaned over again. “They’ll never do the half of anything,” he whispered. “They’ll settle for something dull and ordinary all their lives. Well that’s not going to be me, Anna. Not in a million fucking years.” He sat back, and the grin lit up his face again. “Remember: onward and upwards. Onward and upwards. Play your cards right, and maybe you could come along for the ride.”

It took us longer to walk back from the launderette than it had done to get there. This was because Daniel offered to carry the bag, and spent much of the time complaining about how heavy it was. He switched the bag from hand to hand, slung it over first one shoulder, and then the other, and then went back to carrying it the first way. The rain had stopped, but it felt as if it would start again at any moment.

When we arrived back at my building, he dumped it on to the floor with relief.

“There you go,” he said triumphantly. “No problem. So, you going to invite me in for a cup of coffee, or what?”

“What.”