Game Girls (12 page)

'I'm sorry,' he says, and his voice seems
gentle and genuine.

Sorry for what? Is his gentle genuine tone an
act? The lull of his voice before the storm of
what he's about to be sorry for.

'Truth is I've seen too much. Been around too
long. Trust me. Girls like you are a psycho's
dream.'

'So – how do you know so much?' She has
edged herself nearer the phone, but maybe she
should have made a dash for the door.

'I'm a doctor.' He glances at his watch, and
then looks back at her. His eyes are gentle too.
Almost sad. 'Downtown New York. We get it all
in my practice.'

She stares at him. Pictures crowd her mind.
Bodies bruised. Battered.

'Stay safe, little lady. And thank you. It's
been a great evening.' He smiles again but his
eyes seem full of sorrow and she wonders if he's
got those pictures in his mind too.

She watches him walk out through the door.
Hears the ping of the lift. She gets up, checks
the key-card. He didn't sneak off with it – but
he might have switched it. She checks it again.

Then she goes to the mirror and runs her
finger along the crystal gems of the piercingly
blue necklace. She tightens it, twizzling it
round one finger until it leaves small marks,
like bites, in her neck. Would it snap before she
choked? And if it did, would it even matter?
There's still the belt. The murderous hands.
Whatever size he is, he'll be strong. Mad
psycho killers are always strong.

Up until now it's just been a game.

She needs to sharpen up a bit – wise up.

Studying her reflection, she thinks that it
won't happen to her. She can't imagine her face
with bruises. She can't imagine her eyes bulging
out of a choked lifeless face. But she's learnt some
important lessons tonight and she's going to
make some big changes when she gets back
home.

It's lucky she met the bearded American,
and he's put her straight before anything bad
happens to any of them.

* * *

A
LIX GOES WITH COURTNEY to the
Drop-in Centre. 'It's a good idea for us all to
start getting checked regularly anyway,' she
says. 'I'll hustle Fern along here next week,
when it's hopefully not so busy.'

Courtney is almost too tired to speak. She's
been sick, sicker than she's ever been after
vomiting from the morning after pill, but the
deal was she'd come back for tests once the
clinic opened properly after the holiday.

They sit in the waiting room, Alix leafing
through a magazine, Courtney trying not to
meet the eye of any of the other girls sitting
tense and uneasy on the orange plastic chairs.

'Lisa Cullen?' A nurse comes out, young
and slim and neat, her hair in a tidy French
plait down her back. Courtney stares at her for
a moment. This is someone with a respectable
job. A respectable life. The nurse glances down
at the sheet in her hand, and then round the
room. A plump girl gets up and goes off with
her through the double doors.

Alix nudges Courtney. 'Nurses,' she
whispers. 'Guys go for nurses.'

Courtney doesn't answer, but wonders if
that's going to be Alix's next great plan.
Costumes for them all. Nurse costumes. Maid's
costumes. Clown's costumes – for all she
knows or cares.

'Courtney Benton-Gray?' This is a different
nurse. Older than the last. Courtney's heart
sinks. She's probably going to get a lecture. The
Inquisition.

She gets up, hoping there's no one here who
might have recognised her name, and follows
the nurse through the double doors to her fate.

She'd got drunk. That was what she'd
already told them when she came in for the
emergency appointment. Got drunk Christmas
afternoon and didn't even know the bloke's
name.

It's weird, she thinks now, that this was
more acceptable to her than saying what really
happened.

She doesn't want to go back over what
really happened. And anyway, what's the
point? Apart from Alix and Fern, who could
she dare to tell?
'OK, sweetheart . . . '
Courtney is startled by the warmth in the
nurse's voice. Her eyes fill suddenly,
threatening to spill. She swallows. Bites her lip.
Digs one nail into the palm of her hand.

'. . . I'm going to need to ask you a few
questions. Tick a few boxes.'

Courtney nods, mumbles through her
answers. Boyfriends? Allergies? Has she ever
had a sexually transmitted disease?

'And now it's just the bloods, sweetheart.'
The nurse puts down the tick list and picks up
a kidney-shaped tray with some small empty
tubes arranged along one end. 'Just roll up
your sleeve for me – and hold your arm out –
there – that's a good girl. You'll just feel a tiny
tiny
pinprick.'

Courtney stares out of the window. It's a
clear day, brittle. The sky is high and blue.
Small soft clouds float past, reminding
Courtney of the cotton wool she used to use for
cloud pictures at school. She starts to count
them. Counts all the clouds in the sky . . . four,
five, six, seven . . .

'All done, sweetheart, that wasn't too bad,
was it?'

Courtney looks down at her arm.

The nurse is dabbing at her pinpricked skin
with a small soft cloud.

She sticks on a plaster and gives Courtney a
smile. 'Pop back in a week,' she says. 'We
should have your results in by then.'

* * *

'Do you know anything about electrics?' Alix
kneels on the bed, watching Dale get dressed.

He pulls on his sweatshirt and looks at her.
'What sort of electrics?'

'I want some wiring done. I need a buzzer
set up in here. Something we can hear
downstairs if there's ever a problem.'

Dale goes over to the mirror and smoothes
down his hair. 'Do you get problems then?
From some of the guys?'

'Nothing major. We get a few weird requests
sometimes, but if it's too strange we just say
no.' Alix smiles at him in the glass, thinking
Dale's not averse to making a few weird
requests himself. 'But I'm thinking more of
insurance. Something in place for a "just in
case" scenario.'

'It sounds out of my league. You need a real
expert.' Dale picks up his jacket from the end
of the bed. 'But I'll ask round when I'm back
on campus tomorrow.'

'I can pay him in kind.' Alix gets up from
the bed and pulls on her robe. 'If he prefers.'

Dale laughs. 'If you're offering that, you'll
probably find ten guys clutching meters and
screwdrivers lined up on your doorstep by
tomorrow lunch time.' He hesitates for a
moment. 'In fact, you don't have a burning urge
to learn football, do you? I'm sure I could teach
you all you need to know.'

She winds her arms round his neck. 'You just
want to see me rolling around in mud,' she
murmurs.

He presses against her. 'You know me too
well,' he murmurs back.

She lets him squeeze her for a moment, and
then draws away. 'Oh – one other thing. Can
you ask if anyone can do plumbing too? I want
a small sink in the corner.'

'I'll check around. I'm sure I can get you a
whole
en suite
fixed up. Sauna. Whirlpool.
Your wish is my command.'

She pulls him to her again, biting his ear and
softening her voice. 'A sink is plenty – but if
you can find me good guys, I think you'll have
earned a bonus – I'll give you something extra
special next time you come.'

He bites her neck, bunching her hair in one
hand and pulling her head back slightly, his
other hand moving down her body.

'I said NEXT time,' she giggles, kissing his
forehead and taking hold of his hands. She
needs him to get going now. She has to get
showered before Courtney's appointment.

'Ah, you drive a hard bargain,' Dale groans.
'I'm getting all wound up again – just the
promise of your "extra special" time.'

But he doesn't try anything else. That's the
fantastic thing about clients like him. They
respect her, and they understand the rules. It's
not always as easy as that with everyone.

'I'll go hurrying off – back to Sussex to
gather an army of experts. See you soon, I
hope.'

'The sooner the better,' smiles Alix. 'Call me
next week. I'll let you know how it's all gone.'

'You bet.'

She follows him down to the front door.
'Drive safely. I'll miss you.' She blows him a
kiss as he gets into the four-by-four, winking
the headlights and beeping twice before he
reverses out of the drive, and away.

* * *

Fern waits for Alix to bring him up.

'Just remember to make him wear a
condom. And he has to wash before he starts,'
she'd said.

There is a knock on the door. 'Come in.'

He comes in, a dark-haired stranger that
Fern can't bring herself to look at properly.

'The sink is in the corner. And . . . and you
have to put this on.' She has been clutching the
condom, her palm sweating, and she holds the
packet out to him. She can't help with his
banana this time. She is shaking inside and out.
'Try to look at it as being like an arranged
marriage. Your wedding night.' Alix had been
gentle when she said this. Encouraging. 'In fact,
when you think of it, it's quite normal really.
Millions of girls have had their first time like
that.' Up until now, Alix has found Fern clients
who don't want to go 'all the way'. But this
client is different. And Alix is sure Fern is
ready.

He undresses while she sits staring at her
hands, still not looking at him.

'You say I have to get washed up, Honey?'

'Just your hands and your . . . your . . . you
know.'

He laughs. 'Yep. I'll scrub down my "you
know" for you.'

Fern listens to the sound of the water
running. And worse, to the sound of it being
turned off. She hears the foil being torn. 'Fuck.
These things are a pain.'

She's
not
ready for this. Not her head or her
body. She's made herself get used to the other
things, and found ways to make them seem all
right – but she can't make this seem all right.
She could walk out. She could kick off the silky
white high heels and run.

But Alix is downstairs, and Alix believes
this is something she should do. She has
dressed her in white. A lacy blouse. A layered
skirt. She feels like a wedding cake.

He comes over and touches her shoulder.

She flinches because she can't help it. He
grips the tops of her arms. His fingers pinch
through her blouse and she wonders if she will
bruise.

With one hand fumbling at the skirt, he
presses her down on the bed. His hands are
rough and urgent and harsh and next he is on
top of her and everything hurts.

'Once it starts happening,' Alix had said,
'you'll know what to do.'

Fern lies trembling, waiting for the knowing
to start. He is still pulling at her, wrenching
open her blouse and all the time kissing her.
Except it isn't nice kissing – not the way Fern
always dreamed passionate kissing would be. It
is his mouth pushed on her mouth, pressing
down hard, the stubble of his face scratchy and
stinging.

'Come on.' His voice is a kind of growl.
'Open up.'

She lets him force himself between her
white-stockinged legs. She closes her eyes. The
knowing hasn't started. Doesn't start. She is
crumbling beneath him. It hurts. It hurts.

He makes beast noises. Her eyes stay
squeezed shut.

Maybe he will kill her. Killer Kevin.

'Be sweet to him once it's finished,' Alix had
said, 'and let him know you enjoyed it. That
way he's more likely to come back.'

Once it is finished Fern crawls in under the
duvet and curls tight, her hands cradling her
head. She hears him dressing. A zip is pulled.
He seems to take forever to put on his shoes.

The getting dressed noises stop at last. She can
sense him waiting, and she knows she is supposed
to get up and lead him downstairs but she can't
bear the thought of looking at him properly. The
floorboards in the Love Nest creak. His footsteps
head towards the door.

Even when he is definitely gone, she still
doesn't move.

Time passes. Outside she hears a dog bark.
Children's voices drift through from a few
gardens away.

'Fern?' Alix comes in, sitting on the bed and
touching her shoulder through the quilt. 'How
was it?'

Fern keeps her back to her. She is bleeding
tears and she doesn't want Alix to see.

'My first time was pretty crappy too,' Alix
says. 'It was in a car park. The back of a car.
How sleazy is that?'

Fern still doesn't speak, but she is listening.

'I didn't even like him, but we'd been for a
meal and I just thought I ought to. He was
older than me – old enough for car ownership
anyway. I was impressed by that. And flattered
that he'd picked me out.'

After a moment, Fern rubs her eyes and
shifts round to face Alix. 'Were you sorry then?
Afterwards?'

Alix leans forward and gets the box of
tissues from the table, pulling out a handful
and handing them to Fern.

Fern blows her nose, sniffing loudly.

'I think,' says Alix, talking slowly as if she is
considering it all for the first time, 'I think I was
disappointed. I'd wanted it to be romantic and
wonderful and it was just this kind of frantic
uncomfortable grope. I never saw him again.'

'Did it hurt?'

Alix shrugs. 'A bit I suppose. Can't really
remember. It's all faded now – it was so long
ago.'

Fern wonders how long ago it was. Two
years? Five? Even more? She doesn't like to
ask.

At least she's done it. It's over. She can't
believe it will ever fade for her though. She
won't ever be able to not remember.

Alix stands up, handing Fern her robe
which is hanging on the door. 'You can go and
shower him all away. And I promise you . . . '
She hesitates, as if she's going to say something
important and needs to phrase it exactly right.

Fern takes the robe, slips it on and does up
the poppers that Alix got a dressmaker to sew
in. She won't let them wear anything with a
sash. Then she blows her nose again, wobbling
out a smile as she wonders if Alix is going to
suggest they go out somewhere, as a kind of
treat. Maybe they can do that town hitting that
she promised her before? They've never been
out anywhere together yet. 'What?'

'. . . it won't be so bad next time.'

The smile stays fixed on Fern's face as she
watches Alix leave the room.

Next time.

Alix is expecting her to do it again.

* * *

'The first thing he wanted, when he rang to
book the session, was my shoe size.' Alix is
halfway up the escalator, turning back to talk
to Courtney and Fern.

'Did he want to buy you shoes then, for a
present?' Fern is gripping the escalator rail with
one hand, and her handbag with the other. She
keeps glancing nervously at anyone who
hustles past, as if she thinks they might be
about to hit her over the head with a brick and
run off with her life's savings.

Alix flicks a look at Courtney, but Courtney
doesn't return the glance. She is turned away
slightly, watching the posters as they slide by.
Adverts for West End musicals. Perfume.
Magazines.

'He wanted me to sort of "borrow" them.
And it wasn't just one pair. It was loads.' Alix
reaches the top and steps off the moving stairs.

A moment later Fern gives a yelp and jumps
awkwardly, hurrying to walk beside Alix
through the subway. 'Loads?'

'He turned up with six pairs – all brand
new. Still boxed. In Shoe Express carrier bags.'
Alix turns back to Courtney, who is following
behind. 'Do you remember him?'

'He was weird.' Courtney rains a handful of
coins into the hat of a busker who is singing
badly and strumming a guitar. Alix thinks he's
not much older than them.