Game Girls (13 page)

She slots her ticket in the exit barrier and
the grey gates flap open to let her through.

Fern slots her ticket in, and it jams. 'Oh no.
What's happened?'

'It's the wrong way up.' Courtney does do
the flicked look to Alix this time, and they both
stand and wait while the guard lets Fern out
through an exit at the side.

They walk on together through the hubbling
station, heading out into Oxford Street.

Alix loves the buzz and hum of London.
Everything's happening. Colour and noise. The
best and the worst people, with all the shades
in between, moving and mixing together.

They pass a stall selling hot chestnuts, and
another selling flags and mugs and postcards of
Big Ben.

'There's so many shops.' Fern glances from
left to right, hesitating and getting knocked by
the hurrying crowd.

Alix can see Fern will end up trampled if she
keeps up with the dithering. She takes her arm.
'Most of these shops are just the main High
Street ones – not really any different from Long
Cove. We want to go home with bags with
different names on them. I reckon we should
try some of the big stores first – they do
designer ranges, and it's not usually so manic in
those either. There's a crossing here.' She
swerves to the right suddenly. 'Come on. Most
of the best places are on this side.'

They cross without waiting for the green
man signal, a red bus blasting its horn at them.

'Quick,' gasps Fern, breaking into a run.

Alix smiles, impressed with herself for her
infinite patience. 'Just trust me,' she says,
joining up with Fern again on the pavement.

She leads them purposefully on through the
throng, and then in through the automatic
doors of John Lewis.

'Level one – to start with. This way.' Alix
steers Fern towards the escalator that runs
down the centre of the store.

Fern seems to manage to relax. 'You didn't
finish telling me about the bloke with the
shoes.'

'Oh – right. We went up to the Love Nest –
still with all those Shoe Express bags – and he
wanted me to get out of my skirt and top. So I
did that – and then he opened the first box and
produced some red patent stilettos. He asked
me to put them on. It was all very polite,
though. He was a real gentleman.'

'He wanted you to do it wearing shoes?'

'No, that's just it. He didn't want to "do it"
at all.'

'He paid for you to sit there wearing his
shoes?'

'It was a bit more than that. I had to walk
about in them, while he watched. And then he
opened another box – and another –and
another.'

They reach the top of the escalator, Fern still
leaping off but at least this time managing not
to yelp. They walk among the rails of clothes –
so many styles and names and lines and looks.

They brush past funky fun dresses and racks
of jeans, suits and jackets and long sequinned
evening gowns. Occasionally sales girls smile
their lipsticked smiles and ask if they need any
help.

'We're fine,' says Alix, her eyes scanning the
displays. 'Just looking.'

'What sort of shoes were they?' Fern stands
beside her, examining everything Alix takes a
second look at.

'Mostly trainers.' Courtney, who has been
keeping up with them but didn't appear to have
been listening, cuts in suddenly. 'And flip
flops.'

Fern's eyes widen. 'Really?'

Alix bites back a smile. 'Don't be . . . no.
They were all stilettos. Killer toes. I'm amazed
I didn't get blisters after half an hour of being
squashed into them all.'

She sees a pearl-white gypsy style dress and
stops to lift it from its rail, holding it against
Fern. 'This would suit you.'

Fern takes the dress, fingering the
embroidered neckline. She seems to be
struggling with something, making herself ask
another question. 'But . . . but why? Why would
he want you to walk about like that?'

Courtney picks a black dress from the same
rail, scowls, and then hangs it back again
fiercely. She spins round, her eyes glitter hard.
'Come on, Fern. Stop being such a drip. You
KNOW that some blokes are just weird. You
must at least have worked that much out.'

Fern's cheeks flush pink and she stares down
at the dress. But when she speaks her voice is
quiet. Almost dignified. 'No,' she says, still not
looking up at Courtney. 'I didn't know that.'

Courtney is looking at her differently now –
a strange expression – almost of pain, tightened
across her features. Alix can't guess what she's
feeling, or why, but the last thing she can bear
is a public scene between the two of them.
'Look, why don't you try that on, Fern. It really
is "you". And Courtney – you'd look fantastic
in one of those scrunchy black ones. See there?
With the long slitty side bit?'

Moments later she is watching them both
disappear into the dressing room, praying it
doesn't start ringing out with shouts and
screams and the sounds of things breaking.

Near her is an elaborate stand, circular glass
shelves edged with gold, and on every shelf is a
pair of shoes. Not Shoe Express shoes but
beautiful work-of-art fantastic shoes. She picks
up a black satin stiletto which is encrusted with
small jewels. Wriggling off her own shoe, she
slips it on.

There is a mirror nearby and she walks
towards it, her step slightly uneven because this
heel is so much higher than hers. An assistant
appears, hovering very close and murmuring,
'They're beautiful, aren't they? Very popular
this season.'

Alix doesn't answer. She is watching the
reflection of the shoe. She changes position,
turning one way and then another, checking
out the side view. The front. The back.

She thinks Courtney is right. Some blokes
ARE weird, and you'd need a psychiatrist to
tell you why. But so what? It was all harmless.
And it had pleased him. 'Thanks, Antoinette,'
he'd whispered at the end, hugging her after
she helped him pack all the shoes away again.
He sounded so genuine – almost close to tears.

She'd liked him. Weird didn't mean wrong
or terrible. Just different.

He paid her extra too. 'I'll use it to buy a
stock of my own – for when you want to see
me again,' she smiled.

'No need.' He squeezed her hands as if they
were best friends joined together in a secret. 'I
like buying them. The whole shopping thing.
Truly.'

He laughed then, and Alix laughed with
him.

They were both still laughing when he left.

Alix thinks she could surprise him though.
She could produce her own range as a kind of
grand finale. It would be a bit of fun, and she's
got other clients who are into shoes too – in all
sorts of ways. A special collection would be a
good investment. She turns to the murmuring
sales assistant. 'I love it,' she says. 'Could you
get me the other one?'

* * *

Blubber Boy is so heavy on her. He smells too.
Fern knows she'll have to open the window
and spray air freshener round once he's gone.

Alix was right, in a way. It has got better –
at least in the sense that she's learnt what to do.
But she never likes it.

'You're so popular.' Alix is always saying
this. The system, as far as Fern can understand
it, is simple. The blokes ring Alix up on her
secret mobile number – she never takes anyone
from off the streets – and if they're 'newies'
then she shares them out between Honey and
Isadora. But if they've been more than once
then she calls them 'regs' and they can choose
to go with whoever they want. This is what
Alix means when she says Fern is popular. They
often choose to go with Honey again.

When Alix tells her this, it is as if she thinks
Fern will be pleased, but the truth is she'd be
happy if no one ever chose her. Except she'd
miss the money. For the first time in her life she
has been able to buy clothes and CDs and
anything else she wants. She's careful about it –
she keeps it away from Mum – but Mum is so
caught up with Dad she almost never asks Fern
about anything anymore.

And of course, the other worry is that Alix
wouldn't have so much time for her if she
stopped. In fact, Alix might not have any time
for her at all.

Blubber Boy is grunting in her ear.

He kisses her face, his lips rubbery and wet.

His breath is bad too.

He's horrible, but at least he isn't weird.
Courtney was right about the weirdness. Last
week Ropey Roger wanted her to tie him to the
bedstead, although she couldn't manage to get
the knots pulled tight enough. He got fed up
and told her not to bother in the end.

She has tried to tell Alix about the weird
blokes but Alix gets super efficient when the
sessions are finished, sorting out the money
and keeping an extra bit – the 'administrator's
cut' – for herself. There is never much time for
talking.

They go shopping for new clothes
sometimes, but that is not the time for talking
either – Alix is always concentrating on what is
most likely to please clients. They don't even
stop for lunch. Getting everything bought is the
focus of the day. And other than that,
whenever they are together, they're always
working. Alix uses her own bedroom as a
second Love Nest now – mainly for Isadora.
She has started charging more for her
Antoinette sessions, and she almost never takes
the 'newies'.

Blubber Boy gives a small, triumphant
shout, as if he has just won a prize.

He rolls off her with a sigh, and Fern can see
from his eyes that she's pleased him. He'll
probably choose her again.

She gets up and pulls on her robe, refusing
to watch him dress, but once all his clothes are
on and the wobbly fat is covered, she fakes a
soft smile. 'Was that all right?'

'You're a real minx, Honey.' He makes an
awkward lurch, trying to tweak her nipple
through the robe.

She gives the girlish laugh that Alix has
taught her how to do, and sidesteps away.

Leading him back downstairs, she hurries
ahead so that he can't keep up with her – so
that he can't grope her again on the way down.

She opens the door and he kisses her
clumsily, lumbering away into the evening.
Now that he's gone she can even feel sorry for
him. A sad lonely man. She should at least feel
some sympathy for that.

He has been her fifth tonight and she's
getting a taxi home – she always tells Mum it's
Alix who brings her back but she's got plenty
of money for taxis these days. She could glide
home in a limousine if she wanted to.

She is aching. Aching and tired and sore.

'Honey . . . ' Alix appears in the doorway as
Fern heads back upstairs to get showered.
'Someone else has just booked – it's a newie so I
didn't want to turn him away – only Isadora is
asleep in my room. You can keep what you earn
– I won't take my cut off this one. He'll be really
grateful that we've responded at such short
notice, so you could be doing us all a favour in the
long run.'

Fern looks at Alix. She wants to say no. She
so badly wants to say no.

Alix smiles at her.

No no no. Fern nods. 'OK.'

* * *

Courtney sits on the bench that looks out
across the sea, a plain white carrier bag tucked
in under the seat.

It's the scruffy end of Long Cove – out of
sight of the golden sand tourist-land – and the
beach here is mostly pebbles and mud.

Three children – all girls – are playing down
on the shingle. It's warm for January, almost
spring-like, and everything seems touched by a
hazy glow.

It seems unreal to Courtney – she isn't part
of this gentle day. She has gate-crashed in on a
scene from a film.

The nurse's voice was caring. As if
Courtney, and her future, mattered. 'You've
tested negative this time, sweetheart,' she'd
said. 'But I do urge you to come in and get
checked regularly. Even something as common
as chlamydia can make you infertile. It's
important that you don't take chances.'

Two phrases ring like omens through her
head.

This time.

Don't take chances.

Courtney watches the three girls play some
sort of jumping competition, measuring their
efforts with algae-coated sticks. She has never
thought about having children. Her future has
been about getting good qualifications, and
leaving home. It's been about getting a job and
staying independent. Beyond that, it was
always fuzzy – but that doesn't mean there
might not have been children in the fuzziness.
Babies. Her babies.

'And there are other diseases too. Aids is the
big one – and we're seeing a new increase in
that. And then there's Herpes – Syphilis – all of
these are incurable. If you end up with any of
them, we can't help you. I'm going to give you
a bag of condoms to take away, but if you
think you need more, then come and see us
again.'

The nurse had smiled, but Courtney
couldn't force herself to smile back. She stared
down at her hands. Took the carrier bag of
condoms. Thanked the nurse without looking
her in the eye. The bag was full. There must be
at least fifty packets in there. Could the nurse
tell, Courtney wondered? Could she see the
truth?

She wants to give up working with Alix –
this is a wake-up call, and she ought to get
herself out of it. Only she's left Easi Shop – she
hasn't even walked past it since Christmas Day
– and she hasn't saved enough. They earn a
lot, but Alix is always pulling them round the
shops, making them spend spend spend.
'Speculate to accumulate,' she insists.

Courtney needs to stop the speculating now.
She just has to accumulate. She
has
to have
enough money to get away.

The three girls grow bored with their
jumping competition. Two race down to the
sea, shrieking when the waves slush in, daring
the water to swamp their trainers.