Lee Rourke - Vulgar Things

At the corner of Queensway and York Road stand a group of teenagers, all of them hooded-up, milling around in silence. I slip by them on the other side of the road, crossing when the traffic is between me and them, forming a barrier of machines. I hop over the central barrier and walk up the grass verge on the other side and head straight for Laura’s flat. I knock on the door without hesitation. Nothing. I knock again, this time much louder. I look over to the group of teenagers; they’re looking over at me, and a couple of them walk up the grass verge towards Toledo Road. I knock on the door again. This time there’s some movement behind the door. Seconds later it springs open: it’s the same man from earlier. He recognises me immediately.

‘You here for the girls?’

‘One girl in particular.’

‘Come. Follow me … Quick … In here. Come.’

I follow him into the communal hallway, waiting behind him as he opens the door to his flat. We climb the stairs. The place reeks of weed and body odour. I’m shown into a living room, where two other men are sitting on a stained sofa, both of them smoking weed, staring at the bare wood-chipped wall opposite.

‘You sit. Wait here for girls.’

The man points to a faux-leather armchair by the window, its ripped arms fixed with masking tape. The lights in the room are dim and the blinds are closed. It’s a depressing room. He walks out of the room slowly. There’s some shouting going on in a language I can’t quite put my finger on; not quite Polish, further east. It sounds like two or three men, and maybe about three girls. All of them shouting at each other in the same language. The man returns to the room and smiles at me. He clicks his fingers, then waits, clicks them again and then shouts something into the other room. The shouting stops. The two men on the sofa get up and follow him out of the room, leaving me alone. I hear more shouting, this time at the back of the flat, then a number of footsteps going up some stairs into a loft. I sit staring at the floor, my stick resting against my knees.

After about ten minutes the man walks slowly into the room.

‘You here for girls?’

‘Well, no … yes, one girl … is there a girl called Laura here?’

‘Laura?’

‘Yes, a girl called Laura?’

‘Eh?’

‘Blonde hair … beautiful eyes …’

‘Ah, blonde hair … Blonde … beautiful … Yes, we have beautiful blonde for you … you must pay sixty pounds … One hour sixty pounds … You can do what you want, yes.’

‘I just want to talk to Laura.’

‘Yes, blonde … No stick.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Stick … No stick …’

‘Oh … this? … It’s okay.’

‘No fucking stick.’

‘Okay … Okay …’

‘You want blonde?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Blonde … You want to see?’

‘Oh. Yes …’

He shouts back into the other room. After a short while a girl walks in to join us: heavily made-up, black short skirt, white blouse, stockings and heels. I look at her; if it is Laura then the make-up makes her look different, but I’m sure it’s her. It looks like her, I think. It’s hard to tell, because her hair is tied back and her lips are now bright red with lipstick and gloss, her eyes blackened with mascara. It looks like her. I’m sure it’s her. It has to be her, she looks the same size. She stands there in front of me, staring at me, waiting for me to say something. She looks bored, emotionless, drained of life.

‘This is her. Yes. Blonde … Good … ass.’

‘I think …’

‘Sixty pounds, boss.’

‘Oh, I don’t … I just want to talk to her …’

‘Sixty pounds …’

‘Right, yes … Right.’

I take three twenty-pound notes from my wallet. I give him the money. As soon as he puts it in his own wallet she walks out of the room. I lean forward in my chair, trying not to stare at her.

‘Go … Go … You follow her.’

I get up and begin to follow her.

‘Stick … Stick … You leave your stick.’

‘Oh, yes …’

‘…’

‘…’

‘Follow … Follow …’

‘Ah, okay …’

I place my stick on the floor and walk up the stairs at the back of the flat, up to a small room, one of three crudely divided in the attic. I can hear the two men and a girl in one of the rooms. It doesn’t sound pretty. I gag a little, trying to regain my composure, but I can’t stop shaking. The girl waits for me in the far room, she points to the bed and I sit down on it. She puts some music on a stereo, some Euro-pop stuff that makes me feel queasy. Then she begins to undress slowly.

‘No … No … No …’

She stops, alarmed, looking at me like I’m crazy.

‘No … Not that … I just want to talk to you …’

‘…’

‘I don’t want that … I just want to talk to you … Talk … Do you speak English?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Oh … good … well … I just want to talk with you, I don’t want anything else.’

‘You can do what you want to me … You’ve got just under an hour.’

‘Good … That’s good … let’s talk … Is your name Laura?’

‘You can call me that, yes.’

‘Laura, do you remember me?’

‘What?’

‘The other day on the pier … You told me they were after you … You looked scared. Do you remember? On the pier, by the bell?’

‘What pier?’

‘The other day … we were talking to each other … You told me that you weren’t happy, at least I think you did … But you seemed scared of something … of someone …’

‘Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about … Do you want to fuck me?’

‘No … No … No … I want to talk to you, Laura …’

‘You can fuck my arse if you want, rub your dick on my breasts … You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘No … Please … I can help you. I can help you get out of here. I know it was you on the pier the other day, then swimming in the creek … I followed you to the strip club today … It’s you, I know it’s you …’

‘You followed me? What do you mean you fucking followed me?’

‘No, I mean, I saw you today …’

‘I’ve not been out today … If you’ve followed me I will tell them downstairs, they’ll throw you out …’

‘No … No … I’ve not followed you like that … I just need to talk … Please, trust me, I can stop all this, I have the money to get you away from here …’

‘Money?’

‘Yes, money, we can move away from here …’

‘How much do you have?’

‘Enough to help you …’

‘Do you have money on you now?’

‘Yes …’

‘I’ll talk if you pay me …’

‘How much?’

‘How much do you have?’

‘I’ve got more than a hundred on me … Look, take this twenty …’

‘Thanks.’

‘Do you remember the pier?’

‘Oh, yes, the pier. Yes. Whatever, yes.’

‘No, seriously … Do you remember the pier?’

‘…’

‘Do you remember talking to me on the pier?’

‘Er … Okay. All right then … Yes, I remember talking to you on the pier, yes.’

‘By the bell?’

‘Yes, the bell.’

‘We talked about the pigeons …’

‘The pigeons … Yes, we did.’

‘And Canvey …’

‘Canvey?’

‘Canvey Island, you remember?’

‘Oh … Yes, Canvey Island. I remember now.’

‘And then you said to me, you became scared as you said it, you said you shouldn’t be talking to me, and that you might be seen … Do you remember?’

‘Oh, yes, I remember now.’

‘Who didn’t you want to see you talking to me?’

‘What?’

‘You were frightened you might be seen talking to me … Who, who was that?’