This bird had looked posh with her glossy bob and pearls but she was alright, Sheri thought as she clinked glasses with Amy. She was really pretty, with skin the colour of creamy caramel and big brown eyes. She was a right laugh too, with her Manc accent. Sheri would rather speak like that than the way she did, like the stereotypical Essex good-time girl.
‘Cheers, here’s to you.’
‘To us,’ Sheri said and took a sip of champagne. It was delicious, cold and fizzy. What a few weeks it had been. Since she’d met Amy at the Met, things had moved quickly. They’d gone off to talk about this STD campaign Amy was in charge of. All Sheri had really wanted that night was to pull someone with a wad of coke – preferably a star so she could make a packet from the story.
She’d been irritated by Amy at first. She was in the way of her eye contact with the DJ. But then she had listened to what Amy was saying.
It was the first time anyone had talked to her like that, like she mattered.
Amy was right; the public did want someone to tell it like it was. And when it came to sex, Sheri knew a thing or two. She had left the club with Amy and had a drink at a quieter bar.
‘So you really think I could be your poster girl?’
‘I really do, Sheri.’
‘But I’m not doing anyfing that’ll make me look like a slut.’
‘Far from it. You’ll have to be honest and admit you’ve been careless, picked up an STD or two, but now you’ve learned your lesson.’
‘Gotcha. Well, that seems fair. Young girls ain’t easily fooled – they’ll only listen to someone who is real.’
‘Exactly.’
Sheri’s hands were shaking slightly. She wanted a line really badly. Coke or, even better, MDMA, which she’d tried last week. It was true what they said, it gave you far less of a comedown than charlie. But she wanted to be here with Amy too. She seemed nice. And she was offering her a chance to do something other than make cash through sex.
‘Listen, Amy, I appreciate the offer and all, I really do. But I’ve got to pay the rent. Do I get paid for this?’
‘Of course. You’d be working for us and it’s only right you’d be paid. I’ll check with my boss to make sure you get a decent rate. It won’t make you rich but it will be a regular income. I have to warn you, it will be tough. There will be photo shoots, interviews, visits to schools, talking to experts – all in a day’s work.’
‘I ain’t afraid of grafting.’
Amy had noticed Sheri becoming a little agitated and shaky. She had a good idea why.
‘Sheri, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.’ Amy inhaled. ‘We can’t afford to be associated with anyone who might bring bad press to the charity.’
‘All my press is bad.’ Sheri laughed.
‘No, that’s not what I mean. I want you to hold your hands up and admit to your mistakes – it makes you human. I want you to tell people you’ve been daft, forgotten to take precautions and had one-night stands. But there has to be a positive message – that you’ve turned your life around. If it was to get out that, say, you are taking drugs, the press would tear us to shreds. It would be “Sex Charity Pays For Shagger Sheri’s Next Fix”. They’d have a field day.’
‘Right.’ The elation Sheri had felt just moments before drained away. How could she stop? What would she do? Stay in and drink green tea at night?
She desperately wanted to make a go of it, to change her life, but all she could think about was coke. As Amy talked, she was making a mental list of all the various names she knew for it: coke, charlie, gak, chang, powder…
Amy seemed to detect her change in mood. ‘I’m not saying you have to be a nun. Hell, if you shag a footballer that’s fine – so long as you’re telling the world you used a condom. And you tell them through the charity. There can be no more kiss-and-tells if you work with us. You’d be our ambassador.’
Sheri liked this girl. She had balls, that was for sure. If someone had told Sheri an hour ago she’d be sitting next to a woman telling her how to live her life, to stop shagging stars for a living, she’d have told them to fuck right off. But that was just it. Why would she want to carry on doing that? No matter how badly she wanted a line, maybe she wanted to get back some self-respect even more.
‘I’ll help you,’ Amy had told her. ‘We work with brilliant rehab centres that take in women who come to us for help. Sometimes they’ve been living rough and sleeping with guys for money. They’ll help you and it won’t cost you a thing.’
A lone tear trickled down Sheri’s cheek, taking a line of mascara with it. She hadn’t realized how similar her job description was to a prostitute’s until she heard Amy talk about them. Fuck, what was she doing?
As Sheri brushed the tear away, she let out an embarrassed laugh. ‘Count me in. It’s time for a change anyway.’
‘Good,’ Amy said softly, taking Sheri’s hand in her own and squeezing it. ‘You won’t regret it. This is your new start.’
And here she was just a few weeks later. Amy had called her the morning after they had met and told her she could check into rehab that afternoon if she wanted. Sheri wanted it so much, though she was terrified of leaving the very life she needed to put behind her. Sometimes the thing that holds us back is fear of leaving the known, Amy had told her. What was she? Her fucking guardian angel? Whatever she was, Sheri was glad she had come along when she did.
‘To us,’ Amy agreed as she sipped her champagne at Dover Street Wine Bar. She took Sheri in. It was the first time she had been out of rehab and she’d be checking back in that afternoon. She’d be out in a few days and then become a regular out-patient. Things were going well and the therapist had said she could have a glass of bubbly to celebrate her new job. A lot of coke addicts couldn’t drink alcohol as it set them off on a drugs binge. But they reckoned Sheri was addicted to coke and was not alcohol-dependent, so one glass was OK. She looked different, with a fraction of the caked-on make-up she had worn when they first met. Her blue eyes were brighter and less bloodshot, her skin shinier. She looked like she was recovering although she was still tired, her eyes sunken. There was a way to go but Amy could see a pretty young woman trying to get out. She had already come so far from the jittery girl with dead eyes who was so on edge. Amy hoped she could watch a full transformation, that Sheri would stick with her and the campaign. Her boss had thought it was an inspired idea to sign Sheri up. She would be worth ten multimillion-pound government campaigns aimed at young people. She would talk to them, not down at them. He had been a little sceptical when Amy assured him she wouldn’t bring scandal to the charity, but she had persuaded him to give her a chance. If she messed up, Amy would shoulder the blame.
‘Next week the hard work starts. You’ll be speaking at schools, colleges and prisons and launching our new campaign aimed at teens.’
Sheri was excited and scared. She desperately wanted a new start. She needed it. What was the alternative? Selling kiss-and-tells in her fifties, having lost half her nose to coke? Did she really want to live to regret every day that passed since Amy had offered her a way out? Amy had taken a chance on her when no one else would and that had touched Sheri to her core. She wouldn’t let her down.
‘I can’t wait,’ Sheri said quietly. She meant it.