Harsh rain pummelled the roof and windscreen of Nicole’s TVR Chimaera. It was bringing on a pain in Shelley’s head. Her hair was still damp after her shower, and the client they’d just spent the evening with in Belgravia had plied her with alcohol and cocaine – not that she’d objected, but with a cold head and the rain trying to penetrate the car, her buzz was being slaughtered.
“Have you got any puff?” she asked Nicole.
“Check the glove box. There might be a bit in the Silk Cut packet.” Taking one hand off the steering wheel, Nicole switched on the overhead light. “Can you believe what’s come out about O J Simpson? How the hell did he get off the first time?”
“Money, from what I’ve read.” Shelley foraged for the cigarette box.
“When do you ever read a newspaper?”
“How can you smoke these? They’re like smoking fresh air.” Shelley waved the Silk Cut ten-pack. “Will you pull over so I can skin up?”
Nicole parked on Eaton Place. Shelley put a Rizla on her lap, broke off part of a cigarette and emptied the tobacco onto the paper. She needed a smoke before they delivered the fee to Marianne. She was dreading looking at her. This was the first time she’d had to see her since finding out what she’d done to her and her friends. How had Marianne been able to look at them knowing what she’d done?
“That cunt makes me feel sick.” Shelley crushed the warmed hash between her fingers, sprinkling it over the tobacco.
“I don’t think anyone likes a wife-killer.”
“I’m talking about Marianne.”
“Sorry.” Nicole covered her mouth with her hand.
“We need to get moving. I can’t keep this nicey-nicey act going much longer. I told Angel we’d all meet up this week and now it’s already Tuesday.”
“Don’t fret about it, love. I’ll call Tara tomorrow. We’ll get it done this week.”
***
The Chimaera roared as Nicole raced down Pont Street, heading towards Marianne’s flat. As usual, parking was at a premium in Cadogan Gardens. Though unlike Shelley, Nicole didn’t hide her car around the corner on purpose, she ended up parking there nonetheless.
Shelley wasn’t sure if it was one precautionary measure too many, ensuring her car was always parked out of Marianne’s sight. Could she really track her down from her registration plate? Although most of the madams Shelley worked for seemed nice enough, she was sure there were bound to be some insalubrious characters amongst them. And as she regularly stole their clients, in the event they ever found out, those were the type she didn’t want knowing her real name and address.
Staying out of the rain, they counted Marianne’s fee in Nicole’s car. Shelley was sickened that not only did she have to see Marianne, but she also had to pay her for the privilege. The job had been a short two-hour stint and, as was often the case, they didn’t have sex with the client. In this instance, he was too coked-up to get an erection. That was why Shelley, and most of the other working girls she knew, preferred the cocaine and crack jobs. Generally, they didn’t involve intercourse, not with the client.
“Let’s get this over with.” Nicole released the spring on her black umbrella before getting out of the car. She went round to the passenger side, holding the umbrella over Shelley as she stepped out into the rain.
Turning the corner towards Marianne’s building, Shelley heard sirens. Nicole didn’t react, appearing not to notice the noise. Though nearly sure that it was in her head, it didn’t stop Shelley’s heart speeding up and her mind picturing the police arresting her for the dead john at The Lanesborough. Distracted by her thoughts, she skidded on the pavement strewn with mushiness from fallen browning blossom.
Nicole steadied her. “Are you all right, love?”
“I just hate being here,” Shelley said. The joint had calmed her marginally, but what she really wanted was to shoot some gear, and that couldn’t happen until after they’d paid Marianne, Nicole had dropped her home and she was finally by herself.
Nicole pointed in the direction of Marianne’s block, farther up the road, opposite the gated garden. “D’you see that?”
“What?”
“There’s Old Bill on sick bitch’s step.”
***
On seeing the platoon of police stood outside the red-bricked building, Shelley’s board called an emergency meeting. Her head was cramped with their voices speaking over one another.
“That doesn’t mean anything. There’s lots of flats in the block.”
“It could be anybody. Maybe someone was burgled.”
“Maybe the police traced your call from The Lanesborough.”
“You’re just paranoid from taking cocaine.”
The sirens Shelley had been listening to were now so loud they sounded as if they were in the next street. A police car zoomed past, splashing up a colossal puddle and drenching Shelley. She tugged on Nicole’s sleeve, signalling her to stop. They stood still, watching from a distance.
Huddled under the large umbrella, the rain couldn’t get to them but it was of little use to Shelley. She was now soaked on one side of her coat right through to her dress and her knickers, and her thick hair hadn’t dried at all since her earlier shower.
“We look too obvious,” Shelley said, shivering. In an effort to appear inconspicuous, she lit a cigarette, although a dog on a leash would have been more appropriate.
After a short while, she saw two police officers marching someone down the steps. From where she stood, she couldn’t tell if the figure was Marianne. In the brightness of the security light, she could see that the clothes were overbearingly garish and it did look like blonde hair, but it could have been a pale-coloured hat.
Shelley advised lighting another cigarette and walking closer. With their second round of cigarettes lit, they sidled towards Marianne’s building. It only took a few steps for Shelley to see who the police had hold of and were now shoving into a panda car.
“Serves that sick bitch right!” Nicole poked her umbrella in the air.
“Yeah,” Shelley said meekly, imagining she was about to be picked up by the police herself for a crime she hadn’t committed. How long would the sentence be?
“What? You don’t sound very sure.”
“I just wanted to deal with her our way.” Shelley turned, walking back towards the car.
“They won’t keep her for long. It’ll be tax evasion or living off immoral earnings. She’ll get a slap on the wrist and a fine.”
All Shelley could think about was getting home and fixing up, if she managed to get there. It might be her last hit if someone had seen her at The Lanesborough and was able to identify her, if the police had her DNA, if she missed wiping her prints from something in the suite. She had to change her appearance. She had to pray the Royal Free didn’t have her DNA. She had to get rid of her working flat. What if Tara told Marianne her real name and address? Her head spun with such velocity it affected her vision. Her legs quivered. She tightened her grip on Nicole’s arm.
“What’s wrong?” Nicole asked.
“I’m just tired, maybe.”
Nicole stopped under a black street lantern. She unlinked her arm from Shelley’s and turned to face her. “I can tell there’s something upsetting you. What is it?”
“No, really, I’m fine. I haven’t been getting enough sleep, and I think I did too much coke.” Apart from the ‘no’ and the ‘fine’ that was true, and as such, it wasn’t the time to contemplate discussing the dead john. She’d ingested too many chemicals to make a balanced decision.
“Yeah, you were putting it away tonight.” Nicole re-linked her arm in Shelley’s and set them off walking again. “If something is the matter though, you know I’m always here for you, don’t you?” She squeezed Shelley’s arm in the crook of her elbow. “You can talk to me about anything. I'll never judge you, Shell, never."