Game Girls Read online

  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.

  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 a
ll 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.'