Dream On (44 page)

Overcoming her disgust, Ginny held out her hand to steady her. ‘We were just going to have some coffee. Come through to the kitchen and join us.'

‘Come and join us?' Shirley threw back her head and laughed wildly. ‘You've got a bit above yourself haven't you,
Miss
Martin?'

‘Can I do anything?' Flora called from the flat door, scared that he was going to be blamed for letting Shirley up the stairs, but even more scared that he might be expected to deal with the drunken woman who had just knocked the wind right out of him.

‘No, you're all right, Flora.' Saunders called back. ‘We can manage.'

‘You won't blame me for being pissed when you know what I've been through these last few months.' With a shaking hand, Shirley put down her coffee cup, sniffed loudly and pulled open her blouse, showing the small red scars dotted all over her torso. ‘Cigarette bums,' she said, tucking her blouse back in. ‘There're more, all over me. And I got this, this morning.' She turned her head to one side and lifted her hair away from her face.

In the bright spring sunshine slanting through the window, Ginny saw a row of raw, ugly gashes pitting Shirley's cheek.

Shirley brushed her hair forward with her fingers to cover the marks again. ‘Know how that happened?'

Ginny shook her head.

‘Fish hooks.'

‘What?'

‘Bastards who want to act the big man,' Saunders broke in, ‘to keep a girl in order. They sew them on to their sleeves. And then a gentle stroke across a girl's cheek . . . Well, you figure out the rest.'

Ginny covered her mouth with her hands. ‘That's
disgusting
.'

‘Too right, it's disgusting,' Saunders agreed. ‘You can't imagine the sort of slag who'd do that, can you?'

Ginny poured more coffee into Shirley's cup. ‘But why did you stay with him?'

‘Why did you?'

‘Sorry?'

‘You honestly don't know who I'm talking about, do you?' Shirley turned to Saunders. ‘So I don't suppose you do either.' She helped herself to one of Saunders's cigarettes. ‘I've been seeing her husband.'

Ginny shook her head. ‘No.'

‘Oh yes, Ginny. And d'you know what? If I hadn't been bringing in plenty of wages brassing for him, I reckon I'd be dead by now. Because he likes things rough, your husband. And I've just about had enough of it.'

Shirley leaned back and blew a plume of smoke into the air. ‘Is that why he never topped you, Ginny, because you were earning him plenty?'

‘Would someone mind telling me—'

A sly smile lit up Shirley's face. ‘Silly me, I forgot. You didn't know she was married, did you, Billy? I wonder what else you don't know about little Miss Perfect.'

Ginny stood up and grabbed Shirley by the arm. ‘Look, Shirley, I wanna talk to Billy. Go downstairs and Flora will make sure you get some breakfast to sober you up. And tell him to give you a tenner out of the till an' all.'

Billy shook his head. ‘No. You leave her. She can get something to eat in a minute. I've got a few questions I wanna—'

‘Don't listen to her, Billy. Please. It's over. It's been over for years. Why drag up old—'

‘Oh yes? It's over, is it?' Shirley leaned across the table and stared into Ginny's face, as she sat there like a rabbit trapped in a car's headlights. ‘That's not the way he tells it. He said he threw you out, that you begged him to have you back. But he wouldn't because you were such a trollop.' She chuckled horribly, a low, guttural sound in the back of her throat. ‘He's a right one, you know, Billy. Women go mad for him, even though he uses them. Been pimping for years, he has. Pimped for you, did he, Ginny? Were you already on the game when you met Leila and me? I bet you were. I always knew there was something about you. Something not quite true to form.
Did
he pimp for you? Or did he get you to do it for free for his friends? He likes that sometimes. Likes to watch. Bit funny, isn't he, your husband? Mind you, I bet he loves your little Miss Innocent act. That sort of thing would really get him going.'

She took another leisurely drag on her cigarette. ‘When did you last see him? Recently, was it?'

Saunders stood up, not caring that his dressing-gown was flapping open. ‘Get out, Shirley.'

Shirley looked at him and laughed. ‘There's one born every minute, they say, and you must be one of them. Mind you,' she said, lowering her eyes until her gaze rested on his groin, ‘I can see what Ginny sees in you.'

‘I'm gonna get dressed,' he said quietly, ‘and when I come out of that bedroom, you'd better be gone, Shirley. Or you'll be sorry.' He looked at Ginny and went to say something, but changed his mind.

He pressed his lips together, shook his head and strode over to the bedroom door. ‘I'm getting out of here,' he said, without turning round, ‘and I don't wanna hear another word from you, Ginny. Not another single word.'

Ginny ran to him, but he slammed the bedroom door in her face. ‘If there's one thing I can't stand,' he shouted, ‘it's being taken for a fucking mug.'

‘Let me in, Billy, please,' she sobbed.

‘Leave it, Ginny. Just leave it. Keep your old toffee for the punters.'

Ginny slid down the door and collapsed on to the carpet in a crumpled heap.

‘You know when they say that things are “nothing personal”?' Shirley asked, as she hauled herself to her feet. ‘Well, this was completely personal. From the day I met you you've made my life a misery, now I hope you're as miserable as I am. Cheerio, Ginny. I won't wish you good luck.'

‘Thanks for coming, Leila.' Ginny stepped back and let her into the flat. ‘I know we've not spoken for a while, but I—'

‘It's okay. No need to be embarrassed, sweetie, it's easy enough to lose touch when you're busy.'

Leila followed Ginny into the sitting-room, pulling off her gloves and tucking them into her handbag. ‘It's such a wonderful evening,' she said, walking over to the window and looking out. ‘Nearly half past seven and it's still so warm. Summer's really here at last.'

She turned and faced Ginny, her professional smile lifting her lips, but not reaching her eyes. ‘And this is a lovely flat.'

‘I know I should have asked you over before,' Ginny began. ‘I feel terrible. You've not even been back to the club since opening night, have you?'

Leila laughed mirthlessly. ‘What a night that was.'

Ginny gestured for her to sit down on one of the armchairs that stood either side of the tiled fireplace. ‘That was the night you told Shirley to get out, wasn't it?'

Leila shook her head. ‘Don't remind me. It's been eight months and I've not heard a word. She might have sent a note of apology. No class, some people.' She took out her cigarettes and offered one to Ginny. ‘Still, all that's water under the bridge. Let's get down to present-day business. Nice as it is to see you, Ginny, why the sudden invitation?'

Ginny reached across and lit Leila's cigarette with the heavy chromium table lighter that stood on the coffee table between them. ‘You heard about me and Billy breaking up?'

‘I heard.'

‘Did Billy tell you?'

Leila thought for a moment. ‘Yes.'

‘So you've seen him?'

Leila lifted her hands. ‘Now and again.'

‘How is he?'

‘Is that why you asked me over. To find out how he is?'

‘Sort of.' Ginny shrugged. ‘So, how is he?'

Leila didn't reply immediately; she took her time tapping the end of her cigarette into one of the pair of tall chromium ashtrays that matched the table lighter. ‘Look, why don't you just tell me what's on your mind, Ginny? Where all this is leading.'

Ginny stood up. ‘Would you like some coffee? Tea? Something stronger?'

‘A gin and tonic would be nice.'

Ginny dipped her chin. ‘This isn't easy for me, Leila,' she said, going over to the cocktail cabinet.

‘I can tell.'

As Ginny opened the lid, and the twinkling music box rendition of ‘Secret Love' began to play, tears blurred her eyes. She swiped at them with the back of her hand and got on with pouring the drinks.

‘I wanted to find out if it really was over between me and Billy,' she said, setting the glasses down on the table.

Leila shifted uncomfortably. ‘Why ask me?'

It was as though Ginny hadn't heard her question. ‘You know, Leila,' she went on, staring down into her, ‘I really thought Billy cared about me. But then Shirley turned up.'

Leila frowned. Shirley?

‘She said these terrible things about me. Made Billy think I'd been putting on an act. That I'd been having him over. That I was . . .' Ginny sniffed miserably. ‘Never mind what she made him think. Maybe she's right in some ways. But I don't understand how . . .' She rubbed her hands over her face and took a deep breath. ‘How one minute, he could act as though he really wanted to be with me, then to turn against me like that. I've tried talking to him, to explain. But he won't see me, won't even speak on the phone. He's not been near the place for over two months.' She raised her head and looked at Leila. ‘That's why I had to talk to you. To see if there was a way I could get in touch with him. To pass a message on. Anything. You've always been close. He'd listen to you.'

Leila said nothing; she just sipped her drink.

‘Leila, please, tell me, has Billy got someone else? Is that why you're not saying anything?'

Leila opened her eyes wide and sighed loudly. ‘You might as well know, Ginny. Me and Billy. We're sort of together again.'

‘You and Billy?'

‘Like I say, it's just sort of. And I expect there are probably one or two others in the picture. Because, let's face it, he's not exactly the faithful type, now is he?'

‘He was when we were together.'

Leila smiled stiffly. ‘Was he, darling? Are you sure?'

Ginny didn't answer. ‘Is he happy?'

‘He doesn't really say.' Leila picked up her bag and stood up. ‘Look, I don't want to be rude, but I must go, I've got an appointment at nine and it's not polite keeping people waiting, now is it.'

‘Will you tell him I was asking after him? And I'd love to, you know, hear how he is.'

‘Of course I will.'

‘Thanks for coming, Leila. Thanks for everything,' Ginny said quietly. ‘Especially for being so honest.'

‘Any time, sweetie. Any time.'

As Leila stepped out into the early June sunshine, she drew in a deep lungful of air. Now Ginny was out of the picture, maybe she really did have a chance of getting back with Billy again. She just hoped he never got to hear about the little white lie she'd told that they already were.

It was true then, he really didn't want her any more. Ginny lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, tears spilling down her cheeks and running into her ears. She'd waited a whole fortnight for him to call, but she'd heard nothing.

And she'd loved him so much – she still loved him – but he had chosen to believe a drunken tart, hadn't even given her the chance to explain.

She rolled on to her side and stared at the wall. It was all her fault, she should never have . . .

Never have what? Let someone into her life again? Let herself become involved? Lie?

No, none of those things. Even lying wasn't as stupid as letting herself believe she could ever be happy again.

But it was no good going over it all again – that was all she had done for two long weeks. It was too late for that now. This was the way Billy wanted things and she had no choice. All she could do was get on with her life.

But how could she carry on without the man she loved?

She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed herself to sleep like an abandoned child.

An hour later, Ginny was wrenched awake by the telephone ringing on her bedside table.

She was alert immediately and snatched up the receiver. ‘Billy?'

‘No, Miss Martin, it's Flora. Just to let you know we've been open a wee while now and the customers are asking for you.'

‘Okay, Flora, I'll be down.'

Ginny dragged herself from her bed, had a bath, did her hair, put on her make-up and her slinkiest black satin sheath dress and, less than an hour after Flora had phoned, she was walking into the second-floor bar with her chin in the air and her eyes as dry as if they had never seen a tear.

‘You look magnificent, Miss Martin,' Flora cooed. ‘The best I've seen you look in weeks.'

‘Thanks,' she said flatly. ‘Is Simon Parker in tonight?'

Flora wrapped his pudgy fingers round his chin. ‘Parker?'

‘The journalist.'

‘Aw, him. The very nice-looking blond?'

‘That's the one.'

‘His name's Simon, is it?' Flora flapped his glass cloth in the general direction of the stage. ‘He's up the other end. I've been watching him hanging on to every word that big-mouthed git, Welsh Davey, has been spouting. One of the waiters – young Alan – was earwigging earlier. He said Welsh Davey was going on about how there's not a bank vault in the whole country that he can't blow. And he said the reporter was lapping it up. Probably thinks there's a story in it.' Flora leaned across the bar and said in low-voiced confidence, ‘But I hope he doesn't write it; it's all rubbish.'

‘Everyone knows Welsh Davey's a liar, Flora.'

‘I don't think that young newspaper feller does. From the look of him, he thinks Davey's the source of all flaming wisdom.'

Ginny did her best to produce a thin smile. ‘I'll sort him out. If anyone wants me, I'll be over at Mr Parker's table.'

‘I envy you, Miss Martin.' Flora rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘I only wish I could say the same.'