Purgatory Is a Place Too Read online

  I reached across and grasped his wrist. “Seriously, Sahmir. You’re vital to this. Only you can get in with those men without raising suspicion. Only you can record what they’re saying to each other when they’re out of earshot of everyone else, and if we don’t have a good, decent Muslim man on the case, we risk all out racially motivated warfare in this town. You need to shame the ambivalent in your community to stand up and be counted.”

  I saw him swallowing convulsively. It was a big thing to ask of an eighteen, nearly nineteen year old, but in some countries he’d have been fighting in the army by now. He could do it. And I knew that he wanted to rise to the challenge. It was just that the reality of what he was getting himself into was just sinking in.

  Afterwards I took him straight round to Chetsi and Taib. I knew he hung out there a lot with Raj to watch the cricket on Sky. So at first they barely took a second glance. But when I lay the GPS locator loaded smartphone on the table and asked them to be the guardians of his alarm call, they looked back and forwards between us.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Chetsi asked him.

  Sahmir straightened up. “I have to, don’t I? Some Muslim man has to do it. And it makes complete sense for it to be me…”

  I showed him the mark on my arm. “I know you may not be able to pick and choose who you hook up with, but one mark is Kaz’s and I’m already in that group and I don’t think it would be a great idea for the two of us to coincide. Two marks is Mohammed. Three is Hussein’s. And I need to warn you Sahmir that Hussein might well turn out to be your Tariq’s friend Hussein Malik from the Golden Disc. You know, your near neighbour…”

  He looked utterly shocked.

  “You know he was one of the three men who beat me up when I was sixteen? Put me in hospital?”

  He shook his head.

  “And he was one of the men who was dealing drugs with Beck, and poured petrol over Quinn and threatened to set him alight when we were only sixteen?” I established.

  He shook his head. “I guess I was only fourteen. I just didn’t know!” He stared at me. “Are you serious that he might be – well – you know..?”

  We all looked at him.

  “Well I suppose that’s a ready-made link for me to exploit,” he said in a slightly hoarse voice. He cleared his throat. “At least he might trust me straight away.” I could see he was already feeling slightly sick.

  That week I looked up a list of Local Authority children’s homes. I went and sat outside looking all lost and vulnerable, about nine o’clock at night. I watched several cars slow down, but I didn’t know if it was significant. A text came through on Jessica’s phone. The Lofthouse. 10pm 2nite.

  I put ‘the Lofthouse’ into Googlemaps. A small winebar came up by that title about ten minutes’ walk away. Ok, so it was Mohammed’s group. But I had a contact in there now. Maybe no-one would query my turning up. Come to think of it, Kaz would probably be the most gobsmacked of all if I ever turned up at one of his gatherings, because he would know jolly well that he’d never seen me in his life before – so how come I’d acquired one of his marks? On that basis, I decided I was safer turning up at Mohammed’s.

  I walked by the wine bar twice. It looked perfectly normal. Completely normal. I pushed the door open and walked inside. There were normal, mainly white men in there. A few women. An Asian man behind the bar drying glasses. He glanced at me and wordlessly jerked his head towards the door at the far end.

  I obediently went along to the door and pushed it open. Just the toilets. Weird. I stood there staring around, puzzled. Then the only unlabelled door suddenly opened and a guy looked crossly at me. “Come on, get a move on!” He stood back to let me pass him up a flight of stairs. Feeling a bit sick, I went up the stairs. Just a normal flat up there. Settee, rugs, armchairs. Quite upmarket in fact. White and dove grey. Marble standard lamps. I stared around.

  “Well get on with it, you know what to do!” The guy snapped at me.

  I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. “I’m new. Honestly, I don’t know what to do!” I protested.

  He grabbed my face between his fingers and gripped it viciously tight. “Then you’d better learn fast,” he threatened.

  Another door opened and the handsome guy from the passenger seat of the car outside the school came out of a bedroom. He stopped short when he saw me there and frowned. I pulled away from the guy holding me and ran over to the handsome one. “I’m new. Honestly, I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what I’m being asked to do!” With my eyes I pleaded for him to save me. My heart was thumping hard. I didn’t have to act that much.

  He took hold of my arm, straightened it out and showed the one round scar to the other man. “Not a great idea, Siddiq. You know what Kaz is like. Better not, huh?”

  Siddiq swore. The handsome one looked me up and down, holding my arms out, like he was eyeing up horseflesh for sale. “And I reckon she’s being saved for something special.” He ran a finger across the long white scar on my upper left arm. “Shame about that though.”

  A buzzer rang, and then again. Siddiq gave an exclamation of relief then disappeared down the stairs. My handsome one sat down in a nearby armchair and drew me down on his lap. I sat stiffly. How did I get the balance right between appearing like I was ready to be influenced by him, and yet not giving him too much encouragement? It seemed that being under the protection of an evil bastard might just keep me a bit safer as long as I wasn’t with the evil bastard himself.

  “What’s your name?” I asked in a childlike voice.

  “Ash,” he answered smilingly. “What’s yours?”

  I hadn’t got one prepared. Ellen was the first name beginning with ‘E’ that popped into my head, but was anyone called that these days? “Ellie,” I said.

  “And how old are you Ellie?” He said with a smile.

  “Fourteen,” I said.

  “That’s a sweet age,” he commented. He ran his hand down my arms again. “Look at those muscles,” he remarked, not altogether approvingly.

  “I do gymnastics,” I said hastily. Then I really, really, hoped that I’d never get asked to do a back flip or something dumb like that.

  Saddiq reappeared with two girls in tow. I couldn’t tell what age they were. Probably about fifteen. They disappeared giggling into the bedroom.

  “Have you ever had sex, Ellie?” Ash asked me.

  “No,” I said quickly. “No, never!”

  “Then why’s Kaz marked her then?” Saddiq said cynically, glancing over at us.

  So they only marked them once they’d had sex with them?

  Ash stroked my legs admiringly. “Guess he didn’t want anyone else to have her till he’d got his way with her. Look at this lovely white skin.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “Is this blonde natural?” He asked me.

  “Yes,” I said. I had learned not to shake my head or nod. “It was nearly white when I was really little,” I volunteered.

  He was looking me over, including lifting up my skirt, just like a little girl does when she’s given a new dolly, before she undresses it. And then he started taking off my shoe. The one with the locator in it.

  “What are you doing?” I panicked and it came out in my voice.

  “I just want to see your feet. I like feet,” he said soothingly. “Is that ok?”

  Just what I needed. A guy with a foot fettish! “Ok,” I said uncertainly. Did he know about the locator somehow? But no. It seemed he did just like feet. He had a look and made me point it like a ballerina. Then he held it and ran his finger up the sole which made me jump away and that made him laugh. “Good,” he said, sounding satisfied. “You’ve got little round toes, not those gross long hairy ones.” He made it sound like he’d had an orangutan in here…

  The buzzer went again, and then Saddiq came back with a man. A balding middle aged man with a paunch. The girls were brought out. They were giggling still. I stared at them. They were dressed in beads and feathers and high heels
like a cross between a striptease act and a Can-Can dancer. I glanced enquiringly at Ash.

  “We get some customers with funny tastes,” he whispered in my ear, like he was letting me in an amusing secret. “They like a bit of play acting.”

  Customers? I thought. He’s openly implying that this is a sex business. The girls started pulling the man’s trousers down.

  “Shouldn’t we leave them alone?” I whispered in Ash’s ear. He smelt of spices, and sandalwood and some kind of expensive aftershave. I didn’t want to smell him.

  “No, let’s just sit and watch,” he whispered back, and he held me firmly on his lap. Saddiq went away, leaving me and Ash sitting here. I had to watch. I had to watch because I had to keep the camera trained on them. And whenever I instinctively averted my eyes, Ash would gently, but firmly, turn my head back towards the scene. I wished I could get that shoe back on. But he kept fondling my foot and then running his hands up my legs. How far would he go with a girl he believed to be only fourteen? But he kept just stopping short of my knicker elastic. His fingers would rest there but they didn’t go any further. Which was fine by me, but also sort of not. Because I would have liked to be able to report that he’d attempted to feel up an underage girl. All this was a bit subtle. The rather disgusting sex acts going on in front of me appeared to be done by the girls without complaint and without threats or physical punishment by the men. What would the police say? That this was consensual? If I was a naïve fourteen year old, would I be thinking that Ash really cared about me, and would I be sitting here watching this to please him? Or would I be sitting here tensely terrified of displeasing him? I had no idea. If I had no inkling of what they might be capable of, then maybe I wouldn’t be that scared? He hadn’t actually done anything threatening, even if this was all completely inappropriate. Maybe I’d be thinking this was really cool?

  His hands stroking me made me feel sick and unclean. What if next time Pete stroked me all I could think about was that horrid wrinkly middle aged bum bobbing in front of me. Was that all part of the process of the grooming? To awaken fourteen year old Ellie’s burgeoning sexuality with the touching while getting her subconscious mind to link sexuality with acts such as what was going on in front of me.

  “Have some wine,” Ash offered me.

  “No thanks,” I said swiftly. “You have it.”

  He put the bottle back down. “I don’t drink,” he said.

  I glanced at him. He smiled at me and reached into his pocket and pulled out a small packet of pills. “Try one of these then,” he proffered.

  “What are they?” I asked for the recording. But he wouldn’t say. “Not tonight,” I put off. He didn’t try and force me. Grooming, I thought. Get her drunk. Get her addicted to drugs.

  The man in front of me was now undressing the girls. One of them was a bit wobbly and stumbling, like she was drunk or high. One of them seemed more with it. And I saw that her face was now screwed up in disgust and her teeth were gritted. Ok, not so consensual, I thought. But not clear enough to be proof. I tried to look away then remembered I couldn’t. I felt like I too was being abused just by being made to watch this. But I didn’t think it could count as abuse as I was voluntarily putting myself through this. Maybe this was what all the girls felt? Sick and unclean and really abused, and yet somehow they thought they were doing it voluntarily to themselves, so therefore it was their own fault?

  The man left. The girls went back in the bedroom. One was stumbling so bad that she couldn’t walk. The less drunk girl came suddenly out again and ran into what I presumed was a bathroom and started throwing up. I had to concentrate hard not to gag myself as a reflex action to the sound. As though to cover it, Ash started talking pleasantly to me again. “Hey beautiful, what do you think of Kaz then?”

  “I’d rather not say,” I said in a small frightened sounding voice.

  He smiled and held out my left arm. “How about us adding a second mark? It’ll only take a moment. And then you can jump ship to me? I’ll treat you right…”

  I was scared he was just going to do it. I tried to pull my arm away. “No, don’t, it hurts!”

  “Only for a moment,” he soothed.

  I glared at him. “For at least a week!”

  He let go of my arm. My breathing was fast. His eyes lingered on the rise and fall of my chest, then he smiled into my eyes. “What do you want? I’ll give you anything you want…”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll buy you a present fit for the Princess you are,” he promised manipulatively. “Anything you fancy?”

  I was silent. I didn’t know what sort of thing to ask for. His hand ran up my leg and I had to concentrate hard not to shudder or push it off me. “So I’ll make it a surprise shall I?” He said, his eyes now lingering on my legs.

  If I was fourteen, I’d fall for this wouldn’t I? I liked to think that I wouldn’t have at that age… But what if he’d promised me a Cagiva Mito? What then? Would I have been sucked in for a big enough prize or had my head been screwed on firmly enough at that age to know the guy was serious trouble? I glanced at my watch. “I have to go now.”

  He saw me down the stairs and out into the street with no protest whatsoever. We stopped a few metres down from the wine bar. “Where do you live?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Do you have parents or are you in Care?” He asked.

  I hesitated. “I’m in foster care,” I said. I needed a convincing back story.

  “Ah, that’s a shame,” he said sympathetically. “I know how hard that is. Well you know where I am if you need some light relief or a listening ear…” He promised.

  God, he was so plausible! He had no intention of raping me tonight, I realised. He was going to try to get me to sleep with him voluntarily. And then he’d mark me. And then he’d induct me into doing things for other men, probably under the heavy influence of drugs and drink and then if I didn’t comply, only then would I be raped, or threatened with blackmail pictures, or have my little sisters and friends and family threatened. At least, that’s what I guessed the sequence would be. No wonder these poor girls were confused. They thought it was all their own fault. They believed the guy loved them and was their real boyfriend. By the time it all turned nasty they’d probably been introduced to drugs and drink and were addicted to something and thought they were sacrificing themselves to save their family.

  “Do you need a lift home?” He offered, he pointed at a car parked just down the road. I froze. It was a gleaming dark green Porshe. A Cayman GTS. I walked along to it and stared down at the spotless windscreen.

  “New windscreen?” I asked.

  His lips tightened for a moment. “Yep, some tosser smashed it up. Had to have some dents and scratches repaired too.”

  They’d done a good job. I trailed my fingers along the bonnet rather like he had been trailing his fingers up and down my legs, admiring the merchandise. “No I won’t have a lift thanks, it’s not far,” I said. That should throw him off the scent. Have him circling round the area for hours looking for me.

  As I walked away I felt shaken and sick. This was the guy who’d been sitting outside Jessica’s house texting her to come out or else. One of the men who had driven her to self-harming and suicide. And he’d been nice as pie to me. Charming. Promising me the earth. That’s how it started, obviously. It was really late but when I got in, but I just had to ring Nick.

  “How do I get to feel clean again, Nick?” I appealed to him. “I feel dirty, disgusting, like I want to tear my eyes out and boil my skin off! And that’s just after one short sordid interlude. These girls have to do it, day in and day out. I’m worried this is going to affect my mind. That it’s going to mess up stuff…”

  “Blog it all,” he advised. “Distance yourself emotionally and watch it as though it’s on a screen on TV and has nothing to do with you. And when it gets to you like this, document every single detail, every single feeling, every thought. G
et it out of your system. And maybe we can use some bits of it to show what the girls must be going through.” He paused. “Honestly Eve, you’re doing a good thing here. Keep it up and we might be able to expose this effectively and finally get some of these deviant bastards put away.”

  I needed to hear that. I needed to hear that it was worth it. I went into the bathroom and stood in the shower and scrubbed myself till I was raw.

  On Thursday I went up to the barn to get my car ready for the two tarmac world qualifiers at the weekend. Pete came in and watched what I was doing.

  After a bit, he asked with interest, “Who suggested that set-up to you?”

  “Why should anyone have suggested it to me?” I said defensively.

  He grinned. “Dad thinks you must be going to Rob. Only person left for you to go to, he says.”

  I made a zipping action across my lips. “I’m saying nothing,” I said stubbornly.

  “Big Bad Rob,” Pete mused aloud. “Mr. Mean. Is that why you’ve become so ruthless all of a sudden? Driving dirty?”

  “I’m not driving dirty!” I defended vigorously.

  “Don’t put Dad in the fence at Buxton will you? It’ll spoil the whole weekend. We have to get all the way down to St. Day straight after…”

  I sighed. “Ok, if you promise me he won’t do it to me either?”

  “I’ll pass the message on if you like,” Pete promised.

  I thought about Rob accusing me of making deals and not wanting to upset the team applecart. And here I was at it again.

  “Lovely evening. Do you want to sit out in the beer garden at the George for a bit?” He suggested.

  At the George I knocked back a double whisky, then a second, then a third.

  Pete eyed me askance. “What’s got into you?”

  “It won’t affect me,” I claimed confidently. “My Dad can always drink Quinn’s Dad under the table, and I could always do the same to Quinn. It’s in the genes.”

  “Well you’re not driving home tonight,” Pete told me severely. “I’ll have to drop you back.”