The Victim Page 15

  ‘If you hadn’t upset Georgina, she wouldn’t have run off …’ Wasn’t that what Jonathan had said? He was right. Georgie might not have been responsible for the wounds that had killed her friend, but she had good as murdered her with her actions.

  Suddenly the shell felt threatening in her pocket, rather than reassuring.

  ‘You have bath and then we give you clothes.’

  The second woman was definitely the one in charge. There was another toothy gold grin. ‘We give you massage too.’

  Feeling as if she’d stumbled into another world, Georgie allowed herself to be led into the side room she’d seen. In the corner was a large bath with yellow and white petals floating on top.

  ‘You wash,’ said the first girl.

  Georgie waited for her to leave but she just stood there, smiling. Embarrassed, she scrubbed herself fast with the loofah and then dried herself with the large white towel held out to her.

  ‘Now you lie on bed. Not that way. Face down.’

  She did as told. The girl’s hands worked their way into every sinew as if they belonged to a lover who knew her well. Georgie’s eyes closed. She was back in Joly’s arms. Giving herself up to his hands, his mouth, his body.

  The past blurred into oblivion as, dimly aware that the massage was finally over, she fell into a deep sleep, clutching Georgina’s precious shell inside her right hand.

  That spark of suspicion had gone now. Instead, she had this inexplicable certainty that the shell would keep her safe.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Don’t write many letters, myself.

  Didn’t know how to write until I had my first stretch. There was a prison officer there who helped me. Fancied me, she did. I quite fancied her too.

  Anyway, she got what she wanted. And I got what I needed.

  ‘Didn’t you go to school?’ she asked.

  I shrugged. My mum hadn’t made me. And when I went to my foster parents, they didn’t know when I started to skip classes.

  So they put me in a different school. It was my fourth one. By then I was eleven. Some of my mates were on their sixth or seventh.

  They still can’t write.

  Just goes to show that not all prison officers are scum.

  But don’t tell anyone I said that. Or my mates will think I’ve gone soft.

  TWENTY-SIX

  She didn’t need much, Georgie told herself firmly as she glanced around the beautiful home she’d made with Sam after returning to the UK. If she stopped to agonise over which clothes or which precious possessions to take, she’d never get away.

  Often, in the past, when watching refugees on television make their lonely path across a dusty, war-torn battle ground, she’d wondered how many of those women had had to leave behind items that meant a great deal to them.

  Now she knew it didn’t – couldn’t – matter. Besides, hadn’t she done this once before, already? It might have been years ago but it felt almost like yesterday …

  ‘You will need something to wear,’ the girl in the green dress had announced when Georgie woke from her sleep.

  It was morning, judging from the rays of sun that were streaming through the curtainless windows. How had she got here? It wasn’t the same room where she’d had her massage. It was a smaller one with lots of knickknacks on the dressing table: mainly brightly coloured cats in that glossy, lacquered material which she’d seen in markets.

  Someone must have moved her here. The girl in front of her? The one handing her a dress in a colour similar to her own? ‘I had a friend to make it in your size,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘How did you know my measurements?’

  The girl grinned again. ‘I just look at you.’

  A wave of embarrassed heat washed over her. She was still naked under the sheets after the massage, she suddenly realised. That was what was different. So this woman had appraised her, run her eyes over her sleeping body and then got her friend to make this dress. The type which she would have worn to a ball at home if there had been such a thing to go to.

  ‘Please. You try it on.’

  Her new boss stood there, watching. Still grinning. ‘Please may I have some privacy?’ Georgie wanted to say.

  But it seemed rude and the longer she waited for the woman to go, the more awkward it felt.

  ‘You put it on.’

  The smile had gone now. The eyes narrowed.

  Hot with shyness now, she slid out of the bed and into the dress as fast as possible. There was no offer of underwear.

  The grin returned as fast as it had disappeared. ‘Perfect fit,’ she announced. ‘Look.’

  Taking Georgie by the hand, she led her to a long thin mirror that was hanging by the door. She gasped. For a minute, she saw Georgie standing there. Tall. Confident. Elegant. Beautifully dressed. This dress was far better than one she could have made herself.

  Then she frowned. Suddenly Georgina was there in her place.

  ‘Do not frown,’ the woman instructed. ‘The clients. They do not like it.’

  Clients! That reminded her. After all, this dress was her uniform. ‘When do I start work?’

  A lazy smile crept across the woman’s face. ‘Later. You have breakfast now. Then you rest. Then you work.’

  Something didn’t feel quite right.

  ‘First you take off dress.’ A long, thin, brown arm stretched itself out expectantly to take it.

  ‘But what will I wear?’

  For a minute, Georgie had a horrible vision of being expected to eat breakfast naked.

  ‘I have other.’

  As if by magic, there was a rustle of more material and a pair of thin black trousers and a white top appeared from a bag by the door. Once more, they fitted perfectly. The trousers felt cool in the heat, which was already beginning to take over the day. They ended halfway between her knees and ankles. There was a pair of beige flat shoes too. A perfect fit.

  ‘We will have high heels for the dress by evening,’ announced her benefactor. ‘It is being taken care of now.’

  Georgie felt as though she had stepped into Cinderella’s life. She was about to ask for a more detailed breakdown of her job description when there was the sound of a little bell in the distance.

  Her companion took her hand, almost roughly. For a woman, she had a firm grasp. ‘Come. We must go.’

  Through one door and then another. The massage parlour might look small from the outside but it was a veritable labyrinth behind, she thought as they came to a small courtyard garden, and the woman who’d worn the blue dress the previous night was already sitting by the small pool in the middle. There was a young boy too who watched her keenly. On a table in front of them were small bowls filled with a steaming, brownish-green liquid. There were two other places set too, waiting.

  ‘Good morning. How was your sleeps?’

  Sleep, Georgie wanted to say. It’s sleep, not sleeps. Yet she held back fearing this might sound rude.

  ‘Very good, thank you.’

  ‘You like the massage, yes?’

  There was an all-round giggle which made Georgie blush.

  ‘Thank you. It was very relaxing.’ Then she hesitated. ‘Please. Can you tell me what you are called and also what I am expected to do?’

  All three faces turned solemn. The woman in green spoke first. ‘You may call me Emerald.’

  She turned to the other. ‘My sister is known as Sapphire. The boy, he is just “boy”.’

  The youth remained impassive. Georgie wondered if he even spoke English.

  ‘As for your duties, you are to meet the customers as I said last night. You welcome them. Give them green tea.’ She gestured to the small bowls in front of them. ‘Talk to them like your Queen. Make them feel at home.’

  Like your Queen? Georgie resisted an urge to giggle.

  ‘You are hostess,’ added Sapphire more kindly. ‘If they like you, they come back for more.’

  ‘More massages?’

  The two women burst out laughing. Th
e boy followed although Georgie suspected that he was only doing so because everyone else did.

  ‘Of course,’ said Sapphire, taking a sip from the bowl in front of her. ‘What else?’

  The thought had crossed Georgie’s mind that this might be a brothel. Then again, the bed which she had lain on had been a proper massage table – didn’t that make them seem legitimate?

  ‘Too many questions,’ continued Sapphire with an edge to her voice that Georgie hadn’t heard before. ‘You drink now. And eat.’

  At the word ‘eat’, the boy jumped up, only to return in seconds with a bowl of fruit and a large dish of something which tasted like natural yogurt.

  It was too hot to eat much. In fact, she was already feeling sleepy, which was strange since she had only just woken. ‘We rest now,’ said Emerald.

  Taking her by the hand, she led her back to the small room where Georgie had woken up in. Before she knew it, she was dreaming again; running along the beach hand in hand with Joly …

  There was a knock on the door. Beano was barking furiously. Just the postman. That was all right then. Beano? How could she think of leaving him behind?

  Georgie buried her face in his fur. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I wish you could understand.’

  Then she carried on writing. Writing the letter which Lyndsey’s father had put in her mind. Writing the letter which she would leave for Sam to find when he returned home.

  It was just the basic facts, but he deserved some kind of explanation.

  Georgie’s first client arrived at 7 p.m. Before that, there had been a flurry of preparations which reminded her of the one and only school play which she’d been in. Sapphire and Emerald fussed over her as if she was a famous film star. One did her hair, putting it up in such a way that Georgie had to admit flattered her face. The other brushed powder onto her face, accentuating her cheekbones, and then succeeded in making her eyelashes twice their natural length.

  Georgina stared out at her from the mirror. Georgie could barely look.

  ‘You are beautiful, yes?’

  Georgie didn’t know how to answer that. A yes would have seemed too boastful. Yet a no would clearly have been a lie.

  ‘You are very clever,’ she murmured.

  Both women preened at the compliment. Then it was their turn. Georgie could only sit and watch in amazement as they stepped behind a screen to shed their light cotton trousers and top and stepped out, wearing different dresses from the previous night but in the same colour. Tonight’s outfits had more modest necklines.

  Wordlessly, they proceeded to sit down at the mirror and do each other’s hair and make-up.

  The whole transformation took less than ten minutes.

  Then there was the sound of the bell: similar to the one which had announced breakfast and then later, lunch.

  ‘You must go.’

  Emerald pushed her out of the door towards the reception desk. At the doorway, the boy was speaking to a pair of local businessmen, small and dapper in their suits.

  They seemed uncertain.

  ‘You must welcome people in,’ Emerald had said firmly, her gold front tooth glistening as if to make the point.

  ‘Good evening.’ Georgie glided across the floor, as if someone had stepped into her skin. ‘May I help you?’

  Both men looked her up and down. ‘You speak English?’ one of them asked in perfect diction.

  She smiled. ‘I am English.’

  Immediately, relief spread over both their faces. ‘My friend and I, we would like a massage,’ said one, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke. ‘Do you have any appointments free?’

  Georgie thought of the appointments book which Sapphire had shown her earlier. It was blank for tonight.

  ‘I am afraid we are fully booked,’ she said reluctantly.

  Disappointment spread over both men’s faces.

  ‘However, if you can give me a minute, I will see what I can do.’

  Hardly knowing what she was doing, Georgie slipped back into the room where Sapphire and Emerald were waiting. ‘What you doing?’ said the latter crossly. ’Why are you not out there with the client?

  Georgie held a finger to her lips. Then she walked, in tight steps because that’s all the dress would allow, back to the door. To her relief, both men were still there. It had been a gamble but it might be worth it.

  ‘You are in luck, gentlemen!’ She smiled warmly. ‘I have persuaded two of our finest practitioners to free their diaries so they can accommodate you.’

  Both men beamed. As she’d thought, anticipation was part of the game. Then Georgie put up a warning hand. ‘There will, however, be a special fee for this.’

  ‘No problem. No problem at all.’

  ‘Wonderful. Now, gentlemen, please follow me.’

  She sat them down in the waiting room and poured two cups of green tea from the pot which the boy had made. Both drank quickly, glancing at the door as if worried someone would see them.

  Better take their money fast in case they went. ‘Gentlemen, before we go further, I must request payment.’ She held out her hand. ‘It is a rule of the house.’

  She named a price; a little over the one which Sapphire had given her. One of them handed over a pile of notes without quibbling.

  The boy was nowhere to be seen, noted Georgie. There was nothing to stop her from taking the extra. But that wouldn’t be right.

  Behind her, the door opened. Sapphire stood there, resplendent in blue. At the same time, a door on the opposite side of the hall opened. Emerald was breathtaking.

  Both men drew in their breaths audibly.

  ‘Enjoy your massages, gentlemen,’ said Georgie.

  She didn’t need to tell them twice. The doors closed. And Georgie was left alone at the desk. The boy had materialised swiftly. This time he was grinning. Toothlessly.

  ‘Very good.’

  He nodded again in case she hadn’t understood.

  ‘Very good.’

  Beano barked again. Sweating, Georgie looked up from the letter. It was one of her neighbours, a staunch member of the local flower club. She wouldn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not in this state.

  To her relief, there was the sound of the letter box. A request for the rota, perhaps. Or maybe a flyer for the flower show.

  Beano’s barking subsided but the interruption had taken her away from Thailand all those years ago. Now she was back in the real world with two options open to her.

  Stay and face the music.

  Or flee.

  IF YOUR HUSBAND WANTS HIS MONEY BACK, YOU’LL HAVE TO TELL HIM THE TRUTH ABOUT THAILAND.

  How exactly would that happen? How would the writer know when she had told her husband?

  Georgie’s head spun. It was so hard to make sense of all this. But Sam had rescued her. It was her turn now to make amends.

  She had to go on. Even if she was caught.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I ran away from prison once. It was one of those open prisons. I only got six months. It wasn’t for anything much. Just a video machine I nicked from this bungalow.

  Well, the back door was open. What did they expect?

  It’s easy to run away from open prison. Nothing to stop you getting out apart from the cameras. And you can dodge those if you know what you’re doing.

  Some of the men in my block were allowed to go out anyway, to work.

  The rest of us were meant to stay put.

  ‘It’s a test, see,’ one of the prison gaffs had told me. ‘If you do what you’re told, you’ll be considered fit to re-enter society.’

  ‘Re-enter society? What kind of language did he speak?

  I might have listened but it was my mum’s birthday, see. July 12th. I thought it would be nice to visit her grave. She’d died when I was inside, see. The bastards wouldn’t even give me permission to go to her funeral. And they weren’t going to let me go for her birthday either. So I just went.

  They got me before I reached the end of the r
oad.

  Maybe that plan for dodging the cameras hadn’t been so foolproof after all.

  I got shipped out that night. To a different prison. One where you couldn’t go in and out.

  It would be a lesson, they said.

  But all I could think about was my mum’s grave. Overgrown. Because there was no one else to look after it.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  By the end of the first month, Georgie had really got into a routine. The girls were so pleased with her knack for enticing clients that they not only bought her a second dress (exactly the same style but in a fuchsia pink) but they also raised her wages.

  Slowly but surely, she was managing to save a little every week to put towards a plane ticket. But that didn’t stop the pounding terror each time someone came into the shop, in case it was someone from the island.

  ‘You are worried about something,’ remarked Sapphire sharply one evening.

  They had met for the usual early evening repast of fruit and cheese by the pool before work started. For some reason, Georgie felt particularly twitchy and kept glancing back towards the main door.

  ‘No,’ she lied, using the opportunity to sip the green tea and find a second to compose herself.

  Sapphire’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes. I think so.’

  Both Sapphire and her sister had firm views on what kind of clients they were happy to ‘entertain’. Every now and then, she saw them turn men away with a ‘So sorry. I have no appointment. Big mistake.’

  When Georgie had later expressed surprise, the boy had laughed. ‘Not good men. Sapphire and Emerald, they know their business.’

  Now it seemed that Sapphire was also trying to know hers. It didn’t help that Georgie was aware of flushing deeply. ‘You can tell me.’

  Sapphire laid her hand on hers. For a minute, Georgie wondered – as she had done before – why it was only men and not women who entered, looking for a massage. Yet occasionally, she had seen both women at work through a door that was not quite closed, and all they were doing was massaging the clients.

  Slightly thrown by the familiarity, Georgie found herself talking. ‘I had … I had a bad experience with a friend. I do not want him to find me.’