ith a girlfriend, when the time came.
But still, beneath the nerves and the shaving rash, there was something so hopeful in the way he looked at her. She didn’t want to disappoint him; and she could tell, from the way the older man had spoken, that he would have good reason not to let his father down. She took his cup of tea and set it to one side. She moved him over to the edge of the bed, and started to undress.
And she enjoyed the thrill in his eyes. Of course she did. That was part of it, sometimes. He was hurried and clumsy, once he got started. She slowed him down by making him practise unfastening her bra. This is the most useful thing you’ll learn tonight, she told him. She had to put the condom on for him, and then it was over very quickly. He made no sound at all, but when she asked he said that yes, he’d enjoyed it. He’d stopped looking her in the eye again. He was ashamed, and she told him not to be.
Afterwards he seemed confused about what to do. She offered him some tissues to clean himself but he’d already pulled up his trousers. She dressed, and opened the door. He said thank you, a number of times, and shook her hand. She told him to take care, and that it was generally not the done thing to shake hands after sex.
*
His father came up into the room then. Payment had already been taken so at first she didn’t understand why he was there. He wanted to know how things had gone. It seemed inappropriate. She tried to keep things light and told him she didn’t like to compromise client confidentiality. He hadn’t paid her to be bloody confidential, he said.
She kept a distance and told him she wasn’t going to discuss it. He persisted. He wanted to know if he had anything to worry about, with his boy, if there were any problems.
He could have been talking to his vet about a wayward sheepdog. He had nothing to worry about, she told him. His son was fine. She hated going along with his way of thinking, but there was something in his manner that made her worried for the boy’s safety. She’d understood the boy’s nervousness, then.
The father seemed satisfied with that. He relaxed. He took off his jacket and started unbuckling his belt. She tried to make light of this as well, saying that she didn’t even know his name yet, but he didn’t seem in the mood for humour. He seemed – heated. She had to tell him, quickly, that she didn’t work with more than one client in an evening. And he laughed, as though that was a joke. Usually, repeating herself clearly and firmly was enough for someone to get the message. She folded her arms, and said she was done for the evening. You can make an appointment for another time, she told him, knowing she wouldn’t take him on. He laughed again, with even less humour than the first time, and took a big step towards her.
She knew what was coming.
She called for help.
He grabbed her by the shoulder and smacked her across the face.
It wasn’t a slap. He caught her with the heel of his hand, hard, and she went down to the floor with her vision slanted and her ears whistling. Her friend was in the room quickly, taking hold of the man’s arm just as he lifted his belt above his head. He was hustled outside. There was more violence then, she was sure, but it happened out of earshot and she didn’t ask her friend about it afterwards.
Despite what she’d worried about when she first got into the work, and despite what she thought she knew about the business as a whole, this was the closest she’d come to being in proper trouble the whole time she’d worked there. It had scared her, undoubtedly. The rage on his face had been so thorough, and had come on him so abruptly. She’d wondered what he’d done with it, later. She’d worried about the son.
They’d moved on, after that. Her friend had said it would only be sensible. Men like that, in an area like that, tend to have associates. They tend to talk. They were – territorial.
It wasn’t worth waiting around to find out what might happen if he came back, was how her friend put it.
It put the wind up her for a while, but she soon recovered. She worked for a few more years, in various places. And although she occasionally remembered the young man, she would have said she’d forgotten what he looked like, until she saw him on the news.
There was a story about a missing girl, in the village near where she’d worked. The reporter was asking what people in the village felt about the girl’s disappearance. His name was strapped across the bottom of the screen.
Gordon Jackson, Sheep Farmer.
He was saying they all had sympathy for the family, they couldn’t believe what had happened, it was terrible, they’d all taken part in trying to find her. His father was in the background, talking to someone else, pretending to ignore the camera. She remembered him even more clearly than the son. He hardly seemed to have aged at all.
Gordon Jackson, Sheep Farmer, kept talking. His voice was deeper now, and rougher. It was shocking weather to have gone up top on the moor, he said. We could all see that. The girl should never have been up there in the first place. She had no business wandering around up there on her own.
The reporter thanked him, and he nodded, and as they cut back to the studio she saw him glance away from the camera, towards his father.
10: Donna
By the time the man came into the pub to say he was looking for his daughter, Donna had already had enough of the evening. She could have done without the drama.
The man was with Stuart Hunter. Stuart wasn’t often seen in the pub, so people had fallen quiet before either of them started speaking. It was a Sunday evening, and there were only a dozen or so regulars in the small lounge-bar. Donna was there with Claire, trying to get her sobered up after an evening over in Cardwell which had got out of hand.
We were expecting her back about an hour ago, the man said. She’s probably just lost track of the time. I was wondering if anyone may have seen her around. She’s nearly thirteen. About this tall.
He held a hand to his chest, and then seemed to reconsider, looking down and lifting his hand towards his chin.
She’s got dark-blonde hair, he said. Collar-length.
This was the same girl who went missing the following winter. The whole evening felt like a trial run, when Donna remembered it later.
Tony’s first response was that they didn’t serve teenagers, so he would have noticed if she’d been in unaccompanied. He seemed to have taken offence. Tony took offence easily.