The Sister(64)

She’d had a cheeky portfolio photograph of herself taken over a vent grille, trying to hold down her billowing dress. It was similar to the famous shot, except hers was more revealing, the billow allowed to float higher; the photographer captured that she wore no knickers in graphic detail. She carried the photo around with her to show prospective clients. Next to the breast implants, it was the best thing she’d ever had done. It catapulted her into the world of high-class escort girls.

As Marilyn, she acquired a number of very rich and powerful customers – she called them boyfriends – who lavished her with cash and gifts in exchange for favours.

Most of her boyfriends loved fantasy role-playing in varying degrees. Some took it further. There was one guy who liked to dress as Tony Curtis, another who used to croon Sinatra to her and of course, Jack Kennedy himself, who loved nothing better than to hear her breathily singing: Happy Birthday…Mr President, as he lay waiting, expectant and naked on the bed while she strip-teased seductively. She’d slowly make her way to him, pausing only to pose provocatively, timing the words of the song to end just as she went down on him, whispering to his cock. ‘Oh, Jack, what will Jackie say?’

In a case of life imitating life, she also had an affair with a well-known gangster – Danny Lynch – who was under observation by the Serious Crime Squad.

It was in this way that she first came onto the police radar. She came from a good background and the DCI thought she was just a casual girlfriend of Lynch’s.

She kept a secret file on her clients, a diary or dossier, in which she recorded names, dates, times, secret photographs, films and physical details that only close intimacy would reveal. It was her insurance policy.

Once she had enough money behind her, she intended to write her memoirs, she’d change the names of those concerned and would sell it to the papers. It was her pension. The way she spent money, she was going to need it.

Melissa always kept Thursdays free. She’d spent the day doing absolutely nothing but pampering herself. She watched daytime TV, read magazines and dozed on her bed. She wouldn’t have planned her life this way, but she wasn’t unhappy.

It was early evening before she finally rose. She cleaned the make-up from her face, then showered, afterwards walking naked into the kitchen where she poured herself a generous shot of gin and popped a couple of Mogadon. After all the dozing and sleeping during the day, she knew she’d be awake half the night, and tomorrow was Friday, her busy day. She wouldn’t want to spend it looking a wreck. She decided to pop another one; just to be sure, she caught the sleep train first time around. The bitter aftertaste made her grimace. She padded barefoot back to the bathroom to clean her teeth.

In the morning, she wouldn’t even remember getting into bed.





Chapter 50



1 March 2007





Eilise Staples was groggy from the night before. It was still dark as the clock turned 6:30 a.m. Most of the camp was still sleeping; a few early birds had their lights on. They bumped along, in and out of potholes, down the track, away from the camp. In the darkness, the headlamps played off rippling puddles, reflecting the light, sending it down the lane at crazy angles in all directions. Her head still felt spaced out and woolly from smoking weed and heroin.

Wild bursts of wind drove staccato rain that spattered heavily against the tin walls of the white transit van. Watery machine gun bullets drummed in waves of sound that overwhelmed the creaking and banging of the metal body, masking the steady drone of the engine. The bodywork sounded as though it might twist off its chassis at any moment. One badly out of line headlight cut through the morning darkness, blinding the oncoming traffic. It attracted the occasional retaliatory flash from an angry driver.

On her last night in the camp, they were talking about the future. No such thing as forever, nothing is forever, we won’t be here forever so you might as well enjoy it while you can. They were always telling her that, and in the end, it was what made up her mind to move on.

Eilise packed up her life into two heavy-duty black bin bags. They sat next to her in the van, on the seat and the floor between her feet.

Strawberry had left the camp a couple of days before. The driver was a friend of his and he too, was a traveller. He had an interesting take on life; he seemed to know where he was going, he had it all mapped out in his head. When he spoke, he addressed her from the corner of his mouth without taking his eyes off the road. ‘I’m doing the markets up to next Christmas, going to save the money I make; get myself some better wheels, maybe a camper. Then I’m going to take a long slow drive. France, Spain, Morocco. Wherever I want to go, anywhere in between, end up in Goa, always wanted to go there. Do a bit of work on the way. What about you, Eilise, you going home?’

Eilise wondered whether Strawberry had told him anything about her. She decided he wouldn’t have. ‘I’m going to meet my mother.’

‘That’s good. Do you get on with her and all?’

‘I don’t know…’ she said, trailing off, uncertainty giving way to nagging doubt. She’d deal with that when it came to it.

‘You don’t know! What kind of an answer is that to a question about your mother?’ She wasn’t sure if his apparent dismay was serious.

‘I haven’t seen her for a while, that’s all.’

‘How old are you, Eilise?’