In the hallway, Leanne leaned against the wall and listened to her pimp stubbing his cigarette; the ashtray clattered off the tabletop as he dug the butt into the glass. When he was finished, he started whistling: his mood was light, and Leanne knew that was something to hold on to – she didn’t want to be around him when his mood was dark. If she could keep him this way then Leanne knew that she would likely avoid any more conflict, any more kicks, punches, or any of the kinds of actions that reminded her of her lowly station. She was a tart, Gillon’s tart, and when she forgot that she felt pain. It was better not to think about those things, though.
‘Right, you set?’ said Gillon.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To see a man.’
Leanne’s pulse jerked. ‘Who?’
‘Who…? Are you questioning me?’ His bottom row of teeth were bared. ‘Eh?’ He reached out and grabbed Leanne’s face in his hand and squeezed it. ‘Eh? Is that it, you’re questioning me?’
‘No. No…’
He pushed her head away; she stumbled.
‘Good. Just keep it that way.’
Gillon went for the door and Leanne trailed behind him. Her heels clacked on the concrete steps of the stairwell and she wondered if the noise would set Gillon off again. She toyed with the idea of removing her shoes and walking in her bare feet, but she worried that he might object to that; he didn’t like seeing his girls barefoot, she’d seen others slapped about for being outdoors in bare feet before.
‘Come on, move yourself,’ he yelled as he reached the bottom of the steps.
‘I’m coming.’
‘Aye, not bloody fast enough…’ He held out his hand and grabbed Leanne’s arm when she came into reach. ‘Move it.’ He pushed her towards the door.
Gillon’s van was parked on the other side of the road, she recognised it at once. As they headed for the van, she wondered if she was going to be forced to turn tricks in there; he had made her do that before. There was a mattress in the back of the van, an old, dank-smelling item that had been out in the rain once, before Gillon had found a home for it. The thought of spending the night on the mattress made Leanne’s stomach lurch. She looked down the street and thought about running but at once knew she had nowhere to go. She was trapped.
They drove to Ayr Road and over Tam’s Brig before heading out to Prestwick shore, at the end of the esplanade, where the walkway ran into an expansive car-parking area. Gillon pulled up the van. As the engine stilled, he removed the keys and reached out for a packet of Club that sat on the dash. He lit up and offered a cigarette to Leanne.
There was a car on the other side of the van, about forty or fifty metres away, and as she lit her cigarette she saw a man opening the door and heading towards them.
Gillon turned and wound down his window. He waved to the man and he reciprocated.
‘What’s going on?’ said Leanne. She peered past Gillon’s shoulder towards the approaching man. He looked to be no threat. There was nothing to him: thin shoulders, a chubby face with glasses; he wore a pair of comfortable, sensible shoes and his clothes looked to have been picked out by a wife or mother.
‘This is a mate of mine,’ said Gillon. ‘I want you to have a word with him…’
‘What about?’ Leanne’s voice revealed a rising panic.
Gillon spun round to face her. ‘Whatever he wants to know, you tell him.’
‘I don’t know anything.’
His eyes widened; she sensed a threat. ‘Look, don’t mess me about, I want you to tell him about that fat paedo and your other pal…’
‘What other pal?’
The man approached the window and smiled. He nodded to Gillon, then waved a hand towards his passenger. ‘You must be Leanne?’
She raised the cigarette to her mouth and drew the nicotine deep into her lungs. An uneasy tremor passed from her stomach to her chest and neck, which made her feel like her heart was in her mouth. She watched Gillon reach for the door handle and step outside, and as he did so the man leaned forward and extended his hand. ‘I’m Cameron Sinclair and Danny here’s told me a lot about you.’
As Sinclair stepped into the van and closed the door behind him, Gillon took himself for a walk, back towards the esplanade.
Artefacts of the Dead by Tony Black, £7.99 paperback, Black & White Publishing.