Hi folks quick note and apology. Sorry this update has taken so long. Real life decided to knock me over and then put the boot in while I was trying to get up. Still better late than never. This is the last part of "The Day After". There’s a sequel — to be called "Eight Months". You won’t have to wait so long — honest!
Disclaimers and other bumf — see part one.
For my brother — RIP mate — I’ll see you again — but not yet!
Comments, complaints, questions, phone numbers to insane_brit@hotmail.com
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Part Seven
Sam propped herself up on her elbow and studied the sleeping woman. Sally looked younger and more peaceful in repose than awake; for the first time the girl wondered exactly how old she was. She didn’t look any older than her early twenties; life on the game aged you by the look of it. It occurred to the girl that this was the first morning she’d woken before Sally. ‘Wore her out’, Sam thought, giving a smug grin. Carefully, so as not to wake the woman, Sam rolled out of bed. She stood and stretched, feeling pleasingly sore but with muscles she hadn’t known existed aching. Not bothering to put any clothes on she padded towards the kitchen area in search of tea.
As she waited for the kettle to boil Sam checked the fridge. She briefly contemplated attempting breakfast before calculating the odds on her being able to cook eggs and bacon, have them both ready for eating together and achieve this without setting fire to the kitchen, the flat or quite possibly the entire neighbourhood. She admitted the odds weren’t good and decided to settle for cornflakes. A slight noise alerted her to the fact that she was no longer the only one awake. She straightened at looked towards the archway which led from the living area. Well perhaps ‘awake’ wasn’t quite the right term. Sally was vertical and moving yes, but whether that actually constituted ‘awake’ was another matter.
"Hi. Fancy a cuppa?"
Sam receiving a grunt in reply that she interpreted as a ‘yes’ reached for a second mug.
Two cups of tea later and Sally was finally capable of full sentences.
"Morning."
The girl grinned in reply. "Well practically afternoon."
Sally mimed throwing a punch and smiled. "I’m not a morning person. So far you’ve been lucky. By the time you’ve woken I’ve had three cups of tea and sufficient space to become human. You beat me to it today so you caught the grouch."
"Hmm. Wonder what made you sleep in?"
"Sam, that’s an absolutely filthy smile you have there. Stop looking so smug." The woman’s grin now matched the girl’s.
Sam laughed out loud. "Wore you out, didn’t I? G’wan admit it!"
Joining in the laughter Sally nodded. "Alright, alright. Yes, you wore me out. But I’ll bet you’ll be feeling it for a week at least!"
Sam chuckled again. "Get off your horse and drink your milk". It was a very bad John Wayne impression but served the purpose. "Ok. We wore each other out. Now, how about breakfast? I would have cooked you some but I wasn’t too sure how you’d feel about an early morning wake up call from the London Fire Brigade." Managing to look cute, hopeless and wicked in one.
"Well, since I don’t think they have any cute firewomen and I don’t start work this early I doubt I’d have been that happy. Right, breakfast for two coming up. Then we need to talk."
"Oh-oh." All traces of humour departing, the girl’s face fell. "Sounds serious. I hate it when people say that. It leaves a body on tenterhooks for ages wondering what’s coming, and always imagining the worst possible. Why don’t you just tell me now and I’ll help you with breakfast."
"It’s not bad and it’s better over breakfast — and more tea". Sally extended her mug towards the girl.
"Gotcha. More tea coming right up."
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Sally sat back lighting a cigarette as she watched the girl mop up the last of her egg. "I don’t know where you put it all! Now..." Sam sat up looking anxious. "….don’t look so nervous! As I was saying, I need to go back to work. I don’t particularly want to, but I need to." She held up a hand to forestall whatever it was her companion was about to say. "However, I don’t want you to leave. I like you. I know how young you are and while that’s a little scary for me, you don’t act like someone that young. I like what you do and I like what we do together. I want you to stay. I’m sure you should be at school, but I’m equally certain there’s nothing I can do to persuade you to go there. If you want to get a job and you can find someone who’ll hire you underage — who will probably pay cash in hand and underpay you — well that’s fine. Don’t feel you have to. But I do want you to stay with me. If you’d like to that is." It was Sally’s turn to look nervous.
The girl’s face lit up. "I’d love to stay. I like you too, and I love what we’re doing. But don’t you need the room to work?"
"Usually, yes. But lots of the girls work on the street and let rooms for the duration of the turn, I can do that. I don’t need to bring the punters home."
"Isn’t that a bit dodgy? Especially with the clean-up campaign. Look, I don’t want you getting into bovver because of me."
"I’ll be careful. And I happen to think you’re worth the risk."
There didn’t appear to be any words to answer that. Sam did the only thing that seemed to fit and kissed her.
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Late afternoon, Sam had been out since lunchtime trying to find work before giving it up as a bad job and returning to the flat to check on Sally. The older woman had said that she wasn’t likely to find any punters in the early part of the day but after 4 things would start picking up; her busiest time would be evenings up to around 2am so Sam hoped she’d be home.
She was. Unfortunately so were two PC’s and a WPC. The policewoman was holding onto Sally by her arm whilst the two male offers appeared to be searching the flat, piling the clothing and equipment that were the tools of her trade onto the bed. The quantity was damning in itself. Only a working girl would have that many risqué outfits and toys. A man in ordinary clothes was leaning against the wall watching the search.
‘Bloody CID’ thought Sam. He looked up and promptly confirmed her suspicions that he was indeed a plain clothes copper.
"Hey you, stand still".
Sam stood still. You didn’t argue with a copper. Sally looked up and closed her eyes. Sam could almost hear the unspoken groan. She’d obviously hoped the girl would not return yet.
"That’s my niece. My sister’s girl." Sally lied. "She must be off school for the day and came to visit. Please let her go quickly, I don’t want her to see this."
The two uniformed men had sympathetic expression. However the WPC looked as though someone had farted under her nose. "If you choose this sort of way of earning a living you have to accept the consequences, besides that’s a boy."
‘Stuck up cow’, thought Sam. "I’m a girl." She stated straightening her shoulders, "and I happen to be very fond of my aunt." She stared directly into Sally’s eyes and was pleased to see them soften affectionately.
"Please could I have a private word with my niece, it’s not as if I can do anything if you step back a bit." She requested of the WPC. It looked for a moment as though she would be refused but one of the men had more compassion.
"Go ahead."
Sally drew Sam into the kitchen area. "Sam go now and come back later. Stay here tonight, they’re taking me to West End Central and I’ll be up before the magistrates in the morning. With luck I’ll get a fine and we can go for lunch together."
"And without?"
"Then I go to Holloway and the landlady clears out the flat and stores my things until I’m released, but you…….. you won’t have a place to stay." The woman looked distraught.
"I’ll be ok. You just make sure you talk nicely to the beak so you don’t do porridge and I’ll be waiting. I take it your punter was him." She inclined her head towards the CID officer and Sally nodded. "Damn".
"That’s enough" The WPC came towards them.
"Sam, go".
"Damn I can’t even hug you. Good luck. I’ll see you in the morning." Sam left the flat. Her eyes looked with Sally’s until the door closed.
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It was trying to snow again. Sam stood on the steps of the magistrate’s court and wondered what the hell she was going to do. She had listened in silence while some middle class woman with a blue rinse who had never had to scrimp for a penny in her life had called Sally ‘a blot on our fair city’ and ‘a disgrace to the fairer sex’, never once stopping to think about the men who were willing to pay for sex nor her own status — living off her husband baronet whatever’s money. What was the difference? Sam couldn’t see one. And then the magistrates had sentenced Sally to six months. She hadn’t been able to hug her, kiss her not even speak to her. Sally had looked at her once — just before they led her away. That was it. She felt like crying but wouldn’t. Her mother’s beating hadn’t brought tears she wasn’t going to allow an unjust society that privilege. The girl looked around. No point in going to the flat. The landlady had been in court, the flat would be empty by now.
‘Under the arches it is then.’ She thought turning her coat collar up and putting a swagger in her walk as she headed towards the Embankment.