“Hello, pap smears. And it was a female doctor. At least I know I haven’t got some virus or STDs.”
My head pushed back. “An STD from a vibrator? Or your fingers?”
She giggled. “The clients need to know what they’re paying for, I guess.”
“So did this client of yours describe the guy?”
“Yep.” Lilly’s mouth turned down. “Predictably, he was old and flabby.”
“Yuck.”
“Yeah. But one night, and then I can set up my own business and leave this shithole.”
“But this is your home. I’d miss you.”
She smiled sadly and touched my hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll always be besties.”
I couldn’t imagine my life without Lilly. I wasn’t sure where I would have been without her. All those cozy sessions, drinking cups of tea and eating our homemade scones while watching telly together—normal activities that most folk probably took for granted meant the world to me. I’d never had that growing up. My mother didn’t do normal. She just did drugs, loud music, alcohol, and before Frank, one man after another sitting on our cigarette-burned couch. I’d leave the flat and stay with Lilly.
And now Lilly was proposing to do what most women in our impoverished circle did—sell herself. I despaired that I had no alternative suggestion for her.
“Will you come with me?” she asked.
I nodded hesitantly. “I suppose. What exactly do you have to do?”
“I have to parade in the nude and make sure I’m hairless.”
“Bald?”
My shocked tone made her laugh. “No, you nutjob. No pubes.”
Grimacing, I shook my head. “You have to wax. Ouch.”
“I already do my legs, anyway.” Her mood darkened. “There’s one thing you must promise.”
“What’s that?”
“That you don’t tell Brent.”
Lilly’s brother, Brent worked as a bouncer at the local casino. He was out all night, so at least he wouldn’t be around to ask questions.
“Of course. I’m not that daft.”
“He’d blow the joint up.”
That wasn’t an exaggeration. Brent could be rather explosive.
“Okay. I’ll come along,” I said. It was the least I could do for my best friend, even if the concept sickened me.
Lilly squeezed my hand. “That would be super.”
The little tremor in her voice wasn’t lost on me. I tilted my head and studied her.
“What?” she asked.
“Are you sure about this? I mean, there are other ways. How about if we set up a rescue-me account or something like that?”
Lilly pulled a face. “Huh? As if anyone will donate to someone starting up her own salon.”
“You never know.” I sighed. Lilly was right. It was dog-eat-dog out there. Too many people like us were in need. “That’s it. Enough of my weird art that only people like us like. I’m going to create a series of monochrome Rothko-inspired pieces so that I can make enough money to get us a little flat somewhere out of this shithole.”
“But I love your paintings. They’re so beautiful and weird. They’re like fairy tales on acid.”
I laughed. “I was born in the wrong time, I think. Too many hours spent at the Tate, gawking at the Pre-Raphaelites.”
“As always, I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, but it sounds posh and clever, and it’s you, babes. It’s you. You need to be yourself. You’ll sell. I believe in you.”
A lump formed in my throat. I took a deep breath. It was not the time or place for tears in that bright, greasy hamburger joint. “Thanks, Lil. Your support really keeps me going. You, Brent, and Shelly. Without you guys, I’d be a mess.”
“You’re the strongest person I know—other than Brent, that is,” said Lilly, nodding decisively. “If anyone can change their life, you can.”
“But you can too. I wish you’d think this through. You’re a very sensitive girl.”
“I’ve thought of nothing else. It’s only one night, and then I’ll be free to be my own boss.” She sucked on her straw. “I’ve toughened. And I’m sick of working my ass off for crumbs. Most of the clients who come in always ask for me. I’m good at what I do, and I should be earning more.”
“You should, and you will,” I asserted. “Together, we’re going to do brilliantly.”
We looked at each other and giggled.
3
* * *
BLAKE
PASSING MEADOWS AND PASTURES, I rolled down my car window. The smell of grass and dirt flooded me with memories of my childhood, though not of the warm, fuzzy, nostalgic kind.
While some children had playgrounds, beaches, and gardens, I’d had the rugged moors, where, swept along by the relentless winds, I often played in caves. Some nights I could even still hear that soaring gale as though it roared through my soul.
As I eased on my accelerator, I headed up the driveway to my destination. Situated in the Cotswolds, Grace Hall was a much sought-after retirement home.
My attention went out to the fields, where some slumbered while others, clutching frames, crept along the paths—each step almost a miracle.
I parked my car in the visitors’ car park. Nearby, a pair of nurses with cigarettes in their hands looked up and gawked at my attractive car, a pale-blue Aston Martin that radiated that James Bond allure. I drove it because of my weakness for elegant cars, not because of some boyish fantasy of getting about in a designer suit while saving the world single-handedly.
I stepped out of the car and headed toward the stairs to the entrance of the stately honey-stoned Georgian mansion.
“Good morning, Mr. Sinclair,” the receptionist said as I stepped into the foyer.
I nodded a greeting and headed up the grand staircase, passing a large open space that had once been a grand ballroom and was now a common room with a drowsy atmosphere.
Not too far down a long hallway, I came to a familiar door. I knocked and entered and found Milly, as usual, off with the fairies, staring at views of rolling hills and sky.
She turned, and her face lit up. “Blake. My boy.”
At the age of ninety, Milly’s body had given up on her, but her mind was as sharp as ever.
“How are you, today?” I asked, kissing her on the cheek.
“I’m feeling great. I had a good sleep.” Studying me in her typical fashion, Milly seemed to see right through me. “What about you, Blake? You’re looking tired, and you’ve lost weight.”
My mouth tipped up at one end. I’d been visiting for five years, and each time she expressed the same concern. “I’ve actually put on weight.”
“Have you met a nice girl yet? You’re so handsome.” She smiled.
Milly had been a maid at Raven Abbey, a gothic castle, complete with dark corridors, a haunted turret, and hidden chambers. Even the dead overstayed their welcome there. As a young, impressionable boy who’d already had his fair share of darkness, I learned to sleep with one eye open after my mother and I moved into the servants’ quarters, where Milly also lived.