Moonlight (3 page)

Winnie looked across the table at him and asked bluntly, “Are you gay?”

“No, I’m not gay,” Thaddeus said, with a smile. “As I have already explained, I’ve been married. I loved my wife very dearly and she will never be replaced."

Winnie watched him. She had become good at people watching during the many hours she had spent begging outside railway stations, and she couldn’t help but notice how his eyes grew almost black as he spoke of his wife. It was more than just sadness she could see in them; it was despair. 

"How much will you be paying me?" she asked, changing the subject.

"You'll have your own private room. All food and any other extras will be paid for,” Thaddeus explained. “You won’t have to pay any bills. I’ll give you two hundred pounds per week,
to spend in whatever way you see fit, as long as you are there when I
need you, and are willing to succumb to any other little request I might make of you.” 

Winnie swallowed hard.
Two hundred a week.
Lately, she'd been lucky if she'd scrounged two p
ounds a week from begging. M
oney aside, she was still wary of Thaddeus Blake. She only knew what he had chosen to tell her about himself.

“Two hundred a week, huh?” she said, pulling the ends of her sleeves down over her dirty hands. “A big house in the country… I didn’t know anyone could make so much money from writing down a few fancy words that rhyme.”

Thaddeus laughed and said, “I wish my poems made me money, they only make a fraction of my income - just pocket money, really. No, my wealth has been inherited. Like I have explained, I am the last and
have no one to share it with – unless
,
that is, if you take me up on my offer.”

Winnie looked back at him across the table and said nothing.

"What have you got to lose, Winnie?” he asked.

Again, she said nothing and just stared into his brown eyes.

“I have been honest with you,” he shrugged, as if now the whole thing was not so important after all. “It’s up to you. No pressure. I have kept to my side of the bargain. I bought you dinner and we talked."

Sensing that her opportunity of escaping London and the evils she had discovered there was may be slipping away, she whispered, "How can I be sure that I can trust you?"

Thaddeus looked Winnie squarely
in the
face and said, "You won’t know unless you come back to Cornwall with me.” Then pushing his chair back from the table, he added, “The hour is getting late. I’ll be leaving tomorrow evening at seven from Paddington
R
ailway Station. If you wish to take up my offer, meet me on the concourse an
d we shall leave together. I
f you chose not to meet me,
I shall go back to my home and forget this meeting, and you."

They parted company outside the pizza parlour, Winnie making her way back to the Embankment. After she was out of sight, Thaddeus hailed a taxi and disappeared off into the night. To him, the night was still very young, and he had a lot to do before dawn.

Winnie
made her way back to the Embankment. It was close to midnight now, not that time meant much to her. The days, nights, and hours all just rolled into one. Normally there was no break from the constant feel of hunger that g
nawed away at her insides. T
onight she didn’t feel hungry; her shrunken stomach felt bloated, and it was a feeling that she had forgotten even existed. People poured out of the clubs and pubs, but they were nothing but ghosts to her. Or was it the other way around? She wondered. Was she the ghost? No one ever seemed to notice her, unless she made a complete nuisance of herself by thrusting her filthy hands under their noses, and asking for any spare change that they might have. Some gave her the loose coins they had jingling in their pockets, but others just looked away, their noses turned up. She didn’t really
blame them. Winnie
knew she looked more like an animal than a human. Her hair was plastered with dirt, and her clothes were threadbare and
just as dirty as her skin. T
hanks to the city worker who thought it would be amusing to take a piss over her as she lay huddled in a shop doorway three nights ago, she now stank of urine
,
too.

Winnie
reached the Embankment, and she could hear the sound of the water slosh against the shore. Party boats cruised over the black water of the Thames, the sound of muffled laughter and music being carried on the wind. Late night trains rattled over Blackfriars Bridge,
taking the last of the
commuters
home for the night, just to turn around and come back again in a few hours’ time and start all over. Drawing her hands up into the sleeves of her sweater, she felt the two bread rolls she had sneaked from the pizza bar. They weren’t for her - they were for
her friend, Ruby Little. Winnie
didn’t know her real name and she wondered if Ruby could still remember it herself. She was named Ruby because of the dirty red coat she always wore.
Little, because she was
little
.
It wasn’t a
ny more complex than that. However, R
uby was more than just
little
. She was fragile - like o
ne of those china statues Winnie
had often seen in the posh shops in Knightsbridge.

But what Winnie
couldn’t figure out was if Ruby was indeed a friend.
She wasn’t sure. Winnie
cared for her -
perhaps like a younger sister.
Ruby could be trouble
, though
. Winnie
knew that Ruby had stolen from her before - the little money she had managed to scrounge that day - Ruby had sometimes sneaked from her pocket while
she had been
sleeping. Ruby was just as hungr
y as her, but what pissed Winnie
off, was that she spent the money on blow, or worse. Ruby was cracked out of her skull most of the time, and
would need looking after. Winnie
didn’t always have time for that. Begging was a fulltime occupation. Hours spent watching over Ruby while she lay choking
on her own vomit was time Winnie
could spend hustling for money - money that would b
uy her more survival time. E
ven though Ruby would sometimes steal from her, she was company - someone to talk to when the nights wer
e just too cold to
sleep. Winnie
had forgotten how many freezing cold nights they spent cuddled together for warmth over the last few years. 

But Winnie
knew that stealing from her wasn’t the only way that Ruby made money. She turned tricks
for the men who approached her
. Winnie
knew why - she knew why most of the girls and boys went with those men - they were feeding a hunger far worse than starvation - they were
feeding their drug habit. Winnie
had smoked some weed from time to time, but nothing more. There was no coming back when you had taken a step down that darker road. It wasn’t food you were begging and ste
aling for anymore. Y
ou needed lots of money to satisfy that particular hunger - the kind of money you only made by selling yourself.  

Winnie
didn’t want to go there - not ever. She would rather die. She had been used before by someone who claimed to
have loved her.

In the glare of the night bus
es, Winnie
darted across the busy road and cut across the small con
course of the Embankment Tube S
tation. The flush of warm air inside momentarily coloured her cheeks. Then she was back in the cold again, and heading left into the archways which ran under the bridge. During the day it was a busy thoroughfare, but as the moon rose and the city went to bed, the archways became a makeshift town of cardboard boxes, soiled blan
kets, and huddled bodies. Winnie
stepped over the seemingly lifeless bodies in search of Ruby. There was a small alcove where Ruby usually slept, but peering into the darkness,
Winnie
could see that it was empty. She moved forward, one of the
others curled beneath the arches had a dog, and it licked dirty drain water from the gutter. I
t made a yelping noise as Winnie
passed by in the dark.

Then, Winnie
saw what looked like a heap of red blankets lying in the gutter just ahead. She approached them, and realised that it wasn’t a pile of blankets that she could see, but Ruby’s red coat. With the sound of her scuffed-out trainers snapping against the cobbled road beneath t
he arches, Winnie
ran towards her friend. Ruby lay on her side, one arm jutting out from beneath her. Her small head was tilted forward, her chin resting against her chest.

“Hey
,
Ruby,” Winnie
said. “I’ve got you something.”

Ruby didn’t move, even though she had her eyes wide open.

“Look what I’ve got you,” Winnie
said, taking the rolls from her threadbare sleeves.

Ruby stayed still, not even her eyelids flickered.

Winnie
crouched beside the girl, and it was then that she saw the thick stream of vomit trailing from the corner of her mouth. It was crusty-looking, and bubbles of dried snot blocked Ruby’s nostrils.

“Hey
,
Ruby,” Winnie
said, shaking her friend gently by the shoulder.

Ruby’s hea
d flopped to one side and Winnie
stared into her blank eyes. Her lips were mauve,
the skin around them blue. Winnie
knew that it wasn’t just the freezing cold which had turned them that colour.

“Ruby?”
Winnie
whispered, shaking her friend again.

Ruby just stared back at her, her eyes blank - dead.

With tears standing in her eyes, the
two bread rolls fell from Winnie
’s hands and into the gutter. There was a woofing noise as the dog leapt forward and snatched them away in its jaws.

Then gently, as if handling on
e of those china statues, Winnie
lifted Ruby into her arms and cradled her dead body.

“Somebody help me!” Winnie
cried out loud, but the only response she got was the dog barking back at her from somewhere in the darkness. Winnie knew she had lost her only companion, however difficult she could be at times.

“Please somebody help me
,” she sobbed, but she knew nobody would. 

Winnie
looked into Ruby’s upturned face, and the line of ropey vomit made her look as if she was smili
ng somehow. “I’m scared,” Winnie
whispered. “I’m so scared.”

But not because of the hideous grin spread across the dead girl’s face, but because she knew that one day, however hard she tried not to succumb to the same nightmares that Ruby had lived, she, too,
would end up dead. Winnie
wasn’t scared of dying - it was how she died that she feared. She didn’t want to die like Ruby had; choking on the drugs which had been bought with the money she had got for selling her body. That was no way to live and no way to die.

But what choice did she have? And then she thought of the offer Thaddeus Blake had made her.

Thaddeus Blake had arisen from his hotel bed at five, just before dusk. He showered and dressed himself in a black turtleneck sweater, dark denims, and a deep blue jacket. On leaving the hotel, he had made his way to Oxford Street and purchased some clothes for his new traveling companion. He had no doubt in his mind that Winnie would be at Paddington Railway Stat
ion. Thaddeus had chosen
a
violet top, jeans and boots
. As he lingered over the garments, he pictured Winnie in the clothes he had selected for her. He pictured her seething locks of copper hair bouncing delicately off the violet
top
. Thaddeus could also see her enchanting emerald eyes, enhanced by the colour of her hair. She was going to look perfect for what he had in mind for her. Underwear came next, selecting
a pair of panties and bra
. Then there was the smell
- Winnie
’s smell. It wasn’t her fault, he knew, but it was pungent and turned his stomach. So he chose some shampoo, soap
,
and perfume.
Thaddeus paid for all the items in cash and left the stor
e
.

He now stood on the concourse at Paddington Station, a little before seven o'clock. The carrier bag with the clothes and his own leather suitcase sat neatly by his feet as he waited for Winnie to arrive. He watched the throng of commuters who waited restlessly, looking up at the luminous displays, checking to see what platform their train home that night would depart from.

Others seemed more relaxed and sat on heaped mounds of luggage, drinking from soda cans and chewing on cheaply-made sandwiches. The homeless continued to beg, and pigeons circled above in the diesel fumes which belched from the engines of departing trains. Thaddeus had no love for the city, and he longed to be back at home in the clea
n
air and the safety of his sanctuary.