Never Ever Leave Me (5 page)

“Victoria Road, the company’s called McLay and Bell.”

“Right, that’s easy peasy, Victoria Road is the main road
and it’s only one stop on the train.  If Marie takes my Brian to school for me I’ll come with you and show you how to get there.”

“Aye, nae problem, Pat, we cannae have the lassie getting lost.  Not when we’ve put in such a lot of work to make her look good.”

“Thank you all so much.  You’re amazing.  I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me,” Katy said.

“Oh yes you will,” Lisa said.  “You’ll get a job and you’ll get a flat and, if you’re smart, you’ll run away from here as fast as you can and never look back.  Every one of us would do the same.  We support and help each other while we’re here, but this isn’t a normal life.  We’ve been thrown together and we do the best we can, but really, we’re all strangers.”

“Aye, she’s right Hen.  Once we’re free from this place, we won’t want to think about it ever again,” Marie said and the others nodded in agreement.

On that rather sombre note the women
left the kitchen and went their separate ways.

“Meet me at the front door at nine o’clock tomorrow,” Pat
called as she headed up the stairs to her room.  “That will give you plenty of time to find the place and we’ll avoid the rush hour.”

Katy felt a shudder of anticipation run down her spine.  Maybe tomorrow would herald a new beginning,
the start of a better life.

CHAPTER 7

Katy took a last glance in the mirror before going downstairs to meet Pat.  Finally, a familiar face stared back at her.  She didn’t know if it was her no-nonsense suit or the light make-up she’d applied, but she looked every bit like a young professional.  By contrast Pat wore a short, red skirt topped by a thin, grey sweater, her bomber-style jacket was synthetic to mimic leather, her legs were bare and she sported plastic flip-flops on her feet.  They looked an unlikely pair.

“Would you look at you,” Pat said approvingly.  “I feel as if I’m going o
ut with Victoria Beckham or the Queen.  Don’t you scrub up well?  It’s the hair that makes the difference, of course.”

“Of
course,” Katy agreed and they both laughed.

It took them very little time to reach their destination.  They easily located the premises of McLay and Bell then spent the next twenty minutes trawling the many charity shops for bargains.  Katy treated
Pat to a stylish raincoat that cost five pounds and she reacted as if she’d been bought diamonds.  Katy realised then that her companion had never owned much and had few aspirations.  Trained as a hairdresser she’d been the most qualified of any of her family.  The only shining light in her life was her son, Brian, whom she adored.

Katy glanced at her watch.  “Well
,” she said, “It’s time for me to go. Wish me luck.”

“Do
you want me to come with you?  I could sit in the front office and wait if you’d like.  We could tell them I’m your sister.”

Katy couldn’t think of anything worse or a more unlikely lie.

“Thanks for offering, but I’m a big girl and I’ve got to do this myself.”

She gave Pat the three pounds
fifty pence of change she had in her purse so the girl could get a coffee in the nearby cafe.  Pat said she’d wait there until Katy returned.  Then, shaking slightly with nerves, she made her way to the brokerage and inhaling deeply, entered through the shop front door.

“I’m
, ah, here for an interview,” she stammered to the smiling woman seated at a desk near the counter.

“Katy Bradley?” the woman asked then said.  “Hi, I’m Sandra.  David Bell will be with you shortly.  He’s just
finishing a telephone call now.”

The office was modern and bright and a vase of fresh flowers stood on the counter. 
Within a couple of minutes she was shown through to Mr. Bell’s room which was situated at the back of the building and she was offered a cup of coffee. It was all very relaxed.  David Bell, a man in his forties, was short of stature, slightly plump with a receding hairline and a friendly smile.  After a formal introduction he went on to explain the office hierarchy.

“There is no ‘McLay’, there hasn’t been for years.  He was a contemporary of my father’s.  I am the broker and Martin Campbell is my assistant, he’s out on a call at the moment
.  We are all on first name terms here.  It’s a small office and I can’t be doing with formalities.  You met Sandra, she manages the office and the other girl is Pamela.  Deborah, who you’ll be replacing, is on maternity leave, but it’s unlikely she’ll return after the birth.  I’ve seen your c.v. that the agency sent, I’m satisfied you understand what’s required and you’re more than qualified for the post.  We’re inundated with work at the moment so I’ve decided not to waste anybody’s time by carrying out multiple interviews.  If you think you’d like to work here, the job’s yours.  Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

Katy was stunned.  She didn’t know what to say.  “When would you like me to start?” she finally managed.

David glanced at the calendar on his desk, “A week on Monday is the first of the month, so if you could start then.  That will give you a few days to get organised.  The agency said you’ve just moved up from somewhere near Manchester.  Moving is always a pain.  It takes so long to sort things out.”

Katy nodded her agreement.  Y
ou don’t know the half of it, she thought.

She left the office in a daze clutching paperwork to be completed and information about the
business.  It was only when she’d walked a few metres that she realised she hadn’t asked what the job paid and, because it was important for her to be able to budget her money, she returned to ask the question.

“Not what you’re used to, I’m afraid,” David said.  “The wage is sixteen thousand, four hundred a year.  Will that be a problem for you?”

“No problem at all, thanks, I just needed to know,” she replied and once again turned to leave.

“See you a week on Monday,” David said.

“
Yes, see you then,” she replied happily.

The next day
the girls held a party to celebrate.  Amongst them they bought a quantity of cheap minced beef, some pasta sauce and dried pasta from ‘Saverstore’ for the main course.  Katy supplied four bottles of ‘Lambrusco’ to toast her new job, cola for the children and four extra-long, chocolate-marble, cake blocks also from ‘Saverstore’.  The excitement in the house was palpable.  The last celebration was when Emma, a previous tenant of the refuge, was accepted back by her family with the baby they hadn’t approved of.  The only thing marring the day was that Tricia, on hearing about Katy’s job, had been forced to serve her with a four week’s notice to quit.  With some money in the bank, a new job and no children to consider, she was no longer seen to be a deserving case for the refuge.  However, Tricia had lined up a council owned flat for her to see that was only fifteen minutes by bus from McLay and Bell’s office.  She decided that whatever the flat was like she’d accept it.  If she hated it, she only had to give one month’s notice and it would give her her own space in the short term.  When the party was in full swing, she confided in Marie about being asked to leave the refuge.

“Where are you moving to, Hen?  Is it close by?” Marie asked.

“I haven’t seen it or said I’ll take it yet,” she replied, “But Tricia said it’s in a place called Townhead.”

“Aye,
Townhead is okay since they rebuilt it.  It used to be quite rough but it’s okay now and there are two unis’ and a hospital nearby so lots of students live there.  I hope you dinnae mind heights though.  There are some low rise flats but you’ll probably be offered one in a high rise.  These buildings are over twenty storeys high, but at least they have lifts that work, most of the time, and you’ll be close to the buses and trains.”

Katy hadn’t even visited a high rise building before
let alone stayed in one, but like all the other recent changes in her life, she was sure she could get used to it.

...

Gordon hadn’t actually missed, Katy, but he missed her money, her cooking and he missed sex.  In part, he solved the problem of no longer having access to her income by stealing from shops in and around the Manchester area.  He also regularly broke into his neighbours’ homes while they were at work and took anything of value he could find to sell, making sure he reported a fictitious break-in at his own flat to throw the police off the scent.  His meals were supplied courtesy of the local Chinese restaurant or the kebab shop, but for sex, he knew he’d have to make a bit of an effort.

Gordon
spruced up himself and the flat as best he could.  He even put clean sheets on the bed and sprayed ‘Febreze’ to mask any lingering odours.  He wasn’t bad looking and women were often attracted to his cheeky banter.  When he’d spoken to Dennis, the landlord of his local pub at the beginning of the week, he’d mentioned that a twenty-strong hen party was booked in for some food and a ‘knees up’ on Saturday night.

“You might want
to keep a safe distance,” Dennis said.  “The girls have hired a male stripper and it could get pretty rowdy.  At the last hen night, the lasses got so drunk, even the taxi drivers wouldn’t take them.”

Perfect, Gordon thought, just the way I want them, boozed up and turned on.  Surely he’d
manage to get one of them to go home with him.

He carefully
showered and dressed in his sexiest casual gear, clothes that would show off his muscular frame.  He didn’t make his way into the pub until after ten o’clock giving the party time to be in full swing.  ‘The girls’ were a mixed bunch, with the youngest being barely old enough to drink and the oldest a woman in her fifties, probably the bride’s mother, who clearly felt uncomfortable by the gyrations of the stripper.  Gordon spied two women aged in their late thirties or early forties.  They were already very drunk and he watched as one of the women staggered towards the door to get some air.  Then he made his move.

He
followed the girl to the beer garden at the back of the pub.  She tottered slightly on her impossibly high heels, one of which sank into the grass at the side of the path and became stuck.  The girl began to giggle as she tried to free herself.  Crouched to her knees she only managed to succeed in sinking her other heel into the grass as well.  She was very merry and at the stage of drunkenness when everything amused her.

“Oh dear, what have we here, a fallen angel perhaps?  Let me help you sweetheart.”  The words slid easily off Gordon’s tongue.  “What’s you
r name?  Is it Angelica?”

The girl stared up at
him and tried to focus.

“My name’s Tracy,” she said.  “Wow
, what big muscles you have.  Are you the stripper?”

Gordon flexed his biceps,
“All the better to hug you with,” he replied.

Tracey laughed and the effort caused her to lose balance
, she sat down hard onto the grass and giggled again.

“Please allow me to help you
pretty lady,” Gordon said flashing his most charming smile.

He stood in front of
the girl, grabbed her under the arms and lifted her bodily off the ground.  She was very petite, with enormous breasts. He felt a stirring in his loins. Carrying her to one of the tables in the garden, he sat her down while he rescued her shoes which were still stuck in the grass.

“Do I get a kiss for helping you?”
he asked.

You can have more than a kiss,”
she replied.  “Bring those muscles over here, big boy.  This is meant to be a party isn’t it?”

Gordon couldn’t believe his luck.  He planted his lips over Tracy’s.  She tasted of beer and cigarettes, but he didn’t care.  He embraced her slim frame
, holding her firmly with his arm while he expertly reached under her skirt and removed her panties with his other hand.  She wriggled slightly and she whispered encouraging words in his ear.  She ran her fingers over the muscles on his legs admiringly.  Gordon grew hard, his need urgent.  He pulled up her body-hugging T-shirt which proclaimed ‘Cara’s hen night’, hauled down her bra to release her huge breasts then pinched her erect nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

“Ow, not so hard, you’re hurting me,”
she cried pulling her mouth from his, but he was past the point of no return.

With one arm he lifted her slightly off the table, placed his hard body between her legs and
, gripping her buttocks, he roughly entered her.  Tracy writhed and whimpered.  There was no tenderness in their coupling.  Gordon didn’t care if she enjoyed the experience or not. After a couple of minutes she’d had enough of him, but before she could actually ask him to stop, a satisfying throbbing overtook him.  He groaned with pleasure as he climaxed.  Pushing her away from him, he stepped back. Being full of alcohol-fuelled passion, there was no denying that Tracy had wanted their encounter, but she felt humiliated by Gordon’s lack of tenderness.  Her eyes filled with tears and she began to sob.

“I feel sick,” she said.

Time for me to go, Gordon thought.  Quickly he straightened his clothing and, with Tracy still sitting on the table with her T-shirt pushed up, her bra round her waist and her panties on the ground, he made a quick exit.