‘Oh, I, erm, I’ve only just seen my messages. I was going to call you back as soon as I got a minute.’
‘Like fuck you were! Anyway, you’re coming back to mine later. I’ll pick you up at three.’
He cut the call straightaway and Amber stared at the phone in her hand. She hadn’t had a chance to wangle out of it. But she was so panicked that she probably wouldn’t have been able to think of a good excuse anyway. His aggressive attitude had put her even more on edge. Maybe she should have told him she was too tired. But there was no way Kev would have settled for that. He was a man who was used to getting his own way.
For the rest of her shift Amber couldn’t settle; the prospect of meeting Kev was dominating her thoughts. She kept checking the time on her phone, noticing that it was passing much quicker than usual. It would soon be three o’clock and Kev would be here.
The thought of seeing him petrified her. How could she sleep with him knowing what he had done? What would she say to him? How would she be able to hide what she now knew? He’d suss her out straightaway. She was no good at hiding things. It would be obvious from the look on her face. He might have even already guessed and for a minute she regretted that she had ignored his calls. She should have tried to carry on as normal.
But Amber would never have been able to do that. She checked the time on her phone again while she stood at her patch at the back of Piccadilly: 2.35 a.m. Shit! She spotted a car that looked like Kev’s and dashed inside the tunnel, relieved when it passed, and it wasn’t him.
But the thought of it had sent her into a panic. Her heart was thundering once more, and she felt breathless. Instead of coming out of her hiding place in the tunnel, she carried on to the other end, hoping to catch sight of a taxi before she spotted Kev’s car.
To hell with it! She was going home. At least he wouldn’t find her there. Amber was so ashamed of her home and her mother’s behaviour that, in all the time she had been seeing Kev, she’d never given him her address. Thank God!
Amber had made a decision. This was to be her last night on the beat. She couldn’t do it again, not when Kev could turn up at any minute. She’d have to think of some other way to find clients. Perhaps, for now, she’d just take the ones who rang her and arrange to meet them somewhere else. She couldn’t risk hanging around in the same area anymore, knowing that Kev would be touring the streets of Manchester until he found her.
51
November 2001
Fourteen-year-old Amy was sitting on her bed putting on makeup, the hand mirror balanced between her knees. She was applying some mascara when her mother walked into the room. Amy looked up and, as she did so, the mascara left a trail under her eye.
‘Aw, Mum, look what you’ve made me do,’ she complained.
It was her third attempt at putting on the mascara. She’d never been very good at it since her mother had introduced her to makeup the previous year but now, she was so nervous that her hands were trembling, making it even more difficult.
Loretta smiled at her. ‘Do you want some help?’ she asked.
Amy nodded and her mother walked over. ‘By the way, Rick’s downstairs waiting for us,’ said her mother. When Amy looked at her, alarmed, she added, ‘It’s OK. He’ll wait. I’ll make it worth his while.’
Amy hadn’t been alarmed because they were making Rick wait but because it underlined the fact that it was almost time to leave. And with that on her mind, her mother’s words had wound her up even more than usual.
She hated her mother’s innuendos. It was something she often did when she’d had a drink and, despite Amy’s growing experience with the opposite sex, it still embarrassed her. Rick, a wiry-looking man with tatty hair surrounding a bald patch, was one of the few of her mother’s regular men friends who still visited the house, and Amy wasn’t too keen on him. Although he generally left her alone, he seemed to bring out a side to her mother that she wasn’t comfortable with.
Loretta took a baby wipe and removed Amy’s mascara, and then she stood back and examined her daughter’s face. ‘I think we’re best starting again.’
‘Why?’ asked Amy.
She took up the mirror and held it to her face. Amy had been happy with her look up to now but when she looked with a more critical eye, she could see it was all wrong. She hadn’t applied any foundation and her blusher was too thick, making her complexion appear ruddy. Her eyeshadow had been partially removed when her mother had wiped off the mascara, and her eyes were now slightly red-rimmed from all the prodding. She hadn’t yet got round to applying her lipstick either.
‘Well, love, you’re not going to the school disco now,’ said her mother. ‘I think we need a different look. Leave it with me, I know what I’m doing.’
Amy let her mother apply her makeup, relieved in a way because she had been struggling with the mascara. She relaxed a little as she felt the bristles of the foundation brush sweeping along her cheeks followed by the blusher brush. Then she allowed her mother to apply some eyeshadow followed by mascara and some eyeliner. As her mother pulled her lower eyelid down and slid liner pencil along the rim Amy’s eyes began to water and she was glad
