CHAPTER 6
Vicky stood up to hand the new arrival her drink.

“Sián, this is the bloke in question. Kevin. And his workmate, Elaine”

The woman looked at me and grinned. “And you were expecting another hairy man, wasn't it? Dim ots, eh?”

A gog, from somewhere north-west rather than the Scouse Riviera. I smiled, realising we could probably talk behind the backs of the other two if necessary. I raised an eyebrow, and she nodded. Telepathy was clearly working, for she simply said “Ydw”

'Yes, I do'

Vicky was bubbling away, and I suddenly realised she was as nervous as Kev had shown himself to be. She looked over to her cousin.

“You won't have to take one for the team, love, with some bloke. Not unless you want to, that is: Elaine's one of your lot!”

There was a bright flash of pink from Sián's face. “Very open with the personal information, Victoria? How long you known these two?”

Vicky's face fell, and suddenly she was scurrying from the table. More telepathy, and I followed her cousin, pausing only for a quick word for Kev.

“Aye, you can have my pint if it takes too long, but I want fresh, and you do NOT fuck off and leave, bachgen!”

Women's toilets serve many purposes, and one of them is as a private space in which we can talk about things relating entirely to women. They served for other purposes at the Ship, of course, but not now, Lainey, not now. The two women were over by the frosted windows that let in a little of the street light from outside, Vicky clearly in tears while her cousin did tissue duty. Sián gave me a pointed look, then sighed.

“Vicky lets her gob run away with her when she's nervous. Sorry about that. Caused her a few problems. Shall we start from scratch?”

I held out a hand for hers. Firm pressure; the floaty frockiness was a front, then.

“What's brought this one on? Coppers are that scary?”

Sián kneaded her cousin's shoulder with her left hand. “Na. Victoria here has just had a bit of a time of it, aye? With men?”

I grinned, as best I could. “I wouldn't know about that, would I? Motormouth here has made that one clear”

Sián flushed again. “Aye, but it is the nerves with her. She has to compensate, and she takes it too far, so she compensates for compensating, and next thing she's on the wrong side of the road looking at the front of a lorry”

I couldn't help it, and shuddered. Sián clearly noticed. “OK?”

Deep breaths. “Aye, just, well, my sister and I lost a couple of friends that way. Good friends. Still a bit raw, isn't it? Now, Vicky, he doesn't bite, or so I am told, and he's good back-up when I have trouble, but I'm not doing a whitewash job, aye? There's more. I see this with the job, aye? You able to talk?”

She looked up. “He be OK on his own?”

“Man, in a pub, so as long as he doesn't run out of beer he's fine, and as he has permission to drink my pint that's sorted, aye?”

She gave a wry chuckle, and then a sort of wave of her hand to her cousin. The meaning was crystal: you do it, spare me this once. Sián took another, trembling, breath.

“Starry-eyed, isn't she, my cousin? Gets the qualifications that good girls get, or what my Uncle Christopher thinks they are, and she does her typing and her filing rubbish and she's off to the big city, do the PA rubbish, eh? Oh, shut up, girl, you know it's all sexist bullshit. She's read the books, seen the films, you know the crap they put out. She's Julia Roberts, the boss is going to be Richard Gere, or whoever, and she'll be there, and off come her glasses and it's open-topped Mercs and holidays in St Lucia and kids called Tarquin and Evadne or some other shit names”

Vicky was actually trembling now, and I felt the Job settle into my eyes.

“Vicky... how many times did he hit you before you left?”

She looked up at me again, and her voice was faint. “He didn't hit me, Elaine”

There was something worse there than the usual pain I felt with domestics. Sián took her cousin's hand.

“Vicky, cariad, you don't have to do this. No offence, Elaine, but Vicky, you don't know this woman”

This time, the other woman's stare was direct, but her voice was still hushed. “I think I do, love, I think I really do. I think she's had her own shit. Elaine... yes, she's right. I was all starry-eyed and stupid. Got the job, over by Snow Hill, Brum, yes? Importers, exporters, movers and shakers, and the owner's son, he's as smooth and easy to like as sin. Pakistani family, but oh-so-integrated, oh yes.

“He actually had the Mercedes, you know, an SLK, and the suits, and he knew the best clubs and restaurants, and there I am, bloody low-hanging fruit if ever there was. He's got the words, he's got the readies, I've got the Hollywood bullshit in my eyes. What could go wrong?”

Sián moved in to hug her, and Vicky clung to her as if she would fall without support. Another woman came in just then, took one look and nodded before leaving. Telepathy again.

Vicky drew a long, slow breath. “I think I was four or five months gone when I told him. No, Sian love, we've started this, get it out, yeah? They're coppers, need to know it all... Elaine, your mate, he's a good man?”

I thought for a while before answering, remembering the unthinking way he had sorted out our support that first evening, the radio he had found for me.

“Aye, he's sound. Bit disappointed I'm not on his wavelength, aye? But he's a good man. Vicky... what happened with the kid? Custody shit? I know some, er, cultures can be a bit awkward”

I was thinking of what I had said to Mam about 'honour' killings as I said that, and Vicky's reaction was tears. I waited patiently, something we have to learn, until she could speak without gasps. Her cousin was tight-jawed. Whatever had happened was not good. Another shuddering breath from Vicky.

“No, no custody issues. We can't get married with a bun in the oven, not the way at all, not traditional, is it? So we traditionally trot down to the family planning clinic, or rather I do, cause it would be shameful for him to be there, yeah, and I traditionally... I fucking traditionally kill our child, and then I find out that he is already traditionally set up to traditionally marry his fucking cousin from Lahore...”

She trailed off, and there was that hand gesture again as Siá¢n took up the flow.

“She took it hard, Elaine, and words were said, so she ended up out of a job, and needed to bolt, aye? So, I had to step in. Somewhere far enough away to be safe. Fresh start, aye?”

I was coming to a slow boil. “And unfair fucking dismissal? Breach of promise? Being a lying fucking sexist bastard?”

Vicky sighed again. “Doesn't work when you've been stealing from your employer, Elaine, and he had sorted that little game out, had it all prepared. Just in case”

Siá¢n was snarling now. “Aye, he stitched her up tight. 'Just piss off and don't come back and we won't have to get the nasty courts involved', the cachgi. Cachgi yn wir, yn siarad cachu dwyiaith, aye?”

I recognised the words of the song, a shit-dog, speaking shit in two tongues, and the pun was absolutely right.

“So where are you now, Vicky?”

Another long sigh. “My darling here found me a slot, Highways Agency in Carmarthen--”

Siá¢n and I spoke as one. “Yng Nghaerfyrddin!”

That actually brought a laugh from Vicky, and then we had to hug. She whispered in my ear.

“You sure this Kev is a good bloke?”

“He better be, or I will sort, aye?”

Repairs, faces washed–when had my own tears arrived? Back out to the token male, and some unspoken stuff between me and him. “Kev, drinks duty, aye, as you have had mine and I want a new one”

Once at the bar, I kept my face straight and voice neutral, the Job there for me.

“Nice girl, butt. Had some serious shit. Treat her nicely or don't even start with her, aye?”

“What you think, Lainey? I start, or I leave now? Seriously, it's one of the reasons I brought you along, innit. I trust you, girl”

I thought quietly. Not her fault, none of it, that was clear to me. Something about the two girls spoke to me of honesty, good faith given and used for toilet paper.

“Kev, stay for now, aye? Just, well, open eyes, open heart”

Drinks recovered, back to the table, where the girls had found their smiles again. I handed over their wines.

“Now, ladies, shall we begin the traditional game? Free bag of crisps to which of us can remember the stupidest driver!”