CHAPTER 50
There was an inquest, of course, and by that I mean the one in Heidi’s office. Paul dropped me a word after we had returned from the mountains, and I was relieved to hear that two women I had grown to feel a deep affection for were out of the firing line. It wouldn’t be the last time we lost a girl, by far, but at least that time we had someone to blame, blame properly, rather than a family member.

Enough on that subject. Old wounds still hurt, hurt even more, when they are opened again.

I found myself distracted from those worries in a variety of ways, one of which was the process of watching Alicia’s back as she met with her father, as Paul, who was showing himself to be a real diamond, spent a few days with an eye on the family home. He was quietly positive when we spoke about it.

“Furniture van, Debbie. Looks like she is moving out, but she’s doing her best to strip the place of every stick of furniture. Wouldn’t be surprised if she takes all the light bulbs before the prawn curtains game”

“Sorry, mate. The what?”

“Ah, old trick. Tenant moves out, bad relationship with landlord, that sort of thing. Old food dumped behind radiators, prawns sewn into the hem of the curtains. Kind of lingers, the smell”

“Shit! I always did wonder about straights! Anyway, so it does look like her father is on the, um, other sort of straight, and narrow?”

He gave me a level stare, together with a soft smile.

“I will wait and see, Debbie. Early days, yes?”

I took his point, and watched as a father met his child anew over several months, each time seeming to see his compass needle swing further away from ‘son’, past ‘child’ and closer to ‘daughter’. In the end, it was the first of my real successes. Alicia stayed with me until she finished her school years, but it was with her father’s agreement. I never spoke to him, never showed out, never allowed him to see the House or know where it was, but when she passed three A-levels with more than adequate grades, she came home to us with a massive bouquet of flowers. There was a card:

Thank you for giving my daughter the safe place she needed, and the time I needed to learn to love her all over again.

We celebrated that day as a household, and where else but in the Smugglers? I was surprised to find Marlene a little out of sorts when we arrived, even though she had done their usual favour of sorting us all out a private-ish corner.

“What’s up, mate?”

“Up? Same old shit, Debbie. Same old shit”

“Which is?”

“Ah, darling, the reason Marlene has so many fucking cameras outside. Kickings getting a bit out of hand. Someone is having open season on our little den of depravity, as well as a few other pink pubs and clubs, and it is getting painful. How are you getting home?”

“Um, taxis. Few too many for the van, and I am drinking tonight”

“Well, don’t go outside looking for a taxi. Wait in here, wait for it to arrive, and fucking wait for the all clear, OK?”

I was about to say something stupid, either that it couldn’t be that bad, or that I was a real biker chick hard case, but something in Marlene’s eyes took that thought away at the knees. If the Resident Bitch was worried, then perhaps I should be too. I ended up far more sober than I had intended to be, but we all got home safely, and that was the important thing. I had noticed a few of the bears lingering by the doors all night, and I could only assume they were doing a reverse doorman thing, seeing patrons safely off the premises rather than filtering those arriving.

Marlene was clearly worried.

We arrived home without incident, and I put it away in the furthest recesses of my mind, because the next day, I had a message via Sparky from one of the homeless shelters. I made the usual call, and later that afternoon Nita had another guest for me, a very tall sort-of-girl with collar-length hair, in a skirt and Adidas trainers.

“How are you doing for room, Debbie?”

“Getting a bit full, mate. What’s the score?”

“This is Gemma. Dad is one of those with a narrow focus on life. Gemma is on… Gemma was on a catering course until things blew up”

I turned to the young person sat before me, and winced inwardly at her complete lack of femininity. At least, I hoped the wince was internal.

“Hiya, Gemma. What has Nita told you about us? About this place, that is?”

She looked more than a little worried, which was a reaction I had grown rather accustomed to. Her voice turned out to be a light tenor, almost in contralto range, so at least she had one fewer problem than she might have been handed by the shit fairy.

“Mrs Harris here, she says this is a halfway shelter sort of place”

I gave Nita a quick nod of recognition, then smiled at the newcomer.

“In a way, yes. We look after people as long as they need. Some find their own way back to the outside, and I don’t mean a jailbreak. Has she said what sort of people we look after?”

She looked down at her feet, and I understood that despite her height she was actually almost cripplingly shy.

“Yes. People… Girls like me”

“Yup. And nobody else. We have some rules here about men, and we have them for some very good reasons. There are some regular visitors, but they are special ones. A doctor, a police liaison officer, plus some of my personal friends. People I really trust. You okay with that?”

The slightest of nods, and I turned my head towards the kitchen.

“That kitchen works as an airlock, and both doors there are very secure. My first question is a simple one: tea, coffee or hot chocolate?”

“Could I have a coffee, please, Miss?”

I gave a signal to Nita, who grinned back at me.

“Yes, I do know where everything is! Want me to do you a cuppa while I’m at it?”

“Aye, please. Tea for me”

She rose to set the kettle going, and I turned back to Gemma.

“Second question is another easy one. While you tell me what’s gone on, could you call me Debbie? Feels a bit like being a schoolteacher, hearing ‘Miss’, and that’s from someone who never really went to school”

“Okay, Debbie. What do you mean by ‘gone on’?”

“Gemma, nobody rocks up here who hasn’t had or got some sort of issue. I like to know where I stand, that’s all. And if it is anything I can help with”

“Um. I don’t know if you can”

“Shall we talk about it first? Why are you homeless, for starters?”

She gave a deep sigh, just as Nita returned with a tray of mugs. Gemma took hers, settling back into her place on the settee with the mug grasped in both hands in front of her face. Same old tricks.

“You say girls like me?”

“Yes indeed. Not confused boys, not adults, or at least not much into adulthood. I have a couple who are at university at the moment, but they come back home between terms. I am hoping they’ll move out soon”

Gemma started, and I found myself laughing.

“No, not like that! Making their own lives, not having to hide away, that’s how I meant it. Most of my girls go to a local school, and one has a job close by. If you stay, you’ll meet them. So: ‘why are you homeless’ sounds rude. Could you tell me why you need a home?”

“Um. It’s my parents. They kicked me out. Said I was old enough to be a pervert on my own”

She sighed, taking a sip of her drink in an obvious attempt to gain time to find her focus again.

“Look, it’s why I went to college. Always known what I am, isn’t it, and I tried telling Mam when I was little, and she just gave me a hiding. I was about eleven. Did my GCSEs, and I’m not someone who does well at school, and Dad’s not someone who… Students are a waste of time and space, should be out doing a proper job, that sort of thing. So I managed to con him, get out of is sight. Had dreams, didn’t I?”

She paused again, her hand trembling as she raised her mug once more.

“I managed to con him properly, though. He was lining me up to do labouring work, for a mate of his, and I wanted… I got him watching some of those Gordon Whatshisface ‘Kitchen Hell’ programmes, let him believe I was going to be all macho, all sweary, so he let me get registered at Newport Tech. I would go there, let people see me, the real me, and they would all be other girls, and everything would be rosy!”

I was watching her carefully, and before the mug was falling properly I was beside her, taking it from her failing grasp and setting it back on the tray. I settled myself beside her and gave her hand a squeeze.

“Go on, Gemma. If you can. Safe space here, yes?”

She took some deep breaths, clearly to drive back a sob, then began again.

“I let too many people see me, and it got nasty. Lots of tripping, doors opening in my face. I worked out it was best to stay away from boiling water. Then it got really nasty. Somebody followed me home, found out my address, whatever, and we started finding notes through the door. ‘Your Graham’s a sissy fairy queer, calls himself Gemma’ and the rest”

She barked out a mirthless laugh.

“Not as polite as that, was it? So Dad goes up to my room, rips it apart, finds the little bits I’s hidden, and stuffs them all in a rucksack, but first he gives me a backhander. Throws my coat at me, tells me to get in the car and throws the rucksack on the back seat. Nothing in it but those bits. Drives me all the way to Cardiff, stops outside a pub and says ‘You’ll find your new family in there. Don’t fucking come back’, then drives off”

I squeezed her hand, as I had done with so many other girls.

“What did you do then?”

“It was a real scary place, big men in leathers having a smoke outside the door, so I walked away sharpish. Someone found me sitting in a doorway, about midnight it was, and they knew a shelter, and the rest, well. You know all that”

I patted her knee; sod personal space with someone in such pain.

“Where was the pub, Gemma?”

She looked across at me, eyes damp.

“Can I just say how lovely it is when you use my name like that?”

“It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but just not used to hearing it yet. Pub was in the city; Smugglers or something like that”

Nita barked out a laugh, and Gemma looked confused, so I explained.

“Girl, if you had only bloody realised! That place is run by a friend of ours. If you had just gone straight in, hell, you would have been here earlier. The other girls here love it, and it is where we usually have our Christmas. If you stay, I’ll introduce you. Now, what do you think? This place your sort of place? Most of the other girls will be home soon, so it would help to know before we introduce you”

Every single use of the g-word had brought a twitch, and she nodded slowly.

“Would they accept me?”

“Did you miss the words ‘girls like you’, Gemma? Yes they will, unless you have some personal habits you haven’t told us about yet. Like being fond of rap and stuff”

She sat up a little straighter, her smile emerging at last.

“How many?”

“Oh, depending on plans Kim might have, we’ll probably be about a dozen, all told. Crowds bother you?”

“Not at all, not if they are what you tell me. Just wondering if you are cooking tonight”

“Well, yes. It was going to be a chilli. Would normally be Kim doing the clever stuff, but if she’s out I will be head chef”

“Can I see what you have in the kitchen?”

I raised my eyebrows, my surprise not entirely faked. Her smile grew broader and far more genuine.

“Which of us is the trained chef here?”

Nita rose at that, waving me into the kitchen with her and shutting the door.

“Done it again, love, haven’t you? Your mate at the shelter, he said she hadn’t been found by chasers yet, but she probably wouldn’t have stayed safe long. I’m done here; I’ll sort paperwork out over the next week, if that’s OK. Say farewell to her for me”

A hug, and Nita was gone. I opened the inside door again and called Gemma in for a rummage through the cupboards, which she carried out efficiently, with a number of muttered comments about freshness and brand labels.

“You have enough here for your meal, and I can do you a chilli if you can get me some more bits. Pudding, as well. STP okay?”

“What?”

“Sticky toffee pudding. Just need a bit more flour, and some pineapple”

“Why pineapple?”

“Goes in the chilli. Trust me. Oh, and at least three tubes of tomato puree. And we can manage with tinned custard just this once”

The confidence was there in force, almost certainly drawn from being in a role she understood and felt comfortable in. The first of the girls started to arrive as we sorted out the ingredients for the chilli, and after some rapid instructions, Emma and Rachel were sent off to the Co-Op for the extras.

I felt guilty, in the end, as I was politely shown the door by our newest girl, while two of the others volunteered their help, and Gemma clearly knew her place, which was where she was mixing, slicing stirring and the rest, so different in personality from the figure Nita had delivered.

We ended up at the big table in the other house, and the stew was a revelation for something so mundane, the odd addition of pineapple chunks, as well as instant coffee, of all things, making a wonderful change to the flavour. We had it with pitta bread for mopping up, Gemma muttering about the necessity of baking her own next time, but it was the dessert course that brought silence, until a slightly miffed Kim appeared. I waved her to take a seat, indicating the cook responsible.

“Kim, this is Gemma. Gemma was on a catering course at tech college. Kim is a cook at a local café. Kim, she’s done us a pudding as well”

That girl did a little bit of obvious mental juggling, clearly a little upset at losing her status as House chef, but a couple of spoonfuls into the meal, her face changed.

“This is bloody good, Gemma! Whose idea was the pineapple?”

“Um, mine. The coffee was something I read online. Bitterness takes some of the sugary taste of the pineapple away. Pud’s just a standard STP”

Everyone except Kim was on the dessert by then, and it was Tricia who managed to get a comment out.

“JUST a standard pudding, she says!”

I didn’t miss the twitch of gratitude from Gemma.

“What do you specialise in, Gemma? I mean, Nana here can cook okay, and Kim’s really good”

I looked across the table at Tricia.

“Where did ‘Nana’ come from?”

A hint of a blush came back with her smile.

“Seems to fit, yeah? Anyway, Gem, cook for us any time, et cetera, but what do you really like doing? Party piece thingy?”

“Um, baking. Pastries, to be exact. I can do cakes and stuff, and that STP is a sort of sponge cake really, but I like making pastries. Choux, filo, flaky, that sort of thing”

The conversation got more involved, Kim for once staying silent as she hoovered up her own pudding, and Gemma answered others about her history. When she mentioned being dumped outside Marlene’s place, I was glad we had warned her beforehand, because the resulting burst of communal laughter was raucous in the extreme.

“Yeah, Nana told me. Would have saved me a load of crap, and given me a warmer night, wouldn’t it?”

Nicky was nodding.

“A few of us know about cold nights, Gem. What you want to do now? Go back to college?”

A firm shake of the head.

“No. Can’t do that, not safe, is it? After what they did. Anyway, I think I learned enough there. And it’s in Newport, which would mean… Which would mean I might run into Dad again. Might not be healthy”

She looked over at Kim.

“You work in a café? Might they need someone there, baking, puddings and that?”

Kim looked a little embarrassed.

“I don’t know, Gemma. Not my place, and I don’t know if it would have enough trade to cover another staff member. I can ask Ruth, though, if that’s okay with you?”

“Please”

I left the girls to their introductions and plotting, as well as their discussion about whose turn it would be to load the dishwasher, and settled myself into an armchair with my headphones, a fresh mug of tea, a new Steeleye CD and the onset of a real case of nerves.

I left my idea to ferment for a fortnight, as Gemma started to demonstrate exactly how good a pastry chef she was, and that was a superb one. Kim actually outdid her on the savoury front, but the newer girl left my sweet tooth demanding more and more examples of her work. That fortnight left me twitching with nerves, but the idea had been a good one. I just needed to find the courage to carry it out.

Sixteen days after Gemma’s arrival, I set the bike onto its centre stand in one of the parking bays in Crwys Road, disc lock on and my heavy chain threaded through the back wheel and over the saddle. I stood by the bike for more than a few minutes as I worked my courage up, then strode across the road to the shop door. There was a little bell, which rang as I walked in, and I simply stood three feet away from the counter as I pulled off my helmet.

“Hello, Frank”