Breaking Joseph (28 page)

Then he’d let
slip about Poppy’s fairy dust habit and I unconsciously attributed
it to that.

Now I worried
and lamented over things I would never know, and all the while, his
invisible hands crept along my sides and kneaded at my hips. When I
lay in bed, his fingertips toyed with the straps of my knickers and
his warm breath poured over my neck. I was haunted by the ghost of
a promise.

That voice
permeated everything, sharp and cool as the tip of his knife. I was
terrified of losing the memories, and yet they faded like withering
veins, tugged from my body in ribbons of blue ink.

God, I missed
him.

* * * *

Clemmie was
coming for lunch, and I couldn’t hide my predicament any
longer.

The storm
clouds had parted and the sun poured in; pavements were baked and
smelt like warm ovens. As I strolled along in my summer dress, the
cool air tickled my thighs, the light glared against my sunglasses
and on the outside, it was decadent as any normal summer day could
be. Even the Tube smelled…well. Less like a dog soaked in whiskey
than usual.

I ducked into
Pret to buy salads and fruit smoothies–it felt right to cater when
I was about to reveal that I’d lied through my teeth. I hadn’t been
standing in the queue long when I noticed her.

Elise browsed
the coffee menu, her shiny hair pulled back in a bouncy ponytail.
She wore city shorts and a nude blouse that clung to her meandering
hips.

I winced as I
remembered the amorous texts we had exchanged last weekend.
I
never realized it could be like that. Can we try again? Kenji says
yes xxx

Had Joseph told
her that he thought I’d gone to a rival firm, that I’d be taking
what I’d learned from the documents she’d shown me? Out of
everyone, even Joseph, I felt like I had betrayed Elise the most.
She’d been a good friend and we had confided in each other.

Among other
things.

Now, I was
reduced to hiding behind the sandwich displays while she gestured
at the attendant with her pearlescent smile. I must have looked
ridiculous.

Elise left,
clutching a latte, and my sigh was a lullaby to my raging
pulse.

Back at home, I
went over my speech to Clemmie. I rolled the confessions into balls
on my tongue and deposited them in a grim vault where they whined
for release like wraiths. Over and over, I wrung out the reasons
I’d never wanted her to know about the whoring in the first place.
She was judgmental of my, ahem, libertine behaviour, as it was,
although I think that was more to do with the fact that I was
usually being unfaithful. I’d only ever planned to work for a short
time and I didn’t want anybody at all from my vanilla life to know.
Then, when it was over, I could safely blot it out and pretend it
had never happened.

So much for
that, eh?

* * * *

“Ooh,” said
Clemmie, peering into the fridge. “You cooked.”

“Sod off.” I
laughed, nudging her aside so I could empty the salads into bowls.
“Do you want the strawberry smoothie or the tropical one?”

We took our
food to the sofa and performed our usual little dance of crossing
legs, prodding cushions and getting comfy.

“James still
not moved out, then?” I said.

Her glossed
upper lip twitched. “No. I’ve been looking for a room to rent
somewhere, though. I think I want to be the one to do the
leaving.”

“You know my
couch is always here.”

“I know, you
tart.” She grinned at me. “I may have to take you up on that. Or at
least, if you haven’t run off with this Mr J.” She eyed me
curiously and I felt all the colour drain from my cheeks.

“Yeah,” I
muttered. “Him.”

“Well, go on
then. Who is he? And why is he already sucking up to your friends?
Not that I’m complaining,” she added. “I’m going to save that
Champagne for when I move.”

“He’s…” I
tapped my fork on the plate nervously.
Clink clink
. “He’s my
boss, Clem.”

“Gosh.” Her
eyes widened. “Is that even a good idea?”

“No,” I said
forlornly. “It wasn’t.”

“What do you
mean?”

Deep breath.
Here goes.

“I’m not with
him anymore. I was barely with him at all. But it’s because…look.”
I reached over to the coffee table. “I’ve got something to show
you.”

Clemmie set her
bowl down and accepted the plastic wallet with a frown. I stared
hard at green streaks of salad as she pulled out two photos. One
was my first Ladarna picture, black scarves and all. The second was
one of the new versions, and I lay sprawled over the bed, clad only
in the feathered mask. And Aidan.

Clemmie
wrinkled her nose and cleared her throat sharply. “Is this some
sort of weird portfolio? Do you want me to give them to
Diederick?”

I wanted to
laugh, but it wouldn’t come. “No, Clem. They’re shots I had done
for an agency.” I swallowed. “An escort agency.”

“Oh.” Her eyes
darted up toward me, then back to the page. “A
what
now?”

“I’ve been
working as an escort. For about a year.”

She set her
bowl down slowly. “Like, someone who goes out with men? Keeps them
company?” She scrutinized my every movement for trace of a lie.

“I mean like
someone who sleeps with men,” I muttered.

Silence, greasy
and awkward.

“So what does
your boss have to do with that?”

I looked away
again. “He was one of those men.”

Clemmie swiped
her smoothie from the table and demolished it in several long
gulps. I was beginning to wish that I’d bought wine instead. God
knew, I needed it.

“Clem.” My
voice was hoarse. “Will you say something, please?”

She glanced
about, gesturing wildly. “Okay, okay. How about… What the fuck?
What the fuck!”

I broke a bit,
then–first Aidan used my real name, and now Clemmie was swearing?
The world was all going wrong. A fat tear came tumbling down from
one eye socket and plopped wetly on to my hand. The deluge of
secrets followed.

Out came the
truth about my parents’ troubles with the estate, and how I had
spent their cash unknowingly. Out came the way I’d found the
agency, William, Aidan, everyone. I told her how things had been
going to plan until the night I was hired by Joseph and Matt, and
then how Joseph had seduced me from under Matt’s nose before I even
realized it.

Then I
explained Sunday night at the restaurant, and Monday morning at
work. I had been blackmailed and I quit. I was single, jobless…and
about to be a whore all over again.

Clemmie
listened sagely, offering the occasional nod. Normally, when I was
upset, she pulled me into one of her cosmically strong hugs. Now,
she kept a measured distance. I felt something slipping away but I
wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“So you see?” I
said. “I’m fucked.”

“You could say
that.” She’d barely looked at me for the past ten minutes,
preferring to tug at cushion tassels and trace embroidery with her
nails. “Leila, why did you never tell me?”

“I was ashamed,
I suppose,” I lied.

“You used to
tell me all the things you were ashamed of,” she said
pointedly.

“I know. But
this was different, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I never wanted to
lie.”

She chewed her
lip, kneading the cushion.

“I take it you
don’t approve,” I said.

“What am I
meant to say, that it was a fabulous idea? That it’s okay? It’s not
okay, Leila. It’s not even about what it is, though God knows,
that’s hardly going to look good on your CV, is it? But you’ve lied
to me for over a year, and you’ve done it so much…” She was tearful
now, too. “I mean, what were you thinking? Stupid Clem, she’s so
wrapped up in her cretin boyfriend. She could never
understand!”

“That’s not how
I felt–”

“Well it’s how
I
feel!” She sprang up, trying to steady her trembling jaw.
“I think I should go.”

“Clem, Please.
It isn’t personal, I didn’t tell anybody.”

“But I’m your
best friend,” she whimpered. “I’m meant to be exempt.” She threw
her bag on to her shoulder and I followed her to the door.

“Can I call you
later?” I said.

She tugged the
latch open and hovered in the doorway. “I’ll call you,” she said
under her breath.

Then she
hurried down the corridor and flung herself into the lift.

* * * *

I kept having
the same dream.

I was back in
the dark room where time was measured in breaths, and spaces in
echoed footsteps. I was naked, my hands bound behind my back. The
air smelled like stale candle wax and Joseph circled me with
gleaming eyes.

Then he turned,
and the knife sat cleanly between his shoulder blades. He tugged it
out with a thick groan and little rivulets of blood splattered my
face. They were cold and sticky, as if they had been there for some
time, and the remains clung to the blade so that it was crusted
with crimson.

Joseph did not
talk to me and his eyes would not meet mine. He trailed the dirty
knife across my collarbone, and it scratched as it sailed down my
back. Then he took it to the bindings on my hands, the ones he had
sliced through so easily in the first dream. Now he struggled and
lost his temper, swearing under his breath. I grew frustrated with
him, my tears sticking to the blood on my face, and we waged a
silent war between ourselves as much as the rope. Fresh blood
drizzled to the backs of my thighs, unnervingly warm.

When I awoke,
the sheets were damp with sweat, my wrists stiff and throbbing. I
peeled myself out of the bed to reach for my water glass and tipped
it down my throat, panting as I swallowed.

The pillow
beside me was indented as if somebody had been there. I lay awake
for hours just staring at it.

* * * *

The next week
began a slow drudge of preparation.

I went to the
clinic to confirm that I did not have box rot, as Aidan tactfully
referred to it. I waxed and trimmed and manicured to within an inch
of my life. Afternoons were spent sorting through my clothes,
ironing my slinkiest outfits and arranging matching underwear so
that it could be grabbed quickly. When I’d first begun the whoring,
I hadn’t time for such organization and only considered the most
blatant practicalities, but now, I had time to lament and
worry.

To
anticipate.

Clemmie didn’t
call. I missed her dreadfully. A knowing panic simmered beneath my
skin; life as I knew it had been washed away.

I was about to
have lunch on Wednesday when William called.

“Am I on the
website yet?” I said.

“How’s your
back looking?”

“Erm.” I darted
into the bathroom and yanked my t-shirt up, twisting in the mirror.
“It’s not healed entirely. Why?”

“Is it
noticeable?”

“A little bit?
It’s not scabbed, but you can see the line,” I decided.

“Text me a
picture.”

“Hang on a
second.” I straightened my t-shirt. “Do I have a booking? How do I
have a booking?”

“You might.
Send me the picture and I’ll call you in a second.” There was a
light click as he hung up.

It is no mean
feat to take a full picture of one’s own back, but I managed it.
Then there was an agonizing fifteen minutes of staring at the fat
sandwich on the chopping board while I waited for William to call.
If I had a booking, food was a bad idea–anal on a full stomach:
just don’t, okay?

“Finally,” I
groaned, answering. “Well?”

“Looks good to
me. Can you do nine o’clock?”

A little shiver
shot through me. “Of course. Yeah. Who is it?”

“Pieterson.
D’you remember him? He was awfully pleased to hear that you’re
back,” he chuckled. “Aidan says you’re probably the only one he can
get it up for.”

“Will!” I
stifled a grin.

“Don’t
complain. It’s good for business. Now.” He cleared his throat.
“John will be there at half eight. You’re at his flat. Take care,
Leila.”

Seth Pieterson
had been one of my regular clients. Unusually, he was young, only
nineteen. An online business had made him very comfortable, very
quickly, and true to the internet geek cliché, money had not bought
him social prowess. He was shy in the most savoury fashion.

Seth had sent
away both of the other Ladarna girls before William suggested that
Aidan and I had a crack. It took one of our more athletic shows and
a lot of manly encouragement from Aidan, but eventually, Seth was
up to the job and a virgin no longer. I’d seen him on a monthly
basis from thereon in.

That night, I
dressed in the casual way he favoured: a tight cardigan with a
little skirt, sheer underwear and loose hair. John arrived at half
eight on the dot and just like that, I was a whore all over
again.

We were pulling
up outside Seth’s apartment building when it occurred to me that I
hadn’t thought of Joseph in several hours, or Clemmie, or law. I
had escaped. Was this the calm in the eye of the storm, or had I
simply made it out on the other side?

Seth greeted me
at the door with his hair still damp from the shower.

“Hello,
stranger.” I smiled and stretched up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Hello.” He
pushed his glasses back into place and even now, he blushed.
“Charlotte.”

It was
endearing, in a way.

“Can I get you
a drink?” he offered, ushering me through to the sitting room.

“Water would be
lovely.” I sank down on his sofa as he disappeared, eying the
minimal living room with its hastily tidied mess of computer
cables, old monitors, reams of black and white printouts. Only the
shiny wood floors and fresh walls betrayed any hint of expense. As
always, the envelope sat on the glass coffee table and I tucked it
into the bag before he returned. “Thanks.” I patted the space next
to me and he sat down clumsily, clutching a Red Bull.