Times of Trouble (9 page)

I watched from my
window as the three of them took Picasso across the lawn and then
manoeuvred him onto the hydraulic platform jutting off the back of
the truck. Liam stood by, chatting to the men, having bonded over
the heavy lifting, as they padded Picasso’s edges with blankets and
tied him up with ropes. A shudder ran through me as they slammed
the back doors of the truck. I silently said goodbye. As the truck
reversed, Liam walked back towards the house, so I took a deep
breath, ready to meet him properly at the front door. I wouldn’t
show him any gratitude for helping with Picasso. I wanted him to
know I wasn’t as easy to sweet talk as mum.

Chapter 9

‘
Is that your piano?’
Liam asked innocently.

I scowled at him,
tempted to tell him exactly why my piano was about to disappear
from view.

‘
Yes, that was my
piano. But it’s not mine anymore.’

Liam chatted to me
like we’d known each other forever as I showed him through the
house to the kitchen. Mum had gone overboard preparing the house
for his arrival. There were flowers in a vase on the kitchen table,
and she had Bach playing on the stereo, making our home feel like a
guest house. I was painfully aware of how nervous I was, at a total
loss for words as he told me all about his flight, his taxi ride
from the airport and his pleasure at seeing his family.

‘
It’s mum’s 50th, I
wouldn’t miss that. They were disappointed when I …’ he stopped.
Then he grinned and said: ‘I guess I’m the black sheep of the
family.’

So much for my idea
he had manufactured an excuse to come to Adelaide to protect his
lucrative income.

But I wasn’t going to
get involved with the small talk. Apart from the fact I didn’t
trust him, I have never been comfortable with chatty people who
seemed to be able to talk about anything to anyone. I wanted to
psych myself up to grill him for information, so I offered him a
ginger beer and directed him to the lounge, waiting for mum to join
us. But I wasn’t prepared for the shock of what I found - or
rather, didn’t find - there. I could feel him watching me as I
stared, open mouthed at the huge void in the room. There were three
round dents in the rug, forming a Picasso-sized triangle that I
feared would never go away; a constant reminder of what used to
stand there. I was still staring when mum walked in. She knew
intuitively we would have to move if we were to have a normal
conversation.

‘
Honey, why don’t we
sit at the table under the veranda? It’s a lovely summery
day.’

Liam chatted to mum
on his way outside, getting a much better response from her than he
had from me. It occurred to me he might be talking out of
nervousness, just as I was speechless for the same reason. Could
nervous people fake confidence so effectively? I doubted
it.

Mum showed Liam
outside and went back into the kitchen to prepare some sandwiches.
My first instinct was to offer to help, and avoid confronting Liam
on my own. But it would be rude to leave him sitting outside. So as
we settled into our deck chairs, I decided to start the
conversation, just as I planned in my head.

‘
So Liam, how close
do you think you are to finding Sophie?’

Liam shifted on his
seat. He obviously wasn’t expecting to have to get straight to the
point. To his credit, he didn’t squirm for long. He looked me
straight in the eyes as he spoke.

‘
I’m really glad
we’ve had this opportunity to talk privately, before your mum comes
out. I have been finding it very difficult to express what is
happening in emails to her...’

Liam had a look of
compassion that only a very good actor could fake.

'Why is that?' I
asked, failing to hide my accusing tone.

'It's a long
story...' he started to say, and then noticed me roll my
eyes.

'Why don't you try to
explain? Lunch won’t be ready for a while.'

Liam sat forward in
his chair, staring at his feet now instead of at me. He looked like
he was carefully planning his words. ‘You’ve read the emails I sent
haven’t you?’

I nodded.

‘
And you’ve read the
ones your mum sent me?’

I nodded
again.

‘
Did you get any
sense that your mum was hoping for Sophie to be found, but was
anxious about hearing anything bad about her in the meantime?
Didn’t you notice she never asked any questions?’

‘
That’s because she
trusted you,' I replied. 'She trusted you would tell her everything
she needed to know.'

‘
I’m not talking
about questioning what was happening, I’m talking about simple
questions anyone might ask, except someone who doesn’t want to
know. You must have had questions when you read the
emails?’

‘
It would be fair to
say I had some.’ There was no way to rattle this man.

‘
Ok, ask me
them.’

‘
You must have found
out what Sophie had been doing for a living after she left the
café. You spoke to her employer. Why didn’t you tell us any
details?’

‘
Before I answer, ask
yourself why your mum might have avoided this question.’

Liam had a point. I’d
prefer him not to know this, though. Mum couldn’t cope with too
much bad news, and the fewer questions she asked, the less bad news
she had to deal with.

‘
I guess she just
wanted Sophie found, and this was her focus. She didn’t feel a need
to look into the past.’

‘
Might that be
because she was worried about what she might learn?’

Damn. I knew then I
was going to be told something I didn’t really want to hear
either.

‘
Ok, then what was
she doing? I thought she might have just worked in another café, or
a bar or something... But what you’re implying makes me think it
was something bad, something a mother wouldn’t want to
know.’

I paused, not wanting
to show Liam how upset I was starting to feel. He still hadn’t said
anything.

‘
Just tell me Liam.
You’re making me anxious. Whatever it is, it won’t make any
difference to me. We haven’t seen her in seven years. We just want
to know she’s OK!’

Was I channelling mum
all of a sudden? Why was he making me beg?

Liam suddenly got
straight to the point. ‘She was an escort. A very high class, well
paid escort.’

My stomach dropped
through my legs.

‘
A prostitute? My
sister works as a prostitute?’ I kept my voice as hushed as
possible, trying to protect mum from overhearing this
news.

Liam looked
embarrassed, but still eerily calm. ‘I’m sorry Ellen, there was no
simple way to explain. She isn’t working as one anymore. But up
until recently, around the time she must have sent the email, she
was working in London as an escort. It doesn’t always mean money
for sex. Sometimes it’s just companionship, or an attractive date
for a function...’

He wasn’t making me
feel any better. How on earth was I going to explain this to mum?
It would kill her to find out her daughter was a prostitute. Who
cared if she was well paid or ‘high class’? It all boiled down to
the same thing. Mum didn’t even let us watch
Pretty Woman
as children; she found it immoral even to speak of such
things. I felt such an intense anger at Sophie I could barely sit
still. How dare she choose such a horrible way to make a living?
The fact she made a ‘good’ living made me even angrier. I pictured
her dolling herself up, as she loved to do when she was a teenager,
but instead of costume jewellery and mum’s oversized shoes, I
imagined diamonds and Prada. It made my skin crawl to think about
it. The sleazy men, the hotel rooms, the envelopes of cash. Married
men, no doubt. I felt sick. Was there anything worse in the world
she could have been doing than that? I couldn’t think of
anything.

My stomach felt a
second squeeze; the familiar humiliating reminder that I was still
a virgin. I hadn’t even kissed a man, well not properly. I guess my
sister was making up for my inadequacies in that area! And my
inadequacies in making money. I had always assumed Sophie had great
things in front of her. She had such natural confidence, and she
was so loved by everyone, I felt certain she would make it as an
actress. And if not that, maybe a successful business woman, or an
entrepreneur, or something creative. How could she give up
everything she had always wanted? At least I tried to make it as a
pianist. It sounded like Sophie gave up before she even
tried.

‘
I can see I’ve upset
you. It must be quite a shock,’ Liam said.

I glared at him.
‘It’s a shock, but I’ll get over it. I don’t know if mum ever would
though. You were right not to tell her.’

He nodded, keen to
move off the subject.

‘
I had to tell you,
you see, because I’m sure it must relate to the trouble she’s in
now.’

‘
Before we talk about
this, I need a glass of wine. Do you want one?’ I asked, hoping he
wouldn’t, as there was only half a bottle in the fridge.

‘
Yes please, I’d love
one.’

Fabulous. I walked
inside, desperate not to let Liam see the tears in my eyes. Mum was
still chopping tomatoes for a salad. Since when did we need to eat
salad as well as sandwiches? She must be stalling to avoid the
conversation.

'What are you two
talking about?' she asked, looking worried at my
expression.

'Oh, nothing much,
I'll explain later...' That seemed to be enough for her for the
time being.

I took my time in
front of the fridge, breathing deeply, trying to appear calm and
composed by the time I went back outside. But as I handed Liam his
glass, my hand was noticeably shaking. Liam seemed ready to keep
talking, eager to erase the awkwardness that hung between us. I
decided to let him talk, too scared to ask any more questions for
fear of what I might be told. Maybe I was getting more like mum as
I got older.

‘
The café owner told
me about the line of work she was in. One of the other girls who
worked in the café told him Sophie was, was...working in this
particular field, and he remembered he was shocked. He didn’t know
where she was living or working, so I just went back to the area
around the internet café, and asked around. A friendly cabby gave
me an idea of where the brothels were. I visited every broth....
sorry, parlour... in the area, and showed people Sophie’s photo,
the publicity shot from the agent. The problem was, these people
are very discreet. Operating a brothel is illegal, so they aren’t
exactly ecstatic when a man knocks on the door with a photo of a
woman, asking if she works there. I felt like I wasn’t getting
anywhere for a long time. Then I came across a nicely done terrace.
It was in the right area and it didn’t look like someone’s
home.’

I wasn’t sure I
needed so much detail, but I also didn’t want to butt in, in case
he lost his train of thought.

‘
When I knocked on
the door, this attractive woman answered. I could tell right away
she was a prostitute by the way she... you know... looked at
me.’

I didn’t know, but I
stayed silent.

‘
I asked to speak to
the manager, and at first she tried to slam the door on me because
she thought I was the police. I told her I wasn’t interested in
what was going on there, and I was just trying to locate someone.
She recognised Sophie in the photo I showed her, and she took me
into a kind of reception area. The place was really flash, lots of
velvet and antique furniture. There was a woman sitting behind this
huge mahogany desk.’

‘
She was Sophie’s
employer,’ I guessed.

Liam nodded. ‘She was
an older woman, really classy, sort of like a politician’s wife,
with an expensive suit. But I could tell she was the Madam. Her
lipstick was a bit too bright, and she had far too many rings on
her fingers
.
’

Liam seemed acutely
observant when it came to spotting prostitutes and their Madams. I
hated to think how he was so familiar with these kinds of people,
still not used to the idea my sister was ‘these kinds of
people’.

‘
So she was the one
who needed be paid to give information about Sophie?’

It didn’t sound like
this woman was short of cash. All the rings and the antiques. Liam
finally looked rattled at the mention of the money, though not as
much as I had hoped.

‘
Yes, she was the
woman I paid the £5,000 to. Her name is Carla. At first she was
suspicious of me, and wanted me out of the place. When I said I was
working for Sophie’s family, she said she didn’t know a Sophie. But
she recognised the photo. That was when I worked out Sophie had
changed her name. She went undercover when her visa ran
out.’

Liam looked at me for
acknowledgement of what he had said.

‘
What was her name?’
I said quietly, almost to myself.

‘
Molly
Lane.’

That made sense.
‘Molly from Ob La Di and Lane from Penny Lane.’

‘
That’s what I
assumed. Your mum said she loved The Beatles. I came back with the
cash from your mum. Then she gave me the information she had about
Sophie. It was really crucial, even though it didn’t lead me
directly to her.’