Love Life Read online

  © Matt Shaw 2011

  The right of Matt Shaw to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.

  The characters, and story, in this book are purely fictitious. Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  PROLOGUE

  KIRK HAD TROUBLE SHOWING EMOTION since that night. It was as though something in his soul had perished along with Tracy. Tracy – the love of his life. Tonight was different though. For the first time since he could remember, he was concerned; albeit a feeling of concern mixed together with an ever-so slight feeling of joy that she, Kim, had called him in her hour of need – especially after the way they had parted company earlier in the day.

  It was 2:30am - a cold winter’s morning with the weather undecided as to whether it wanted to rain or snow. His blue Ford Escort speeding him towards St Anne’s hospital. His blue Ford Escort speeding him towards Kim. His blue Ford Escort not speeding him to his destination fast enough. His size-eleven shoe pressed down harder against the accelerator as his mind kept playing back the telephone conversation over and over in his head.

  “Hello?” he had said after picking up the ringing telephone that would have woken him from his sleep if he had ever slept. No reply. He had known someone was there. He had heard the shaky breathing. “Hello?” He remembered hearing someone breathe in. “Hello?”

  “Kirk?” a faint voice had finally uttered back.

  “Who is this?”

  “Is that you?” said the female voice on the other end of the line between tears.

  “Kim? Is that you? What’s wrong?” he’d asked. No reply came straight away and, again, he had stood there listening to her sob. “Kim, are you going to talk to me? What’s wrong?”

  “Can you pick me up?”

  Kirk had replied with no hesitation, “Sure, where are you?”

  Again she had replied, through her tears, “St Anne’s.”

  “What happened?”

  “Can you pick me up?” she had repeated before the phone-line went dead.

  A red traffic light ahead snapped Kirk from his thoughts. He didn’t know what was wrong with Kim. He had no idea how serious it was, or wasn’t, but the traffic light certainly wasn’t going to stop him. He pressed the accelerator down as far as it would go, ignoring the engine warning lights that flashed up on his dashboard blinking for him to get more oil. The hospital was close now; only around the next corner.

  * * * * *

  The car’s interior light came on, as Kim opened the door. When Kirk had seen Kim earlier she had looked beautiful. Her blonde hair tied back in a pony-tail with a few strands of hair covering her left eye, her make-up applied with almost perfect precision; red lipstick, a light blue eye shadow - a complete contrast to how she looked now with her make-up smeared across her pale face, bloodshot eyes from where she’d been crying, a deep purple bruise starting to show through on her right cheek and, as she winced as she sat in the passenger seat of Kirk’s car, he realised these were just the injuries that he could see. There were more.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said avoiding direct eye contact, hoping that he wouldn’t ask any questions. She didn’t need to hide. It had been so long that Kirk had found himself in this situation that he didn’t know how to respond to what had obviously happened to her. He didn’t know what to say and he didn’t know what to do. He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something but nothing came out. He shook his head, disappointed in his lack of compassion, and turned the car key in the ignition – spluttering the dying engine back into life.

  “Where did you want me to take you?” asked Kirk, finally, when it was obvious that Kim wasn’t going to offer the information. “Where do you live?”

  “I can’t go home,” sobbed Kim.

  “What about friends or family?” continued Kirk.

  There’s another brief spell of silence before, “Can I stay at yours?” Kirk turned to her. He didn’t know what to say. No one has stayed at his since Tracy. Even though she was no longer with him he felt as though it was disrespectful to her memory for people to stay over. Kim didn’t notice Kirk looking at her as she looked out of the window, hiding her obvious tears from him. She continued, “If it’s a problem…”

  “No,” said Kirk, “it’s no problem.”

  “I’m sorry for how I treated you earlier. You just caught me by surprise,” said Kim, turning to face Kirk. He can’t help but look at her bruised face.

  ‘What had happened to her?’

  “It’s already forgotten,” replied Kirk. She smiled at him with red-raw, watery eyes.

  “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

  “Look, did you want to talk about what happened?” he asked. She turned away from him and looked out of the window again. The familiar sounds of her sobs fill the car once more. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, “You don’t have to talk about it,” finishing the conversation so she didn’t feel as though she needed to.

  He nodded to himself, happy with his progress of being compassionate, and turned his attention back to the road – pressing down gently on the accelerator; the car slowly pulling away from the hospital car park with the clicking of the indicator helping to disguise her sobs. As they pulled out of the car park Kirk leant down and turned the radio on to help break the uncomfortable silence – “The Sound of Silence” by Simon and Garfunkel. Kirk smiled to himself.

  Love Life

  Matt Shaw

  1

  ANOTHER HOTEL BATHROOM like all the other hotel bathrooms Kim had found herself in before tonight; white marble-tiled floor with a non-slip rubber mat placed by the foot of the white, pristine bath – still full of water from where he had bathed himself prior to her visit. A silver sink, built into the white worktop, with a selection of over-priced toiletries, for clients to purchase from the hotel having forgotten to pack them from their own homes. A glass, upside down, placed on a small, circular white mat. White. Nearly everything white. Everything so clinical.

  Kim stood in front of the large bathroom mirror, which hung on the wall behind the sink, and stood for a moment looking at her reflection; a look of both disgust and pity. She hated the way she looked now with her bleached hair, which Leon had insisted upon, and what she perceived to be a stereotypical ‘tart’ outfit; short, black leather skirt, red crop top, revealing her toned stomach and hiding the bra that worked wonders at pushing her breasts close together giving the impression they were larger than they actually were, no panties. Her panties were in the other room with him. Where he was lying on the bed, naked with a now-flaccid penis from where she had successfully fulfilled her ‘girlfriend’ role; her panties were on the floor next to her black jacket; where he had instructed her to leave them. She didn’t know his real name. He had called himself ‘John’ but she wasn’t born yesterday. They never gave their real names. She didn’t care.

  Kim took the glass, from the sink, and filled it with water before taking a large swig. She tilted her head back and quietly swished the water around her mouth for a minute - anything to get rid of the taste; his taste. She stopped and dropped her head forward, catching her reflection in the mirror once more before spitting the water at it. Kim always found it hard to decide who was more disgusting – the men that paid to bed her or her for allowing herself to be in the situation.

  ‘Last time,’ she thought to herself as she reached for her bag that hung from the back of the door on a small, gold hanger th
at looked out of place against the predominantly white and silver room. From her bag she pulled a silver wrapper – its contents being a small amount of cocaine; a habit that was a parting gift from Leon. At the time she had never thanked Leon for it but, now, she was truly thankful, for she found it helped to give her the confidence and strength to do what she knew she had to do. She could always quit after tonight.

  Leon had always kept her drugs manageable for her. All she had to do was tip the silver wrapper onto the bathroom’s worktop and easily shape it into a long line before snorting it up a nostril. She never had to crunch it down into an ‘easy-to-snort’ powder. Leon had always done that for her, it gave her less time to think about what she was doing. If it’s easy just to pour and take, then there was less chance of her coming to her senses and arguing with him that she didn’t need to take anything.

  She shut her eyes and put her head close to the line, hesitating briefly, before holding one of her nostrils shut and sniffing hard through a crisp twenty pound note that she had rolled from the stash that she just earned. It doesn’t take long before the line is gone and all traces have been wiped from the surface. It never takes long. She brings her head up fast and gives it a jerk backwards as though it helps the cocaine work its way through her system faster. She kept her eyes closed and waited. It won’t take long for the complete feeling of euphoria to shudder through her body.

  “I told you it helps.”

  She opened her eyes and jumped – she was the only one in the bathroom and yet Leon stood next to her in the mirror’s reflection. She looked at him in horror as small bubbles of blood pop out of the deep wound in his neck as they slowly try and coagulate.

  In the reflection he put his hand on her shoulder, “I told you it helps,” he said again with a haunting voice.

  “You aren’t here. You can’t be here,” she said. She closed her eyes and ignored him. He wasn’t there. She was right. Ignore him and he will simply go back into her subconscious. Forget about him. Concentrate on the task at hand. Concentrate on what needs to be done. Concentrate on the effects of the drug. It’s nice. She felt the dripping sensation at the back of her throat and confidence levels boost; pleasant feelings. She felt the numbness.

  ‘Concentrate.’

  * * * * *

  “I’ll make all your bookings. You keep this phone on you at all times, if we aren’t together, so I can reach you – we can not afford to miss any appointments. As long as you listen to me, I’ll keep you safe. I’ll watch out for you. I promise you, though, you fuck with me…” Leon smiled at her and changed the conversation, “I got you this, I think you’ll find it will be of use.” He handed Kim a small wrap of cocaine; the first of many. “Remember,” he continued, “You’re doing this for your mum.”

  As Kim walked down the hotel corridor, having left ‘John’ sleeping like a little baby, she couldn’t help but think back to what Leon had said to her when all of this began. She couldn’t help but think of the drugs that were given to her to help her go through with what was asked of her and, more importantly, she couldn’t believe that it all started with her mother. Everything he had made her do – he said it was all for her mother and what had it got any of them? Her mother, Jackie, was dead, Leon was dead and Kim believed that she may have well been dead. She knew that if they caught up with her – her life wouldn’t be worth living and, as she crossed the hotel lobby avoiding the suspicious gazes of hotel management, she just kept thinking to herself, ‘One more night and it will all be over.’

  So far that day she had seen four customers. Three of them paid. She couldn’t take Kirk’s money as it didn’t feel right. He didn’t even want to have intercourse with her – something that she didn’t understand. From the three customers that did pay, she was rewarded with three hundred and sixty pounds; to some people a lot of money. To Kim it was nowhere near enough.

  Kim stopped in the lobby of the hotel long enough to glance over to the row of clocks that lined the walls behind the reception desk. The clock showing the London time had already struck midnight.

  “May I help you, ma’am?” asked what must have been the hotel manager as he looked down his nose at Kim causing her to feel even more shame than she was already feeling. There was a time when Kim herself, looked down her nose at the type of person she had become.

  “No, thank you.” She looked to the floor and as she stepped into the cold winter’s night – she knew time was running out. She had a maximum of five hours to see as many clients as possible and get out of town. Any longer than that and she ran the risk of being caught.

  2

  KIM HAD CALLED KIRK FOR HELP. She asked him to come to the hospital and pick her up. She had also asked him if she could come back to his place when she told him that she couldn’t go to her own home. Kirk didn’t understand why, after asking him for his help and hospitality, she kept looking at the clock that sat on the mantelpiece next to an old photo frame that had been turned around so that the picture within faced the wall. It was nearly 3:00am.

  “Is there somewhere you need to be?” asked Kirk as he sat opposite to where Kim had painfully sat down. “Did you want to call someone to let them know you are here?”

  Kim didn’t reply. She just sat there, in his cramped lounge, staring at the clock on the mantelpiece until, after what seemed an eternity of silence, “Is that the correct time?”

  Kirk checked his watch, “Yes.” He asked again, “Did you need to call someone?”

  “I don’t have anyone to call. Thank you for collecting me and bringing me back here.” She was slow in her speech and looked dazed. Kirk wondered whether the hospital had actually discharged her or whether she had just left by her own choice.

  “Not a problem,” he didn’t bother asking whether she was discharged or not. There was no point – if she wasn’t officially discharged he somehow doubted that she would bother telling him the truth anyway. “Can I get you anything?”

  “May I have a cup of tea?” said Kim, finally taking her eyes from the ticking clock that seemed to be counting down the minutes of her life.

  “I’m sorry; I don’t have any tea bags. I’m not a tea drinker. Can I get you anything else?”

  “Coffee?”

  Kirk shifts uneasily on the armchair. He doesn’t have any coffee, “I’m not a coffee drinker.”

  “Do you have anything stronger like alcohol?”

  “Not in the house,” he laughs nervously.

  “If I hung around earlier today, what were you going to offer me?” asks Kim.

  He thinks for a split second before, “I think I have some orange squash.” Kirk doesn’t wait for an answer – too embarrassed by how ill-prepared he is for social interaction and leaves the room to get a glass of orange.

  Kim shifts her weight uneasily in the chair, trying to get comfortable on her bruises, and casts an eye around the room wondering whether she would be found here. The curtains are closed, as they were earlier in the day, so people couldn’t look in and the lounge had the look of a room that didn’t see too many visitors. A thick layer of dust lined the sides and shelves, the chocolate brown carpet, although not messy, didn’t look as though it was cleaned very often. A pile of DVDs littered the floor in front of the television space – some of the films looking as though they were homemade videos of some sorts. Scattered around the walls were pictures of Kirk and another woman.

  “You’re in luck, I did have a little bit of squash left,” said Kirk as he came back into the room carrying a wine glass filled with orange. “I’m sorry; I didn’t have any normal glasses but if you need any more juice, just ask.” He handed her the glass.

  “Thank you.”

  “Were you hungry?” he asks as he sits down again.

  “I’m okay, thank you.”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “Better,” she said truthfully. She had a funny feeling that, outside of this house, there were problems that she had to run from but, inside the house, she was safe. She
felt safe with Kirk. He hadn’t wanted to try having sex with her during her earlier visit. He wasn’t like the other men who had booked her - perhaps because of their previous relationship all those years before.

  Kim hadn’t recognised Kirk earlier in the afternoon when she had visited him, after receiving a phone call asking for an appointment. She hadn’t recognised the voice on the other end of the phone as a voice that she had grown up with. She barely even recognised Kirk when he explained how he knew her.

  If it wasn’t for his watch she wouldn’t have cared who he said he was either but – the watch – it was all too close to home and she couldn’t go through with the appointment, even if it was going to be an easy session because he had booked her for company only and not the act of sex itself. She had needed the money, desperately, but couldn’t bring herself to stay with him – talking about how great she looked and asking how her mother was. She had to distance herself from anybody who knew what she was like when she was younger. She had to distance herself from anyone who knew her before she was a whore. Her shame was too great.