Chapter 45

Klempner

“Here…” Juliana places something in the ground… a flat something… “I'm not giving you a cushion, but
you can have that.”

On the end of her shoe, she toes it toward me and across the white line. A fragment of paint breaks
from the edge of the line.

Stiff-jointed, I stand. It’s not easy. Every movement scrapes flesh and bone against the concrete and I
resist the urge to simply roll forward and crawl towards whatever-it-is.

So, I stand: unravelling myself: piece by piece, joint-by-joint, unfolding my body until I’m upright. Then I
take the three or four steps to what has become the edge of my world.

Stooping with exaggerated care for my stiff spine, I examine her flat-packed offering. “A cardboard
box?”

“It'll get your ass off the concrete.”

“In this damp, It won't last long.”

She shrugs. “Then, I might give you another. If you behave yourself.”

“You mean if I grovel and entertain you.”

She gives me a hyena grin. “That’s the spirit.”

*****

“Can I ask you something?”



Her eyes narrow. “You can ask.”

“How did you come to be in my hands in the first place? Most of the kids were shipped in from the third
world or Eastern Europe. How did you come to be in Blessingmoors?”

Her jaw drops. “You don't know?”

“Why would I? I ran the show. I didn't make personal collections. I had people on the ground for that.”

She’s floundering. “You really don't know why I was in Blessingmoors?”

“No, I don't. Is there some reason I should?” Shock recoils over her face. “Juliana, I may have fucked
up your life, but if you imagine it was from some personal vendetta, you're dreaming. Did one of my
ground teams abduct you? Were you a runaway?”

“No...” She speaks slowly… Reluctantly… “My parents sold me to you...”

Something in me tightens. “Your parents?”

She shrugs, apparently off-hand. “Well, in fact, my mother. My father was never there. And when he
was, he was usually drunk. If he came home, we'd all hide or go out if we could.”

“We?”

Me, my brothers and sisters.” She licks lips. The eyes slit further. “Are you really interested in this? Or
is this your idea of being clever?”

“I’m interested. I’d like to hear it.”

She looks away. “It’s private.”

“Your childhood? Tell me. I’ll match you.”



Her face screws up, unbelieving. “What?”

I fake a smile, wink at her.“ I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Oh…” She nods slowly, then seems to reach a decision. “There were eight of us. One day, my mother
said we were going out, just her and me… That she was taking me for a special treat. She made me
wear my best dress. My older sister's actually. And she took me to meet a man. He gave her money…”
She gulps, looking away… “She said I was to go with him. She said he'd take me to my new home. It
would be a kind of holiday…” Her voice breaks.

Christ…

My belly tightens…

I rub the bridge of my nose. “For what it is worth to you, Juliana, I do understand how that makes you
feel. For many years, I believed my own mother had abandoned me.”

She turns liquid eyes to me. “But she hadn't?”

“No. She was murdered when I was small. But, at the time, I didn't understand that.”

Her voice is dull. “Who killed her?”

“My father.”

Her eyes widen. “And what happened to him?”

“In the end, I killed him.”

The laugh is bleak. “Karma.”

“Yes, Karma. What goes around comes around.”



She sits back in her chair’ eyes me. “And so here we are.”

“As you say. Here we are.”

Time to move on…

“How did you get away? After you were taken from Blessingmoors?”

She shrugs. “I was moved from one shitbag place to another. I don't know where most of it was. One
ploughed field looks like any other. Sometimes it was fruit, or peas, but mainly it was potatoes. Then,
one of the Gang Masters, he could have had me, but instead, he offered me light work if I did what he
wanted…” She hunches... “I don't know why he picked me, with my face, but he did. Maybe I was just
the best of a bad bunch. The good-looking ones didn’t get sent to the farms did they…” She spears a
look at me. I stare straight back.

She’s silent for a moment but then recovers herself. “Anyway, he relaxed around me. He got careless
and I got away. And after I escaped, I had to learn how to look after myself. Do my face, my hair.”

“Yes, I can see you put a lot of effort in.”

She raises a hand to her hair. “Really?”

Misreading me entirely...

“Yes, really.”

There's a kind of man who goes for the doll look. The completely made-up face.

Not I.

*****



After she leaves, I sit in the green gloom, eating my potato.

What’s going on here?

Her obsession with appearance?

Simply that she wasn’t a looker as a teenager?

I’d thought she was simply shrieking for revenge on me, but…

Is it that simple?

Whatever it is, it gnaws at me, this key to my captor’s thought, her way of thinking.

*****


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