some time, hoping he’d left enough for her. What was it Helen had told her? A vicious circle or something. Well that was right enough, Tracey-Anne thought as they headed up the hill towards Blythswood Square. There was never a good time to come off this drug that held her in its grasp. Never a good time to leave Tam either. Besides, where would she go? Helen’s other warnings faded from her mind as she tried to concentrate on the here and now.
The red lights from that fancy hotel twinkled as they approached. Funny how so many posh folk in their big cars came after the likes of her, Tracey-Anne often thought. But then punters were men and men all had that desire between their legs that needed to be satisfied. She felt a jab on her back through the fur coat as Tam staggered suddenly, pushing her against the railing.
‘See and get back tae me within the next hour, d’ye hear me? Ah’m jist aboot ready tae top myself,’ he warned her, releasing his grasp on her arm at last.
Then, slouching off into the night, Tam left her to shiver once more as she stepped to the edge of this pavement that had become more familiar to her than any home Tracey-Anne really knew.
Be careful, Helen had warned her. Remember what happened to Carol and the others. The policewoman’s voice came back to her now in the silence of the night.
Tracey-Anne had listened and nodded, hoping that Helen would stop going on about the dangers that certain predatory men posed for a vulnerable woman like herself. Och, but who really cared? So what if someone was to end it all tonight? Nobody would miss her, would they? Not even Tam, who would just find another junkie woman to scrounge off, she thought wearily. Her thoughts were interrupted as the big car rounded one side of the square and slowed almost to a standstill.
Tracey-Anne was at the door, her best smile directed towards the driver, before she had time to consider any of the consequences. It was a punter. He was asking How much? And she was already getting into the car, thinking about how easy this was, how soon she could be back at the flat and how marvellous she would feel again when this deadly cold was stopped for a while by the fire rushing through her veins.
The woman standing on the steps of the hotel wrapped her black cashmere coat around her more closely as she watched the car’s tail lights vanish over the hill. She had recognised the prostitute, known that she might be recognised herself had she stepped further into her orbit. Maybe it was a good thing that poor, junked-up Tracey-Anne was now using Carol’s old pitch. Any punter comparing her to the attractive dark-haired woman who sometimes stood across from her on Blythswood Square would find it easy to choose between them, wouldn’t they? But that other woman was not coming out to play tonight, she thought, turning back into the warmth of the hotel. She was biding her time. And it paid to be patient, didn’t it? The police inquiries were simply all over the place, officers at a loss as to who had despatched those two men in their fancy white cars.
She smiled as the duty manager nodded at her. She hadn’t been here often enough to have become a familiar figure, a businesswoman who patronised their establishment, sometimes staying over, coming and going at odd hours of the night when different members of staff would simply glance as she went past. Had they ever noticed the changes that she went through? The sleek night clubber returning as an insomniac jogger? Possibly not. But perhaps she might think of shifting her custom a little way down the hill to the Malmaison. After all, it paid to be cautious.
Tracey-Anne stood with her back to the road, wiping her hands furiously with the antiseptic wipes she kept in the bag at her feet. Just a hand job. Only a measly tenner, not enough for either Tam or herself to score a bag of gear. And she needed that fix. Oh, dear God how she needed it!
The white car rounded the corner of the square as she straightened up. Could her luck be in this time?
For a moment she froze, striving to remember something Helen had told her. Or was it something she had meant to tell Helen? A fugginess like the mist around