lucky beggars would be sunning themselves in Monte Carlo while ordinary folk like her stayed home in cold, rainy Scotland. Even Diana’s hints about a holiday abroad had ceased to charm her. What she really needed was a tangible sign of the woman’s intentions when all she had to look forward to was yet another night in her lonely bed.
‘Coming to bed?’ Maggie Lorimer stood in the doorway, feeling the chill from the room swirl around her ankles. She smiled ruefully, glancing down at her new silk negligee, a Christmas present from Bill. He’d been so tired lately, and now this idea of pacing the streets on a cold January night was just too much to bear. Could she tempt him into staying home with her?
‘Aye, why not.’ His eyes flicked over her from head to toe with that lazy smile that made her stomach flip in anticipation.
‘And,’ she paused for a second, ‘will you stay there afterwards?’
He shook his head but the smile did not falter. ‘Go on, I’ll be right up.’
The room was not completely dark, a flickering light from the street lamp outside shining through the window where Maggie had left the curtains still tied back. It was a wild night, wind whistling through the trees and rain lashing against the window, rattling the panes. Maggie smiled, remembering the lines from a poem that one of her third years had recited yesterday at the school’s Burns Supper. The Bard’s entrance to the world had been heralded by
‘ … a blast o’ Janwar Win’.
Her smile faded as a different thought came into Maggie’s head. Somewhere out in that storm there were women plying their ancient trade, fighting not just against the elements but against the pull of the drug that forced them into the streets night after lonely night. Bill’s determination to seek them out and ask questions was typical of the kind of man her husband was. He’d worry away at a problem until something yielded. There had not been much said about the Pattison case, only that Mrs Pattison was now helping with their enquiries. Maggie’s raised eyebrow had given her husband a chance to tell her more but he’d not chosen to go into any further details.
‘Hope you’re not sleeping, Mrs Lorimer,’ he said softly, slipping into bed beside her. Then, as his arms encircled her, Maggie’s thoughts about what her husband might find out later during the wee small hours vanished as her body responded to his.
Lily cried out as the man slammed her against the wall but her protest only served to make the punter more excited as he pushed himself into her, forcing her head back as his grunts became louder and louder.
It was soon over and she breathed a silent prayer of gratitude as he released her from his grip.
There was no word of thanks, no word at all, as he tucked his shirt back into his trousers and headed back down the cobbled lane leaving Lily shivering with a mixture of fear and disgust. The rain that had made puddles all along the rutted lane had become a thin drizzle, soaking through her clothes and making rats’ tails of her hair. She should do something with it, tie it into a band or something; tidy herself up in case another punter came her way. But that last encounter seemed to have leached every last drop of the girl’s energy and she stood there wanting only to add her tears to the water running down her face.
Some of the other girls had mentioned you might get ones like this; brutes who only wanted a quick shag and could be rough about it. You were a body for sale, that was all, Doreen had told her with a laugh as though it were a matter of no significance at all.
Well, maybe it wasn’t such a big deal, Lily thought, gathering up her bag and straightening her skirt. The oldest profession, one of the women at the drop-in centre had called it, though Lily hadn’t been sure if the words had been spoken with pride or sarcasm.
She heard his footsteps before she saw him. Bracing herself for the approach of another punter so soon after the one that had left her, Lily leaned back against the wall, tugging her coat more closely around her. The man who was walking towards her was tall and strong-looking, but something about the way he walked on the other side of the lane, dodging the puddles, made