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.But beside the card tables was a dance floor and running down one side of the room, a bar.The photographer had used some kind of lens or filter to add a golden haze to the rows of bottles, gilded decor and massed ceiling lights.The clientele was exclusively male.Some wore suits, others were in tailored shirts and smart trousers.All had black hair and dark skin.Several had neatly trimmed beards.Sprinkled among them were a few girls.They all wore the same outfit: gold hot pants, gold high-heels, gold waist jackets over crisp white blouses.Some were carrying trays of drinks, two were up on a low stage dancing, others were just chatting with customers.The wording at the top of the sheet said, Club Soda.An exclusive club for those with discerning tastes.Chartres Street, Beirut, Lebanon.‘Chloe? Did Nina tell you one of the girls got a five-hundred-quid tip last week? Just for carrying drinks to a table.’‘I know.But it’s two fifty just to get in the place.Thirty-five quid for a whisky and Coke.Arabs, isn’t it? They’re all loaded.’Chloe gave Madison a mischievous look.‘What do you reckon you’d get for tugging one of them off in the toilets? Twice that?’Madison’s face fell.‘Shut up!’ She looked nervously towards the corridor.A heavy door blocked the stairs up to the ground floor.‘Nina would flip if she heard you say that.It’s not like that.’‘Oh, I love you, Mads, you’re so fucking innocent.’ Chloe smiled.‘All places like that are like that.’‘No touching,’ Madison said.‘All they’re allowed is to talk to us.’‘Not even for a grand? Not to shag, only a hand-job.’‘Shut up, Chloe.’ Madison struggled out of the beanbag and looked uncertainly at her friend.‘Would you? For a grand?’‘Any day.Easy money.What about Liam? Would you give him one?’‘Liam? Who brings down the food and stuff?’‘Yeah.When he was showing us how the running machine works, I was checking his arse.Good and tight, it was.’‘Liam? He’s like thirty or something.That’s gross.Besides, I don’t like his eyes.It’s like the pupils are too big.Black thoughts, he’s got.’‘And? What does that matter? I’m talking about his body.And after a week down here, I’m thinking old Spencer would be worth it.’‘Creepy Spencer? From the care home? I worry about your head, Chloe.’Chloe laughed raucously.‘OK, maybe not Spencer.But Liam? Get him in the back bedroom.I’d have some of that, oh yes.’Madison tied her hair back in a ponytail.‘Anyway, he’s got the hots for Nina – no question.’‘You reckon?’‘God, yeah.When she’s talking, watch him – not her.It’s like he’s hypnotised, head bobbing away like one of those stupid plastic dogs you see in the backs of cars.’‘Missed that,’ Chloe sniffed.‘Still, I could handle sharing him.I’m not selfish.’‘You’re wrong, girl.Up here.’ Madison tapped her temple.‘I’m having a go on the rowing machine.’‘You work it!’ Chloe shot back, reaching for the Maltesers.Madison paused in the doorway.‘Anyways, two hundred quid for every shift? And a share of the tips as well? They can wank their own selves off, the dirty bastards.’Chloe burst out laughing again.SIX‘I remember it being on the news,’ Jim said from his position on the kitchen floor.Iona’s mum’s dishwasher was pulled out from the wall.He continued to examine the tubes and wiring behind it.‘They had to shut the M602 before Salford, didn’t they?’‘No – she went off a bridge over the M60 near Denton.That was a different one,’ Iona replied, her laptop on the kitchen table before her.Moira made a clucking sound.‘So many young lives wasted.How terrible this world can be.’‘So why are the CTU interested?’ Jim asked as he reached for a pair of pliers.‘Oh,’ Iona said, now regretting that she’d brought the girl’s suicide up.The fact that so much of her work couldn’t be discussed with anyone outside the unit was made more awkward by Jim’s lack of success in his own application to get in.‘It might be linked in with some other stuff.The reason why I mentioned it is this other person you can see at the edge of the picture.I can’t stop thinking about what she must be going through: trying to talk the young girl back, then watching as she drops off the edge.The way the woman turns round and walks off, shoulders hunched …’‘Ow, hen.’ Moira’s Scottish accent had been softened by her whisper.She stroked her daughter’s hand.‘Whoever she was, she tried.At least she did that.She’d be feeling a lot worse if she hadn’t.’‘Yeah, but now she’s probably traumatised.Now she’s got that memory [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]