Disconnected Read online

  Then I thought, this is stupid, so I got my things and went out. It was a bit dull, threatening rain. I didn’t have anywhere special to go, so I headed into town. I thought it might take me out of myself. But it didn’t. There was nothing new in any of the stores, just the remnants of the sales. It was while I was wandering around New Look in the middle of the afternoon that I realised I needn’t go home at all.

  I stood still, rooted to the spot. It would teach them a lesson. It would also defer a confrontation. It would also be making a statement. It would be my way of saying how bad I felt. Then they would feel sorry for me. I know all this reads really childishly, but I was thinking with my emotions. I was scared and feeling sorry for myself. But I also felt as if I wanted to prove my independence. To show them I had my own life. That they really didn’t have any control over me at all.

  What I would do was just stay out. I could easily spend the rest of the afternoon in town, then maybe go round to Jan’s. I’d leave a message on the answerphone telling Mum and Dad not to worry. Then I’d come in late. I would choose the time of our confrontation. They would have to wait for me. I would be making a statement, a statement I had a perfect right to make. If I wanted to. Because my other choice would be never to go home. Jan made that choice, and she was surviving. Who’s to say that I couldn’t?

  I cheered up then. I left the shop and crossed over to McDonald’s and had a burger. I wondered what to do with the rest of my time. I was a bit reluctant to go over to Jan’s too early because sometimes Sally could be a bit off with me – after all, it was her house. I decided to wait until the evening so that Jan and I could go straight out. Then I had a brilliant idea – I’d go and see a film.

  It was weird, going by myself. Weirder still entering a cinema in the middle of the day. I got a ticket, bought myself some popcorn, and chose a romantic comedy. It was nice just sitting there in an almost empty cinema, like it was your own private screen. There were a few other couples but no one on their own like me. I wasn’t fussed. I settled down to watch the film. I just wanted to escape.

  The film was all right, nothing special. A lot of American people doing crazy things, mad things. I thought how you could play the same events – misunderstandings, hating someone while secretly fancying them – as if they were tragedy. Life was life, and depending how you looked at it, it was either funny or dreadful. I could imagine this sitcom about a girl who deliberately fails her exams, fancies a boy who turns out to be almost gay, whose parents discover her alcohol stash. Hilarious.

  If I spoke to my parents that night I thought I might explain about the exams, get it over and done with. If they were in listening mode, that was. The trouble with my parents is that you felt they always had their own agenda. I wondered if I was the only person who loved their parents but didn’t like them much. Maybe it would be different when I was older. Maybe not.

  The film ended. My mouth was sticky with popcorn. I would have bought some Coke in the foyer but they only sold huge containers of the stuff. I checked my watch and saw it was after six. I thought I’d go and have a real drink, so I went in a nearby pub and ordered myself half a lager. It was a little seedy in there, and everyone else in the pub were saddos. A bloke with greasy hair and black-framed glasses reading the evening newspaper. Two red-faced boys around my age, puffed, drunk faces. An old chap looking terminally depressed. And me. The place was doing my head in. I drank up my beer and went to call in at Jan’s.

  What I reckoned was, my dad would get home around seven. They’d wonder where I was. Let them wonder. Let them wonder maybe till nine or ten. Then I could ring again, and either tell them I was on my way, or that I was taking a break. It was a terrifying, exhilarating thought. Leaving home felt like one of those rollercoaster rides where you face a vertical drop. It could be the worst experience of your life, or the best. Did I have the courage to find out?

  Maybe later – not now. I took the bus to Maple Street, walked quickly up to Jan’s house. Knocked. Sally opened the door and I asked for Jan.

  “Sorry,” she said. “She’s out.”

  I hadn’t expected that.

  “When will she be back?”

  Sally shrugged, gave me the impression she didn’t want to tell me. I didn’t like that.

  “Where has she gone?” I asked.

  I saw Sally deliberate. I didn’t know what she was deliberating about. I do now.

  She said, “She’s up the Old Manchester Road.”

  Old Manchester Road? There was nothing there except for a tatty industrial estate, derelict warehouses and a string of car showrooms.

  “Go and see if you can find her,” Sally said, and shut the door in my face.

  To Taz (8)

  It all felt crazy, getting on the bus to the Old Manchester Road, knowing my mother was at home by now expecting my dad and wondering where I was. There wasn’t any sense in it. Even though I’d made all this happen, I still felt as if it hadn’t been my choice. Then I switched my thoughts off. I was looking for Jan.

  It was late evening but not yet dark when I got off the bus outside the Premier Fashions wholesale outlet. I glanced around. There was absolutely no one in sight. There was no reason for anyone to be in the area. During the day people worked in the warehouses or visited the car showrooms I’d just been past, but now it was a no-man’s land. No people, no animals, no trees, just scraps of waste ground with placards saying which property company had acquired them. Although I’d been past the area loads of times, I’d never noticed it before, just somewhere between town and the suburbs.

  Still, I reckoned if Sally had sent me here without further directions I should be able to find Jan. Maybe there was a pub up here she served in. I didn’t really know. I started walking up the road, traffic rushing past me. Maybe there would be a clue or something.

  I didn’t need a clue. I saw Jan. She was standing on the corner by a boarded-up house. I knew it was her. Her long hair was unmistakable, and she was wearing boots – boots I’d not seen before, and that silly very short skirt I remembered from the first time we met in the Gardens. I quickened my pace. I wondered what she was doing there? Maybe visiting her old family?

  Then a car drew to a halt by her, someone who was lost and asking for directions, I reckoned. And Jan got in, in the passenger seat, which was a pretty stupid thing to do. I ran towards her. You’d have thought she’d have realised that was dangerous. By the time I was approaching the car it was too late. They had driven off. My chest was hurting from the exercise, and I was worried. Why did she go off like that? Maybe she knew whoever it was. I hoped so.

  Once again I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was feeling anxious now. This wasn’t a good area. I had half a mind to go back to town and get a bus home. In fact a bus passed me on the other side of the road going somewhere or other. It looked inviting. Only I was reluctant to give up on Jan, and curious as to why she got into that car. It was an old Ford Escort. I would have tried to remember the number plate if I’d had enough presence of mind.

  I decided then she wouldn’t have got into a car with a complete stranger, even to show them the way. It would have been a stupid thing to do. Standing on that street corner like that someone could have easily mistaken her for a prostitute.

  My mind froze.

  No – Jan couldn’t be! Not a prostitute! That was silly. Like, she never even seemed very interested in blokes when we went out. She didn’t live with a pimp, a slimy bloke who she gave her earnings to. She was pretty, she didn’t need to, and anyway – I admitted this to myself now – she was only about thirteen.

  I wanted to persuade myself I was wrong, but I couldn’t. I was thinking in stereotypes. I realised I knew nothing about prostitutes. The truth was, Jan had never told me exactly how she supported herself. There was shoplifting, sure, but other times she had money with her, more money than you could ever get from shoplifting.

  If this was true – and I thought I was disgusting for even imagining it – then I had to
save her. There was no way I was going to leave. I was staying here until Jan got back. If she got back.

  I don’t know how long I waited because time stood still. I didn’t want to think. I just focused on the traffic, on a couple I saw in the distance who walked up the Old Manchester Road and down a side road to somewhere or other. I stared at the warehouse signs. Waited. Had to see Jan. Would have waited all night if needs be.

  But I didn’t have to. The same car dropped her off fairly near where I was standing. There was hardly any doubt now. I called her name as I ran towards her.

  “Jan!”

  She jerked round, saw me. She began to run too, away from me. I increased my pace, commanding her to stop. She ran like the wind. I didn’t call after her – I saved my breath for the pursuit. She turned down a side street – I followed. At the end I saw there were boards – someone was building there. Jan knew she was cornered. She stopped for just one moment. That gave me time to catch up with her. I grabbed her by the shoulders. She jerked away.

  “Jan, please!”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked angrily.

  “Sally told me. She said I’d find you here.”

  “She’s a cow. I know her problem. She’s jealous. She’s jealous of you being my mate. She wants to spoil it for me.”

  I wondered then about Sally and Jan’s relationship. But only for a moment. The main thing was to save Jan. I had to stop her doing what she was doing. I knew better than to preach at her. That was why I turned the conversation to me and my needs. I thought it would defuse the situation.

  “Look, Jan. I wanted to find you because I’m having hassle off my parents. I was, like, thinking about leaving them.”

  She looked at me oddly.

  “My mum discovered how much I’d been drinking. So I walked out. I haven’t decided what to do yet, but I wanted to find you. Because you’re my best mate,” I added.

  Her face softened. “Am I?”

  “Come here.” We went to sit on a nearby wall. I waited while she lit a cigarette and inhaled it greedily. I told her briefly about my day She relaxed; our relationship began to return to normal. Then little by little I turned the conversation to her. I wanted to get her to talk. I asked her little prompting questions, and bit by bit it all came out. Let me tell you what she told me.

  She said, she never meant to become a prostitute. She wasn’t one, really. It was only what she did to get money. The money was the problem. She said she couldn’t get dole money, she was too young. She couldn’t get a proper job. She couldn’t even sell The Big Issue. But the kids she was hanging round with after she first ran away told her she could earn twenty, maybe thirty quid for a hand job. At first she was totally disgusted but then she gave the idea some headspace. Yeah, the idea was rank. But then she thought, anyone does anything for enough money. Everyone has their price. People kill for money, they risk their reputations, don’t they, Taz? Just for money. What Jan did wasn’t that bad.

  She said these friends of hers told her where to go. But she was a bit grossed-out by the idea. She came into the Gardens instead to buy some time. That was the night I first met her. The vodka sorted her, she said. She was out of her head after it. She went round the back of a furniture warehouse, a loading bay. There were condoms, needles on the floor. His breath stunk. It was foul, disgusting. She tried to fill her head with other stuff, like all those rap lyrics. It sort of worked, she said, because it didn’t seem real what she was doing. It was like someone else was jerking him off. But still she was sick afterwards. She was just glad she didn’t throw up all over the punter. Or maybe she should’ve done – he deserved it, the pervert. But he gave her twenty quid.

  She’d shacked up with Sally at that time. She gave Sally some rent so it meant she had somewhere to stay. And she had money to spend on herself. The second time it was easier. She knew to get drunk first. And it made her feel good, to earn money off those stinky old men. And you had to be careful, you had to have your own patch. But Sally arranged that with the other women. Sally was on the game too. Jan said the other women were great, had a sense of humour, looked after her, told her where to get stuff. On the streets she was Mary. When she was a little girl, a kid, she was Angie.

  Then she thought she might as well do full sex, like, what’s the difference? The money’s better – the night of George’s party she was given fifty quid by a punter. Some nights she might get two punters – it adds up. She said she knows what people think about what she does, but she’s supporting herself. It’s her body, and she can do what she wants with it. She’s had to watch out for the police, duck and dive, but once this copper came up to her, and she was about to run, but he only wanted a hand job.

  As we talked, she was chain smoking. What I couldn’t get over was that she was so matter of fact. You know, Taz, everything else that had happened to me, I was able to accept. I was able to adjust my vision. But not now. I couldn’t accept this. I’d reached my limits. I couldn’t bear to think of what men did to Jan. I had to do something.

  “Don’t you think these men are exploiting you?” I suggested.

  She looked blank. “Whatever,” she said.

  I realised she hadn’t understood the word. “They’re using you,” I explained.

  “They pay,” she said. “I need the money.”

  “If I gave you some money…” I calculated rapidly – I had five hundred pounds in my savings account – “… say, five hundred pounds, would you give this up?”

  “Have you got five hundred quid with you?”

  “Not with me. But I can get it.”

  “Oh.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “Yeah, well, I’m not doing this for ever anyway. I’m moving on soon. I got enough to rent a flat. Somewhere else. I’ll get a real job then, working in a shop. I’ll get a discount off the clothes.”

  “Are you old enough to work in a shop?”

  “Yeah, well, a girl in my class at school did a paper round. And helped out in the shop in the evenings.”

  “What year were you in at school?”

  “Year Eight.”

  I was right. She was only thirteen, possibly even twelve. I felt sick, cold. She was Jan, my Jan, sitting next to me, but I didn’t know her at all. Not at all. I was out of my depth. Utterly helpless. I wanted my mum and dad then, my teacher, anyone.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll get a job. And buy lottery tickets. And then I’ll settle down and get married and have those four kids, Adam, Zak, Bella and Rosy. Maybe I’ll paint. I could open my own nail salon. We could go now, Cat. You and me. Go to a new town and open a beauty salon.”

  “Yeah. If you went back to school you could get some qualifications.”

  “I’m not going back to school. No way.”

  “But isn’t school better than what you’re doing?”

  She was silent. I held my breath.

  “No,” she said, after a while. “No. Teachers dissing you and this girl held my head down the toilets. I never had no money. No. This is all right for now. I’m earning money, aren’t I? I’m looking after myself. It can be pretty crappy, but like, what’s perfect? And it’s not for ever.”

  She took two twenty-pound notes out of her jacket pocket and looked at them, hoping I would notice and be impressed. She put them back.

  “Maybe you wouldn’t have to go back to school,” I continued. “They could find you a foster home or something.”

  “I’m not going into effing care. I’ve heard about what happens.”

  “Do you have a relation? An aunt or someone who could look after you till you’re old enough to leave home properly?”

  “Just lay off, will you?”

  I felt stupid, stupid and young. Much younger than Jan. Who had left home, and was looking after herself as well as she knew how. Who’d made a choice and was sticking to it. But I’d chosen to help her. I couldn’t lay off, like she said. I had to keep going.

  “Spend the night with me! Come back to my house. I’ll lend you some
of my clothes. We’re the same size.”

  She turned and looked at me. It was like she was in a different place, a different country. I realised we had nothing in common at all.

  “We can still be best mates,” I said.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  She got up, walked down the street. I followed her.

  “Shall we go for a drink?”

  “No,” she said. “I owe Sally. And I lost my Walkman. I want to buy another one. So, beat it, because I got to work.”

  We reached the end of the street.

  “Bye,” I said.

  She didn’t even say goodbye.

  I just walked on, back to town, away from her. All she had told me went round and round my head, fixing itself in my memory. In the end it felt as if it had all happened to me, all those disgusting, vile things. I felt sick. I remembered Jan’s voice, the way she talked in bursts between inhaling. How her mouth moved faster than the words that came out. The way she emphasised certain words. Her tone: proud, defensive, bitter.

  I felt more of a failure than ever. I couldn’t even rescue her. I was good for nothing. Tears stung my eyes, but I wouldn’t give in to self-pity. That isn’t my style. I was more shocked and angry. Angry with myself for being so selfish, just seeing Jan as someone who fitted into my life and blinding myself to the fact that her problems were so much bigger than mine. Angry, too, at all the people out there who preyed on girls like Jan.

  I didn’t know where I was walking to. It hardly seemed to matter whether I went home or not. My predicament paled into insignificance against Jan’s. I could only think of her. I wondered what I’d meant to her. Maybe I was just part of her fantasy world and helped her to believe she was leading a normal, teenage life. Maybe she was part of my fantasy world, too, making me think I was wild and free and independent, when I wasn’t. We both peddled dangerous illusions to each other. We were better apart.