Dancing to a New Beat 25

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CHAPTER 25
Waterstone’s may be a huge and faceless chain of book shops, but I have always found the staff quirky, especially in a University town like Cardiff. I suppose a lot of jobs in what is referred to as ‘retail’ are like that, more so when the items sold are niche stuff. There is a cliché image of record shop employees, or employees in goth or hippy clothing shops, merging with the merchandise, and while I will leave the comparison there (and avoid all mention of employees in, er, ‘Adult’ shops), Cardiff Waterstone’s is absolutely in that league.

I don’t want to get into a discussion of retail politics: I just know that when I was at Uni, the Cardiff staff were cheerful, approachable and bloody knowledgeable. And they have chairs and a café for a test-drive of any book you are thinking of buying. That smell of coffee, cake and printed books is something that electronic books can never compare with, and it was in that atmosphere that Paula launched her book with a signing session on the ground floor.

The manager had provided her with a table, and the little café was keeping her coffee needs filled. I picked up two copies from the pile by the door and joined what was clearly an enthusiastic queue.

She was head down so much of the time, scribbling dedications inside copies as people asked her questions, and when I handed my books to her she simply asked “What names shall I put them to?”

“One to ‘Deb and her girls’, and one to ‘Di and the team’, love”

She looked up in surprise, breaking into a huge grin before standing to reach across her little table for a hug.

“Di! Great! How long are you here for?”

“Got an hour. Hubby’s got the kid down by the Pierhead, reading the Ianto Shrine’s latest and watching the boats”

She called across to a girl with a face full of metal.

“Sabbie, could I have another chair? And some hot choc?”

Back to me, with a broad grin.

“Deb told me about you and hot chocolate. You will sit with me, woman. Resistance is useless. Jazz and nell have already done their stint. Ta, Sabbie. Sit, Di!”

That was am eye-opener, in so many ways, because Paula was so different in her manner to how she had been at our first encounter. There are what my lecturers had referred to as schemata, standard pieces of narrative, and one of those is the brass, an old name for a tom. Prostitute, whore. Brassy and aggressive, but Dai had told me how often that hardness was a shell, and a thin one at that, covering a broken and trembling soul.

Paula wasn’t like that in Waterstone’s, as her confidence held no trace of the metal. It was indeed confidence, a calm and steady demeanour that spoke of relaxation and comfort in her new life. I sipped the quickly-delivered hot goodness as she smiled, signed and answered questions both appreciative and, occasionally, bloody stupid, such as the few customers who asked where she had got the idea for the book from. The first one I heard ask that one received quite a response.

“Oh, it was when I was a little girl, and I got raped by a big man. Who would you like me to sign this for again?”

The next one who got that answer looked at me, and asked an even stupider question.

“You on the game as well?”

I simply smiled and shook my head.

“No, not me, and nor is this lady any more”

The lady in question flashed me a smile.

“No, my good friend here is just one of the team who nicked our rapist and banged him away for life. Who is it for again?”

Her mood was suddenly so clear to me: happiness, pure and simple. That faltered ever so slightly when one woman asked a sensible question.

“I read your serialisation in the Guardian, Miss. Can I ask a personal question?”

Paula laughed at that, but there was a hint of worry in it.

“To be honest, I think the book itself is more than a bit personal”

The customer was around sixty, plump and mumsy-looking, and she sighed at Paula’s answer.

“I know you, love. I mean, well, I don’t know you, but I live out by Splott, isn’t it, and I think I remember you from there. Whatever the weather, aye? Shitty way to live, pardon my French. I…”

She paused, and then reached across to take Paula’s hand.

“How do you cope, now?”

Paula laced her fingers into the other woman’s.

“Friends, my love. Decent people, like Diane here, and my fiancé. People who care, people who see past the outsides, who give other people a chance rather than writing them off.”

Suddenly she laughed.

“Oh, and as I said earlier, that and seeing Ashley Aaron Evans get banged away for life!”

Another smile from the customer.

“Used to drive past your corner after work. You might remember. Left you a cuppa once or twice, when it was bad out, like”

My friend’s eyes opened as wide as her mouth.

“Oh my god! I remember you as well! I… Shit, some of those nights, I think those hot drinks were the only thing between me and Casualty, or even worse. Di, I had some very bad nights over the years, and…”

She wrestled back a sob, with real difficulty, then scribbled quickly on a piece of paper.

“What do I call you, my love?”

“I’m Glenys Kiernan, love”

Paula wrote in the fly-leaf of the book Glenys had offered: ‘To Glenys Kiernan, who saved my life more than once, with love and gratitude’, then passed her book and paper.

"Those are my contact details, Glenys. At some point we will be getting wed, my man and I, and I would like to be able to send you an invitation”

The older woman laughed.

“Weddings are for family, dear!”

Paula smiled.

“Exactly. Hang on... that hubby over there, Di?”

Blake was walking towards us, child in one arm and folded pushchair in the other.

“Hi, love. Getting chilled?”

“Aye, a bit. Hiya, Paula! Know anywhere I can heat up some food for the boy?”

The metal-faced girl called across to us.

“The café will do it for you, mate”

Blake turned his grin on Paula.

“Feet under the table right proper, girl?”

She rose for a hug, Glenys looking on bemused, and Paula turned to the three or four people remaining in line.

“Thank you all for turning up. I am honoured. I am not leaving, simply going to the café so I can spend some time helping these nice police officers with their enquiries… on where to give their son a warm meal. If anyone wants to join us, I will probably be chatting, but I will still be happy to sign copies of my book. Sabbie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you point anyone else upstairs for me?”

The young girl just grinned, holding up a piece of A4 paper she had hand-lettered ‘Book signer refuelling upstairs’, which said it all. A happy little lunchtime for all of us and, after a few introductions, Glenys left us alone as well as leaving us her contact details.

Such a difference in her, such bounce and confidence. She caught my stare, and smiled.

“Yeah, Deb says what you’re probably thinking. It’s horizons, Di. I can see further now, further than just the next sleep. Or next fix, if I’m being honest. It’s a big thing, having a future, or at least being able to see one. That old woman, yeah? Glenys? I ask myself if she really understands, even now, what she did for me. So easy, it would have been…”

She was looking away, lost in memory, as Rhod devoured warmed sludge and Blake squeezed my hand gently.

“It was like… Did you know, that family? The ones you and Deb met? Did you know one of them has a book out?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Brian Dennahy’s got one in the pipeline”

“No, not him. The man, Elliott. Steve?”

“Stevie, I think they called him”

“Yeah. That one. About the home in Carlisle he was in with that…”

She looked down at Rhod, and smiled once more.

“Filtering my language already, I am. Anyway, where that person you went up to see was; Deb’s friend”

“Charles Cooper”

“Yes, that one. Stevie is very clear in his book, you know, about finding a way out, and that was me. You know, I spoke to a shrink for a while; I still do. We talked about this, and he said it was never a sensible choice, and I said he was talking out of his fundament, and me and that man, we were in the same place, but they made sure he never got the chance. Suicide, my friends. That was me, but every time my owner saw me getting there he’d find a but of gear, just enough to get me off my face for a while, or someone like Glenys would see, and be human, humane, aye?

“I had all sorts of ideas, you know. Into the Taff, off a bridge, that sort of thing. I would have OD’d, if I could, but Mo was always sharp on that one. Never left me with more than just enough to put me in a happy place, or at least a numb one. That was what my future was, Di. How on Earth do I get that across to someone like Glenys? One little bit of kindness can make so much difference”

There was a cough, and of course someone was standing there with a book to sign, and there was a flicker in Paula’s eyes as she looked at another woman, this one looking very pale.

“Who to, Miss?”

“Can you just write ‘To Moira’, please, Paula?”

Paula’s gaze rose slowly from the table.

“Moira? Red Moira?”

“Stopped dying it now, butt. Yeah, that Moira”

Paula was hardly able to form words, and the other woman just held up her hands.

“Butt, I was listening just then, isn’t it? I’m not the only one, me. Off the streets, got a drug management programme, and I feel like shit, so I am off to see my social worker now, but just, yeah? You showed us the way. That is precious to all of us. It’s that future you were just talking about”

Paula stood for an embrace, and Moira stepped back.

“Sorry, but no. Picked up a few souvenirs from that life, and there’s a kiddy here, so I don’t want to risk, you know. I’ll be off, but you go, girl. You showed us the way, and those of us with the strength, well, we’re following. You have a fucking good life, and remember: we all owe you”

She was gone, and Blake was in my handbag for tissues as Paula wept.

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Comments

"we all owe you”

fantastic. And the ripples of good keep spreading ...

DogSig.png

I've got to admire Moira.

I'm wondering if you've based her on a famous (or infamous) working girl from Swansea whom I got to know well. (Not in that way but when we hauled her out of the dock one bitterly cold night and I let her sit by the radiator in my office with a blanket around her until the ambulance came. I let her share my sandwiches and hot tea and biscuits because the ambulance was a long time coming. She worked the ships in and around Swansea, Neath and Port Talbot.)

A few years later, when she found out she had contracted HIV, (Incurable and uncontrollable fifteen years ago!) she threw herself under a bus in Swansea one Saturday afternoon. The police asked me to formally identify her because there were no known relatives but I had had numerous recorded dealings with her and the police because of her illegal soliciting on the docks. She had a hellish life but it must have been her addiction that forced her to continue it.

bev_1.jpg

Not there

She is a mix of girls I knew (again, not that way) when I lived in Luton's red light district, and a girl who used to work the lorries at a West Wales ferry port in the late 80s. Hepatitis was always the thing, rather than HIV. There are SO many ways to get ill on the game.

You Stab Me In The Heart

joannebarbarella's picture

Your characters are so real.

I met many working girls during my years in Singapore and Hong Kong (not in a professional capacity). I would not hazard a guess as to how many of them had addiction problems but a lot of them were working to keep their families from poverty and there weren't very many other job opportunities for young girls with limited education. I felt particularly sorry for those who were aging and losing their looks and becoming desperate, attracting only rough trade. Their lives were most likely to be short and tragic.

wise words

I tell my instructors that our students listen and see, and when we make a difference in one of their lives, it ripples. And we never know where and how far and who those ripples will touch, so make them good ones.

Janice

as Paula wept.

She wasn't the only one. Someone here did too!
By heck, you tell a good (and GOOD) story.
Best wishes