‘Won’t you do it for me?’

Tonia grimaces and wishes she could tune out his whining tone but Tom continues to wear away at her ears.

‘You did it before.’

‘But you were there with me.’ Tonia sits back against the unyielding plastic of the chair and gazes at the dregs of her cup. Tom is passive aggressive, she thinks that’s probably the right term, he will keep on badgering. The more strident her protests the more bruised his tone. A wounded figure in trackies and baseball cap, but never so wounded that he will stop.

‘Fuck it Tonia no one else is gonna give me work with my record.

After only a few minutes of this she becomes angry, angry with him for asking and with herself for being too weary to put up a fight. The tipping point coasts along on her weakened resolve.

‘Can’t you come with me?’ She knows the question marks a turning point from simple no to careful negotiation and sees his eyes gleam.

‘It’s a private party I’m not invited babe, you know that.’

‘But I am?’

He shrugs and gives her a rhetorical look.

‘Cos I’m the entertainment!’ There is a flat resignation in her tone. There has already been one fuck with Mr H in that tawdry spare room that stinks of perfume and decay like a whore’s death bed but at least Tom was outside standing guard then. He’s off the shit now and trying to go straight. Mr. H has promised him a job. He just expects a few favours for his generosity.

This time it’s a house full of strangers with Tom out in the cold and nowhere within shouting distance.

‘Come on babe you know I wouldn’t let you get into anything dodgy. It’s all above board. You can trust me.’

For a moment she wonders. He’s never slapped her around, only thieved off her when he was at his most strung out and if he’s got money he‘s generous. He’s no ponce and, as far as she knows, has never cheated, unless you count turning tricks, which she’s pretty sure he’s done, but that only makes them even.

And, as he keeps pointing out, Mr. H has promised him a job and they both want that don’t they?

‘I need to keep him sweet babes.’

It comes down to her tarting or him losing out. Her drug and alcohol counsellor has urged her to jack it in. She says it reinforces the low self-esteem. Tonia was never that into it anyway. A few favours for the landlord when the rent was overdue, a bit of escort work and some casual meets after the pub.

She recalls the advice from Regine, the manager of the semi legit agency she's done some work for. Only ever do private parties if they’re arranged through me darling, never off your own back, too risky. Her granite face squinted from the permanently slotted cigarette as she spoke, smoke twining in her hennaed hair. Out for her self, always looking for a way to exploit a buck but Tonia thinks this particular advice was well meant.

She looks up at the café’s window and catches her static reflection pasted onto the dark street as the world passes by on its way to somewhere better. The merciless strip lights leech the blood from her face. She looks pinched and wretched, deserving of nothing more than to be sitting here breathing in smoke and stale coffee and being asked to whore by the man she thinks she loves.

She looks over at him, his eyes plead. It’s always about his needs, she thinks, pitying and angry all at the same time.

‘Ok, but you get the address and you arrange a time I’m back by. And if I’m not….’

‘Yeah babes of course.’ He’s too airy and flip and already she feels a pang of regret. Tom is on his mobile, nattering excitedly.

They wait, Tom buys two more coffees and they sit not saying much to each other.

‘It’s the last time,’ she mutters eventually.

‘Yeah babe, I promise.’ She is comforted to see some regret, but not enough. Mr. H’s limo pulls up against the dingy curb.

A gaggle of pubescent girls crowd the car trying to smoulder and looking ridiculous. Pimp’s eyes sputter hopefully in the shadows but the figure that steps out parts the bodies like curtains and slips towards the cafe. Tonia watches Mr. H enter. As always she feels a shudder of revulsion. His greasy yellow skin and the red eyes peeled straight from some seedy Polaroid in a bottom drawer. Her memory compliments the thought with an image of his jaundiced body and the hornet sting cock peeking from a greying bush.

Tom takes him to one side, whispering urgently. She feels angry and out of the loop. But when he nods his baldhead and looks over she manages a watery smile.

‘Did you tell him?’ she hisses as Tom returns.

‘Yeah babes, no worries.’

‘You got the address?’

‘Yeah,’ he replies impatiently. Again he’s too vague and she doesn’t believe him but Mr. H has already taken her arm. Raptor claws biting soft flesh.

‘Come on darling.’

They are in the back of the limo, heading out of London. The streets speed by in ropy neon spurts. Mr. H peers out through the smoked windows.

‘You’re a good girl.’ He says eventually in that decayed croak of a voice. ‘And Tommy’s good as gold too. You behave for me tonight I’ll make sure he’s set up.’

Tonia nods and manages another smile. ‘Thanks.’

She looks out as they pass into The Old Kent Road where she was born and raised before going into care. People say she is the image of her Mother who was very pretty once, before a succession of feckless bastards and the siren comfort of the bottle made her bloated and sour. She has minimal contact with her now. Seeing the debris of that life is like scrying her own future. That’s why Tonia’s nailing the booze and stays with Tom. He has his faults but he sticks by her and this is the last time he‘ll ask.

He promised.

Mr H makes no approaches towards her at all, just sits quietly at her side. Tonia is relieved but stealing a sideways glance sees a dull gleam in his eye. It’s a look that infests the eyes of men at bare knuckle fights or pimps about to carve up their women or Johns about to go bad. A look that anticipates violence and relishes suffering.

But Tonia is unfamiliar with these things so she shakes her head to dispel the faint unease and the echo of Regine‘s warning. Tom promised it was all above board.

He promised.

Trust, that’s what loves really all about isn’t?

As they hit the motorway she glances back, watching the familiar city lights sail into the darkness leaving her cast adrift.

Trusting.