I phoned Marisha Karatsky and said I had news of her
daughter although I hadn’t exactly located her.
‘You’ve seen her? Spoken to her?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s well… not sick?’
‘No, but I have to talk to you.’
She worked from her home in Dulwich Hill. The building had been a large warehouse now divided into apartments. Security door. I buzzed the number she’d given me. She had a top level spot-large floor space, open plan kitchen and living and three bedrooms. Pricey, depending on when she bought it. Maybe she rented. Expensive either way. She invited me in and brewed up some coffee. She wore a long smock over black flared trousers. As a rule small people shouldn’t wear flared pants, but she managed to look good. The heels helped. We sat at a low table with the coffee mugs. A large window gave a wide view of nothing in particular. It let in a lot of light and my head still ached. She saw me wince.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I got hit on the head. The light bothers me a bit.’
She drew some curtains and everything softened. ‘Not by Kristina, I hope.’
‘No. By a brick wall. Although she helped.’
‘Oh, my God. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right. Goes with the job. Nothing serious.’
I told her everything from Tempe to Paddington via Alexandria without pulling any punches. She sipped her coffee and her face remained expressionless although her dark eyes with the shadows beneath them seemed to become more hooded. My coffee was cool by the time I finished but I drank it anyway, along with a couple of painkillers from the supply in my pocket.
‘Fifteen,’ she said, ‘and a whore.’
‘For what it’s worth,’ I said. ‘It could be worse. The Alexandria place is well run. She seems to be able to look after herself. The guy there said she tested clear for drugs. I’m inclined to believe him.’
‘But at the house in Tempe they said-’
‘Could’ve been a pose. I’m not saying she’s not a very confused and conflicted young woman.’
She stood and began to pace around the big room, her high heels clacking on the polished floorboards. Watching her, I began to see similarities between her and her daughter despite the difference in size-the same mass of dark hair, facial refinement, grace of movement. She sat down and leaned towards me across the table, her eyes huge, her mouth trembling.
‘I wasn’t entirely honest with you, Mr Hardy.’
I tried a reassuring grin. ‘Like the knock on the head, it goes with the job.’
‘You say her clothes. . the white clothes looked expensive?’
‘Very.’
She said, ‘Shit,’ pronouncing it almost like a foreign word. ‘I thought when I found the Tempe address and from the clothes she was wearing lately she was at least being… you saw the T-shirt-a pinball place.’
I nodded.
‘I thought you might find her working at a fast food place, smoking dope, taking ecstasy at dance parties. Bad enough, but not…’
She was shaking, coming apart. I moved around the table to the two-seater chair and put my arm around her shoulders. She drew closer, her small body seeming to shrink into my bulk.
‘What, Marisha?’
‘Not with… him.’
‘Who?’
She didn’t move away and she stopped shaking after a while. It was some time since I’d been that close to a woman and I enjoyed the contact. Her hair smelled of herbal shampoo and I wanted to stroke it.
‘I…there was a man. I was with him for a time. I thought he was a good man but one day I found him with Kristina. He had bought her clothes and makeup and shoes and she was all dressed up for him. I don’t think he had… what’s the word?’
‘Molested?’
‘Yes, molested. I don’t think so, but I wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was not the first time. I sent him away and I threw out the things. Kristina screamed. A big fight, but she calmed down.’
‘When was this?’
She pulled away then and I let her go. She turned her head to look up at me and there were questions as well as pain in her eyes. Something had happened between us, and it wasn’t to do with Kristina. The reaction I’d had to her at my place was back, stronger.
‘Two years ago. She was thirteen. She was always precocious…’
‘No,’ I gripped her wrist. ‘That’s wrong. With a kid of thirteen, the responsibility is always on the adult. Always, Marisha!’
‘Yes. You are right. He telephoned and I know she spoke to him again. I changed the number. We moved to this place. She saw a counsellor for a little time and I thought…’
‘Did he have money, this guy?’
‘Yes, he had money. I think so.’
‘You think so.’ I couldn’t help a critical note creeping in. ‘How long were you with him?’
She pulled right away and leaned back. A long breath, in and out. ‘It is difficult to explain, Mr Hardy.’
‘Cliff-my name’s Cliff.’
‘Cliff. You said you had a daughter you hadn’t raised- perhaps you will understand.’
I was willing. I eased away and nodded.
‘I came to this country twelve years ago. Kristina’s father had died, but his brother was here and he. . sponsored me and my daughter. I had university degrees from Poland but they weren’t recognised. I had to study to get qualifications and to improve my English. I worked-cleaning, kitchens in restaurants, waitressing-it was very hard. But slowly I improved. I could speak English. An educated person in Poland speaks English.’
‘They teach languages better there than we do here,’ I said. ‘I can barely read a French menu.’
‘But I wanted to work with words, with language. Words are my passion, my…’
‘Talent,’ I said. ‘I can see that.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you. I got the Australian degree and I began to get translating work with different companies- leaflets, websites…’
‘You picked that up too?’
‘I did. It’s not so hard. What’s wrong?’
‘Not a thing. I’m impressed.’
‘I don’t understand that. I still have difficulties. But with all this work I neglected her, Kristina. I tried, but I failed. She began not going to school, missing …?’
‘Wagging, we used to say. Then it was jigging, now I think it’s ditching.’
‘English is such a strange language. Yes. I was worried. Then I met Stefan, Steve as he called himself. Swedish, handsome. He said he had heard I had a number of languages and he wanted something translated from Swedish. I know Polish, German, French and Russian. Not much Swedish, but…’ Her elegant shrug filled in the gap.
‘This is him?’
‘Yes. Stefan Parnevik. I’m still not sure what he did for money, but he had a lot. A car, clothes, credit cards. All these were things I wanted and would work to get, but they were still not there yet for me. He gave me money. Enough to put a deposit on a little flat. He was there often. He took me to dinner. I… felt stronger. I had more time. I got more work at better pay. I paid off as much of the mortgage as I could, very fast. Then I found Stefan and Kristina together in the way I said.’
Telling the story was exhausting her and I told her to stop. There was still coffee in the pot and I took the cups and microwaved it. A Hardy special, never mind if it makes it bitter-good excuse for sugar.
She’d composed herself when I got back with the coffee and the haunted look had receded a bit. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever have to talk about this,’ she said.
‘You say there were phone calls after you kicked him out. Was there any face-to-face contact?’
She shook her head. ‘With me, no. I thought he was ashamed, perhaps fearful of what I would do. I did nothing, partly…partly because I didn’t want to make it too big for Kristina. She said nothing happened. Perhaps I was wrong to…’
‘Hard to say. Do you think he saw her, met her?’
‘I don’t know. After a time she calmed down and began to seem normal. But normal for Kristina was not normal as for other girls. Oh God, what am I going to do?’
‘Find her. And give him to the police. If this is all the way we think it is, he’s connived at having an underage girl work as a prostitute. And it’s more than likely that he…’
‘Yes.’
‘So where is he? Where does he live?’
She’d taken a decent swig of the coffee as if to prepare herself for something. And here it was. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Don’t say it like that, Cliff, please. I never went to his place; he always came to mine. I didn’t ask any questions. I was looking, hoping for someone and he was… charismatic.’
‘Charismatic.’
‘Yes. Yes. Good-looking, kind, generous. And funny.’
‘Funny’ll do it.’
‘Do it?’
I knew what I meant-funny is hard to compete with- but I didn’t want to lay it out for her because I knew I’d sound jealous however I put it and she’d know. ‘Well, finding people is my speciality, so I guess I’ll just have to set about it.’
She took in more coffee and didn’t say anything. I felt wrong-footed and fidgeted with the coffee mug, waiting for her to speak. When she didn’t I moved back close, put my hand to her face and turned it towards me. Her skin was soft against my hard, gym and tennis-calloused palm.
‘Marisha, I want to help you.’
‘You despise me.’
‘I don’t.’
‘You despise me for letting my daughter fall into the hands of such a man.’
‘No.’ I had one hand on her cheek and the other on her shoulder and I drew her towards me. I bent and she strained upwards. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was opening. I felt I had to stop her speaking, saying no. I kissed her and she returned the kiss fiercely and gripped me with a strength I wouldn’t have thought possible. The kiss lasted so long I was struggling for breath when it ended. I realised we were both panting and we reached for each other again, colliding rather than embracing.
Her bedroom was dim and smelled of incense. The bed smelled of her. She eased herself off from where she’d straddled me and rolled to one side. I put out my arm and she shaped her small body to mine, clinging close.
‘Was it wrong?’ she said.
‘Didn’t feel wrong to me. Felt very right.’
‘No, I know it’s not like a doctor and patient. I meant with Kristina…’
I loved her smell-the combination of shampoo and perfume and her body. I inhaled, buried my face in her hair, kissed her ear. ‘I read that in the London Blitz, in the war,’ I said, ‘people made love where they were sheltering, in cellars, the tube stations, with other people around. Sometimes with strangers. Stress broke down barriers. That’s really something, given that we’re talking about the English.’
‘You say the English like that, but you’re English, surely?’
‘Only half on one side-the rest’s a mixture of Irish and French and God knows what. My maternal grandmother was a gypsy. She’d have said you had gypsy eyes.’ I ran a finger lightly across the dark skin under her eyes.
‘No, no. No Romany that I know of. But in Europe, who knows? Jewish certainly, on one side as you say. Cliff, you think this is just…stress?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think so.’ And I meant it, although the speed of our coming together like that was a little surprising. But the times are strange and everything’s speeded up.