Last Rights by Barbara Nadel Read Free Book Online

any truth in them, I had to ask her.
    ‘Hannah, love, tell me honestly, do you ever hurt, really hurt, blokes who cut up rough with you?’
    Hannah, now pouring the hot water on to the leaves she tipped into the teapot, said, ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Hit out, maybe jab at them with something.’
    ‘This Dooley bloke get hurt down here, did he?’ Hannah said.
    ‘Well, I don’t really know . . .’
    ‘So why you asking?’
    I sighed again. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘this bloke may have come down here three nights ago and—’
    ‘How do you know this, Mr H?’
    I was in two minds as to whether to tell her Kevin was dead. But then I decided I had to – if she knew him or his family she’d
     find out anyway – so I gave her the officialline on it and added on my own strange experience with the man afterwards.
    Hannah, frowning, said, ‘So if this bloke died of the blast, I don’t see what your problem is.’
    ‘He said he’d been stabbed,’ I said. ‘And there’s a mark on his chest that could have been made by something long and thin
     and sharp.’
    ‘So? Raving, weren’t he?’ She shrugged. ‘And, anyway, even if he were stabbed I don’t get how that could mean he come down
     here.’
    ‘No . . .’ I looked down at the floor to avoid her eyes. ‘It’s said,’ I started, ‘that some of the girls down here sort of
     . . . they have been known to stick hatpins and other sharp things into blokes who cut up—’
    I was interrupted by Hannah’s deep, throaty laugh. ‘Christ, H, there’s one girl done that a couple of times down here, but
     she’s long gone now. Blimey, even her, Barmy Betty we used to call her, only ever spiked rough types in the leg.’
    ‘Oh . . .’
    ‘Years and years ago some girl did kill a fella with a spike but that weren’t round here. Christ, H, I don’t know where you
     get some of your information from. People with pretty funny ideas, I should think.’
    I’d never thought of Aggie as one to harbour ‘funny ideas’, but then the spiking notion hadn’t actually come from her. It
     had originated from the tough-talking, hard-drinking blokes she spent her shifts with down at Tate’s. There were, after all,
     always stories about places like Rathbone Street as well I knew.
    ‘Anyway,’ Hannah continued, ‘most girls down here got fellas to protect them these days. Only the old girls work alone now.’
     She suddenly looked damp-eyed. ‘Me, Bella and Rita. Not even desperate pimps touch us old girls now. Lucky we’ve got Dot,
     eh?’
    ‘Yes, love,’ I said, with a smile. ‘Yes, it is.’
    Boyfriends, these usually oily little toe-rags like to call themselves, but they’re pimps really, lurking around the back
     alleys at night, beating up their girls’ customers for more money when they can, smirking up against walls when the market’s
     on. In Hannah’s house there’s only her landlady, Mrs Harris, who’s getting on a bit now to be chucking drunks out of her place.
     Not that she doesn’t try. There’s two girls besides Hannah in Dot Harris’s house, none of them with pimps, so the old girl
     has had to be tough to carry on all these years. It’s said she used to be on the game herself when she was younger so she
     must have learned a thing or two in her time. It’s also said that Dot’s good to go to if a girl gets herself into trouble.
     Dot knows just what to do in that situation.
    Hannah poured out the tea into a chipped cup, then put it down on the table in front of me. She sat on the bed, watching,
     as I lit my fag, which I passed across to her. She must have been quite something when she was younger, Hannah. She’s got
     very thick brown hair – bleached with peroxide at just below the roots of course – and her features are strong, probably because
     she’s got her own teeth. I like her eyes, big and very deep blue, turned down at the far corners a bit like some Chinamen’s
     do. I like women who look as if they’re having a go at