the difference.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Casey groaned as she looked at the clock; her next shift at the cafe started in less than twenty minutes. She didn’t know if it was going without alcohol or the fact she’d never really worked in her life before, but she was knackered. She’d drifted in and out of work and never really had to worry about money till recently, having had a conservative but steady flow of money from her family who were only visible in her life through the money they’d put in her account.
Eighteen months ago she’d closed her bank account down, deciding it only served to rubber stamp her feelings of worthlessness; it made her feel her family were paying her to stay away. So now if she wanted to eat, drink or pay the rent, she only had herself to rely on; it was both frightening and liberating in equal measures.
Casey washed herself quickly and pulled on yesterday’s clothes. It was pointless putting on anything clean; within two hours of working in Lola’s she’d smell as if she’d taken a plunge in chip fat, and besides, if she was honest, she could just about make the effort to get dressed let alone bother to do herself up.
The cafe wasn’t open for another hour but Lola had asked Casey to come thirty minutes before opening time to help set up. She was early, which would give her half an hour to sit down with a cup of coffee, hoping it would help her wake up properly. The cafe door had a sign saying ‘closed’ but the open door said the opposite.
‘Lola? It’s Cass. Hello?’
There was no answer so Casey put her bag down and went to switch on the large urn to make some much-needed coffee.
Taking her coat off, she walked into the cloakroom and was stopped dead in her tracks by what she saw. Lola sat on the cold cracked tiles of the bathroom floor with a belt around her left arm, the other end of it between her teeth. In her right hand was a syringe, half full with a cloudy liquid which Casey guessed was heroin.
On seeing Casey, Lola paused for a moment before pulling the belt even tighter with her teeth, then plunged the needle greedily into her waiting vein.
Almost immediately Casey could see the heroin taking hold of Lola; her eyes rolled back and her head started to loll against the grimy walls of the cloakroom. Slightly incoherently, Lola spoke.
‘Don’t look like that, lovie, who did you think I was? Mother bleeding Theresa?’
Lola cackled and the force of her laughter against her drugged-up body threw her head forward to rest on her chest.
Casey was shocked and her stomach tightened as she watched the abandoned needle still stuck in Lola’s vein. The blood trickled down Lola’s arm and for a moment Casey didn’t know what to say. It was Lola who broke the silence.
‘He did this,’ Lola slurred, pulling out the syringe and lifting up her cream polyester blouse. Casey’s eyes widened as she saw a vast scar running diagonally from underneath Lola’s breastbone, across her stomach and finishing off at her hip.
‘My god, what happened? Who did this to you?’
Casey knelt down by Lola and touched the old but still raised angry scar gently.
‘I don’t really remember much of that night; me and the old man were watching some shit on the telly; usual Sunday night crap. He turned and stared at me as if I were a stranger in me own home; like he’d never seen me before. Then he blinked a couple of times and started cutting.’
‘Who did, Lola? Who?’
Casey watched Lola’s eyes roll when she tried to focus on her.
‘Oscar.’
‘Jesus, how long did he get?’
Lola burst into more high-pitched cackling. ‘He didn’t, I’m old school, love; we don’t grass on our own.’
‘But …’
‘But nothing, girl. I did alright; he got me this place as a way of compensation.’
Casey stood up and looked horrified.
‘Money’s money, love; it’s an expensive habit I’ve got. Most of what I earn goes up my arm and if I didn’t have this place I’d be back on the
CHAPTER EIGHT
Casey groaned as she looked at the clock; her next shift at the cafe started in less than twenty minutes. She didn’t know if it was going without alcohol or the fact she’d never really worked in her life before, but she was knackered. She’d drifted in and out of work and never really had to worry about money till recently, having had a conservative but steady flow of money from her family who were only visible in her life through the money they’d put in her account.
Eighteen months ago she’d closed her bank account down, deciding it only served to rubber stamp her feelings of worthlessness; it made her feel her family were paying her to stay away. So now if she wanted to eat, drink or pay the rent, she only had herself to rely on; it was both frightening and liberating in equal measures.
Casey washed herself quickly and pulled on yesterday’s clothes. It was pointless putting on anything clean; within two hours of working in Lola’s she’d smell as if she’d taken a plunge in chip fat, and besides, if she was honest, she could just about make the effort to get dressed let alone bother to do herself up.
The cafe wasn’t open for another hour but Lola had asked Casey to come thirty minutes before opening time to help set up. She was early, which would give her half an hour to sit down with a cup of coffee, hoping it would help her wake up properly. The cafe door had a sign saying ‘closed’ but the open door said the opposite.
‘Lola? It’s Cass. Hello?’
There was no answer so Casey put her bag down and went to switch on the large urn to make some much-needed coffee.
Taking her coat off, she walked into the cloakroom and was stopped dead in her tracks by what she saw. Lola sat on the cold cracked tiles of the bathroom floor with a belt around her left arm, the other end of it between her teeth. In her right hand was a syringe, half full with a cloudy liquid which Casey guessed was heroin.
On seeing Casey, Lola paused for a moment before pulling the belt even tighter with her teeth, then plunged the needle greedily into her waiting vein.
Almost immediately Casey could see the heroin taking hold of Lola; her eyes rolled back and her head started to loll against the grimy walls of the cloakroom. Slightly incoherently, Lola spoke.
‘Don’t look like that, lovie, who did you think I was? Mother bleeding Theresa?’
Lola cackled and the force of her laughter against her drugged-up body threw her head forward to rest on her chest.
Casey was shocked and her stomach tightened as she watched the abandoned needle still stuck in Lola’s vein. The blood trickled down Lola’s arm and for a moment Casey didn’t know what to say. It was Lola who broke the silence.
‘He did this,’ Lola slurred, pulling out the syringe and lifting up her cream polyester blouse. Casey’s eyes widened as she saw a vast scar running diagonally from underneath Lola’s breastbone, across her stomach and finishing off at her hip.
‘My god, what happened? Who did this to you?’
Casey knelt down by Lola and touched the old but still raised angry scar gently.
‘I don’t really remember much of that night; me and the old man were watching some shit on the telly; usual Sunday night crap. He turned and stared at me as if I were a stranger in me own home; like he’d never seen me before. Then he blinked a couple of times and started cutting.’
‘Who did, Lola? Who?’
Casey watched Lola’s eyes roll when she tried to focus on her.
‘Oscar.’
‘Jesus, how long did he get?’
Lola burst into more high-pitched cackling. ‘He didn’t, I’m old school, love; we don’t grass on our own.’
‘But …’
‘But nothing, girl. I did alright; he got me this place as a way of compensation.’
Casey stood up and looked horrified.
‘Money’s money, love; it’s an expensive habit I’ve got. Most of what I earn goes up my arm and if I didn’t have this place I’d be back on the
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