It's half past midnight and I'm in a shadowy jazz bar in the quiet part of town. I've got a new packet of cigarettes on the table in front of me and a fresh pint in my hand. The singer croons the blues, her voice the husky end of sexy, and she catches my eye. I raise my glass to her and smile, and she tips me a ghost of a wink. I peel the cellophane off the cigarettes and pull off the foil, inhaling the damp and woody scent of newly cut tobacco. I light one and blow smoke up into the clouded air, letting the buzz of the nicotine and alcohol blend with the sigh of the saxophone. The singer works the audience and pauses next to my table, her eyes on mine and her voice in my head. There are tiny beads of sweat on her upper lip, and I see the chips in the varnish of her nails as she lays her hand on mine. She steps away to the next table, but looks back over her shoulder at me, her smile knowing.
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I'd only been in the Met a few weeks when I got my first opportunity of 'going under'. There'd been an outbreak of thefts from nail bars and someone needed to look closer. I wasn't picked for my skills or expertise – it was because I was the only woman on the team. There was a lot of piss taking from my male colleagues but a steely glance from the super, a woman clearly picked for her skills and expertise, knocked that on the head. The pampering in the nail bars was nice but I was starting to run out of excuses why I needed my nails doing again. In the fourth place I saw a face I had seen in all the others. A man, out of place amongst all the women, apparently checking out power cables. I collared him and found his bag was full of cash and purses. The super was pleased, but the next undercover job wasn't as glamourous – dodgy dealings in the abattoir. Where's my hand cream?
You had a tough time being born, my darling girl. We thought we'd lost you even before you arrived. They said you might not grow up. And if you did, you would never live independently. But you survived – and thrived – against the odds. I watched you grow up. Things took longer for you than they did for our friend's children, but that just meant we were even more excited when they happened. The first time you sat on your own. Your first word. Your first step. People looked at you, and at us, with pity in their eyes, but I looked at you with pride. Your teachers were amazing. They found ways to support you, and you gave back to them ten-fold – you did it, not them. You made friends who will stay by your side for ever. You got to university. Got your PhD. And fell in love. And today, as you marry your girlfriend, your mum and I love you more than ever. You did this.
Cal told me it was going to be a wild party. Her older brother was going to get us in. I just had to tell my mum and dad that we would be at hers, and she would tell her mum that she would be with me. It would be fine. My dad gave me his usual 'is that a skirt or a belt' joke, and then shot me a look as I went out of the door. He asked if I'd got my phone, and said that if I ever felt uncomfortable anywhere, to call him. He'd be there. No questions. The party was wild. I danced with John, Cal's brother. He's gorgeous. He gave me a drink, and then suddenly I was alone with him in a bedroom under a pile of coats. I felt so fuzzy. And a bit sick. And he didn't seem gorgeous any more. I grabbed my phone and ran, and John shouted after me that I was a bitch and a cock tease. My dad picked me up from the corner and I asked him how he knew. He grinned and asked me if I thought he was born 45.
My mum always wanted to act. She was in every play at her school, and loved being the centre of attention. She'd had her heart set on drama school, but her dad said no. Said that she needed to learn something useful, and start bringing in some money. So instead, she went to secretarial college, and then, just after she sat her exams, she fell pregnant with me. It was just her and me, and that put an end to her grand plans. When I was ten, she joined a local amdram group. I went to rehearsals with her. Did my homework in the back of the hall. Helped with costumes. And became just as stagestruck as she was. She got me to drama school. She said she wasn't going to make the same mistake as her dad. But she died halfway through my final year, before she saw me in my first paid role. She always said that I was her bright star. That I could do anything I set my mind to. This is for you, mum. I'm going out to shine.
My mum told me never to lie. Ever. Not even a tiny fib, to make people feel good. She called those pretty little lies and said that they would mean I would go to hell, just the same as I would for murder, or for answering back to her. My mum talked a lot about hell. I spent my every minute terrified of stepping the tiniest bit out of line. I behaved. I didn't draw attention to myself. If I did anything wrong, or even thought about doing anything wrong, I would work out how to make up for it. Make the wrong right by going to confession. And if that didn't work, giving my pocket money to charity, or doing extra chores, or going without pudding. My teachers thought I was amazing. My priest thought I was going to be a nun. My classmates thought I was stuck up. My mother thought she was doing everything right. And me? I thought I was a sinner. And now? Well. I guess it depends on how exactly you define sin.
Mum and Dad were yelling again. Me and my brother were hiding in the cupboard under the stairs, our eyes glued to the cracks between the planks in the door. But we could only see the hall carpet. I heard a voice shout 'Let me go', and the door slammed so hard that the vase fell off the telephone table and smashed. I was so afraid of the swinging fists, the shouting. Of being hurt again. My brother sobbed – he was only three – and I froze. I put my hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. His eyes were big, tear-filled, sorry. I heard footsteps, and shrank into the dark, holding my brother tight. The door was yanked open, and I saw dad's face, looming in the doorway, shadow against the light. He knelt down and crawled in. Scooped us into his arms. Put his tear-wet cheek against ours. Told us that he was sorry that he hadn't been able to protect us. That she was gone. And that now everything was going to be all right.
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March 2024
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