Damaged Goods. Helen Black

I have to take off all my clothes.

      ‘So turn down the central heating, girl,’ said Miriam.

      Lilly trudged through the security and confirmed that, yes, she was over eighteen, yes, she understood that the site contained nudity and items of a sexual nature which some may find offensive, and, most importantly, yes, she would agree to the call being charged to her at a whopping £1.87 per minute.

      Hurry, caller, Randy Mandy is getting uncomfortable and is dying to get naked with you.

      ‘A pair of knickers that fit might help,’ said Miriam.

      Finally Lilly confirmed she was the person who paid the phone bill and access was granted. ‘Shut up, now, Miriam.’ Lilly adjusted the microphone on her own computer. Randy Mandy would be able to hear them but not see them. ‘If she susses us too soon she’ll lock us out.’

      A few more minutes at premium rate were wasted with banners proclaiming this to be the wildest live site in the UK with the most beautiful babes on the net.

      Our action will not disappoint.

      ‘What action?’ said Miriam.

      Lilly shushed her as the painfully divided cheeks began to swell until they filled the screen.

      ‘Hi there. What’s your name?’ came a detached voice.

      Lilly guessed the woman was from Russia or somewhere in Eastern Europe.

      ‘Miriam,’ said Lilly, and winced as her friend elbowed her in the side.

      The bottom retreated from the camera and a slender woman came into view. She stood in front of a cloth backdrop on which was painted a crude approximation of a beach and a swimming pool. Her flat stomach and smooth thighs were almost girlish but her bleached hair, cut in a poor imitation of Marilyn Monroe, and sallow complexion made her seem much older. She looked directly into her camera, and in the half-reality that is live webcam Lilly saw that she had startlingly green eyes.

      ‘Well hello, Miriam, I am having to tell you I am just loving some girl-on-girl action.’

      She ran her hands over her baby-pink shirt, so tight the buttons strained to keep the woman contained.

      ‘Tell me, baby, what do you like me to do?’

      Lilly turned to her friend in horror and mouthed ‘What shall I say?’, but Miriam could only bite her hand to suppress laughter.

      ‘Come on, baby, don’t be shy. Do you like me to unbutton my top?’

      Lilly coughed. Her voice was dry and small. ‘Er … yes.’

      Randy Mandy’s laugh tinkled as she ripped open her shirt and let it fall out of shot. A huge pair of gravity-defying breasts, utterly incongruous on such a small frame, were revealed.

      ‘What do you think, Miriam? Do you like my body?’

      As the woman fondled herself Lilly caught sight of the telltale half-moon scars. She shuddered.

      ‘How about my pussy, do you like to see that? I am shaving especially for you.’

      Lilly spluttered into her microphone.

      ‘You haven’t done this before, have you, sweetie?’ said Randy Mandy.

      ‘No,’ Lilly admitted.

      ‘Don’t worry, there’s a first time for everything.’ Mandy’s voice was honey. ‘Why do you decide to come to this site?’

      The sex worker’s question may have been posed to put her nervous client at ease, or perhaps to waste a few premium-rate moments, but Lilly seized her opportunity.

      ‘I knew a working girl called Grace Brand, she told me about Maximum Exposure.’

      A shadow of recognition fell over the woman’s face but she quickly plastered her smile back in place.

      ‘Did you know her?’ asked Lilly.

      ‘That’s enough talk now, baby,’ said Mandy. ‘Let’s get hot, yes?’

      Lilly wasn’t about to give up. ‘She got killed last week. It was in all the papers, you must have heard about it?’

      Randy Mandy shook her head and tossed her lifeless hair over her shoulders. The breasts remained static.

      ‘What about Max Hardy? You must have heard of him?’

      Mandy’s smile vanished. She seemed to age ten years.

      ‘Doesn’t he run this site?’ asked Lilly.

      ‘Not any more. He move on.’ Mandy frowned and picked up her shirt. ‘If that is type stuff you want you don’t find here.’

      ‘What type of stuff?’ asked Lilly.

      Mandy covered her breasts with her shirt and leaned towards her camera. ‘I go now.’

      The screen went dead. She had locked them out.

      ‘Well, that’s it, she’s not going to talk to you again,’ said Miriam.

      Lilly smiled at her friend, a twinkle in her eye. ‘If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed …’

      Barrows watched his wife work the crowd. She shook hands with the party faithful and accepted their support and congratulations with aplomb. Hermione was the hero of the hour and she sparkled with a new sense of purpose, her smile broader, her step lighter.

      He waved to her and mouthed ‘well done’. She waved back, but when their eyes met he didn’t find warmth. Instead he saw something colder and darker.

      He reaches for a glass of water and gulps it down together with his fear. He’s being ridiculous, of course. She doesn’t know. How can she? In all the years he’s known her she hasn’t been able to work out how to programme the video recorder let alone the blackest recesses of his mind.

      Hermione curses herself as she walks towards the car. She had been taken over by the adulation and let her guard down. She had let her husband see beyond her façade, and he would now know that she saw beyond his. After twenty years of pretence they would have to confront the truth.

      Barrows drove his wife home in silence. The woman beside him, who he thought he knew, who he thought he controlled, was beyond his reach. Does she know?

      And if she did–what would she do now? Would she hand him over to the police? And ruin her newly ascendant star? He thought not. Even when he’d met her at Oxford she had lived life as if she were being watched. While the other students danced and drank with abandon, Hermione felt that what she wore, what she read, what she ate were matters of grave importance. She had waited her whole life to be somebody, she wouldn’t blow it now. Instead she would insist it stop, insist he give up the hobby.

      He pictured his life without it and rage began to swell in his temples.

      He sped faster and faster through the streets of Luton, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly they hurt. He considered unlocking her seatbelt and slamming on the brakes so she would hurtle through the windscreen. He’d seen it done in a film and knew he had the guts. He had never allowed anything to stand in his way before.

      He glanced at the locking mechanism. Hermione’s hand rested on top and held her belt in place. A coincidence, or could she now anticipate his every move? He imagined she could read his thoughts, then berated his paranoia.

      Eventually he swung the car onto their drive, a crunch of gravel beneath the tyres. He killed the engine and they sat for a few seconds, side by side, both staring straight ahead. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it.