‘And you agreed to do this?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Well, I didn’t exactly say “yeah, no problem” the first time she asked, but I was skint, OK. Minimum wage had just come in, literally that week, and I was getting a pay rise to three pounds sixty an hour – when I told Maryanne, she burst out laughing. That kinda sealed it.’
Parnell nods, all compassion and understanding. ‘And that was it? You’d pass on the details, they’d bump up your bank balance?’
‘In the beginning. But then I started to learn more about how it all worked, more about Maryanne, how she’d sold her baby, started up a “business” with this guy. It just seemed like she had the life of Riley, living in this flat in the centre of town, earning a few thousand a month just for babysitting a couple of pregnant girls. I mean, I soon learned it wasn’t “babysitting”, it was guarding, but at the time it sounded amazing and I wanted in. So I said to her, surely if there were two “babysitters” they could have more girls, right? She said she’d speak to her “guy”.’
‘This guy’s name?’ asks Renée, flat, expressionless.
She hesitates, knows she’s about to go over the top. ‘His name’s Patrick Mackie, but I think she spoke to his daughter, Gina. Gina was more involved on a daily basis. She delivered the babies too.’
Renée’s voice is stern. ‘For the benefit of the tape, you’re referring to Gina Hicks, your landlady.’
Saskia leans over, mimics Renée. ‘For the benefit of the tape, that’s right.’ She smiles to herself, cracking the centre of her bottom lip, drawing blood.
‘Carry on,’ says Renée, not rising to it.
‘Yeah, so Maryanne speaks to Gina. Few weeks later I’ve got the life of Riley too. Although I had to keep my job at the clinic, of course.’
Parnell leans in. ‘So let me get this straight. You’d give the details to Maryanne. She’d approach a girl, someone who didn’t seem that sold on having an abortion, and she’d make them an offer they couldn’t refuse? Is that how it worked?’
‘Well, it wasn’t exactly that straightforward but in a nutshell, yeah. It was a good sell – a nice long stay in a luxury London flat – it was luxury back then – you got all your needs catered for and then eight grand at the end of it. I mean, the sell had to be good. The girls had to lie to their families about where they were for months on end, it wasn’t easy. But then eight grand’s a lot of money. Maryanne used to brag she’d been paid ten grand but Mackie wouldn’t pay that again, not when he had “overheads” to factor in. That’s what he used to call me and Maryanne – fucking “overheads”.’
Parnell puffs his cheeks out. ‘Risky business. Didn’t Maryanne worry about someone telling her to bugger off and going to the police?’
‘Some did tell her to piss off, but they were hardly likely to blab. If they weren’t interested they just wanted to get it over and done with as quietly as possible, they weren’t going to start making big noises about the fact they were in England for an abortion. And I mean, she didn’t approach that many. I got good at knowing who looked good for it so our hit rate was high.’ Hands open, explanatory-mode. ‘Like, it didn’t matter how wobbly they were, if they were too young I knew they’d have a hard time getting away with the seven-to-eight-month disappearing act so we didn’t bother. Too old and they could be a bit too feisty, knew their own minds more, not as easy to control.’ She catches herself. ‘God that sounds fucking awful, doesn’t it? But I was nineteen, I’d had a shit life up until then and I liked the money.’
Parnell’s voice is soft and steady. ‘Look, we’re not here to judge you, Saskia. Don’t flog yourself on our account, just keep going. You’re doing great.’ She gives a grateful nod. ‘OK, so when a girl agreed, what happened?’
‘We’d send them to “host families” for a few days while we got things sorted. Some clinics do that, you know – for women who can’t afford the few nights in a B&B – so Maryanne thought it made it sound a bit more legitimate if we did it too. ’Course, the “families” were just people on Mackie’s payroll, it was a big farce. Soon as we could though, we’d move them into the flat.’
Renée picks up a sheet of paper. ‘12c Ophelia Mansions, Frederick Street, King’s Cross. Where you currently still reside?’
She nods, flashes a sarky smile. ‘Yes. Where I still reside.’
‘And what, you’d literally hot-house these girls until they gave birth?’
She mouths the word ‘hot-house’, ponders it. ‘I suppose you could call it that. But it wasn’t exactly the workhouse. Only the best food, you know – Gina, she was a GP, she was obsessed with nutrition – and then there was Sky TV, every channel going, and basically whatever they wanted, books, magazines, fancy toiletries – and some of them really took the piss with the brands they’d ask for – me or Maryanne would get it for them. Usually me as I was out more because of my job.’
Parnell rubs his chin. ‘So you’re saying they never left the flat? Forget nutrition, that can’t be healthy?’
‘Maryanne took them for walks sometimes, once she trusted them.’
Renée’s look is pure ice. ‘Like dogs?’
Saskia bolts upright in her chair, jabs a finger towards Renée. ‘She didn’t have to do that, you know? Gina never insisted. It was an act of kindness.’ Parnell smiles, smooths things over. ‘’Course she wanted to get out too. She’d take the girls for picnics on warmer days – just to Leamington Square Gardens, it wasn’t far. She bloody loved it there, said it was exactly how she’d imagined London to be, all posh Georgian houses and old-fashioned streetlamps.’ She pauses, catches a tight little breath. ‘That’s where she was found, wasn’t it?’
Parnell nods reverently.
Her jaw tightens. ‘Bastards. I bet that was a warning to everyone to keep their mouths shut. Any girl who passed through the flat would have got the message loud and clear – they all loved the gardens, see, it was the only place they ever got out to. We were all pretty much prisoners, we just didn’t see it that way.’ She smiles and it’s a genuine smile, no side-helping of sarcasm. ‘Me and Maryanne did sneak out sometimes though, at night, left the girls on their own. Turnmills was a favourite, it was less than a mile, you see. We went as far as Heaven once though, over by Charing Cross. It was risky but it was worth it, you know. Just to be able to do normal things for a few hours – dancing, flirting .?.?. not sitting in night after night, watching repeats of Friends with a load of hormonal women.’
‘What about men?’ asks Parnell, leaning back again. ‘Any male visitors?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
I put my hand to the back of my neck – not clammy, red-hot.
Don’t be defensive, I will her. Don’t flat-out deny it.
But Saskia’s a smart cookie, she knows they’re asking for a reason. ‘There were a few around occasionally, just Mackie’s associates. The odd party, or drop-off.’
‘Drop-off?’ asks Renée. ‘Stuff for the girls?’
A hollow laugh. ‘Not exactly. They’d store drugs in the flat sometimes. Money. Weapons occasionally, although Maryanne kicked off about that. I can’t remember names, though. I can barely remember faces.’
‘Well, this was hanging on your wall.’ Parnell slides the photo over, points at the men. ‘Jog any memories?’
She stares for a long time, poker-faced. ‘Nope,’ she says, pushing it back. ‘It was a long time ago. I forgot that photo was even there, to be honest. I hardly ever go in that room. God, I was gorgeous back then,’ she says, changing the subject, looking to Renée. ‘You don’t realise it at the time, do you? You don’t appreciate it.’