Cheap White Meat Page 7

  I sit on my bed and stare blankly at the wall as this guy attempts to bond with me. For some reason he thinks it’s a good idea to ask me if I’ve ever been tested; you know, for sexual infections, what with my profession.

  Thanks. Now I think I have A.I.D.S.

  I don’t know how some of these “professionals” mind’s work sometimes. I honestly don’t think this day can get any worse. I’ve just been presented with a little cup that I’m expected to piss into so they can check me for chlamydia.

  I did use condoms you know. And not just to stop myself from getting A.I.D.S, but to stop myself from getting pregnant and from having that baby taken away from me. If I did somehow get pregnant whilst I was still in care then I’d get the baby taken away from me, no doubt causing another Resource Consumer’s life to be ruined in the process.

  I’m squatting over the toilet expectantly but nothing’s coming out. I can hear Kate waiting outside, along with Dr Protection. This is so humiliating but I can’t leave without my sample.

  ‘Turn the tap on if you’re struggling,’ one of them says. I don’t know which one because they both sound pretty similar. I look at the tap, although it’s my instinct to not want to turn it on I know that I can’t leave the bathroom until I’ve provided them with what they want.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Good news for once. I don’t have chlamydia. But another nurse is going to come in tomorrow to do further tests. A female nurse. Why they couldn’t have left the chlamydia test until tomorrow as well, instead of subjecting me to Dr Protection, is beyond me. He’s keen on prescribing me some new anti-depressants that some drugs company is hoping to make millions from.

  Happy pills. Another masking agent. Anything to avoid solving the cause of the problem. I always get the choice over which pills I take but I get hassle if I don’t take any. As much as possible I try to avoid pills full stop. I’ve seen and heard about too many people getting addicted.

  When I was first forced to live here there was a girl living here who was addicted to painkillers. She’d always be claiming that she was in pain or falling down the stairs and hurting herself so that they’d be forced to give her pills. She even once tried to come to an arrangement with me where by I faked pain and passed the pills on to her. I did it a couple of times. It was the only way to get some sleep at night because she was in the room next to me and used to scream the place down.

  I’d love to see her medical records. Just to see how old she was when she first got prescribed painkillers and how long it took her to get to the stage where she’d break her own ribs just to get her fix. The last I saw of her she was being taken away in an ambulance.

  I don’t know if she texted me with an update; I “lost” my mobile the day after. I wonder if it’s still “lost”. I could always get Jack to go and “find” it for me. That’s something for me to try to remember to ask him the next time I see him. I can’t write it down though because they’d be looking to take it off me. I’ll have to keep it a secret and when I get it back I’ll have to hide it so that they can’t keep tabs on me.

  Some woman who looks like an ostrich that’s been shopping at Marks & Spencer’s, and smells of stomach turning perfume, has come into to see me. I’ve seen her a couple of times during my troubles, but she’s always stayed in the background previously so she must have licked enough arses down to the years to get promoted because she claims she’s been put in charge of my case.

  “My case”. That’s another phrase I hate. Been put in charge of the “nutcase” more like. Straight away, I ask her if I can see Jack, but like all adults she ignores whatever I say because she thinks that what she’s got to say is far more important.

  However, there’s more good news. My complaint against Gillian is being officially looked into. There’s bad news as well though. I’ve got to run through the updates Gillian put in my file with this woman to see if I agree with them or whether I feel that Gillian’s been trying to claim that she’s been doing more with me than she actually has.

  This woman calls herself Mrs Robinson. Always Mrs Robinson. Never Miss or Pamela, which is what I think her “P” stands for. I can tell that she’s not used to dealing with people like me on a one to one basis. Whenever she asks me a question, and I don’t answer her, she tilts her head sideways and nods her head forward like she’s about to peck the answer out of me.

  Even though Mrs Robinson is one of the “fakes”, I’ve got to talk to her. I’ve got no choice. The only other option is to sit in my room and fake an orgasm in front of Kate. I still want Jack though. I need Jack. I can’t do this without him by my side.

  I try to do a deal with Mrs Robinson but she’s not having any of it. Everything has to be on her terms. I ask her if I’m allowed out today and she says that I have concerns that are more pressing.

  She starts reading out some of the notes that Gillian has written but she’s going about it the wrong away. She’s reading out the dates like 21/03 but that means nothing to me. I need to know if it was a Monday or a Tuesday etc. Depending on what day it was would depend on what time Adam would normally turn up. For example, he’d always be late on a Friday because he went to prey. And he had to sign-on on a Wednesday afternoon so he would be late then otherwise he’d lose his housing benefit, as well as his JSA, and he said that the rent on a five bedroom house is expensive these days. Once I got to work out his routine then I’d fit mine around his.

  I take my file from Mrs Robinson and read the notes. Gillian’s surprisingly eloquent in her writing. She talks a lot about what she’d like to achieve with me but very little about what improvements she’s got out of me. I also look at what Kate’s been writing about me. One day sticks out in my mind because that’s the first day I masturbated in front of her.

  “What’s this, some kind of Aprils Fool?” she asked, but it’s a trick I’m still playing four months on. Thinking about it now, I think that was my way of telling Kate that something had changed in me. My way of telling her I was no longer a virgin.

  Kate has mentioned it but it wouldn’t make any sense unless you knew the truth. She’s written that I let myself become “hot and flustered in her presence”. Well, I suppose that’s one way of describing the effects of masturbating.

  I don’t know what Mrs Robinson’s hoping to get out of this but we’re not really getting anywhere. There’s been far too much happening in my life that one thing has to take priority over The others. To some people, making sure that Adam and his “friends” are caught and thrown in prison should be the priority, but they’ve gone out of my life, for good. Whilst Gillian and Kate are still here.

  Apparently, I can’t “cherry pick” which Key Workers I want to look after me. I’m not qualified to know enough about my situation. That makes me wonder exactly what qualifications I would need to know which people I feel I can and can’t trust; after all who else knows what’s going on inside my head?

  I think I’m starting to annoy Mrs Robinson by keep mentioning Jack. I’m not mentioning him directly all the time but saying things like “I told Jack all about that day.” “Jack wouldn’t have let me get in that state.” But if I don’t get it through to her that I want to see “that little racist thug”, which no doubt she thinks he is, then she won’t let me see him. Somehow, she’s the one with all the power preaching that “The child’s welfare should always be of paramount importance.”

  That’s a nice mantra to have. Now please put it into practice and bring Jack to me. Thank you.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’ve still not got my Jack so I’ve still not made any progress. We all had a session booked in with some psychiatrist woman today. Kate told me that I’d be excused but I followed her out of my room and went to the Interrogation Zone.

  The Others don’t like it when I join them. They’re a proper little tight knit group. Whenever a new girl arrives they all gang up on her, but if she “proves” he
rself then she can join the group. When I arrived I was invited for my initiation, but it didn’t go down too well when I made it clear that I didn’t want to be a part of it. The Biter is the only one who’s been here longer than I have. Therefore, she’s the one who tells any “new girl” that I’m “not one of them”.

  Today’s session is one of those where everyone has to talk about their feelings and what triggers the type of behaviour that means they’re incarcerated in a place like this. I don’t intend to speak, but I like listening to what The Others have to say. It helps me to understand them. See what progress they’ve made. See what makes them to go off on one for a couple of days.

  These sessions normally all start the same. The Others will take the piss out of whichever psychiatrist can’t find enough work in the private sector that they are reduced to working here with the likes of us. And how much The Others will take it seriously always depends on how much that psychiatrist can laugh at themselves. In a weird sort of way, the biggest idiots are normally the more successful ones.

  I used to speak in these sessions. A bit. I’d say the odd word, but one of The Others always had to shout me down so I had to repeat everything I said anyway.

  ‘Where’s lover boy?’ asks The Psychotic.

  ‘Oh, he’s well fit him,’ suggests The Biter, before I’ve even have a chance to consider whether I’m going to shock The Others by speaking to them.

  ‘He never did knock on my door,’ says The Self-Harmer.

  ‘That’s because he’s a “Chubby Chaser”’, informs The Psychotic, and they all burst out laughing.

  I am the biggest girl in here, I’m not denying that, but a couple of them have very little room left to talk in. Even today’s psychiatrist is having a little chuckle with them, or maybe I’m just paranoid that everyone laughs at me. Maybe even Jack laughs about me when he goes home at night. But it’s not all my fault. I wasn’t supposed to be like this. It’s because of the way I’ve been mistreated that I’ve ended up like this. People really should take that into consideration.

  ‘So what’s your boyfriend like Miss?’ The Alcoholic asks. They always call female psychiatrists, or teachers, “Miss” but never call male ones “Sir”.

  ‘He’s okay, could make more of an effort, but that’s men for you,’ she says, forgetting that the golden rule, when you’re speaking to The Others about your private life, is to make sure that your answer doesn’t invite a response.

  ‘Does it hurt when he shoves his cock up your arse?’ The Biter asks.

  The psychiatrist doesn’t verbally say “Yes” but her reaction gives it away. The Others find it hilarious and start rolling around, practically dry humping each other. I think it surprises some of the people who come here just how much we all know about life; well real life, not all that rubbish they try to teach you in school.

  When she’s regained some kind of control, the psychiatrist tries to remind The Others that they’ve got a session to be getting on with. After a few lewd remarks, about cock size, how many vibrators she has, how old she was when she lost her virginity, the session can finally begin.

  This is the part where I am treated as if I’m not even in the room once again. The psychiatrist doesn’t even make any reference to the fact that I wasn’t present in the last session, or indeed any of her previous sessions, or even acknowledges that I might have something that I want to say today.

  The Others are all saying what their goals are for the future. The Self-Harmer wants to bring in a couple of children into the world. She’s mentioned this before and that’s why the police are called if she manages to get out. If she’d have been working down at Megabites then she wouldn’t ever have worn a condom. I’m not sure if she’d offer herself to the first bloke she saw but she definitely comes across that way.

  Apparently, she’s got plenty of experience in looking after babies because she used to help her mum out with her little brothers. I’m not really sure what went wrong so that she ended up in a place like this. She has a tendency to change her story depending on how the mood is within the group. If someone else was sexually abused then you can guarantee that it was nothing compared to what she went through. If someone lost a family member in a motorbike accident then you can guarantee that her family were packed into a people carrier when they had a head-on crash on the motorway. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit there, but you get the picture.

  If there was just two of us in a place like this then I might get on better with The Self-Harmer. I don’t mind her that much as a person, but when she’s in the “Gang of Four” then she’s got to change because she doesn’t want to be excluded from the group as she wouldn’t be able to cope on her own.

  ‘So are you going to tell me about Jack?’

  I must have been daydreaming because I didn’t hear the psychiatrist the first time. The Others all have their eyes fixed on me like they want to hear my answer, but I don’t know the answers to the questions they want me to talk about.

  And what do I say about Jack? I still don’t know if I’ll be allowed to see him again. I might be taken into a room one day and told that Jack’s been told to stay away from me and that I should erase any memories I have of him from my mind because it will only hinder my “recovery”.

  I once was told to do that after I’d been living with a foster couple for a bit. I didn’t particularly like this couple, she smelt of eggs and he was just boring, but they were apparently interested in adopting me. For three months all I got told was how rare it was for a couple to be interested in adopting a child my age. I was about 12 at the time and was constantly told how this was my big chance. I was expecting everything to go through fine when one day I was picked up at school by some social worker and taken to my first children’s home.

  I never got any explanation. Never got any excuse. Just got told to forget about it and move on. I looked up a bit about the adoption process online, just to try to get a better understanding, but had to stop when I found out that adoptive parents could give the child back if they didn’t like them. I wasn’t exactly having a good day at the time so I couldn’t read about it any further.

  Of course though, Mum could have agreed to let me be adopted at first and then changed her mind. Although, predictably, no one has ever discussed that possibility with me.

  I’m not saying that I’d have been some normal girl about to sit her GCSEs if I had have been adopted, but at least I’d have been given a chance to make something of my life. I can’t even remember what the couple were called. When I was told to forget about them, I really did all I could to not give them a second thought.

  For some reason, being rejected by that couple hurt me more than being rejected by Mum. Although to be fair, Mum didn’t reject me. Well, not initially. She tried her best to make me feel special and wanted; to keep everything relatively normal, but then she lost her trial. For a while, I thought she only showed such an interest in me because it looked good in front of the courts. But as I’ve got older, I think she went cold towards me because she didn’t want me to have to visit her in prison for at least 7 years.

  I’m not suggesting that she should have been spared a custodial sentence because she had a daughter to look after, but I’m not really sure how much justice was gained by having two lives ruined.

  However, there’s a reason why I don’t blame Mum for our relationship breaking down. Do you want me to tell you why? Haha, I’m not going to reveal everything to you that easily.

  My dad is never mentioned. Ever. And I’m too shy to mention him. I don’t even know if he knows he has a daughter, or maybe he’s in the loony bin himself. Apparently, much of what I have wrong with me is hereditary, but Mum has always been relatively sane.

  The Others moved on to talking about themselves when they realised that I wasn’t going to start conversing with them. Although I am in the mood for talking today. But only to the right person.

  Chapter Ninete
en

  Today really is my lucky day. Gillian’s been suspended, pending further investigation. At least that means I won’t have to see her for the foreseeable future, but at the moment it’s not enough. I want her sacked from her job. Banned from working with vulnerable children ever again. A short prison sentence would be nice as well, but unless Dan and his subordinate investigate her private life in more detail, I doubt they’re going to be able to get that to happen.

  Gillian’s suspension does pose one problem though. I’ll need a new Key Worker in a couple of days. I put forward my suggestion but Dan and his subordinate just laugh at me.

  Kate asks, ‘What’s so good about this Jack anyway?’

  I’d tell her but I doubt she’d listen because it would show just how inept she is at her own job. Whilst I don’t really like Kate, I don’t want her to stop being my Key Worker now. Also, I wish I could stop touching myself when she’s alone in the room with me. I need to tell someone about that. Tomorrow. That nurse woman who’s coming down to see if I’ve caught anything, I’ll try to tell her. I sure she’s heard people tell her all kinds of weird shit so it won’t actually sound like that big a deal to her.

  Dan looks frustrated when I say that I want to see Jack again. Whilst he thinks he’s got the perfect temperament to do this job, I know that I wind him up. I wind everyone up who likes to think they’re “normal”. But Jack is different. He doesn’t want to be normal. I understand why he’s here now.

  If what’s happened to me is made public then there’ll be an outcry. If Adam and his “friends” go to court then there’d be people standing outside the court, protesting. But what good does that do?

  That’s why Jack’s different. He did target me. He wanted to get me to speak because he knew that I had the evidence that could get these people convicted. Rather than just stand on a street with some placard asking for something to be done about the filth that has been allowed to darken our streets, he’s decided to be more proactive.