Sometimes a girl would get moved. Sulikov had other places and girls would be sent there without much warning.
Whenever Lee Stone brought anyone new Mr Harper would be around a lot, keeping an eye on things, explaining the benefit of accepting the situation and getting on with it.
‘We don’t want any trouble, do we?’ he’d say. Half threat, half reassurance.
Marta remembered her first night in the country. They’d docked at Hull and, just outside the town, they had been left to wait for a different minibus. It had been freezing, not snowy like home, just a bitter east wind that sliced through their clothes. They had waited for over an hour. When the bus arrived, the driver, Lee Stone, demanded twenty pounds from them for the fare. ‘We’ve paid for the journey already,’ Marta said.
‘Not this stretch. Cough up or stay here.’
They didn’t all follow his words but his gestures made the choice quite plain. He wouldn’t take zlotys. Some of them had changed money on the ferry He took it from them, grinning like a dog with two dicks.
It had been late afternoon as they got on the road again. The light was fading. Much of the landscape was flat, like at home. Then they had joined the motorway which climbed up into huge hills. No trees on the top, just bare grasslands, sheep here and there and regular towns in the valleys.
There was music on the radio and once or twice Marta felt a thrill of achievement. She was here. She’d made it.
She had read the signs: Leeds, Huddersfield, Oldham, Salford and wondered about pronunciation. Manchester was huge, lit by orange streetlamps. Not pretty like Krakow. Everyone had heard of Manchester. Manchester United, David Beckham and Oasis.
When the minibus had turned off a side road and stopped at an unlit shed, her heart sank. They were near a river; the headlights caught the slick of water by a quay of some sort. Was this where they had to stay? She had heard stories of people sleeping in garages and derelict warehouses. A door banged in the wind but the driver made no move to make them leave their seats.
Marta peered out. You’d never dream you were so close to the city; there were no lighted windows, no signs of life.
‘What for are we waiting?’ She knew the English wasn’t quite right but it was the best she could do.
‘Transfers,’ the man pulled a paper from his pocket, flicked on an overhead light. ‘Six going on to London.’
London! Marta’s heart quickened. London would be even better. A good place to disappear once she had saved enough money.
