Lyn by Lyn Madden

Author:Lyn Madden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cork University Press

14

‘Please, will you stop for fags? You said I could get them on the way home,’ Lyn tried.

‘Shut fuckin’ up or I will fuckin’ kill you,’ John said.

He stopped at a house in Ballyfermot, went inside.

‘Please let me go before he comes back,’ she begged. Stoney silence.

‘Please, I am begging you. Let me out.’

No response. Lyn reached in her handbag, took out her Valium, managed to swallow about ten of them before one of them caught on to what she was doing. Silently, he grabbed the remainder from her and threw them out the window. Then he started to sing the theme from Mash, ‘Suicide is Painless’, smiling at her. She thought, ‘Were they all out for the day from the same asylum?’ They all did this smiling bit. No talk, just smile. Perhaps they had all been to see the same film and the tough guy just smiled all the time.

John Cullen emerged with a woman. A double gang bang? He drove to another house in Ballyfermot. They all filed out. Lyn was dragged without ceremony into the house, plonked in a chair while records were put on. A glass of vodka was pressed into her hand. Everyone just started up normal chit chat. What was this? Lyn could not understand. She looked at the woman John Cullen had brought. She seemed so cool. Was she used to gang bangs? John Cullen turned to Lyn, ‘Go upstairs with Mylie.’

Lyn was starting to feel numb. When she got up to the room she told herself, ‘Lyn, pretend this is a client. Just switch your mind off. Think of a good book.’ She had just read The Scourge of the Swastika. ‘Yes, that’s it, think of The Scourge of the Swastika.’

Mylie was on top of her. Who wrote that damn book? She could not stay in her head. Owen fell out of the wardrobe.

‘Fuck off outa the room,’ Mylie told him. This was too much. How could she pretend that this was business? Mylie was finished. Another guy burst in the door. He just stood there and looked for a moment before he dropped his trousers and jumped on her. He was ugly. If he pulled up for business on the Canal, she would refuse him. Awful, the smell. Who did write that book? He was finished now. Lyn thanked God she hadn’t had a long-lasting client yet. That was £40 she had made. That little fart Owen was next. ‘Ah yes,’ she remembered, ‘it was Lord Russel of Liverpool who wrote it.’

What the fuck? The pig was trying to kiss her. ‘I don’t fuckin’ kiss. Get off me,’ Lyn felt sick. Any idiot knew a woman didn’t kiss a client. Kissing was personal. Affection. Didn’t the little squirt know that? Lyn was screaming at the top of her voice. She could switch off while she was having sex, but kissing?

John Cullen was in the room. Smiling at her. ‘Is something wrong, love?’

‘You ugly looking bastard, I am going to kill the fuckin’ lot of you.

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