Susie Learns the Hard Way by Roger Quine Page A

concealment. She’d be as visible as a... as a... oh, forget it, just plain visible . And she needed to be the opposite.
    Behind the door!
    If anyone came in she could stand behind the door! And then, when it swung shut on its spring, they’d see her and kill her.
    But she could hold it, grab the handle and hold it. That would do it. She almost ran across the room on tiptoe, freezing when she realised the bedroom door wasn’t shut. The spring wasn’t strong enough to close it properly, just push it to. She put one eye to the crack, and was rewarded by the sight of a small sliver of wall, which was all she could see. She pressed her ear to the crack instead, and that was better, because the murmur of conversation became separated into words, some of them recognisable.
    She strained to hear as much as possible, picking out words and trying to string them into a sentence, or at least a meaning...
    â€˜No, she’s not very... be gentle... rough stuff. If you treat her... she’ll... full strength... couple of minutes... please yourself... door at the end... going out now... back later, so just... when you’ve finished with her.’
    How on earth did he know she was there? And why didn’t he seem to care?
    More mumbling came from outside. She pressed her ear to the door again.
    â€˜Sure, she knows how to... and make it last.’
    The second man spoke, a hoarse whisper she couldn’t decipher at all. The reply was crystal clear, though, just a single word. ‘Annie.’
    There was more whispering from the croaky voice, which again she didn’t understand. But what she heard of the reply explained everything.
    â€˜Course he won’t... any time, he said... help myself... keep the key.’
    One of Andy’s mates had brought one of his mates round to enjoy the pleasures of the house. That was why he’d telephoned first and why he’d knocked on the door before retrieving the key from whatever hiding place he knew it would be kept in. He didn’t know that Annie had been sold hardly twenty-four hours earlier. He – or the croaky one, anyway, was expecting to find her in.
    In her bedroom!
    Fear ran like ice-cubes down her back and into her stomach, and it was as if the contracting muscles squeezed her like a peach, making the syrup run.
    There was a louder mumbling from outside and the front door banged shut. For a moment she thought she was safe, that they’d both gone, but then she heard a shuffling noise – the sound, she realised, of someone taking off a coat. There was still someone there in the flat. A man, a stranger, black, white, nice, nasty, handsome, ugly, violent, friendly – she didn’t know. But she was about to find out, because he was about to do as instructed, and come through the door to please himself with Annie. Who wasn’t there.
    But Susie was, and when he saw her he’d – he’d think she was Annie, she realised, with a sudden rush of relief. He’d never been there before, never seen her before. He’d think she was Annie, so he wouldn’t think she was a burglar, so he wouldn’t call the police, or tie her up till Andy returned. He’d just... he’d just... oh God!
    What he was going to do, unless Susie told him the truth, was imagine her to be some form of sex slave, and do whatever it was men did to sex slaves. But if she did tell him the truth she’d go to prison at best, or a lonely grave at worst. Or maybe get sold to the Arabs, like Annie.
    There wasn’t much time, and there wasn’t much choice.
    The door opened, suddenly and silently.
    There was no time. And no choice.
    The man who stood there looking at her was old, sixty at least, and the light framing him from behind lit up the white fuzz of his unshaven cheeks and the crumpled outline of an old and much-worn jacket which might once have been the top half of someone else’s suit. It certainly didn’t fit the man