The Runaway by Martina Cole

patently could not understand her reluctance. To Madge, men were there to rip off, to take from, and if they wanted something in return, well, what was wrong with that?
    Memories of her young life assailed Cathy. Visiting men would sit her on their lap and all Madge would do was laugh shrilly and pour herself another drink. Cathy could almost see herself trying to squirm free from their harsh beards and loose-lipped kisses. It made her shudder even now.
    As bad as Eamonn Senior was, he had never tried that with her, only ever wanting to be her friend. In a strange way, she missed him. At least with him there, she’d been safe, and Eamonn, her Eamonn had been there too. Now it seemed the only way to get him back was to give in to him; let him have what he wanted. Feeling tears sting her eyes, she wondered what the end of all this would be.
     
    Cathy sat at the kitchen table with a plastic-backed mirror propped up against the tea pot. She made up her face carefully, sipping from the cup of sweet tea beside her and munching a piece of toast. As she applied lipstick her mother walked into the kitchen and began to pour out two teas, letting the mirror fall to the table.
    ‘Is he still here?’ Cathy’s voice was low.
    Madge stared at her. ‘What if he is? This is my flat, love, not yours. Remember?’
    ‘How could I forget? By the way, Mrs Carter from next door is complaining to the landlord again. She told me when I was bringing in the milk.’
    Madge yawned, tongue like a yellow snake inside her mouth. ‘Fuck her, silly old cow!’ Walking to the door she called: ‘Tea up! Breakfast’s extra!’
    The tall thin man walked into the kitchen in nothing but his trousers. His braces hung by his legs and his eyes still had white beads of sleep round them. Cathy felt the toast rise inside her as she looked at him.
    ‘Drink your tea and fuck off.’ Her voice was matter-of-fact.
    Madge laughed. ‘She likes you, Ron. Normally she don’t speak to anyone!’
    The man grinned and Cathy grinned back. A fake grin that held so much hatred he was taken aback for a few moments.
    ‘You’re such a stroppy mare, Cathy. You always shoot yourself in the foot, you,’ Madge ran on. ‘If you could give people a kind word, you’d get rewarded. Look at that man a while ago - he gave you half a crown!’ She looked at Ron and said in exasperation, ‘She told him to shove it. Straight up!’ Madge’s voice held pride and annoyance at the same time. ‘She’s a nice girl, this one. No one will ever own her, mate.’
    Cathy lit a cigarette and took a deep draw on it. Then, making her voice sweet, she said, ‘So, Ron, have you a wife and kids, and where do you work? Is this how you want me, Mum? The talkative teenager?’
    Madge laughed heartily. ‘You should go on the bleeding stage, Cath. You’re a card and no mistake.’
    ‘She wants a slap round the earhole, Madge, and if I was her father she’d get one.’
    Madge turned on him viciously. ‘You and whose fucking army, mate? Because if you so much as raised your hand, I’d stick a knife through your heart without a second’s thought.’
    The man looked at her for long moments. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, lady.’
    Madge lit a cigarette and said, ‘Get your coat and piss off, I’ll see you later.’ Her voice had lost its fierceness now and was almost cajoling.
    When Ron had left she poured out two fresh teas and said sadly, ‘Another day, another dollar.’
    ‘How much did you get?’ Cathy asked with genuine interest.
    ‘A couple of quid. Nothing to write home about. How’s young Eamonn?’
    Cathy shrugged. ‘Same as usual, Mum. He said his dad’s well before you ask.’
    As Madge nodded, cigarette ash fell on to the slip which was all she wore and she wiped at it haphazardly. ‘I loved him, you know, Cathy.’ Her voice was small, crushed-sounding.
    Cathy looked sadly at her. The streaked mascara and faded lipstick gave her mother’s face a clown-like appearance.