‘How long before you’d had enough?’ he asked.
‘I kept modelling and my savings were increasing a little, although I needed to buy any extras for myself. My uncle and auntie’s care only covered the roof over my head and my share of the bills, but clothes and toiletries or a meal out with a friend, that was all for me to take care of. And I was happy with that. I liked the independence and in a way it made me more determined.
‘One day, the photographer at the agency asked whether I’d be willing to pose for lingerie magazines. He said there was a demand for it. At first I said no, but he said he’d double the pay I was already getting and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I figured it would be like wearing a swimming costume, except lacier.’ She managed a laugh. ‘Again, everything went well. I was taking home more money.’
Jack took a big swig of gin and coughed. ‘Should’ve added more tonic.’ He got up and did just that and at least he’d made Evie smile until it was time to continue.
‘One day I showed up at work and this time the photographer wanted me topless. He offered me three times more money and again I couldn’t resist.’ She closed her eyes. ‘God, I was so stupid. I didn’t investigate him, check any credentials. All I’d thought about was the money and I had no idea where the photographs were going. I started to ask questions, but he was evasive, wouldn’t tell me. I knew the photographs of me clothed were in catalogues, a couple in magazine advertisements. The lingerie photographs had gone the same way, and it was only once I’d started the nude modelling that I began to wonder. After all, there weren’t any garments on me to sell!’
Jack topped up her glass with gin and added a splash of tonic.
‘I decided, stupidly I guess, that it didn’t matter where the photographs were going, as long as I had the money. But one day when I turned up at work, the photographer, Gary, was sheepish. He told me my work had come to an end, he had no use for me anymore. He wouldn’t look at me and kept his face turned away. He said he’d pay me what I was owed and then he didn’t want to see me again. I wasn’t devastated. I was confused, but it was a relief not to have to model again. I had some money and knew I could build it up, albeit slowly, as long as I found any job, and fast.’
‘So then what happened?’
‘Uncle Brett was waiting for me when I got home. He was sitting at the kitchen table, grinning. I poured an orange juice, the last of the contents in the fridge, and that was when he leant over my shoulder and dropped a picture of me on the bench. He told me I’d been a “naughty girl” and then he passed me a job application that had been sitting on my nightstand in my bedroom. He’d told me that employers wanted the right sort of person working for them and that when these photographs were made public, I’d never get a job. I’d heard all the horror stories at school, about kids who have online profiles that are a red flag to employers and I’d always toed the line in that respect. My comments and photos were always respectful and I only friended people I knew and trusted. And he was about to blow that apart.
‘In return for his silence, he wanted me to model for him. God knows, I hadn’t seen that coming. He was related to me and the perving on me in the change room had been one thing, but this was disgusting. There’d always been something odd about him. I swear that was why he was the black sheep of dad’s family, running away overseas the first opportunity he got.’
‘Why on earth would your dad give him a job in the first place?’
‘Because Dad was the peacemaker. He did it for his parents who were heartbroken Brett had left and wasn’t in touch with them, save the odd occasions of birthdays and Christmas. Dad was always the son who’d shone, done well at school, gone on to better things, and he wanted to save the day, I suppose. Probably one of the most ambitious things he’s ever done.’
‘I still don’t understand your uncle. What man does that? What man preys on a young girl, a member of his own family?’
‘I don’t understand it either. I heard my parents talking one night about Uncle Brett having problems. The words counselling and psychological issues were tossed around in the conversation, but they never said anything when they knew I could hear.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I have two nieces and the thought of … God, it makes me sick to my stomach.’
‘I don’t get it either, but that was the way he was. He wanted pictures and the way he looked at me I knew it wouldn’t stop there. I knew I couldn’t tell Auntie Mo. She was a solicitor in the area, well respected, and this was the sort of gossip—and believe me she’d have called it that—which could destroy her reputation. No, I knew she wouldn’t be on my side. She was good to take me in and give me a home, but she was no mother. Perhaps I underestimated her, but I couldn’t take the chance.
‘He told me, right there in the kitchen, that he’d followed me and had paid Gary a little visit, promising if he came near me again he’d get more than the black eye he’d already given him. I realised then that that was why Gary refused to look at me at the studio. Uncle Brett had all the photographs, all the negatives, any digital images; and he now had a hold over me. He’d backed me into a corner and I couldn’t get out.’
‘Was that when you ran?’
She nodded, swiped a tear from her cheek as painful memories resurfaced. ‘I barricaded my bedroom door that night, packed a bag and climbed out of the window. I hitched a ride to the nearest train station where I waited for the first train, the next morning, and then I came to New York.’
Jack brought the gin bottle over and topped them both up. No extra tonic this time.
‘I had enough money to stay in a bed and breakfast for a few nights and my determination kicked in. I thought, I can do this, I can find a job, get somewhere to live and it’ll all work out. I tried to have faith. But the job didn’t come, even jobs in street cafés were impossible to get, already taken by someone else who got there five minutes before me, and as for the jobs for people with high-school qualifications, it was me and a thousand other young hopefuls.
‘After a few weeks, the money started to run out and I was worried. I moved into a cheaper bed and breakfast, but a week later that was it. I had no home. I had nowhere to go, no job and knew nobody. I’d find a doorway to huddle in, cursing the fact I hadn’t had the foresight to pack a blanket in the backpack, but I’d assumed by now, seven weeks after running away, I’d have a job.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Living on the streets?’
Jack nodded.
‘As bad as you’d think.’ She took a swig of gin. She didn’t need any more, she felt the effects of alcohol already, but it helped her to go on. ‘I consider myself one of the lucky ones. I was only homeless for nine weeks all up. After I’d slept in doorways, on park benches and anywhere I could find, I braved going to one of the shelters. I hadn’t dared to before then. I’d wanted to be on my own. I felt disgusted with how I’d let my life become merely an existence. Sometimes I’d feel as though it was all my fault, as though it was the universe’s revenge for my privileged upbringing. I thought hey, this is real life, finally bringing me down a peg or two.
‘I lost an incredible amount of weight, so much that even I noticed my bony hips protruding through one of the two pairs of jeans I now owned. And I was permanently hungry, constantly cold. I stayed the night in one of the shelters, just the once, but in the middle of the night there’d been a man; violent, he was, and shouting and screaming at everyone. It was the stuff of nightmares and I ran from it. I felt safer on the New York streets.’ She laughed at the irony. ‘Crazy, huh?’
‘I don’t think you’re crazy,’ Jack assured her. ‘But I do know this gin is going right to my head despite the fill we had at Nicole’s.’
Evie went over to the cupboards. ‘I don’t have any food to soak it up, I’m afraid. I may have the crust from a loaf of bread, or some cereal.’ Even though she had a job, she didn’t buy much when she shopped. It still felt like an extravagance and she was frugal in what she chose. She only bought the necessities, with alcohol the exception.
Jack pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.
