Lady Bag Read Online Free

something to defend even if it’s only your soft parts or your right to feel no pain.
    But Gram Attwood can sleep without fear. Think about that when you talk to me of justice. He stole from rich and poor alike and then persuaded me to take the blame. Why? Because, he assured me, as I had no prior convictions, I would not be sent to prison. I was a respectable forty-year-old woman, previously of good character, with a house and an ailing mother to look after. Yes, I was a home-owner and I worked in a building society. I was in a position of trust, and that was what finally did for me—I betrayed so many expectations: I was worse than a thief—I was a bad woman. You can’t be more wicked than that. So of course I was sent to prison—as he must’ve known I would be.
    But Gram Attwood can sleep on his back without protecting his soft parts.
    Even his story about a previous conviction turned out to be a lie. He wept real tears when he told me about the youthful indiscretion that’d put him in the dock. When he threw himself on my mercy.
    The Devil cries salty tears and can sleep on his back without fear.
    In the last four years he has not acquired a single wrinkle or a grey hair. He has been cosseted. I wonder how many women have bought him clothes and shoes, provided freshly laundered sheets and towels. Did they pour his coffee and champagne like I did? Do they know that he doesn’t like mushrooms?
    Electra whimpered softly. My hand was cramped around her collar—a clenched fist. I released her and my fingers ached.
    ‘I need a drink,’ I said.
    Electra licked my thumb—so discreetly that I almost missed her message. I looked into the huge topaz eyes that said, ‘You promised.’
    ‘I know, I know,’ I said, ‘but what do I do about the rage?’
    ‘What’re you mithering about now?’ Joss said. ‘You’re always mithering. People think you’re barmy.’
    ‘What’re you doing here?’
    ‘You told us about it. I want to check it out. You shouldn’t keep the good stuff to yourself. We’re muckers, ain’t we?’
    ‘Where’s Georgie?’
    ‘Kensal Rise. That’s where he thinks you’ll be. We had a bet. Well screw him.’ Joss shifted uneasily from one foot to another. Obviously they had a fight last night. Georgie drives him insane but he’s lost without him.
    ‘Rich pickings?’ Joss looked down the little mews with its cute cottages and immaculate paintwork. Then he looked at the grand Victorian facades of Harrison Road. ‘What’s the story then?’ he asked. ‘What we doing here?’
    ‘I know why I’m here,’ I said, ‘but I didn’t invite you.’
    ‘That’s right, you didn’t.’ His face darkened with suspicion and he moved a few steps into the mews staring at the cobbles through his long lank hair.
    You’d never guess he was only twenty-four—his hair and beard make him look fifty.
    ‘It’s not a new mission, you said? Yeah, this’d be a weird place for a mission. So what is it? Someone chucking out stuff you can sell?’ He whipped round and stuck his face into mine. I could smell cornflakes and his first beer of the day. ‘Why’re you holding out on us?’ he hissed. ‘Mates don’t hold out on mates.’
    Electra whimpered. I took a step back. ‘It’s nothing like that. Last night I saw an old… I saw someone I used to know.’
    ‘Someone rich? From before? See, I always said you was never one of us. You come from higher places, you. I told Georgie, I said, one day she’ll go back to where she came from. She’ll be with her rich friends and forget all about us.’
    ‘Stop shouting,’ I said. ‘Someone will call the cops.’
    ‘Mates stick together,’ he snarled. And I remembered a story someone told me about when he was part of a ‘recycling’ team and another rough sleeper got badly beaten up when Joss thought his territory was under threat. That was before he met Georgie and settled down. But he was still paranoid—I could see that.
    ‘Fancy a coffee?’ I