The A-List Collection. Victoria Fox
Belleville, Ohio, 1992
The first few weeks were bearable.
Lester had a job in the local garage and at the start he made an effort to put food on the table, clean up after himself, make sure she was OK. But slowly, gradually, the mask slipped. Laura had known it would happen. At first, the drinking. Then, the violence. At night, the animal noises that kept Laura awake when he brought home a girl and did things to her.
Laura counted the days till she could start school. Until then she would be responsible for what Lester called ‘a sister’s special jobs’: washing the dishes; mopping the floors; and making sure his meal was prepared every night when he got home. If her brother wasn’t happy with what she had done, he would hit her across her cheek and leave her red skin stinging.
Before bed she undressed carefully in the bathroom, locking the door and stuffing the keyhole with toilet paper. She didn’t know why she did that, but it made her feel safer. Lester was a man, no longer a boy, and she was frightened of what that meant.
On Monday Laura got up early and made herself breakfast. Lester was still asleep, would be late for work: she hadn’t seen him the night before and when he’d staggered in at four in the morning he had fallen over the couch, sending a smash of beer bottles to the floor. She cleaned the mess, knowing what would happen if she didn’t. Then she surveyed the options. The only food in the trailer was stale bread with little buds of green mould flowering on their crusts, so she cut these off and made toast. She found a soft banana and stuffed it in her bag.
At school Laura registered quickly and was shown to her class. The other kids looked much smarter than her and had proper uniforms. Everyone looked at her funny.
‘Hi, I’m Marcie.’ The girl sitting with her in homeroom had fair hair and lots of freckles.
Laura liked her right away. ‘I’m Laura. ‘
Unfortunately the others weren’t so friendly. At recess a group of bigger boys came over and started calling them names. The boys were laughing at Marcie and the biggest one said something mean about her.
‘Get lost,’ Laura told him, hands on hips, scowling.
‘An attitude,’ he nodded approvingly, ‘not bad for a kid with no mommy or daddy.’ Then he grabbed her roughly and suddenly the other boys were pulling her hair and pushing her between them. Marcie started crying, begging them to stop.
‘Quit messing around, Greg,’ came a voice, and the crowd instantly dispersed.
The boy who had spoken stepped forward, squaring up to the biggest in the gang. Laura recognised him as the same boy she had seen when she first arrived in town, the one with the bike. He couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen.
‘Pick on someone your own size,’ he said calmly, in a voice that sounded like it belonged to someone much older.
‘What’s it to you?’ snarled Greg, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
The other boy waited. ‘You heard what I said.’
‘Is that a threat, Lewis?’ said Greg, shoving the boy’s chest, hard.
The rest of the gang retreated, their confidence slipped.
Laura waited to see what the boy would do. He didn’t fight back. He just kept staring at Greg, his eyes so dark they were nearly black.
‘Come on, shithead,’ crowed Greg, moving to shove him again. This time the boy caught Greg’s wrist and twisted him round, forcing him to his knees.
‘Ow! Let me go!’ yelled Greg, struggling to free his arm. He fought to right himself but the dark-haired boy had him pinned.
‘Say you’re sorry.’
‘You’re gonna pay for this, Lewis!’
The boy pushed against him harder.
‘OK, OK!’ Greg howled, his face contorted. ‘Sorry, OK? I’m fucking sorry.’
Released, he slumped on to the dusty ground and clutched his arm to his chest, whimpering. Laura wanted to do something, but she no longer knew who the good guy was.
At last Greg stumbled to his feet, dusted himself off and looked at his crowd. He was trying to appear defiant but you could tell where the power was. The rest of them respected this boy more than they respected Greg, and Greg, for all his stupidity, knew it.
‘Let’s split.’ He glowered, signalling the gang and sauntering off. ‘Stinks of crap around here anyway.’
When they were gone the stranger turned to Laura. Everything about him was so dark: his eyes and his hair were one shade off black. He wore a very serious expression. She felt a little bit afraid of him.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
‘Sure.’
‘You new?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Forget those guys–they’re creeps.’
Marcie wiped her eyes and looked shyly at the boy. She nudged Laura with her elbow, prompting her to speak.
‘Thanks,’ she said eventually. ‘He won’t come after you, will he?’
The boy shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Nah.’
There was a short silence.
‘Cool.’ He kicked the ground with his feet before starting to walk away. ‘Guess I’ll see you around.’
Before Laura could stop herself she blurted out, ‘What’s your name?’ Then felt like an idiot.
He stopped and turned round.
‘Robbie,’ he said, and for the first time he smiled. It was in a surprised sort of way, like his name was a brilliant idea he’d just thought of. She noticed he had a dimple in his chin. ‘Robbie Lewis.’
Then just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he was gone, his sneakers kicking up dust as he ran back across the yard.
St Tropez
Robert St Louis’s luxury super-yacht cut through the sparkling Mediterranean, a white diamond on a sea of blue.
‘Which do you want?’ asked Jessica Bernstein, strolling out on to the sun deck with a cocktail in each hand. ‘Mojito or daiquiri?’
The women were relaxing on Robert’s private, fully staffed ninety-foot vessel. He kept it moored in Europe year-long for business trips and for weekend breaks in France, Greece and his favourite country of all, Italy. He and Bernstein were spending the day in talks with a slot-machine manufacturer in Monaco who was stumping up cash for an expansion they had in mind.
Elisabeth looked up from under her wide-brimmed hat. ‘The green one.’
‘I’m having that.’ Jessica flopped down on to a towel and handed her sister the other glass. ‘God, I’m so bored,’ she moaned. ‘Daddy practically begged me to come and now