thinks she’s better than other people, but she’s just a stupid cow who doesn’t understand anything.’
Her eyes close and her head sinks onto her chest.
‘What is it she doesn’t understand?’
‘The perks of the job,’ she whispers.
‘Have you ever seen her when she’s with clients?’
Tamara sighs and opens her eyes again. She realises that she’s got a tied condom stuck to her wrist, grabs it and throws it on the ground.
‘I’ve got a really weird taste in my mouth,’ she says, looking up at Saga. ‘If you want to get me something to drink, we can talk.’
‘OK.’
Tamara coughs again, struggles to her feet and squints at Saga.
She’s very thin. Her hands and cheeks are covered in tiny scabs, and her lips are cracked and dry. A hair slide that’s lost its ornament is hanging down over her forehead.
There’s very little about her that resembles the smiling woman on the website.
Tamara starts to move, hunched over, her head drooping. When they get inside the restaurant she stands still for a moment, swaying, as if she’s forgotten where she’s going, then walks towards the counter.
‘I want a chocolate milkshake … and French fries with ketchup … and a large Pepsi … and this,’ she says, putting a big bag of car-shaped sweets on the counter.
Jeanette Fleming is walking along close to the trucks in the direction she thinks the prostitute went. Closer to the edge of the forest it’s so dark between the vehicles that she has to hold her hands up to feel her way. The air reeks of diesel, and the lorries are radiating heat like sweating horses. She passes one cab with check-patterned blinds over the windows.
Jeanette suddenly sees the woman. She’s standing a short distance away, spitting on the ground as she knocks on one of the driver’s cabs. She leans heavily on the huge front wheel.
‘Where else have you worked?’ Jeanette asks when she catches up to her.
‘I used to work in really fancy places.’
‘Have you ever had any clients in Djursholm?’
‘I only take the best,’ the woman mumbles.
The cab door opens and a heavy man with glasses and a beard looks at them. He blows Jeanette a kiss, then looks impatiently at the other woman.
‘What do you want?’ he asks.
‘I was just wondering if you’d like some company,’ she replies.
‘You’re too ugly,’ the man says, but doesn’t close the door.
‘No, I’m not,’ she replies. It’s obvious that the man is enjoying being cruel to her.
‘So what part of you isn’t ugly?’
The woman pulls her top up, showing her pale breasts.
‘And you expect to get paid for those?’ he says, but still beckons her into the cab with his head.
Jeanette watches the woman clamber up into the cab and close the door behind her. She waits for a while in the darkness, listening to the creak of the springs in the seats.
Headlights sweep the ground and the shadows quickly slide away. Laughter and muffled music reach her from the other end of the lorry park.
A drunk woman shrieks somewhere, her voice angry and hoarse.
Jeanette peers under the trailer. In the distance a cigarette falls to the ground in a cascade of sparks before someone stamps it out. She detects a movement from the other direction. It looks like someone’s crawling on all fours under the lorries, heading towards her. A shiver runs down her spine. Jeanette starts to walk towards the restaurant.
Another lorry is on its way into the car park, but stops with a squeal to let her pass. The brakes wheeze. A chain clanks as it sways beneath the vehicle. Jeanette can’t see the driver, but still walks across the road through the dazzling glare of its headlights.
She looks around as she gets close to the restaurant, but there’s no one following her.
Jeanette slows down a little and decides to take her torn tights off and wash the cut on her leg before she calls Saga.
She goes over to the bathroom, but all the cubicles are occupied. The blood has congealed around the wound and run down her calf.
The thin metal door of one of the toilets swings open and a woman with bleached blonde hair emerges. She’s clutching her phone to her ear and is yelling that she had a client, and that she can’t do everything at once.
The woman disappears down the hall, waving her arms angrily.
A handwritten sign saying ‘Out of order’ has been taped to the door, but Jeanette goes in anyway and locks it behind her.
It’s a disabled toilet, with thin metal walls. The white armrest is folded up, and there’s an illuminated red alarm button close to the floor.
She takes off her torn tights and throws them away. There are lots of used condoms in the bin. There’s wet toilet paper all over the floor and the walls are covered with graffiti.
Jeanette looks at herself in the mirror, takes her powder out of her purse and leans over the sink. She can hear someone in the cubicle next to her, moving around in the confined space.
She powders her face and notices that there’s a round hole in the wall between her and the next cubicle. Maybe that’s where the toilet-roll dispenser used to be. She puts her powder away again and turns around to see that the wall is moving slightly.
Someone is leaning against it from the other side.
There’s a rustling sound and a folded banknote falls onto the floor from the hole. The wall creaks. Jeanette is about to say something when a large penis appears, dangling through the hole in front of her.
The situation is so absurd that she can’t help smiling.
A memory of something she once read about a swingers’ club in France flashes into her head, about them having rooms like this.
The man on the other side thinks she’s a prostitute.
She stands there for a moment, and swallows hard. She stares at the penis, feeling her heart beating fast in her chest, then looks at the door to make sure it’s definitely locked.
Slowly she reaches out and takes hold of the warm, thick member.
Jeanette squeezes it gently and feels it stiffen and start to rise. She gently strokes back and forth, and then lets go of it.
