Hardly know now which way to play it, obviously cannot leave this for years as have done in the past.. my time strictly accounted for. Could labour on about Moira, Ross, Bryony.. various others, but it all adds up and comes down to the same thing, through these pages, possibly intimated their existence .
The end of the affair with Caroline? quite predictable. She pushed it so far.. too far. Was asked to pick him and her up on the Cross at night.. take them home ..The second night, half way down the Old Kent Road, she was giving him a blow job in the back ..one eye on me.. But the Cross was winding up, the wretched streets being swept clean.
As all other things on this Planet, the situation at Kings Cross had reached a natural conclusion, with.. a little help from the Police. Conceivably it could flare up openly again.. undeniable there is now a different atmosphere. Sure, the girls still creep about very late, but money, interest, not there anymore, the odd punters.. cab drivers in the dark grime at the back of the 'grill'.
Caroline felt this hollow wave, this sudden lack of money.. lost her feline gloss, her bright confidence. Saw her months later, quite by accident. Silk Socks had come a tumble, being banned from going within one mile of her or Kings Cross, not allowed even to accept a cup of tea from her, she, trying to hustle, but I could see the spark had gone, departed. She, no longer a fantasy, a concept in a man's head, …….simply ...Caroline.
Se afișează postările cu eticheta Caroline. Afișați toate postările
Se afișează postările cu eticheta Caroline. Afișați toate postările
Caroline
Difficult (always a faint smile now at this word, after my man from Bucharest).. Difficult to pick up the thread of the past, my mind so engrossed in "now", Will never stop scheming, calculating, such is my desire for money and life.. not one without the other.. a hard fact for certain people to swallow. Surprised at myself using the word desire when it comes to living.. Maybe the latest twist to my existence, obvious to any one who has only simply skimmed over these pages.
Caroline said very little at my reappearance... my saunter across the Far East... propped up in Pancras Road alongside the Station.. My usual place, within two or three yards. Parking lights out, interior lights out, sat watching the activity, watching the faces from my blacked out seat in society
Saw her looking.. as if expecting me, saw her diminutive figure and mass of hair a long way down, almost at the traffic lights, hesitant by the paper stand, which was very busy.
Clock on the Cross poised, then struck two, St. Pancras, still languishing fifteen minutes behind..
Pulled along towards her, hardly stopping for her to jump quickly in.. felt pleased, relieved, a mixture of thoughts running through my head at our meeting. Pushed the partition window right back, she swung down the dicky seat sitting with her back directly to mine, her head twisted round towards me.
Watched the passing faces watching us. Yorky Bar making gestures with his fingers ..a knowing nod of his head.
All very much back to normal, as if I had never been so very far away... standing on the tranquil shore, standing staring in the direction where I thought Australia may be, a place aware I would never step foot in again.
Caroline, none committal.. maybe just another punter... in her head.. how was I to know? ..How is any man to know what any woman is thinking ultimately...? Caroline rarely spoke about the other side of her life.. perhaps when problems reared up, which was not often. Knew about the father of her child, the person she kept, the mother somewhere.. no mention of a father. Her child incredibly well built, beautiful and knew it.. so very precocious, a much older disposition.
Had received a frantic phone call just before going away.. Caroline locked up in some room, raped and beaten by the child's father after discovering her whereabouts with the child.
Without thinking what I was letting myself in for had gone over to Holloway, finding her standing, sobbing by a phone box. Somehow managed to climb out of a back window with her daughter and run, after he had fallen asleep, too terrified to go to the Police.. too terrified of the Police.
So far as she was concerned, no escape other than the anonymity of the endless, ragged streets and 69 Clapton Common where she and the child had stayed, not moving outside for weeks.
Trundled incontrovertibly back, towards Hackney.. She, quite relaxed, clutching a Harvey Nichol's bag, I considered what she had bought him this time.. never commented..
Momentarily she became intense, sweat pouring off her, swearing softly to herself with the effort... Twisted suddenly onto her elbows and knees, head pulled up facing the mirror, looking at me looking at her. Both my hands gripping her haunches as if she may suddenly run.. disappear .. In that moment wondered quite clearly why I had bothered to go so very far away when she was offering so very much... more.
Bright daylight, Brilliant Sun, Blackwall... hardly cared about the traffic.. that we were late, that it would take me a hour to battle my way through the Tunnel. Woolwich was out.. he had been seen hanging about there with a gun.. she had moved into Greenwich with the person who had a penchant for wearing silk socks and liked to receive presents from Harvey Nicks.
A huge house, very long garden which she ran up.. the front door mysteriously opening, then closing softly behind her.
Caroline said very little at my reappearance... my saunter across the Far East... propped up in Pancras Road alongside the Station.. My usual place, within two or three yards. Parking lights out, interior lights out, sat watching the activity, watching the faces from my blacked out seat in society
Saw her looking.. as if expecting me, saw her diminutive figure and mass of hair a long way down, almost at the traffic lights, hesitant by the paper stand, which was very busy.
Clock on the Cross poised, then struck two, St. Pancras, still languishing fifteen minutes behind..
Pulled along towards her, hardly stopping for her to jump quickly in.. felt pleased, relieved, a mixture of thoughts running through my head at our meeting. Pushed the partition window right back, she swung down the dicky seat sitting with her back directly to mine, her head twisted round towards me.
Watched the passing faces watching us. Yorky Bar making gestures with his fingers ..a knowing nod of his head.
All very much back to normal, as if I had never been so very far away... standing on the tranquil shore, standing staring in the direction where I thought Australia may be, a place aware I would never step foot in again.
Caroline, none committal.. maybe just another punter... in her head.. how was I to know? ..How is any man to know what any woman is thinking ultimately...? Caroline rarely spoke about the other side of her life.. perhaps when problems reared up, which was not often. Knew about the father of her child, the person she kept, the mother somewhere.. no mention of a father. Her child incredibly well built, beautiful and knew it.. so very precocious, a much older disposition.
Had received a frantic phone call just before going away.. Caroline locked up in some room, raped and beaten by the child's father after discovering her whereabouts with the child.
Without thinking what I was letting myself in for had gone over to Holloway, finding her standing, sobbing by a phone box. Somehow managed to climb out of a back window with her daughter and run, after he had fallen asleep, too terrified to go to the Police.. too terrified of the Police.
So far as she was concerned, no escape other than the anonymity of the endless, ragged streets and 69 Clapton Common where she and the child had stayed, not moving outside for weeks.
Trundled incontrovertibly back, towards Hackney.. She, quite relaxed, clutching a Harvey Nichol's bag, I considered what she had bought him this time.. never commented..
Momentarily she became intense, sweat pouring off her, swearing softly to herself with the effort... Twisted suddenly onto her elbows and knees, head pulled up facing the mirror, looking at me looking at her. Both my hands gripping her haunches as if she may suddenly run.. disappear .. In that moment wondered quite clearly why I had bothered to go so very far away when she was offering so very much... more.
Bright daylight, Brilliant Sun, Blackwall... hardly cared about the traffic.. that we were late, that it would take me a hour to battle my way through the Tunnel. Woolwich was out.. he had been seen hanging about there with a gun.. she had moved into Greenwich with the person who had a penchant for wearing silk socks and liked to receive presents from Harvey Nicks.
A huge house, very long garden which she ran up.. the front door mysteriously opening, then closing softly behind her.
No winners.. no losers in this existence
Caroline gave me a quick, sharp, look, when going away was mentioned... my head between her smooth, cool, black, thighs.. my only hiding place.
In her usual position. Thick, long, so thick hair, smothering a couple of pillows. Legs half bent, one arm thrown back almost over her eyes.. not enough, aware of being closely watched by her.
Faltered at the truth for reasons best known to my subconscious, as if a married couple.. had begun to feel like it, such is the way we had become interlocked. Told her the lie quite blatantly ..that I was going to Los Angeles to see my son. Immediately she wanted to know what son! ..why I had never mentioned him before?.. all that Jazz.
Not going so far as to make a verbal claim on me.. her attitude said plenty. Until that moment we had never discussed anything much outside of the bed.. her problems.. her life.. not too deeply gone into. Aware that she had a ponce somewhere, somewhere in the high anonymity of the Tower Block ..someone who waited unseen for her return each early morning. Someone she bought silk white socks for (he would only wear silk!) multicoloured silk shirts.. the clothes wrapped for him, here in this flat on her occasional afternoon "visits" She would spend whole sessions with me being photographed with nothing more than a telephone to cover her ..speaking to him lovingly, convincingly, saying she was at her "friends flat" ..even when I tired of taking shots of her, slowly letting my body gently rest on hers, she continued the conversation with him without giving the slightest indication of the real situation, dropping the phone when she could resist no longer.. telling him afterwards " We must have been cut off!" Have the best of those photographs here in front of me, still smile at her audacity.
No winners.. no losers in this existence. Maybe we are all lovers, this in itself, influencing every facet of our behaviour.
*********************************
In her usual position. Thick, long, so thick hair, smothering a couple of pillows. Legs half bent, one arm thrown back almost over her eyes.. not enough, aware of being closely watched by her.
Faltered at the truth for reasons best known to my subconscious, as if a married couple.. had begun to feel like it, such is the way we had become interlocked. Told her the lie quite blatantly ..that I was going to Los Angeles to see my son. Immediately she wanted to know what son! ..why I had never mentioned him before?.. all that Jazz.
Not going so far as to make a verbal claim on me.. her attitude said plenty. Until that moment we had never discussed anything much outside of the bed.. her problems.. her life.. not too deeply gone into. Aware that she had a ponce somewhere, somewhere in the high anonymity of the Tower Block ..someone who waited unseen for her return each early morning. Someone she bought silk white socks for (he would only wear silk!) multicoloured silk shirts.. the clothes wrapped for him, here in this flat on her occasional afternoon "visits" She would spend whole sessions with me being photographed with nothing more than a telephone to cover her ..speaking to him lovingly, convincingly, saying she was at her "friends flat" ..even when I tired of taking shots of her, slowly letting my body gently rest on hers, she continued the conversation with him without giving the slightest indication of the real situation, dropping the phone when she could resist no longer.. telling him afterwards " We must have been cut off!" Have the best of those photographs here in front of me, still smile at her audacity.
No winners.. no losers in this existence. Maybe we are all lovers, this in itself, influencing every facet of our behaviour.
*********************************
Meeting Caroline
Very late on King's Cross, rank full, decided to pull away, confronted with traffic lights red against me . Post Office Vans flying along Euston road as if there were no tomorrow and no speed limit. Interminably red , looked, as always at the Bank corner opposite , looked, making my quick appraisal of the nights offering, looked to see if a different face was standing back in the shadows. Certainly, a different face, not standing in the shadows, showing right out, feet in the street! Never seen her before. Black, the most enormous mass of hair.. tiny. Suddenly all the weariness dropped off me, wide awake. Lights yellow, green, crossed , she in the back so quick... half way down Judd street before deciding to do the negotiating. Too compliant. obviously new, very new to the whole situation.. her first night, it turned out.. Seventeen years old.
"Back to the flat" with a difference. none of this "Money First", "In a hurry to depart". Money not mentioned.. Talked, drank coffee. Told me the usual story of beatings, her one year old child how "He" threatened to throw it out of the window. How She had taken the child away to Birmingham and not seen it since.. not anything different. The difference being her looks and intelligence
It became a regularity.. Caroline and I meeting on the "Cross". Would meet her very late after she had done a couple of tricks. Hardly know what the attraction was for her, yet she became quite put out if I did not show, did not hang it up along the side of the station somewhere.. hands of the clock pointing towards one a.m.. the hands of St. Pancras opposite usually about fifteen minutes behind. Would give me a look if I was chatting to other female faces of the night.. come straight up jump in the back. Occasionally, Bernie parked up right behind me, ostensibly reading the first edition of the day's papers, knew bloody well he was only watching my moves. Would not acknowledge his existence. He was fascinated by Caroline.. unusual.. a sparrow.. Drive off into the first of the morning.. leaving the turmoil rapidly behind. Only when we were finally in bed did she discuss herself, her problems.. Never stayed overnight for her own reasons. If we overslept, beyond 4.a.m. then there were big problems with traffic by the time I had her back through the Tunnel dropped her off, turned it round.. another day over.
*********************************
Simply never stopped talking. Took off her clothes, quite casually. Lay, relaxed, naked on the bed, expectant.. without the slightest touch of inhibition, that we were strangers, as if always having been together. A unusual experience, unlooked for.. a waste of time thinking about such a occurrence, happening between two people, light years apart in every aspect. The fact I could, conceivably been her grandfather in no way the slightest impediment to what was to develop into a quite deep understanding.
Finished up, five a.m. somewhere parked in the Wilds of Woolwich, dawn light drifting across the Thames, ships moving silently down to the sea on the dark tide.
As yet, few lorries rumbling on the distant motorway. Birds awake, about, singing quite clearly in the soft morning air.
That first parting, delicate. Held her hand, slowly letting go as she pulled back towards the Tower Block rearing up into the half night, waving until she disappeared, a shadow, momentarily, on a high balcony..
Came back to reality with a jolt. Waking from yet another dream. Sharp reminder of the traffic which by now had built up to horrendous proportions shunting and groaning its way back through the Blackwall Tunnel.
Suddenly tired.
*********************************
"Back to the flat" with a difference. none of this "Money First", "In a hurry to depart". Money not mentioned.. Talked, drank coffee. Told me the usual story of beatings, her one year old child how "He" threatened to throw it out of the window. How She had taken the child away to Birmingham and not seen it since.. not anything different. The difference being her looks and intelligence
It became a regularity.. Caroline and I meeting on the "Cross". Would meet her very late after she had done a couple of tricks. Hardly know what the attraction was for her, yet she became quite put out if I did not show, did not hang it up along the side of the station somewhere.. hands of the clock pointing towards one a.m.. the hands of St. Pancras opposite usually about fifteen minutes behind. Would give me a look if I was chatting to other female faces of the night.. come straight up jump in the back. Occasionally, Bernie parked up right behind me, ostensibly reading the first edition of the day's papers, knew bloody well he was only watching my moves. Would not acknowledge his existence. He was fascinated by Caroline.. unusual.. a sparrow.. Drive off into the first of the morning.. leaving the turmoil rapidly behind. Only when we were finally in bed did she discuss herself, her problems.. Never stayed overnight for her own reasons. If we overslept, beyond 4.a.m. then there were big problems with traffic by the time I had her back through the Tunnel dropped her off, turned it round.. another day over.
*********************************
Simply never stopped talking. Took off her clothes, quite casually. Lay, relaxed, naked on the bed, expectant.. without the slightest touch of inhibition, that we were strangers, as if always having been together. A unusual experience, unlooked for.. a waste of time thinking about such a occurrence, happening between two people, light years apart in every aspect. The fact I could, conceivably been her grandfather in no way the slightest impediment to what was to develop into a quite deep understanding.
Finished up, five a.m. somewhere parked in the Wilds of Woolwich, dawn light drifting across the Thames, ships moving silently down to the sea on the dark tide.
As yet, few lorries rumbling on the distant motorway. Birds awake, about, singing quite clearly in the soft morning air.
That first parting, delicate. Held her hand, slowly letting go as she pulled back towards the Tower Block rearing up into the half night, waving until she disappeared, a shadow, momentarily, on a high balcony..
Came back to reality with a jolt. Waking from yet another dream. Sharp reminder of the traffic which by now had built up to horrendous proportions shunting and groaning its way back through the Blackwall Tunnel.
Suddenly tired.
*********************************
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