Bar Girl by David Thompson Page A

strange place. She needed help. She imagined all the good things that could happen to her. Maybe a kind old woman would stop and take her home where she could wash and change. Maybe the kind old woman would give her something to eat. Take care of her. Look after her as though she were her own daughter. Perhaps the old woman had lost a daughter and Siswan could be that girl’s replacement. The kind old woman would treat her well and, in return, Siswan would grow to love her and take care of her as she grew older.
    She shook her head clear of such fantasies. That wasn’t how it worked, she told herself. In the real world she had to take care of herself. There was no one else. Just her.
    Another truck roared past and she closed her eyes to the grit and dust the huge wheels threw up. The truck braked. Stopped ahead of her. A head appeared out of the passenger window. A young man.
    ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, as Siswan drew near.
    ‘Why?’ she asked.
    ‘We’ll give you a lift if you want,’ the young man said.
    ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
    She didn’t have a clue where she was going. She could hardly just say ‘away’. It wouldn’t make sense and might even arouse suspicion.
    ‘We’re heading all the way to the coast. You wouldn’t want to go that far!’ he laughed.
    ‘Yes. That’s where I’m heading,’ she told him.
    She didn’t know what the coast was but it sounded far away. That was what she wanted. To be far away. Far away from everything.
    ‘Come on then. Jump in.’
    The young man jumped down from the cab and held the door for her. She clambered up and found an older man sat behind the wheel. Two men. One young, one older. She immediately felt nervous. Before she had a chance to change her mind, the younger of the two climbed up beside her and slammed the door. With a crunch of gears, the truck set off towards the far horizon.
    ‘What’s your name?’ the young man asked her.
    ‘Bee,’ she said. The lie came easily.
    ‘I’m Tad and he’s Song. He doesn’t talk much but he’s a good driver,’ Tad informed her.
    Siswan glanced at the driver. Dark brown skin, black hair, big hands. A hard looking man who just stared at the road ahead of him.
    ‘So, Bee. What are you doing out here all alone?’ Tad asked her.
    She was wary. The question could be just curiosity but it could also hide a threat. All alone. She tried to give a confident air. Someone who knew what they were doing. Someone older.
    ‘I’ve been visiting my Uncle. Now I’m heading home,’ she said.
    ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’
    ‘I cut it in the fields. Harvesting. You know.’
    ‘Looks like a bad cut. Many stitches?’ Tad asked.
    She didn’t know what he meant. She knew about stitches though. She’d practised with her mother. Sewing little patterns onto small squares of cloth. They sold well in the tourist towns, her mother had told her. Had they stitched her arm? Could they do that? She guessed at the number needed to sew back the cut she had seen in her arm.
    ‘Seventeen. I think,’ she said.
    ‘Wow. That’s a lot! What do you think, Song?’
    Song didn’t say anything. Just kept driving. The only sign that he had even heard the question was the slight raising of one side of his mouth. As though to say he didn’t know. Didn’t care.
    The rest of the day was spent in the cab of the truck. When it pulled in to refuel, Siswan used the service station to wash. Other than that, the three of them just sat and watched the road unroll ahead of them. She and Song didn’t say much but Tad kept up a flow of conversation regardless. He was a mine of information. Some useful, some useless.
    He told her about the big town on the coast. The one the farangs visited to spend their money.
    ‘They come from all over the world, Bee,’ he told her. ‘They have lots of money and spend it on beer and women.’
    ‘How do they spend it on women?’ Siswan asked.
    ‘They give the girls money to spend time with