Fishnet by Kirstin Innes

mum so there was someone to watch him, knackered by ten am. Scum under your fingernails that doesn’t come out. But there areny that many cleaning jobs that only take up school hours, you know? And when they cut the benefits –’
    She recovers, something in her face pulling back, returning to a place where she doesn’t have to justify what she does. Not to me.
    â€˜They don’t know about him, he definitely doesn’t know about them, and nor do the teachers at that school. And I want it to stay that way, alright?’
    She bares tiny, pointed cat’s teeth at me again.
    â€˜As for having seen your sister about, I really wouldn’t know. It’s no like there’s a working girls’ social club or anything, eh. The street girls probably know each other, but I’m just a mum who does a job from a flat, that’s all. The only non-punter I see in my working life is Ann here, and she’s just my next door neighbour.’
    â€˜She’s not your, ehm, pimp, then?’ The word sounds stupid and prissy in my mouth.
    â€˜Fucksake, no! She’s been round the block enough to suss the timewasters out at the door for me – most of the time – she’s ahelp with the cleaning, she’s handy to have around in case any of them get funny, and she’ll sometimes sit in and watch for a wee bit extra.’
    â€˜Watch?’
    â€˜Aye, watch. Some of them like that. Doesn’t bother Ann. She’s seen everything before.’
    Surely this is all a dream. Surely. The room is still too hot, and I need air.
    â€˜Look. I really should go. I’m sorry to have mucked you about like this and wasted your time.’
    â€˜Okay. Did you say to Ann you’d brought the money, but?’ She laughs at my face. Probably I was looking confused. ‘No point pussyfooting about, is there?’
    I nod, reach for my handbag.
    â€˜Just make it fifty, eh. You’ve only been here half an hour. That’s the quickie rate.’
    I count notes. The numbers, the famous Scottish faces and the smell of money are reassuringly familiar things.
    She takes it and her face gets younger again, eyes bigger.
    â€˜And I’ve got your word you’ll not let on? Imagine if it was your kid, if the other parents knew that about you. They’re fucking snooty enough as it is, some of them. I’d have to move him schools, the teachers would probably get the social work involved. I’m a good mum, eh. And what I do – it’s legal. I even pay my bloody taxes, for chrissake. Okay?’
    â€˜I promise,’ I say, feeling the strange bend and flex of power between us. ‘It’s none of my business, anyway. Really.’
    She sighs.
    â€˜Look, there’s a group of them. Scottish Union of Sex Workers. They got in touch a wee while ago, looking for new, eh, recruits. The sort that want to get rights and that. Campaign, eh. Just attracting a load of trouble for themselves if you ask me – anyway, they’ve got a website. I’ll write it down for you. They have meetings every couple of months.’
    At the door, Ann hovering in the background, she puts ahand briefly on my shoulder.
    â€˜I hope you find her, eh.’
    It closes, and I run down the stairs, out of the main door, trying to get to the air. I lean over the gutter for a second, wondering if I’m going to retch, but nothing comes and in the end, after a couple of deep breaths, I just make my way back home again and the world goes spinning on.
    Later that afternoon I see her at the school gates. Jeans, glasses and a ponytail, face scrubbed, hugging a little boy in a green coat close. We make eye contact, and she flinches for a second. I nod, smile a bit to reassure her, then walk inside to pick up Beth.
    Back
    Okay.
    We had opened the window the night before because we were drunk and the room stank, and we thought it was a good idea. The skin on my arm was pricking, cold, and the