Read a free extract from The Hunting Ground by Will Shindler

 

 

Read the opening of The Hunting Ground by Will Shindler

 

The paperback of The Hunting Ground is out on 1st September 

 

They were supposed to be the best of us. The great and the good of British business: politicians, financiers, oligarchs and the odd lord. Men. Three hundred and fifty of them gathered in a five-star West End hotel to raise money for worthy causes. For those whose lives had been devastated by the virus.

For people like me, thought Sadie Nicholls as she surveyed the room.

‘Over here, darlin’ . . .’

She looked across and saw a middle-aged man in a tuxedo snapping his fingers at her. He was paunchy with a sweep of yellow-blond hair sitting above flushed pink cheeks. His face was deadpan serious, but the schoolboy sniggering from the rest of the table told her what to expect. She walked over, forcing a professional smile.

‘Can we have some more champagne? We’re running a little dry – the Krug Grande Cuvée?’ He leant in confidentially, whispered, ‘It’s the fizzy stuff in the dark green bottles . . .’

Sadie maintained her smile.

‘I know which one it is, thank you.’

Her soft Geordie vowels made the words sound unintentionally prim. The man pulled an expression of exaggerated concern, held up a hand in mock apology. His friends sniggered.

‘Why aye love – I’m sure you do,’ he said, and they sniggered some more.

Sadie turned and braced herself, felt the palm of his hand connect firmly with her left buttock just a second before she heard the roar of the table’s laughter. In any other situation, she was fairly sure she’d have taken his head off, but she’d been warned. When she accepted the job she’d been told what kind of evening to expect.

The Knights Association dinner was in its twenty-seventh year and held something of a reputation for its regular attendees. There was a reason the only women there were hostesses, why they were all wearing low-cut tops and short, tight dresses. She’d felt humiliated before the first guests had even arrived. But the money was good, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The brief was simple: keep the clientele happy and fetch drinks when required. On stage, entertainers had come and gone, though it was hard to tell if anyone was even listening to them. Champagne, whisky and vodka were all on tap and it hadn’t taken long for inhibitions to drop. It began with some hand-holding as she’d taken the first orders. From there it didn’t take long before, emboldened, they began pulling some of the hostesses into their laps. About an hour in, an elderly man directly asked her whether she was a prostitute. He’d said it so sympathetically too, like a kindly uncle talking to a favoured niece.

Now as she crossed the room to fetch the champagne from one of the ice buckets at the back, Sadie felt dizzy and nauseous. She just needed to try and keep her cool, get through this and pick up the money at the end of the night. Composing herself, she thought of her three-year-old son, Liam, fighting the urge to whip out her phone and look at his picture for support. The only reason she hadn’t smashed a champagne flute across the head of the man who’d just assaulted her was because of her boy.

She took a deep breath, picked up a bottle of Krug and placed it on a silver tray. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the hyenas at the table watching her closely, anticipating her return. She took her time and glanced at some of the other hostesses, each engaged in their own private battles. A girl, surely not even out of her teens, struggling to keep the distress off her face on one side of the room, a woman in her thirties handling it like a pro on the other side. Sadie checked her watch and felt her heart sink – they weren’t even halfway through this yet.

‘Come on, sweetheart – there’s workin’ men getting thirsty over here.’

The twat with the blond hair laid on the cod Geordie accent again. She looked back over at her table of tormentors and produced another shit-eating smile. For Liam, she thought. For Liam.

It took another forty minutes before she reached the end of her tether. A man she vaguely recognised – a politician perhaps, from way back – slipped his hand up her dress with- out missing a beat of the conversation he was holding. He didn’t even look at her. When she’d discreetly tried to remove it, he’d squeezed harder, holding it there and not letting her move. She’d stood frozen to the spot, unsure how to handle the situation until he’d finally released his grip. Not once did he make eye contact with her.

‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers, Luce,’ she said, kicking off her heels and rummaging in her bag for her trainers. She was now in one of the hotel’s smaller conference rooms that’d been converted into a makeshift dressing room. ‘I’m sorry I got you into this,’ she said, as she fought to free the tongue from one of her battered orange sneakers.

Lucy Ahmed, like Sadie, was in her mid-twenties. They were old friends, and it’d been Sadie who’d helped get her the job. They’d worked together once at a small coffee shop near Borough. Then the virus came and the cafe had closed its doors. They’d stayed in touch though, and Sadie had been glad to push some work her way.

‘Just stick it out for another hour. They haven’t even had the auction yet,’ said Lucy.

‘Fuck the auction,’ said Sadie, unclipping her hairpiece and stuffing it in her bag. She ran her hand through her natural brown bob, glad to feel it free again. ‘I don’t care how good the money is – it’s not worth it. If I stay here any longer I’m going to hurt someone. I don’t want to end up on the front pages for smashing some MP’s teeth in.’

‘I know what you mean – I can’t say I’m enjoying it either.

I just think if you go, you’ll regret it tomorrow.’ Sadie was slipping her jacket on now.

‘I’ve got to be able to look myself in the mirror. No – fuck that – I’ve got to be able to look my boy in the eye.’

‘He’s three years old, he doesn’t know.’

‘It matters to me, Luce. I don’t know how you’re putting up with it, to be honest.’

Lucy shrugged.

‘Because I need the cash. Apparently some of the others – they really are working girls. This is a regular gig for them. Half these guys have already got rooms booked.’

‘You’re not thinking of—’

‘No – of course not. I’m just saying – the men in there . . . it’s what they were expecting.’

Sadie shook her head.

‘Well, not from me.’ She zipped up her jacket and walked to the door. ‘You take care of yourself. Don’t let those fuckers take any more liberties with you. I hope their wives all cut their balls off . . .’ She stood at the door to the corridor; when she opened it they could hear the hubbub echoing down from the main hall. ‘Men! Can’t live with them . . .’ She pretended to think about it for a second. ‘Nope – still can’t live with them.’

Lucy grinned.

‘Text me when you get in – let me know you got home safe.’ Sadie nodded and, with a wave, headed out.

She hurried along, eyes fixed on the carpet, keen to slip away without being noticed.

‘Sadie, wait . . .’

The voice was rich and moneyed and as she turned, she knew exactly who it belonged to. The man at the end of the corridor was in his mid-forties. Tall with perfectly groomed brown hair, he was immaculate in his tuxedo, wearing a burgundy-coloured bow tie and cummerbund combination. Another peacock in a whole flock of them, she thought.

‘Where are you going?’ he said, a look of concern on his face.

‘Where do you think I’m going? Home.’ He looked chastened.

‘I’m sorry – I’ve been looking out for you all night. But I’m with the rest of the trustees – I’ve got to keep them happy, you know?’

‘Well, that’s very nice for you. I hope you enjoyed your lobster risotto too . . .’

‘Don’t be like that. I told you what kind of night it was going to be.’

‘You didn’t say anything about getting sexually assaulted.’ She pointed down towards the banqueting hall. ‘There’s about five men in there I could have nicked right now.’

He moved in close.

‘I’m sorry. I’m your friend – you know that. I thought you could use the money. Please stay.’

She faltered, unsure for a moment.

‘Why? Got a room booked, have you?’ He looked pained and took her wrist. ‘That’s a bit unnecessary, isn’t it?’

‘Get your hands off me – I’ve had enough men pawing at me tonight.’

He didn’t release his grip but moved in even closer instead. ‘It’s me – I’d never hurt you.’

‘Get off!’

She grabbed his hand, dug in her nails and he broke his hold, flinching in pain.

‘What the fuck, Sadie?’

She turned and left, her patience exhausted.

It was on the train home it all caught up with her. She could smell someone eating a Big Mac a few seats behind, and her stomach cramped with hunger. The last thing she’d eaten was a Pot Noodle at around four o’clock. She’d been sorely tempted to buy herself something at Charing Cross, but couldn’t justify the expense. Particularly now she’d probably blown her night’s fee. Lucy’s warning that tomorrow she might regret leaving was already out of date. She looked out of the window and saw her own pensive reflection staring back. Snapshots of the evening began coming back to her.

‘Why aye love.’

Patronising bastard. She shuddered as she remembered the hand on her inner thigh. The calm, precise tones of the man it belonged to, as he carried on talking.You just knew he’d done it before – and probably worse. She sighed. It was times like this Sadie just about wished she still had a boyfriend. Someone to hold her when she came through the front door. Someone to get angry on her behalf. She felt her eyes sting, couldn’t prevent the tears from coming a little. She was desperate for a cigarette but only had two left and wanted to make the packet last. Instead, she pulled out her phone, saw the wallpaper picture of Liam – that wide, toothy grin, the curly brown locks – and couldn’t help feeling like she’d failed him.

She lived in a small, rented ground-floor flat in Lewisham. It was far from perfect, but the scuffed wooden front door felt welcoming as she slipped her key into the lock. She’d surrendered on the walk back from the station and stubbed out the remains of the cigarette she’d been smoking into a chunky glass ashtray by the entrance. The thought of that one last fag left in the packet depressed her.

‘Hiya . . .’ she called, stepping through into a compact but well-maintained living room. An acned sixteen-year-old girl was sitting on the sofa, watching TV with a cup of tea in her lap. Chloe was her babysitter and a godsend. She didn’t really do it for the money – she was well aware Sadie couldn’t afford to pay her much. She was there because she enjoyed the work, and it gave her a welcome night off from her parents into the bargain.

‘How’s he been?’

‘A little bugger if you must know – spent most of the night using your kitchen table as a climbing frame.’

Sadie smiled.

‘Nothing new there, then.’

Chloe glowered at the baby monitor; there was a slight rustling and they both waited for more, but nothing came.

‘I think he’s down.’

Sadie opened her purse and pulled out a note. Chloe shook her head.

‘Pay me next time.’ ‘Don’t be stupid.’

The girl got up, put on her coat.

‘It’s fine – honestly. I’ve eaten you out of biscuits tonight, so I reckon we’re quits.’

‘Thanks, love. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

She meant it too. Chloe said her goodnights and left. Sadie went over to the small kitchen area and began scouring the cupboards for something to eat. She was sorely tempted by a slice of toast but wanted to make the loaf last for the week. There were more Pot Noodles, but tonight’s snack was also tomorrow’s lunch. She sighed, went over to the sink instead and poured out a large glass of water. She downed half of it in one go, felt it fill her belly, then crossed over to the sofa and collapsed into it. As she kicked back, a thought occurred to her. She grabbed her phone and tapped out a text.

Home safe. Hope ur okay x

She waited for a moment but there was no reply from Lucy. She could only imagine what was going on in that hotel right now. Sod the money – leaving had been the right decision.

‘Muuummmy!’

The voice came from the baby monitor and she sighed. ‘Oh pet, don’t do this to me.’

With a sigh, she dragged herself to her feet and was about to head into the small double bedroom she shared with her son when the doorbell rang. Her immediate assumption was that Chloe must have forgotten something. She went over to open it and was thrown when she saw who was standing there. What did he want at this time? She greeted him but he didn’t reply. Instead, he stepped forwards into her flat. She felt her heart sinking – all she wanted to do now was settle Liam down and try and get some sleep of her own.

‘What can I—’ she said. She didn’t have time to finish the sentence. Almost casually he picked up the ashtray by the door and swung it round. The full weight of the glass crashed into the side of her head, shattering her skull instantly. The second blow caved in her forehead, while the third destroyed what was left of her face. She fell to the ground, blood, bone and brain matter spilling out around her. The figure watched her hand twitch briefly as if reaching for something, before finally going limp.

The intruder stood still, breathing heavily. ‘Mummy?’ said a voice.

A small boy was studying him uncertainly from the other side of the room. The man stared down at the ashtray, saw the blood dripping off it, and looked back at the boy.