Free Gangsters' Wives by Tammy Cohen Page B

passed in a whirl of shopping and partying. I was just living in the moment. I was so in love, I didn’t really see or care what was going on around me. The sheer excess was dizzying. Every three weeks we’d fly off somewhere for the weekend to go shopping, usually New York. And we’d go on fantastic holidays to places I’d never even heard of. One day, he told me he had a surprise for me and took me outside and there was a brand new Mini Cooper sitting in the drive. I hadn’t even passed my test!
    But it wasn’t just about the money – in fact in many ways I preferred him when he was in one of his ‘down’ periods and we’d stay in, just the two of us, and he could be himself. But he was insecure, and that made him flash his money around. It took me a long time to realise that his way of winning friends and relation-ships was to buy them. In fact, after we split up he’d say ‘but I took you on fantastic holidays’ as if you can measure love by how much you spend on someone.
    But all that was in the future. In the beginning I was won over by the whole package of him. And part of that package was the drugs thing. I’d love to say I tried to stay out of that side of his life, but I didn’t. I became involved in his world bit by bit until I was in it right up to my neck. I didn’t even think about it.
    It started because he used to stash drugs and money in the house. I’d find cash hidden in the wardrobes, in the car, even in my boots. After a while, that starts to become normal. I think because I was so young, he trusted me. He knew I would basically do what he told me, without asking too many difficult questions. And me speaking fluent Spanish was another major advantage. He started taking me into meetings with him so that I could translate. I’d sit there talking about times and shipments and hundreds of thousands of euros, without even blinking. Before long, he was sending me to meetings on my own, to talk on his behalf. I was so blind I thought that was something to be proud of. I felt pleased that I was contributing something. John paid for everything, so it was my way of giving him something back.
    Other evenings, he’d ask me to count cash for him. I’d sit in a locked bedroom surrounded by bundles of notes, steadily counting hundreds and thousands of euros as though they were small change. I didn’t get a buzz from it. It just felt normal – something I did to help out, like you’d help out behind the counter if your man was a shopkeeper.
    The problem was that John’s livelihood made it very difficult for us to have friends. He didn’t trust anyone anyway, so he had no close friends, only people he knew through ‘work’. And as I wasn’t allowed to give people my number or have friends back to the house because he was so paranoid about people knowing where he was, I gradually became alienated from most of the people I knew.
    We’d still go to see my parents, and John would be so charming they’d always be reassured that I was having a wonderful time. When they asked what work we both did, we said ‘property’. That was our explanation for everything, even though we didn’t know the first thing about it. He showered them with expensive presents and took them out to the best restaurants – I wasn’t the only one who turned out to be easily bought. But to give them their due, they thought I was happy. And so did I to start with.
    The changes happened so gradually, I hardly even noticed them. It made sense at first that I hardly saw my friends. John was convinced the house and the phones were tapped, even the mobiles, so I wasn’t allowed to talk to anybody unless I used a payphone. And they certainly couldn’t have my address or number.
    I was also a bit embarrassed. My friends knew me and my situation. They’d have taken one look at my house and my new designer wardrobe and they’d have known something wasn’t quite right. I didn’t want anyone disapproving of me.
    My sense of