Free Bad Girls by Rebecca Chance Page B

before Amber blossomed into a sex object. Amber’s face was clearly going to be her fortune, and Slava didn’t want it sliced up with a box cutter by some envious rival.
    She did her research, took Amber up to London, and walked her round what was planned to be a circuit of the top model agencies. But the second one snapped her up, and after that Amber’s life changed so completely that Margate was just a distant memory to her by now. The girls at school, shoving their acne-spotted faces at her, hissing threats at her to stay away from Daz and Kevin and Matt; the last flat above a Chinese takeaway, stinking of old frying oil; the nights waking up as Slava came back in at five in the morning, but pretending to be asleep, because Slava would be cross if she knew she was awake . . . all that might have happened to another girl.
    They had travelled all over the world: they’d lived in Paris, Milan, New York, Slava always by Amber’s side, chaperoning her, keeping the predators who circled around young models well away from her. Amber had some tutors assigned to her by her model agency, as she was legally required to keep studying until she was sixteen. But it was mostly for show, and Amber was kept too busy to bother much with textbooks. Fourteen was young then, but as soon as they put makeup on Amber, as soon as they curled her hair into big heavy waves, she looked more than old enough to be a model.
    And Matka kept me safe, Amber reflected with gratitude. Even when I started wanting a bit more freedom, even when I started going out with guys, she was always watchful. And she made sure I didn’t get into any of the bad stuff. When I got nervous doing catwalk, or lingerie shoots, all the other girls would tell me to drink, or do some lines. But Matka made sure I had legal stuff instead, pills to help with the anxiety. Stuff I could travel with safely, because I had prescriptions for it. I never had to worry about getting busted at airports, or scoring, or taking something that was cut with crap and getting sick. Matka took care of me . . .
    Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket, glancing at the screen to see who it was.
    Jared, her agent. She snapped it open.
    ‘Hey, babycakes!’ came Jared’s three-pack-a-day croak. ‘Just checking in to see how your weekend went!’
    ‘Really nice,’ Amber said, lighting a second cigarette from the butt of her first. You’d think that the sound of Jared’s ruined vocal cords would put her off smoking, but it never worked that way.
    ‘Did he give you a present?’
    ‘Yes,’ Amber said, thinking of the envelope stuffed in her handbag.
    ‘Double excellent! So everyone’s happy. Now, more good news: you’ve got a catalogue shoot on Tuesday. Very high-end. Swimsuits and cruise wear. You’re in swimsuit shape, aren’t you, sweetie? We don’t need to panic?’
    ‘No, I’m fine,’ Amber reassured him.
    ‘Weight?’
    ‘One twenty, like always.’
    ‘Good girl! OK, I’ll email you the details. And Amber, sweetie? It’s been a while since a modelling gig came up for you.’ He coughed, a long, hacking rasp. ‘Give it everything you have, sweetie.’
    The jasmine growing over the pergola was coming into flower, its scent delicate, its flowers small and white. The pale smoke of Amber’s Silk Cut blended with it, the tobacco somehow picking out the floral notes of the jasmine. Amber loved to sit up here; she’d bring out cushions and pile them on the bench and sit there, flicking through fashion magazines, London’s most beautiful hidden gardens and elegant architecture laid out below her, the rich grass spread of Green Park just at the end of the street.
    I need to earn enough to buy this place, she thought. I need security for me and Matka . I’m making way more from the dates I go on than the modelling jobs, but Matka mustn’t ever realize that. She must never find out about Tony and the other guys. She must never know that they rang my agency and asked