About the Author
Clare Gee was born in Africa in 1977 and was sent to live in North Yorkshire with her English father when she was five. Aged 16, she moved to London, where she descended into a life of drink, drugs and prostitution. After a period of rehabilitation, she rebuilt her life.
Hookedadj. physically dependent; enthralled,
attached, gripped by
*
HOOKEDConfessions of aLondon Call GirlClare Gee
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licenced or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9781907195938
Version 1.0
www.mainstreampublishing.com
Copyright Clare Gee, 2010
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
First published in Great Britain in 2010 by
MAINSTREAM PUBLISHING COMPANY (EDINBURGH) LTD
7 Albany Street
Edinburgh EH1 3UG
ISBN 9781845966034
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any other means without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast
This book is a fictional account loosely based on the life, experiences and recollections of the author. Dates, places, sequences or the detail of events have been changed for artistic purposes and/or to protect the privacy of some. Most of the people in this book are entirely fictitious
The author is donating a portion of the royalties from this book to a childrens charity
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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This book is dedicated to Mark Herris Ibson, Ibo, the Great Ibster.
You have proved to me that unwavering love can exist.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Heartfelt thanks to my agent, Isabel Atherton at Creative Authors, whose passion and professionalism are immeasurable, and to Bill Campbell for recognising a good thing when its staring him in the face! Thank you to Emily Bland for the book cover design. To all the staff at Mainstream, thank you for your hard work, especially to Claire Rose, of whose meticulous eye for detail I am in awe. I will never understand how you do it. Loulou Brown, without you Id have cracked before Id really begun. I will never forget your support throughout. Thank you to Kathrin Wagner, Penny Bowden and Leo Tennant for your beady eyes. Kisses to Katharine Scott, Neil Bond and Christian Gerling, without whom the book would have taken a lifetime to write. Thanks to Nirpal Dhaliwal and Tim Bates for giving me the confidence to start, and to James Duffett-Smith for your legal help. Thank you to Western Counselling Services for guiding me into sobriety. Where would I be now without you people? (Dont answer that!) And Rex... I hope your faith in me is being proved right. You helped save me from myself. I will never forget all you have done for me. Thank you. Finally, loving Jill Scott for her album Who is Jill Scott?, which kept me company during those many lonely and pensive nights writing Hooked.
Daddy Dogle Jude, you laid my foundations, of which I am proud. I thank you for cradling me, teaching me, keeping me and above all loving me. I love you. I always did. I always will.
M, you stayed, we made it, we three. I love you for loving Daddy as you do, and I love you for just being you.
CHAPTER 1
AUGUST 2003
I lifted my arm slightly to see if I could smell the perspiration that was streaming from the pit. I could. A musky scent and stale deodorant. I looked back at my husband, to whom Id just said goodbye. What he didnt know was that I had three kilos of weed strapped to my stomach. I wanted to walk back outside Gambias Banjul airport and dump it, but it was too late.
In that moment, I was so anxious I couldnt decide if I wanted to shit or vomit. I clung to my Chlo bag and subtly pulled at my kaftan to make it billow out.
Next, please, a voice called. It sounded distant. I was sure I was about to faint. I was unsteady on my feet and I gasped for air in an attempt to keep upright. Thank God it was a man in charge of the scanner. At least I could flirt with him to try and distract him from the guilt that I felt sure was etched on my face. Charm certainly didnt guarantee anything. I could only try to use my femininity and make him like me before it occurred to him to disapprove of my hairstyle or my choice of clothing or some other equally banal thing and he decided to interrogate me.
My heart was booming. I was convinced that the security guard could hear it. I smiled. He looked at me and nodded with a straight face. Does he know something? Has he been tipped off? I was shocked that he hadnt smiled back.
He waved me through the metal detector and it started screeching.
I froze. I gritted my teeth. My throat tightened. Sweat tickled my forehead. The alarm was condemning me with its rhythmic song, and for a second I imagined surrendering. It crossed my mind that it was either that or I would faint and it would all be over. The authorities would stretcher me out of the airport and into prison.
Step back and walk through again, please.
I did as I was told. The alarm continued.
Thats odd, I said, bluffing, looking directly at the security guard to see how concerned he appeared to be.
Its all fucking over. Theyve got me. I could feel my pulse throughout my body.
Are you going to London?
Hes knows, he knows. Hes trying to work out where Ill be getting imprisoned.
My mouth was dry. No, Im not, but Im from London. I couldnt get a flight direct to Gatwick for another three weeks, so I have to go via Amsterdam.
What the fuck? Why did I just say that? I remember wanting to yell at myself for being such an idiot. Admitting that I was travelling to the only city in Europe where cannabis smoking is tolerated wasnt the cleverest thing Id done in my life.
Walk through again, please, miss.
Shit. I stopped thinking and started talking. Have you ever been to London? I asked the guard, who was now brandishing a hand-held electronic scanning device. The alarm went off again and my mind was numb and my body froze.
No, Ive never been.
You should visit. Youd like it. I felt as though I was holding my breath and there was only the guard and myself in the entire universe and not in a good way.
Are you inviting me?
Yes. You should come and stay with me. I laughed falsely, hoping it would be enough to steer attention away from the bleeping. I suddenly felt very alert and very focused. I was on trial for my life.
Step back and walk through again.
The alarm sounded again and I was convinced Id been caught.
*
Two years earlier, in 2001, my life had been very different. Id been strutting around London rubbing shoulders with trend-pots while carrying a purse full of money. Id had a busy social life and a thriving career and drug smuggling was not part of it.
At the time, I was already married to another bloke. His family were Gambian, although Id met and married him in London. Two weeks after the wedding, I left him. I couldnt reconcile myself to the ridiculousness of the marriage. Id made an idiotic mistake, but thankfully no one, not even my closest friends, knew about the wedding, so all I needed to do was to try to forget it myself by any means necessary.
