Amber Read online

  Also by Heather Burnside

  The Riverhill Trilogy

  Slur

  A Gangster’s Grip

  Danger by Association

  The Manchester Trilogy:

  Born Bad

  Blood Ties

  Vendetta

  The Working Girls Series:

  The Mark

  Ruby

  Crystal

  AMBER

  Heather Burnside

  AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS

  www.ariafiction.com

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2021 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

  Copyright © Heather Burnside, 2021

  The moral right of Heather Burnside to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN:

  eBook: 9781838939618

  Paperback: 9781800246072

  Cover design © Debbie Clement

  Aria

  c/o Head of Zeus

  First Floor East

  5–8 Hardwick Street

  London EC1R 4RG

  www.ariafiction.com

  For Kerry and Pascoe

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Become an Aria Addict

  Dear Reader,

  This has been the most difficult one of my novels to write because of the sensitive subject matter of sexual abuse, particularly relating to a minor. When I thought of the idea for the book, I underestimated just how much it would affect me.

  I am sending this novel out into the world with a great deal of trepidation in case its intentions are misinterpreted. I don’t want readers to think that I am making light of the subject or treating is as merely a means of entertainment. For these reasons I have taken great care to show the pain and suffering caused by sexual abuse rather than portraying these scenes in a tantalising or titillating way. Therefore, this novel is dark and gloomy in parts.

  Despite my reservations, I have gone ahead with this book because I feel that it is a story that needs to be told. Sexual abuse takes place every day and is often swept under the carpet. I hope that by highlighting this issue through this novel I am playing my part in addressing it and showing the lifelong damaging effects that sexual abuse has on the survivors.

  This form of abuse should not be regarded merely as a sexual act but as a distressing emotional incident that causes feelings of shame, inadequacy, low self-esteem, lack of confidence, and vulnerability etc. It can also affect the survivor’s ability to form stable relationships in later life.

  This book is not just a story from an author’s imagination; it is a story that affects countless survivors of sexual abuse in our society today.

  If you have been affected by childhood sexual abuse or childhood abuse of any type, you can get support from the National Association for People Abused in Childhood (NAPAC). You can find more information on their website at: https://napac.org.uk/.

  I apologise in advance if you find the subject matter distressing.

  Yours sincerely,

  Heather Burnside

  1

  September 2015

  Amber stared at the grossly obese man in front of her called Bill as he held out the garments for her to wear. She shuddered when she realised what they were. This had been bound to happen sooner or later but the fact that Amber had been expecting it didn’t lessen its dire impact.

  ‘Well, aren’t you gonna take them then?’ he asked.

  She stepped forward, cautiously, noticing the whiff of BO that emanated from him. Then she held out her hand while he passed her the clothing.

  ‘I guessed your size from when we met last time,’ he said, leering at her.

  Amber knew that the client had probably chosen her because of her petite frame as she was only five foot two and a size eight.

  They were in a hotel room, but it wasn’t a plush hotel like the ones in Manchester city centre that a lot of her punters used. It was a bit neglected and situated in the inner-city suburbs; probably a three star, if that, she guessed.

  During the time she’d been on the game, she had learnt that the choice of hotel said a lot about the punter. This particular hotel suggested that Bill either didn’t have money to splash around, he was stingy, or he just wanted a quickie with a street girl who he thought didn’t deserve any better.

  Punters who opted for swanky city centre hotels generally had money to spare and they enjoyed the luxury and privacy that the more upmarket hotels afforded them. But when a punter chose this type of hotel it always made her more wary than usual. Why opt for a cheap hotel rather than visiting a whorehouse? Was it because there would be no one there to offer protection if things turned nasty?

  If it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d done business with Bill previously she would have declined but he’d treated her OK last time even though he was repulsive to look at. And, if she’d have known beforehand what type of job it was, she would also have turned him down, aware of the implications. But it was too late now. She was here and she had the outfit in her hand ready to put on.

  Amber tried to block the doubts from her mind, telling herself that it was just like any other job. Sex with him was straightforward and she wouldn’t be expected to do anything extreme. But as she looked at the clothing she was clutching, Amber couldn’t avoid the tremor of fear and repulsion that ran through her body.

  She separated the items: an extremely short grey skirt, a white blouse with the top two buttons missing, a striped tie and two bright turquoise hair bands.

  ‘I hope you’re wearing a push-up bra,’ said Bill. ‘I want to see your tits spilling out of that blouse.’ He leered. ‘Oh, and I want you to put your hair in pigtails.’

  Amber tried to dismiss his comments as she took off her skirt and top. Whilst she did so, she could see Bill was also undressing, casting off his shoddy underwear and exposing the voluminous folds of fat that hung loosely around his body, his flesh slick with sweat. She averted her eyes and concentrated on what she was doing instead.

  She put on the school uniform then tied up her long blonde hair into two pigtails. As soon as she had finished transforming herself into a schoolgirl, she could see that the punter was becoming very excited. His complexion was even more ruddy than usual, his eyes were almost bulging from their sockets and a quick look at his groin told her they weren’t the only things that were bulging. She stifled the urge to retch as she waited to see what he would do next.

  ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘You remind me of all those girls I see walking to school every day. Silly little bitches don’t know what it does to a man. Or perhaps they do. Maybe that’s why they wear their skirts so short.’

  Amber ignored him, battling with her urge to flee from the room. But, before she could do anything, he was in front of her and running his large calloused hands down her back, over her bottom and along the backs of her thighs. Then he lifted the skirt, his palms seeking her flesh once again, then slipping beneath the thin material of her briefs and clenching her buttocks. She let out a gasp of alarm and pulled away from him,
but he held her firm.

  Seeming to sense her reluctance, he quickly said, ‘I want the same as last time.’

  Amber felt a tiny surge of relief and focused on that as she undressed and lay on the bed. But the feelings of relief came too late to dispel the anxiety that was already streaming through her body. Like last time, he wanted straightforward sex and Amber kept telling herself that it was no different than most punters and would soon be over.

  But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, her mind was too preoccupied with the blatant meaning behind the choice of outfit. The man was a fuckin’ paedophile! She dwelled again on the reason he had picked her out after their first meeting. Even though she was twenty-seven, the fact that she was only slight made her a suitable alternative to somebody far younger. Somebody who he would prefer to have been abusing if he’d had the chance.

  Amber was so worked up that her body remained tense, making sex uncomfortable. The punter carried on even though she was unreceptive. As he thrust away inside her she became sore and found herself fighting back tears as the pain provoked a distressing memory from her childhood.

  She had been twelve then; just a girl called Amy who later changed her name to Amber to satisfy the perverse ideals of her evil pimp. Apart from being painful, that experience had been a total shock and something that she would never forget.

  2

  April 1993

  Amy wanted to run through the rooms just one more time. She loved their home in Cheadle. It was big and cosy with a garden that went all the way round. Her grandparents said that was because it was detached, and it was in a good area too. She’d spent many happy hours in the playroom with her friends or in the sprawling back garden on the swing, slide and climbing frame.

  She was going to miss it, but her mother had promised her that the house they were moving to was also very nice. It wasn’t as big as this one and they would only have room for the swing in the garden but nevertheless her mother was going to make sure that it was just as cosy.

  She had also told Amy and Nathan that their friends could come and visit them in the new house, and that they’d probably make new friends too. Amy enjoyed playing with her friends and knew that she was going to miss them, but she felt better knowing that they would be welcome anytime.

  At the top of the stairs she turned and walked into her old bedroom, clutching her favourite teddy bear, Barney. Her bedroom was at the back of the house and overlooked the garden with its neat lawns and pretty flowers. Amy caught a glimpse of the slide and the climbing frame that would be left behind, and she felt sad. But she tried not to cry, knowing she had promised her mother she would be a brave girl when they had to leave their nice home.

  ‘Come on, Barney,’ she said, addressing her teddy bear. ‘Don’t cry. We’ve got to be brave for Mummy. The men have put my bed in the van, and I’ll tuck you up nice and warm in it when we get to the new house.’

  The garden was now devoid of the picturesque planters that her mother had lovingly nurtured. They were inside the big van that was parked outside the front of their house. Many of their belongings were also inside and as Amy walked through the empty bedrooms, she could hear the echo of her footsteps.

  Next, she walked into her mother’s bedroom and looked out of the window at the men who were busy carrying boxes from the kitchen. She spotted her friend, Maisie, with her mother, hovering at the edge of the garden, and Amy let out an excited squeal. She ran down the stairs, eager to see Maisie one last time before she had to leave.

  ‘Maisie,’ she shouted enthusiastically as she sped out of the front door, dodging one of the men who was carrying a box full of kitchen utensils. ‘We’re going to our new house today.’

  Maisie smiled. ‘I know. My mummy told me. She said we can come to see you off.’

  ‘Barney’s coming too. He’s really happy.’ Amy held up her teddy bear and addressed him. ‘Aren’t you, Barney?’ She moved his head to indicate a nod.

  ‘What other toys are you taking?’ asked Maisie and for a few minutes they chatted animatedly until Amy’s mother, Loretta, drew their attention. ‘Come on, Amy. It’s time to go.’

  ‘Aw, Mummy,’ complained Amy. ‘Can I stay for a bit longer? Can Maisie come and play in the garden for a bit? The slide and climbing frame are still there.’

  ‘No, Amy,’ said her mother. ‘The men are finished now. We need to go.’

  Loretta was showing the strain of the day in her clenched facial muscles, which altered her normally pleasant features. But she was adopting a calm façade in front of her children, five-year-old Amy and her brother, Nathan, who was two years younger. Holding Nathan’s hand, she walked over to where Amy was standing with her friend Maisie and Maisie’s mother. Amy turned to say goodbye to her friend but the tears that had threatened earlier now fully erupted and were accompanied by a loud wailing sound.

  Loretta put her arm around Amy. ‘Now come on, love. Didn’t you promise you’d be a brave girl?’

  Amy tried her best to stop crying but the thought of leaving her friends, her lovely home and her garden toys was too much. Three-year-old Nathan, picking up on Amy’s upset, began to bawl loudly too without realising why he was doing it.

  Loretta turned to Maisie’s mum. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to get going before these two get any worse. The removal company are charging by the hour, so I need to dash. But don’t forget, you and Maisie are welcome to visit anytime.’

  ‘That’s great. Thank you,’ said Maisie’s mum who gave Loretta and both of the children a hug before saying goodbye.

  Amy looked at her mother, who seemed sad. She’d thought her mother was going to cry too when Maisie’s mum had hugged her, but she hadn’t. Instead she turned to her and Nathan, smiled and said, ‘OK, kids. Let’s go and start our new adventure.’

  Amy was confused. Her mother had looked like she was going to cry so why was she smiling? Taking her cue from her mother, Amy dried her tears on her sleeve and tried to be brave as they got inside her car and set off down the road, following the removal van to their new home on a housing estate in Withington.

  *

  April 1993

  It was later that evening and Loretta had finally managed to put the kids to bed. It hadn’t been easy as they were both overexcited for the first few hours after arriving at the new house. Then the enthusiasm wore off and Amy seemed to realise that this new house wasn’t such an adventure after all.

  As day turned into evening the children became tired and all the upheaval of the move finally caught up with them. They had been reluctant to go to bed, Amy because she was scared of the strange new house, and Nathan because he didn’t like his bedroom.

  It had been one of the most trying days of Loretta’s life and one that she had been putting off for the last three years. After her husband Greg had died when Amy was only two and Loretta was pregnant with Nathan, she had fought to keep the house on, not wishing to deny her children or herself the lifestyle that they had become accustomed to.

  Unfortunately, Greg had died leaving no life insurance. He was only thirty-five when he had an unexpected and fatal heart attack, leaving Loretta heartbroken, out of work and struggling to manage the finances. Because she hadn’t worked since before having the children, the only work she was able to find was poorly paid and, once she’d paid for childcare, she would have been worse off.

  Loretta had therefore managed as best she could, trying to live frugally and borrowing from friends and relatives. In the end, the debts had become too much and, with relatives no longer willing to bail Loretta out, she’d had no choice but to sell up, clear the debts and move.

  She considered the place they had moved to. It was on a housing estate in Withington, which was noisy and run-down. Outside she could hear shouting in the street, dogs barking and a child screaming. The neighbours had seemed friendly enough when they were moving in but then she had noticed two women whispering to each other as they eyed the high-end furniture that the removal men were carrying inside the house.

  She looked at it as she entered the living room. Her quality items seemed so out of place in the shabby surroundings, even though they were now several years old. The whole place looked as though it could do with a damn good clean, and the smell was just as bad, a sure sign that the previous occupants had neglected their pets when it came to hygiene. Aside from that, the rooms were poky, the kitchen was dilapidated, and the bathroom needed updating.