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girl’s bum as she turned round in front of her, the tattoo arching up from the white pants sticking out from her low-cut hipsters.
    ‘Have you seen any boys you like?’ Lesley jumped round to face the pretty Indian girl again.
    Beauty flushed. ‘No, not really.’
    ‘The black guy next to you’s OK,’ Lesley said. ‘But I think he plucks his eyebrows.’
    ‘You’re joking!’ said Beauty.
    ‘I berr’e’s got a nice one, though.’
    A nice what?
    ‘Y’m really pretty, d’you know that?’ Lesley said. ‘You got lovely eyes and such a sweet smile.’
    Beauty saw her eyes flick critically over her salwar-kameez again. She’d wear a nicer one tomorrow, or maybe jeans and boots.
    ‘You’re pretty, too,’ she said awkwardly.
    ‘Thanks, Beauty. Here, d’you smell that white guy next to you? He fookin’ stinks a dogs, man.’
    Kutayn!
Dogs were
haram
. Unclean.
    ‘Come and sit next to me when we go back up,’ Lesley invited. ‘We can have a laugh at these tramps.’
    She linked her arm through Beauty’s and led her back across the street. Beauty was happy for the girl’s friendliness and the cover it provided. Maybe she could still talk to people, after all. Some people. Talking to girls and looking them in the eyes wasn’t too bad. Boys were another matter. In her night-time conversations with them it was easy. They said nice things to her, pleaded and argued with her parents and brothers, and often took her away in a warm car. She hadn’t talked to a girl outside the family for five years. The old man and
Bhai-sahb
usually left her behind when they went to visit uncles, so she only saw her cousin-sisters when they came for Eid. She’d start cooking days in advance,
handesh
and
noon
,
feetta
, white rice with fried onion, different tandoori meats, boiled eggs and fried rice, samosas,
shamaai
,
kurma
,
parotha
,
fob
and salads. She served everyone, then ate alone in the kitchen when they’d finished. The old man told people she was mad, so her cousins avoided her.
    Let them. They’re all married now, so good luck to them.
    She followed Lesley back up the stairs to the classroom, watching the girl’s hips swinging from side to side in front of her.
    Doesn’t she feel no shame walking like that?
    Why should she?
    Beauty decided she liked the girl.
    Mark sat down with a cup of tea he’d made in the clients’ kitchen as the two girls came into the room laughing. The half-black bird was as fit as fuck, and the little Paki in the pyjamas that had been sitting next to him wasn’t bad either; at least she didn’t stink of curry. He pulled the peak of his cap lower and drank his tea. It was a pain in the arse coming to this place. If he’d got his business plan together sooner, the Jobcentre would never have sent him here. But time had slipped by and the forms were long since lost in the living room.
    He’d spent all morning under his cap, the turned-up collars of his jacket hiding his face, paying little notice to what was said. He’d taken one look at the prick with the white hair and knew he was some sort of screw. Probation officer? Or Nacro? There were no fit birds to look at either, apart from the half-caste girl, and that sort only went for
nigg-ahs
. There were two or three slags, though. He’d seen the fat bird with the denim skirt at Flanagan’s on pound-a-pint night. She might be up for it. If he could get a fiver together he could go up town later tonight and see if she was there. At least now he’d have an excuse to talk to her. Perhaps he should sell his mobile phone at Dinesh’s on the way back home and buy a cheaper one when his dole came in. No one rang anyway, and there was never any credit on it. Any spare cash he had was always needed for something else.
    Them basstud dogs must owe me a fookin’ fortune by now.
    His other Staffy bitch, Honey, was pregnant and her pups would pay him back. He might even be able to move somewhere better with the money if she had a good