There was no pimp, and she kept her earnings. What she dreaded waspicking up a violent client who discovered that she was a transgirl,and didn't like ...t. We parted with a kiss, and I never met her again.My report on the flats and their tenants was edited into a diatribeabout worker exploitation, and I was glad to leave that paper's staff.It was nearly a decade later that I received the letter with thenewspaper cutting. My two daughters were both at school, and thepostman interrupted my writing. She realised as soon as she stepped in that something was wrong.There had been a light on, she was sure. That was not unusual. The girls were awful at leaving lights on; half of them were used to ‘Mummy’ tidying round them full-time. One or two were used to the maid doing it! But then who turned off the light? And why? She walked down the corridor to the cubicles. Yes, she could hear the breathing and giggling. She turned, loudly went back, and then very quietly returned. At the cubicle where. More

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