Job, I thought. What job could possibly let a girl get hold of porno mags, and she didn't even have a job as far as I knew, because she was often hanging out at the busted playground during the weekdays. That's when Dutch told me that Fiona was a prostitute!

I was shocked of course, who wouldn't be. I didn't believe him at first, I thought he was just joking with me. But he wasn't, and I found out for sure a few days later.

You have to understand that we didn't do much with our days, just hang around the busted playground mostly, and talk about pop music or football, or maybe we'd go down the high street and try and nick things from the corner shop. We were never very successful at this, and that's one of the reasons I liked to hang out with the Parkas, they weren't really, really bad like some of the other gangs I could mention.

One time we were messing about outside the shop, steeling up courage, and it was pretty late, I know because I kept looking at my watch. I had to be in by a certain time or else my dad would go mad at me. My dad could be pretty mad at times, and even violent, although he mostly took that out on our dog, Tango. I don't care who knows this, because it's true. It was strange, because I had this parka on, that I wasn't supposed to wear. I had to hide it in the shed, go out in my normal coat, swap it for the parka, and then swap back before I went back in. I kept thinking it must be nice to be able to do just what you want, like Dutch, like Fiona. Their parents didn't seem to mind what they did.

Anyway, so we were hanging out at the shop, and it was getting late, just starting to get dark, when Fiona comes running out of the pub opposite. She's got a man with her, some older guy, real fat and ugly and I wonder what's she's doing with him. Dutch says to me, There, I told you. That's her latest punter. No way, I said. Watch, he says. The man and Fiona are talking, and I actually see the man give her some money, then they walk off together!

Where's she going? I ask. Oh, they usually go to her flat, Dutch replies, or else just to a dark street if it's just a blow job the bloke's after. She gets twenty quid for a blow job. Twenty quid! I say. Sure, he says, and fifty for the whole thing. Fifty quid! I shout. Bloody hell, that's a fortune! And then they laugh at me some more.

Uh huh! whispers Dutch. He's looking over to the pub where this young bloke's come out, a real hard-looking type, all tight trousers and bare arms with muscles and everything. Who's that? I ask. That's Melv, says Dutch. Melvin Flowers, he's Fiona's pimp. I ask what a pimp is, and then they really start making fun of me. Willy Wheels! Willy Wheels, doesn't even know what a pimp is! Stuff like that.

Of course I'd heard the word before, but it was one of those words that I never got round to really finding out about, mainly because until then I'd never had the need to. So Dutch tells me how it all works, how this Melv character gets 70 per cent of everything that Fiona earns, and in return he's supposed to look after her, protect her from violent clients. And that this Melv has got about fifteen girls working for him, and that instead of looking after her, usually it's him that's the cause of all the bruises on Fiona's face.

This Melvin looks over at us then, and Dutch gives him a wave, but all he gets in return is a dirty look.

It just didn't seem fair somehow, but just think of all the money he must be earning for doing hardly anything at all, and that night, when I was lying awake in bed, it was all I could think about, how lucky he was.

Nothing much happened for a week or two, and then we had to go back to school. I kind of lost touch with Dutch then, because when we got to the secondary school, he started to change, become more serious. And when we did meet up, it wasn't the same. He suddenly seemed a lot older, I think he must have been reaching puberty or something, after all the pretending. He even stopped wearing the famous parka coat. Sometimes I'd go to the busted playground, expecting the gang to be there, but they hardly ever were.

I still went anyway, with the parka on just in case. I think I just liked to get out of the house, because Mum and Dad were arguing a lot by then, lots of shouting and one time my dad actually hit my mum. It wasn't a bad hit, more of a slap really. But I was an only child, and I felt pretty helpless, because how could I help my mum, I wasn't much use to anyone.

So I'd just sit on the busted roundabout, feeling pretty sorry for myself, and thinking that maybe there wasn't much use in love or whatever you wanted to call it. And who should come up, but this Fiona.

She was looking real bad herself, with a black eye again, but worse than usual, and plenty of bruises. She sits down on the roundabout and we don't say much to each other for a while, just lost in our own little worlds I guess. It was nice, being like that, as though we didn't even need to talk. Eventually she says, That's it, I've left him. And I knew who she meant, without even asking. I've got to get me a new pimp, she says.

Do you have to have a new pimp? I ask.

Of course I do. Who would look after me otherwise? I'd get beaten up.

You're getting beaten up anyway, I say.

I know, she says. It sucks, doesn't it?

And then she asks what's up with me, and I tell her about my mum and dad and all that trouble. She comes close then, round to my side of the roundabout, and sits back down beside me. We're a couple of right losers, aren't we? she whispers, and it's only then that I realize that she's crying.

And there's nothing I can do but put my arm around her. We must've looked a right sight.

It was a week after this that I left home. I'd come home late one time, and I was expecting to get told off for it, but what should I find but Mum and Dad arguing again. I was growing used to this by now, but this time was different, worse than ever. Tango was howling as well, like he wanted to get in on the act, and my mum was crying, and my dad shouting his head off and waving his fists around. I just knew he was working up to hitting someone, either me or Tango, or even worse, my mum. I'd just about had enough, so I shouted back at him which felt good because it was the first time I'd managed it. That stopped him for a moment, just a moment, then he started in again, even louder this time. I don't know, something must have broken inside me then. I went up quietly to my room, collected a few things into a rucksack, came back downstairs and out the back door. Nobody noticed me leaving, not even Tango, which was sad. But I just had to do it, although I suppose I was only making a scene of it, not really running away.

I didn't have a clue where to go, except the busted playground. It was late by the time I got there, and dark. I was hoping Fiona would be there. We'd met up nearly every night since the first night, just to talk and share a laugh or two, and I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. But she wasn't there. Of course Fiona hadn't left Melvin, her pimp, because she couldn't, could she? Every pro had to have a pimp. She'd taught me all about how the system worked, and how there was no escape from it, once you got started. I think that's why we felt good together, both of us were trapped, in our own ways, I suppose. Although I've never quite managed to work out what was holding me back. Maybe just boredom.

But she wasn't there. I hung around for a bit, but then I got scared. I didn't want to go home, not yet, it was too soon. I wanted Mum and Dad to be really sorry for having argued. But where could I go? I didn't know where Fiona's flat was, she'd never told me, I think she kept it secret on purpose, part of the pimping system. I walked over to the high street. It was about eleven o'clock by then, and the pubs were chucking out. It was a Saturday as well, so the streets were pretty violent, that special tensed-up feeling like a fight was just about to break out. I kept my eyes to myself, because that's the best way to avoid getting beaten up. It was strange, because the tough guys would go quiet when I passed them, as though they were embarrassed by me being there, a young kid on the street like that. I always did look innocent, my mum was so proud of it, the way I looked, I mean. Mummy's little angel, she called me, if you can imagine that! No wonder I ran away.