I'd be more willing to believe there was a serial killer if it was someone like me who was killed, someone who goes out on her own.And I don't think Hayley was murdered. And the girls on drugs are in trouble - one of them says she has been ill for two days because she can't earn enough for a hit.The police are asking about Natalie, Hayley and Samantha I knew Natalie I don't think a client has killed her She always had her boyfriend with her. When I go to work, the street is full of reporters, the vice squad and television people. If it wasn't for my regulars, I wouldn't be able to make much.

But when I go to work, clients say nice things like, "You're too pretty to be doing this," and, "You have a beautiful chest." It gives you confidence.MondayHave a really bad hangover, so I stay in bed till one o'clock A neighbour takes the kids to the park. That sounds daft, but before their dad left he used to say I was fat and he used to put me down. But now, with having the kids, I feel I'm doing it for them, to give them the extras in life.I enjoy work. I've already taken him on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night. I'm home for 11.40pm, so we go out for a curry.SundayA lazy day, watching TV with the kids The little one is mad about Drop Dead Fred I can relax - this is my night off When I'm working, I'm fine I've learned to switch my body off But years ago I used to get upset I used to wonder why I do this I'm not a drug user and I didn't have any children I was spending the money on clubbing, buying clothes. Sometimes there can be 20 or 30 girls on the street and when there are only five cars going around, it's pretty hard work.But it's a good night for me - two regulars, for pounds 60 and pounds 50 The 60- pounder asks me to come to his hotel. I usually go out about eight o'clock in long boots and a very short black dress I always make myself up You have to look attractive There's a lot of competition out there.

A friend looks after the children - she always knows where I am I carry a phone. After the pub, I get the children fed, bathed and into their pyjamas and I dress for work. Afterwards, we sit outside the pub drinking a couple of Cokes while the kids play Nobody is really talking about the killings They don't know what I do. Their father smashed everything up when he left last year, so I've slowly been buying things.

No holiday this summer, but we're hoping to go to Turkey next year. Helen has been a prostitute since she was 17, stopping for several years during her marriage. She solicits along Myton Street, just as the three dead women did. Saturday We go to town to buy stuff for the kids' bedrooms. In her late twenties, she is separated from her husband, with whom she has three young children. HELEN KNEW two of the three Hull prostitutes - Natalie Clubb and Hayley Morgan - whose recent deaths raise fears of a serial killer.

Club 7-10 to my immediate left, by contrast, over-stimulated by air conditioning and the excitement of the flight, bounced up and down, spilt their breakfast trays, sang along at the top of their voices to the piped pop music and made a general nuisance of themselves for most of our four hours aloft.They paid for their sleepless night the next day, drifting around the house like sulky sleepwalkers as we unpacked.Finally, Darcy suggested a quick kick-around in the park, and I, stiff, travel-weary and as thoroughly de-bounced as the boys, agreed to 20 minutes.There were no coats for goals, no score-keeping, no parody John Motson commentary, just a silent and measured pass-control-pass, as if in a trance, in the mild English afternoon sun It certainly felt like home.. We reached the end of the holiday without any problems at all in the bounce department; then we boarded the flight home, which, being the cheapest I could buy, departed at 3.30am.Our fellow travellers, most of them club 18-30 types and knackered from a fortnight in the bars and clubs of Bodrum, fastened their seat belts and fell into a deep slumber. Most of them spoke little or no English, but they did know enough to shout "Faster" as I passed, most often a passing taxi in a cloud of cigarette and petrol fumes. A couple of times, I was called on to muster a bit of bounce when I was cajoled into a late afternoon game of beach volleyball by a man with a large pot belly and an extraordinary hairstyle - shaved back and sides, long and fluffy on top.This was not the glamorous, athletic sport popularised on Copacabana beach, featuring Brazilian beach bums too rich to play football, but a group of middle-aged Turks and their teenage kids who felt - like I did - that you can't spend the whole holiday in the water or in the bar.