Bad Little Girl(18)

‘Sorry!’ She sniffed. ‘Sorry!’

‘Oh don’t be, really. How can I help?’

‘It’s hard.’ She gave a long, teary shudder, and took some deep breaths. ‘It’s hard at home.’ Claire nodded sympathetically at the bowed head. ‘She’s . . . She’s a good girl at school? Lorna?’

‘Yes. She’s a little shy, but so many children are at that age.’

‘She’s no trouble though? Doesn’t cause trouble with the others? Isn’t bad?’

‘No. No, there hasn’t been anything I’ve been aware of, since the eraser incident last year. Can she be a bit of a handful at home?’

‘She – she says things. I know I’m not the best mother in the world. I know that. Can I have another tissue? I know I’m not. But I do try. And it’s hard as well, with Carl. Carl being the way he is too.’

‘I can imagine. That’s why I was wondering if you have enough support . . .’

‘But he’s no trouble, Carl. Not now. He’s a good boy. But they don’t get on, him and Lorna. And Lorna and my partner, Pete. They don’t get on. And I’m caught in the middle of it. And I do try my best! But she can be so cruel. Cruel. The things she says.’ Her eyes, sunk in with tears, gazed at Claire.

‘What things does she say?’

‘Oh, it’s not . . . it’s how she says things. She’ll take something you’ve said and twist it. I can’t explain it. She’ll tell you things, bad things, about yourself and say you said it. Once she let the dogs out into the street, told Carl she’d given them all away, that he’d told her to do it, and he was beside himself. You know how he gets. And she was saying that they’d probably love their new family more than him, and how Carl was bad to them and he didn’t deserve them and they were happy to go. He lives for those dogs, and she was saying he’d never see them again.

‘And then she said the neighbour had been spying on her in the bath. And I don’t want any trouble with the neighbours, and he’s a nice man, Mervyn, and suddenly she’s giving it all, “He told me to take my knickers off in the garden. He told me to do a dance,” all this. And he’s a good neighbour, he’s a good man, and he does loads of charity work, and he always gives them a present at Christmas. And she says things about Pete. Says he’s at her. All this. And there’s never a mark on her and she sleeps in the room next to ours, so I’d know if anything was going on, wouldn’t I? If he was doing what she said? But she says I do know. I don’t know why she does these things. I don’t know what’s up with her. What is she like here? Does she lie?’

Claire’s mouth was dry. ‘Well, no. And she’s never said anything like that, made these allegations to anyone at school.’

‘It’s not true, any of it. It can’t be.’

Claire’s heart was beating quickly. This could be an explanation for the fear of returning home, for the isolation, for the sudden clinginess. Her mind raced to remember the child protection protocols: say that you have to speak with your line manager . . . safeguarding young people a priority . . . this conversation is no longer in confidence . . . any information that a young person is in a position of harm or danger . . . She pulled back slightly, and stilled her shaking hands on her knees.

‘Ms Bell, Nikki, I can understand how awful it must be to hear those things, but really, a child doesn’t make up things like that—’

‘It’s none of it true! She just says things! At the end of the day, she’s a liar! The stuff about Pete—’

‘I’ll have to tell Mr Clarke about this conversation.’

‘I thought you were nice!’ the woman wailed suddenly.

‘I am nice! I am.’ It slipped out. I really am nice, she thought desperately, looking at the distraught woman. ‘But I have to think about Lorna’s safety. You have to understand that.’

‘I thought you were nice and I could trust you!’

Claire stood up shakily. Ms Bell was looking at her with the kind of animal fear that was terrible to see; and it was awful to know that she’d caused it. ‘We’ll speak to the Head, both of us. I’m sure we can work out what . . . I mean—’

‘You don’t understand,’ Ms Bell muttered. ‘You don’t.’ She began to gather herself up, pulling down the T-shirt from the tight band of her bomber jacket. Her phone fell on the floor. The screen showed a picture of Carl hugging a red-eyed dog. ‘She was bad from the beginning. Even before I had her. I was sick as a dog for the whole nine months! Even the doctors said it wasn’t natural. And then she didn’t walk for fucking years. I had to carry her about and it messed my back up. Wouldn’t eat. Woke up in the night. Like she wanted to make my life a misery!’

‘She was just a baby—’

‘She knew what she was doing!’

‘Look, I’m sure if we talk to Mr Clarke – you have to understand that I have to share this information—’

‘I’ve not given you any information.’ The woman sounded venomous now, and her face was sheened with sweat, despite the cold. ‘I just told you she fucking lies. There’s no information.’

‘And that kind of language isn’t appropriate either.’