Bad Little Girl(19)

‘She just wants to split us up, that’s what it is. Me and Pete!’

‘Please come with me to see Mr Clarke again, I’m sure he’s still in his office.’

‘I’m going home, that’s where I’m going,’ she said, but didn’t move. ‘I thought it was like talking to a doctor, or a priest. Confidential.’

‘Ms Bell—’

‘I’ll tell you what’ll happen. Nothing. She doesn’t want anything to happen. She just wants to fuck things up for other people. And don’t I deserve a life? At the end of the day?’

‘She’s a very little girl. Not even eight yet. She’s just a child, she’s not capable of—’

But the woman was already leaving. She pushed past Claire and banged one hip painfully on the door frame as she left the classroom. Claire saw her marching through the playground going to the wrong gate, watched by hundreds of round eyes.

‘Lorna, that’s your mum. Lorna!’ someone cried, and Lorna edged out of the playhouse doorway to see. Nikki, finding the back gate locked, doubled back to the main entrance. Claire could see she was cursing under her breath as the swathe of children opened and closed around her wake.

‘Lorna, your mum’s here!’ hissed the same child, just as the bell rang. The stampede threw Ms Bell off her stride. A Year Six boy ran into her full pelt on the way back to class and she staggered in her cheap shoes. Claire saw Lorna approach her mother stealthily, keeping out of her vision. Ms Bell had dropped her phone again. Tears of frustration showed on her chapped cheeks. Lorna reached her, and helped pick up the pieces of the phone. Claire opened the window and crouched down to hear.

‘—here?’

‘Where’s the battery? Give me the battery.’

‘Why’re you here?’

‘Like you don’t fucking know.’

‘What?’

‘Give me the battery. Been telling your tall fucking tales to the teacher, haven’t you?’

‘What?’

‘Telling them fuck knows what.’

‘I haven’t told them nothing.’

‘Not much. That’s why they brought me in, to talk about your lies.’

‘I don’t lie.’ The child was calm, but Claire could tell her control was cracking.

‘First chance I get to be happy – first fucking time in years, and you have to – give me that battery! You’ve got to start up with your lies.’

Now she was crying. ‘I haven’t lied! I’ve not told anything.’

Ms Bell pulled down the bomber jacket over the little roll of stomach that protruded above her jeans. ‘You better set them straight. I’ve had it, Lorna. I mean it.’

The tears remained on Lorna’s cheeks, but she wasn’t crying any more. Now her face was blank. ‘You’d better go home.’

‘I will if I can find my way out of this place.’

Lorna leaned in close then, and spoke rapidly, but her voice was low and Claire’s class had come back in to take their seats, so she had to stand up quickly. From the corner of her eye she saw that they stayed in the playground together – Lorna speaking, her mother quiet, but angrily shaking her head – for the next few minutes, before the girl suddenly skipped away. Ms Bell wandered about for a while before finally finding her way out.





9





Claire had been distracted all afternoon. During Golden Time she managed to corner James in his office and ask for a minute.

‘Potentially a child protection issue, James.’

James sagged back into his chair and rolled his eyes. ‘Laura whatever?’

‘Lorna Bell. Yes.’

‘What? Claire, haven’t I got enough to deal with? We’ve still got to clean up the nativity scene, and then I’ve got to meet Gary. Can it wait?”

‘Well, no, James, I don’t think it can. I was talking to her Mum, over the lunchtime, and, well, she said quite a few things that concerned me.’

James was very still. ‘What kind of things?’

‘She said, rather, she said that Lorna had said, that her – step-father, I suppose he’d be – has “got at her”.’

‘Well what does that mean?’

‘Well, I took it to mean – you know.’

‘Was that it?’

‘No, she said that Lorna had accused the neighbour of’ – Claire blushed – ‘asking her to take off her knickers and do a dance.’

‘What does the mum say about it?’

‘She said – well, she said that it was lies. But Lorna really didn’t want to go home last night. She actually cried.’

‘Did she tell you anything concrete on the way home?’

‘. . . No . . . She talked about Christmas, and how they have a big family party and how lovely it is. But you could tell it wasn’t true, poor love.’

‘A lie, then.’

‘James—’

‘Claire, you’re coming to me saying that a girl who we both know has an. . . uneasy relationship with the truth, shall we say? This girl’s mother, as a courtesy, takes time out of her day to warn us that she’s dishonest and to check to see if she’s getting into trouble at school? Frankly if more parents were this honest with us, as willing to confide in us . . . Claire, what do you want to happen here?’