Bad Little Girl(22)

‘I know.’ Again that nervous grin. Claire wanted to put a comforting hand on her knee, but didn’t.

‘Well, then your mum spoke with Miss Penny about, well, about some of the things that you’ve said about home? About your step-dad?’

‘What’s a step-dad?’

‘Pete. He means Pete, Lorna,’ murmured Claire.

‘What about Pete?’

‘Well’ – James cut his eyes at Claire, annoyed, helpless – ‘she said that you told her that Pete has . . . done some things to you?’

‘What things?’ Lorna’s face was scrupulously blank. Behind the lipstick swathes, her cheeks were sallow.

‘Well, suppose you tell me.’ He smiled tiredly at her.

‘Dunno what you mean.’ She shifted uncomfortably, and her fingers pulled at the nubby fabric of the chair seat. One hand strayed to Claire’s chair next to her, and Claire took it.

‘Lorna, can you tell me if Pete, or anyone else, has done anything to . . . hurt you, or make you feel frightened?’ asked Claire gently.

There was a pause. Lorna stared at James’ ‘World’s Best Dad’ coffee mug. ‘No.’

James blinked significantly at Claire and clenched his jaw. ‘Nothing, Lorna?’ he asked.

‘No.’ The girl's eyes were wide now, and focused on him. ‘No, nothing.’

‘And what about a neighbour?’ Claire asked gently.

‘What?’

‘Your mum told me that you said he asked you to do a dance?’ Claire murmured.

‘Oh! No!’ Lorna laughed and swung her legs.

‘Lorna. If there is anything happening at home – anything that you don’t like, that makes you sad or, or scared – you must tell me. Us. At the school. Do you understand?’ Claire reached out and touched one jiggling knee.

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘You must, Lorna.’

The girl looked confused, but stopped moving and nodded solemnly. ‘I will.’

There was a small silence. James drummed his fingers on the desk and raised his eyebrows at Claire. ‘Miss Penny will take you back to your class now, Lorna. OK?’

‘OK.’ She picked up her bag, adjusted her hair and hopped pertly off the seat.

Outside the door she slipped her hand in Claire’s. ‘That was weird.’

‘Lorna? I meant what I said in there – if anything happens at home, you will tell me?’

The girl giggled and swung their joined hands.

‘You must, Lorna.’

‘Oh I will. I saw you at the shops. On Saturday. You were with an old lady.’

‘Yes. That’s my mother.’

‘You’ve got a mum, too?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s weird.’ Her steps had slowed and her bag dragged on the ground. ‘Is she poorly?’

‘Bit of a cold.’

‘She looked poorly. My mum’s a bit poorly, too.’

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘Dunno. She was in bed all weekend. She fell or something.’

Claire felt a little stab of anxiety. ‘Fell?’

‘Brrrr! It’s freezing, isn’t it?’

‘I hope she didn’t hurt herself too badly. When she fell. Is, er, is Pete looking after her?’ Claire asked carefully.

‘No. He’s not there. They had a fight. Or he got angry.’ The girl shrugged. Her steps had slowed to a near standstill.

‘What did he get angry about?’

‘You.’

‘Me?’ Claire stood still. Her heart pounded in every corner of her body. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. All the stuff you asked today. I think.’

‘Lorna, do you know Pete’s name?’

‘It’s Pete, silly!’

‘No, I mean his last name.’

‘Marshall. Why?’

Peter Marshall. She’d definitely read that name somewhere, or heard it. ‘Oh, I just wondered, that’s all. Lorna, remember what I’ve said, really. Anything happens, anything at all, you must tell me, us, at the school. And, look, I’m going to write my phone number down, here. And this is my number at the weekends, just in case.’

‘You’ve got two houses?’

‘Sort of. Look, this number for the week, and this for the weekends, all right? Keep it safe. And, Lorna? Don’t show it to Pete, all right?’

The girl nodded solemnly, and then suddenly sped up, and ran the last few steps. She gave a brief wave, and was gone.

At hometime, Claire saw Nikki loitering in the playground. Was she limping? No. Maybe. Too difficult to tell. Claire couldn’t see her face too well, but it could be bruised. Had she been beaten for speaking about Lorna to Claire? But wouldn’t Lorna have said something, when they were alone, walking to the class together, she wouldn’t have just said she’d been in bed. Lorna trusted her, she knew it. Of course, in the meeting, Lorna had said that everything was fine, but then, that’s what abused children do so often, isn’t it? They pretend to themselves and others, they try to rationalise what happens to them. Peter Marshall. Peter Marshall. She watched Nikki and Lorna leave, and headed to the office.

She tucked herself away in the corner with a notebook and a red pen, tapping furtively at the keyboard, and making sure the screen was turned away from Ruth. Peter Marshall. Yes, he was the star of the magistrates’ court – benefits fraud, possession of a controlled substance . . . what’s this? Fined for having a dangerous dog. He’d spent some time in prison for Actual Bodily Harm – against who? His ex-girlfriend and mother of his twin boys. Claire noted all this down in her neat, quick handwriting, and put the notebook in her cardigan pocket. Best to stop there. If she stayed on the computer much longer, Ruth would begin to ask questions.