Bad Little Girl(38)

‘Can’t you just open the door and let him out? That’s what Carl does. And then I can stay a bit longer?’

‘We have to get you back home, Lorna, we really do.’

‘He’ll be alright by himself outside,’ the girl muttered ‘Oh no, he’s a member of this family. He needs to know that he’s loved, doesn’t he? And we enjoy our walk together, don’t we old man?’ Claire stroked him gently ‘Can I really cook things?’ Lorna looked suddenly doubtful.

‘Of course you can! You’re a very capable girl!’

Lorna squeaked with happiness. Her sallow cheeks coloured and she leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Wouldn’t it be great if we could do this sort of stuff all the time? Gardening. And cooking. And going to the seaside. All that stuff. It’d be fun. Wouldn’t it? I mean . . .’

‘Well, certainly it’d be fun, but—’

‘I’m just being cccccrazy. CRAY-ZEE. Like the dog on the Cartoon Network advert? That one?’

‘I don’t have Cartoon Network I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, you should,’ Lorna said seriously. ‘You really should.’



* * *



That night, after dropping Lorna off at home, Claire found a note stuck to her bathroom mirror with sticky tape.

I know I’m truble for you and if you dont want me to come I wont but I want to.

I can clean yor house and cook and garden I dont mind becuz I like to look after things and can I stay with you becuz I love you. My mum wont mind you can ask her.





Claire folded the note and kept it in her cardigan pocket, taking it out and reading it again and again. The next day, Johnny was tired and didn’t seem to want his walk, so Claire used the time to bake a chocolate cake instead, decorating it with sugar roses. Sure enough, Lorna was lingering at the end of the road, and when Claire told her that she was more than welcome to carry on coming over, she threw her arms around her.

‘And, I made a cake!’

‘Ooooh! A CAKE?’





15





That night, Lorna fell asleep in front of the fire, and no amount of hair stroking or gentle shakes would wake her. At ten Claire called Lorna’s home, and again at ten thirty, but there was no answer, and so she picked the girl up, still sleeping, put her in the spare room, and tucked her in. Lorna’s eyelids flickered and her lips moved in a tiny smile as Claire whispered goodnight.

Claire spent the next few hours alternating between excitement and anger. There was something of the sleepover about this situation – as if Lorna were a friend, or a young relation, here for a visit. That was the sweetly exciting part. But she was angry too – angry with Lorna’s feckless parents, their lack of care, their disregard. Lorna was safe, but that wasn’t the point. How would her mother know that? Didn’t she care at all? When there was so much on the news at the moment about vulnerable young girls being groomed by these terrible gangs? Horrible things happen to innocent children; children who just want to do some sport or other, and end up with someone like Mervyn Pryce taking advantage of them . . . Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have children . . .

Johnny stuck close to her legs as she paced, before heaving himself up onto the sofa to sleep. Claire never normally let him sleep on the furniture, but he did look peaky. It might not be a bad idea to get him to the vets.

Claire tiptoed upstairs to check on the girl. Light sweat sheened her forehead, and her breathing was shallow, her eyelids flickering. She must be having a nightmare. Claire smoothed her brow, held her hand, and whispered comfort to her until she calmed. And Claire calmed too, looking at Lorna, wrapped up safe and warm. The way she should be.

Early the next morning, Claire called Lorna’s house three times. No answer. She piled Lorna into the car and drove to her home, but it was locked and empty.

‘Do you have your key?’

‘Uh.’

‘OK, well let yourself in and clean your teeth and everything, or we’ll be late for school. I’ll write a quick note to your mum.’

And so Claire followed the girl into the house, waited while she cleaned her teeth, and was wiping the smear of toothpaste from Lorna’s cheek when she noticed the bag.

‘In case I need it. Got my pyjamas in here. And a toothbrush, and Tilly Doll’ – a battered plastic baby was displayed – ‘and some books—’

‘Lorna—’

‘And socks—’

‘Lorna, sweetheart. You can’t stay with me. I mean, you have your own home here, and your mum, and your brother.’

Lorna’s face darkened.

‘Your mum will be worried—’ Claire said weakly.

‘No she won’t. You know she won’t.’

Claire stared helplessly at the defiant little face. ‘Do you want me to talk to her? If you’re not happy, I mean? Is it – I mean, is it anything to do with . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘Do you remember what we talked about in Mr Clarke’s office that time?’

Still that dewy, absent gaze. Her teeth sawed away at her bottom lip. Two tears made a parallel course down her cheeks and hung onto her jawline. Claire reached out with her Handy Hanky and wiped them away. ‘Lorna?’

The girl sighed, shivered, and released her bottom lip. ‘We’ll be late for school.’