Bad Little Girl(47)

When their breakfast arrived Claire was so tense that she only managed a few bites, passing over the rest to the girl, who drowned it in ketchup and swallowed it in three gulps. Then she wanted a Coke.

‘I always have Coke in the morning, it wakes me up.’

‘It’s not good for you. Not good for your teeth. All that sugar . . .’

‘Red Bull then?’

‘Oh, that’s worse! No, really . . .’

‘Just today, then? A Coke? I was up so late?’

Claire smiled. ‘Not good for your teeth, my love.’

‘OK.’ Lorna gave in. ‘I’ll get water, then.’

As the girl trotted off, Claire caught sight of the muted rolling news on the huge screen in the foyer. It was too far away to see much, but there’d been some fire somewhere – and it was still burning. Wasn’t there something on the radio about that? Yes. At least two kiddies in the house, trapped, maybe dead. Claire shook her head sorrowfully. It’s a hard world for little things. Neighbours had tried and failed to rescue the children and were being given first aid themselves. There was worry that the fire would spread to engulf the whole street – they were all cheap little houses, prefabs, in some estate. All those estates look the same. Claire shook her head at the TV. Horrible. And just after Christmas too.

Lorna sidled up beside her, watching the screen. She was wide-eyed and still.

‘We’d better get going, sweetheart. Lorna?’

‘OK.’

‘Don’t look. Horrible thing. A house fire.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know. Wait a minute, it’ll say in a minute—’

‘I want to go.’

‘Are you all right? Lorna?’

‘I ate too quickly.’ She smiled wanly.

‘Do you need the loo?’

‘Yes . . . come with me?’

‘All right.’

Lorna dashed to the toilet and Claire loitered outside, looking at her watch. They might be there by ten. They could get some groceries, see what they could do about firewood; make the cottage nice and cosy.

When Lorna came out she was kittenish and giggling. They walked back to the car arm in arm, Lorna singing some nonsense rhyme she’d just made up. In the foyer they passed the screen, just as the roof fell in on the ruined, blackened house.



* * *



At a garage on the outskirts of Truro, Claire finally found a phone box to use. She had Mrs Philpott’s number written on a Post-it note. It was eight am. Was that too early to call? People got up early in the country, didn’t they? Claire’s knowledge of the countryside was limited to the novels of George Eliot and half-remembered trips to see cantankerous Aunt Tess, when they’d all got up and out of the house early just to avoid her. She prodded at the numbers and held it gingerly to her ear, expecting a Cornish bark of anger. Instead, a tired-sounding Northerner answered.

‘Philpott.’

‘Mrs Philpott?’

‘Huh?’

‘My name’s Claire Penny. I am, was I mean, Theresa Craze’s niece?’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I’m here. In Cornwall I mean. For a break. And I thought I’d take a look at the house. And, well, I seem to remember you and your husband being able to provide firewood?’

‘You want to look at the place? Why? To sell it?’

‘Maybe. Or maybe stay in it for a while.’

There was a pause. ‘It’s a bit out of the way.’

‘Yes, I know. But that’s really what I want at the moment. The quiet.’

‘Well, the wood’s already there. We got a load in for Tess last year, when we thought she’d be out of the hospital. It’s all there, under a tarp in the shed. Chimneys should be all right. We had a look at them a bit ago.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful, thanks!’

‘What? What’s wonderful?’ said Lorna, sleepily, rearing up from the back seat.

‘Who’s that you’ve got with you, then?’ Mrs Philpott sounded suddenly sharp.

‘My niece,’ Claire replied glibly. ‘She’s with me.’

‘It’s not a great place for children you know. How old is she?’

‘Ten.’

‘Boring for a ten-year-old I’d say. No TV, no computer.’

‘No TV?’ mouthed Lorna anxiously.

‘Well, we can see if there’s a TV point. Maybe even get the internet.’

Mrs Philpott carried on, doubtfully. ‘And you’ll need shopping. There’s an Asda ten miles north. Might be open today. Then there’s the village shop about five miles away but that won’t be open for a few more days. Not many buses any more, so I hope you have a car.’ It seemed even more isolated than Claire had remembered. Lorna fidgeted behind her, pulling at strands of hair and putting them in her mouth, solemnly studying her; it wouldn’t do to seem nervous in front of her. Stay positive. ‘Yes, yes, we have a car. And as for all the rest of it – I’m sure it’ll be fine. Thanks so much!’

‘I can drop in a few things for you, if you want? Tea, milk . . .’

‘Oh no.’ The last thing we need is a nosy neighbour, thought Claire. No-one can come until we think of a plan. Shouldn’t have said niece . . . should have said it was an echo on the line or something. ‘No, thanks, I’ll enjoy exploring the area myself.’