Bad Little Girl(50)

‘Everything’s lovely,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But everything isn’t.’ Her stubby fingers kneaded her forearms, leaving little red half-moons impressed on the flesh. ‘It isn’t really.’

‘Sweetheart? What’s wrong?’ Claire took the girl’s hands, and smoothed the gouges on her arms.

‘Everything’s nice, and then something always happens to make it not nice again.’ She had started to cry now, in big, ugly hitches of breath, her face dead white except for two hectic spots of livid colour high on her cheeks.

‘Nothing’s happened, poppet!’ Claire pulled her close, stroked her back to calm her. ‘Everything’s just as lovely as it always was.’ Lorna mumbled something. ‘What was that sweetheart?’

‘I just wish everything was always nice and quiet and no dogs and safe,’ she snuffled.

‘Look, look, no dogs here!’ Claire cast a humorous arm around the room. ‘No dog! Can you see a dog here? Behind the sink? In the cupboards, snaffling all your biscuits?’

Lorna giggled a little, wiped her eyes. ‘No. No dog.’

‘You’re safe, my love, I promise you.’ Claire hesitated, and then plunged on. ‘Were you always frightened? Of dogs I mean?’

‘Oh no! No. I always liked dogs. I love all the animals.’ Her eyes widened, she stopped crying. ‘Carl. He was the one afraid. He was afraid of everything. And getting into trouble at school. You know.’ She was scornful now. ‘Pete, he was the one who got the dogs, he brought them with him. And Carl got to play with them all the time. ALL the time.’ She spoke dreamily, but her eyes were hard. ‘Mum said it was good for him.’

‘When did Pete move in, Lorna?’

‘I dunno. I was a Christmas Cracker, I think. Yeah. It was then.’

‘And . . .’ Claire kept her voice low, tried to tread delicately. ‘When he moved in, was he nice to you? At first?’

Lorna snorted. ‘I called him Dad. They wanted me to anyway, and I did for a bit. And then I stopped and Mum was pissed off with me. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t use language like that,’ she sniffed again.

‘And your mum, was she, nice?’

‘She was! Until Pete came, and the dogs. And then she wasn’t. They all thought I wasn’t. They all ganged up on me. It was awful.’ She looked at Claire directly for the first time. ‘You know.’

Static interfered with the radio station, and Lorna slapped the off button sharply. Her face was red, her eyes beginning to water. Claire cleared her throat. ‘It’s best to talk about these things, Lorna.’

‘These things,’ Lorna muttered.

‘It really is.’

‘Oh, look, your breakfast is all cold now!’

‘That doesn’t matter, Lorna, it really is best to—’

‘I’ve ruined your breakfast!’ The girl was getting ready to cry again.

‘Lorna—’

‘It’s ruined now!’ And she covered her eyes and began to sob.

Claire stood up straight. ‘Well, listen, how about this? How about I go back to bed, and then you bring me breakfast like you planned? That way nothing’s ruined, and everything’s perfect.’

‘Really?’ Lorna’s smile was like the sun coming out. Her eyes glittered, her cheeks flushed. ‘You mean it?’

‘Well, yes, of course, if it will make you happy.’

‘OK! I’ll make some more toast. Not crumbly toast; toast you like.’

‘But I do like crumbly toast—’

‘No you don’t.’ Lorna smiled, as if they shared a secret. ‘You don’t really. You just said that to make me feel better.’

‘No, really—’

‘I know that’s what you did. That’s the sort of kind thing you would do. Now, go back to bed and I’ll bring you a nicer breakfast.’

Claire did as she was told, and climbed, shivering, back into her rumpled cold bed. She lay looking at the ceiling, needing to use the toilet, but not wanting to get up in case Lorna came, saw that the bed was empty, and got upset again. Just when she seemed to be feeling more secure. Poor girl, so sure she’s in the wrong, desperate to please. It was so important to tread carefully with her; let her do things at her own pace, and expect set-backs. After all, this sort of thing was so common amongst abuse victims; she knew, she’d completed a fair few one-day training courses after all. A terrible life can’t all be put right in a few weeks. Patience. That was the key. Let her talk when she wants to. Don’t force it, foster trust and let her lead. But make her feel safe. Make her feel loved.

There was a creak on the stairs. Claire arranged herself on the pillows, and fixed her smile at the door. In came Lorna with her new breakfast, not really toast, more like hot bread, and generously smeared with the cheap, sugary jam Lorna loved. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching Claire with bright eyes, urging her to eat every mouthful.

They spent the rest of the day planning how they would decorate the house – pink walls and a canopy bed for Lorna's bedroom. A treasure chest and a china tea set. The girl drew plans, made lists and chattered away while Claire thought doubtfully of watching the news. But no. No. A few days’ grace. A holiday. Then we can face the inevitabilities, deal with the fallout. Because, now, look at her! Happy as a lark, drawing in front of the fire, rosy-cheeked and relaxed. It would be a sin to take this peace away from her so soon.