Bad Little Girl(60)

‘Derek—’

‘—saving these kids. And that’s the thing. I just don’t understand how you can have abandoned it all, just thrown your arms to the wind—’

‘Derek—’

‘—And just –’ he made a whistling noise, that turned into a cough ‘ – throw it all away. You know? Mad.’ He was panting now. Claire heard the rattle of ice cubes and the gurgle of gin. She tried to relax her stiffened shoulders, took deep breaths, and waited.

‘I’m sorry, Claire. This fire, just down the road really. It’s knocked us. The whole town. And then finding out that the kids went to your school – well.’

‘Only one of them did—Claire said, and stopped, wishing she could cut her tongue off.

‘I thought you didn’t know about it? The fire?’

‘I-I saw a bit of it, on the news.’

‘And it didn’t make you come back?’

‘Well, no. I mean, what could I do to help?’

‘But you knew one of the kiddies?’

Why in God’s name had she opened her mouth? ‘Not very well. She was an older child I think, wasn’t she? So she wouldn’t have been in my class anyway. But, yes. It’s a terrible thing.’

‘A terrible thing,’ Derek echoed. ‘A terrible, terrible thing. A whole family. Well, they weren’t married, but still.’

‘But haven’t they arrested the person who started the fire?’ She kept her voice low, peered anxiously at the door to the stairs, trying to sense if Lorna was behind it, listening. ‘Wasn’t it some ex-girlfriend or something?’

‘No. God, you are out of the loop, aren’t you? No. They arrested her all right, the girlfriend, but then released her. But someone did it. Petrol. All the way into the kiddies’ rooms, down the drains, down the stairs. Whoever it was wanted to kill these people, even the kiddies. Even the dogs! I know it sounds silly, but I think it was the dogs that got to me and Pip the most. The whole place went up like a rocket, nearly took the houses on either side with it too, but they managed to get out. Horrible, horrible business.’

‘So, nobody knows who started it?’ Claire managed through compressed lips.

‘No. Well, they say they’re pursuing different avenues, but someone at bowls yesterday said that he’d heard from the golf club that the chief inspector is stumped. And that’s not something they want to get out, is it? Terrible thing to happen. And just down the road, too. My worry is that it’ll affect house prices.’

Claire almost laughed at that, and sucked at the insides of her cheeks so he wouldn’t hear the smile in her voice. ‘You do seem shaken by this, Derek.’

‘We are. We all are. Shaken. That’s the word for it. That’s why maybe I’m a little – anxious – at the moment. Harsh. Didn’t mean to be harsh with you, Claire. It’s just that, when something like this happens so close to you, it makes you think about family. And about safety, you know? I’ve been worried about you, Claire.’ And he did sound worried, he really did. Claire moistened her lips.

‘Terrible things happen, Derek. Even to people just around the corner. And, who knows what kind of lives those children had?’

‘Yes. Yes. I’ve always said that estate was a disaster waiting to happen. Never thought I’d hear you being cold-blooded though, Claire. About something like this.’

‘It’s not cold-bloodedness. It’s more of a wake-up call, I suppose. Lots of children have really terrible lives, and if we don’t intervene early enough, or at all—’

‘That’s the Claire we know and love!’ Derek snorted.

‘Look, Derek, I don’t want to cause you any more worry, I really don’t. Maybe, maybe I’ll just park the idea of selling for now, OK?’

‘What about the furniture? You want to keep that?’

Claire’s heart clenched. All Mother’s furniture: the dressing table from Great-Grandmother, the deep, jewel-coloured rugs, the family silver, the unforgiving mattresses and heavy wood bedsteads. They couldn’t be sold, no.

‘I’ll think about that when I’m more settled.’

‘Pip’s always had her eye on that sideboard in the hall . . .’

‘I tell you what, Derek, she can have it. A gift for all the worry I’ve caused you.’

‘Horrible thing, I always thought, myself,’ he replied, though he did sound pleased. ‘But she likes it. Says it’s elegant. But what’s wrong with Ikea, eh?’

‘Indeed.’

Derek chuckled, all animosity gone now that he was head of a project and already in possession of a reward. ‘All right. I can get you on this number then, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Any time I shouldn’t call? Any time you might have company?’

‘What?’ Her heart stuttered again.

‘Oh relax Claire, I’m joking. The idea of you, off with a man in the wilds of Cornwall!’ And he laughed heartily and insultingly long.

And so they parted friends and Claire, exhausted, relieved, went to bed. She dreamed.



* * *



She was lying on a sofa coated with dog hair. It was dark, save for winking Christmas lights on a white tinsel tree, and warm, cosy, despite the smell of something over-cooking seeping out from under the door. She felt her hair crackle and sat up dazedly, put her fingers to her temple, drew them back covered with soot. She watched her fingernails curl, blacken and crumble while from somewhere a dog howled, and that smell got closer, denser. The smell of burning meat. And there was no point in trying to escape. There was no way out.