Bad Little Girl(63)

‘God, I’m so sorry!’ the woman moaned. ‘He never normally gets away from me like that. The wind, it sends him mad. Negative ions in the air or something. It affects dogs and lunatics the same way. Are you hurt? How’s your poor coat?’ The woman pursed her lips, and swiped at Claire’s coat, brushing wet sand into the wool.

Claire leaned heavily on the woman’s shoulder, put all the weight onto her left leg and tried to breathe normally; embarrassed, angry, still shocked. Up close the woman was a good ten years older than Claire had first thought, with thick leathery skin covered with heavy foundation. Her mascara had begun to flake into the spidery wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. It was a strong face, raw boned. Not pretty, but square, firm, almost masculine. And it looked genuinely distraught.

‘Oh Christ, you lost your shoe. Let me— wait here’ – she dragged Claire’s boot from the dog’s mouth – ‘got it. Can you put it on? Too swollen? Can you hop? Here, lean on me, all the weight, I can take it. And hop! Hop!’ They lurched together towards the sea wall. The woman’s mirth grew with each hop.

‘It really does hurt,’ muttered Claire.

‘Oh Christ I’m sorry! Hop! We’re like a couple of old bunnies! What a spectacle. Last hop!’ and they made it to the clammy stone steps, where Claire was able to catch her breath.

The dog careered around the empty beach, barking at the waves. It was dark now, and chilly.

‘Do you have a car or something?’ said the woman.

‘Yes.’ Claire felt weak. She closed her eyes and tried to summon up a bit more strength. If I can drive, she thought, if I can just get away, then I’ll be safe. I can’t let this woman remember me, remember seeing me with Lorna. Oh, but she felt faint. Shock. That’s all it is. I’ll be fine in a minute or two. She shook her head, and willed her eyes open, tried to smile.

‘Oh you look terrible,’ the woman moaned. ‘Sorry. But you do. Awful. Look, I’ll get my car and park it as close as I can and then all you have to do is hop up the stairs and I can drive you home. Is it far? I mean, it doesn’t matter how far it is, but . . .’

‘No! No, that’s kind, but I’m OK. It’s not far. You’ve been very kind, but I’ll be all right. I’ll be fine really!’

The woman pursed her dry lips. ‘You don’t look fine. And if you can’t walk, you can’t drive. Is there a hospital? I’m parked not far from here. A doctor’s surgery?’

Claire needed to get away from this woman. A weak but desperate shiver of energy made is possible for her to get up and try to walk up the steps, but she crumpled immediately.

‘I’m getting the car!’ said the woman. ‘Don’t try to move. Benji!’ The dog paid no attention. ‘Benji! Guard the lady!’

Faintly, very faintly, Claire heard her running away. The dog’s barks were close and far away all at the same time. The cold wet step pressed into the small of her back. She thought about Lorna. She thought about how to explain Lorna to the woman. Perhaps she could ask her to drop her off at the bottom of the hill? She could struggle up by herself. That way she wouldn’t see the house. But no. I can’t walk, I can’t, and it will seem stranger to insist on being dropped off. No, I’ll just have to get rid of her as soon as possible, and make sure we never see her again. Move! Hurry up Derek about the house, let it or something, so we can move somewhere else . . . But there was something insistent about this woman, she wouldn’t put it past her to search them out, sniff them out like a gun dog. And how could they ever go to the beach after this? They were bound to see her again. Lorna had to be explained, and it had to happen quickly, as soon as they got through the door. But the pain in her ankle was murderous, it spread over her like a cloud of drowsy insects and she felt herself passing out.

Claire lay, as if dead, neat and stiff on the steps, mouth closed, hands across her chest, greying hair blowing over her frozen face, and when she opened her eyes, her vision was filled with the woman’s tragic, kohl-rimmed eyes. Claire tried to smile, tried to say she was OK, before she was picked up in a bear hug and lugged clumsily up the steps. Her ankles banged against the road, and the woman grunted, shifted her weight to the side, and slung Claire’s knees over the crook of her arm. Claire was crushed up against scarves smelling of white musk, pinned like a baby to the Amazon’s chest.



* * *



The journey back, over the rough, potholed roads, took a long time. The woman had wound down the front seat to let Claire rest, but lying prone prevented her from being able to look out of the window, to recognise familiar landmarks and give accurate directions, and so she was reduced to odd, gnomic pronouncements: ‘Where the road bends towards the round house’, ‘As if you’re going to the sea, but pull back in time to see the white sign.’

The dog shifted mutinously around on the back seat, spreading muddy sand, while the woman pushed the radio dial, trying to find a usable channel.

‘I bought this car off a sweet man somewhere in Wales. He said it had been his wife’s, and she had just died. Couldn’t bear to have the thing around any more. Felt so awful for him, I think I paid too much for it. Didn’t even look in the boot or under the hood or anything. Then, about a week later the tyre went and I hunted around for the spare – did I find it? No! Instead I found a few dozen copies of Shaven Ravers and Fat and Fifty where it should be.’ She laughed, loudly and all on one note. ‘I was trying to get rid of them when the AA man arrived. Oh Lord! Things like that always happen to me. I bet the poor man never even had a wife.’ She made a sharp turn, Claire’s leg banged the dashboard and fresh pain welled. ‘Right, I think this is it. Is it? Oh Lord, you can’t even see down there. Let me describe it to you. Sort of grey – slate is it? – roof . . . Red door. Sweet. You left the lights on.’