Bad Little Girl(69)

‘All Lauren’s idea, especially the ginger beer. Very Enid Blyton! She said she’d never tried it, so I said that we’d get it as a treat, to see if she liked it.’

‘Where is she?’ Claire lumbered onto a chair.

‘Oh, she’s upstairs. She’s putting on a little show. Very exciting.’

‘Did you go out, then?’ Claire was sitting with her leg up on a kitchen chair, watching Marianne bustling about the kitchen, cleaning. Her idea of cleaning was very similar to Lorna’s: great smears of gingerbread mix remained on the surfaces, the floor was dusted with flour.

‘We had to! You were dead to the world. I camped out in your spare room last night, to keep Lola company. You don’t mind me calling her Lola, do you? It’s such a sweet little name.’

‘No, no, of course not. Lord, I’ve been asleep all that time?’

‘Codeine. It’ll do that.’

‘Oh my God.’ Claire pushed a dry hand through her greasy hair. ‘I can’t believe it! That’s terrible! L— Lauren must have been so worried.’

‘Oh she was fine. We played Monopoly, then did a bit of shopping.’

‘I was really asleep all night?’

‘Out like the proverbial.’

‘I’m so sorry! I must give you the money – for the pills and the food and everything.’

‘Oh, no need to do that.’

‘I will though. I must. It’s not fair of us to impose on you like this. I mean, you must have your own life to get back to . . .’

‘Well, I write. I’m a writer. So I make my own deadlines.’ Marianne put a bit of wet kitchen roll on the bottom of her boot and wiped up some of the flour.

Of course she’s a writer, thought Claire. That’s why she doesn’t seem to do anything. ‘What are you working on at the moment?’ she asked politely.

‘Oh, so many things. My main focus at the moment is the screenplay.’

‘Oh?’

‘I really shouldn’t talk about it, though.’ Her eyes were unfocused.

‘Why not?’

‘Well, it’s all secretive, what I’m doing. It’s a commission from someone pretty big. All I can tell you is that it’s a suburban murder mystery.’

‘Oh, that sounds interesting,’ said Claire, all interest dead.

‘Yes, so that’s why I’m here in this godforsaken place. To get some peace, finally be able to work, you know? London can be so distracting.’

‘You come from London?’

‘Near London, yes.’ Marianne looked pointedly at the floor to discourage any more questions. There was a pause, and Claire realised that Marianne was about to ask where they were from in return. Her fuzzed brain searched for a plausible answer. If she told her, surely the story of the fire would come up, and Marianne might put two and two together? Perhaps she could claim that they were from one of the towns nearby; that might explain Lorna’s accent. She waited for the question, her stomach tight, before finally realising that it wouldn’t come. Marianne wasn’t interested – in Claire, at least – and relief drove out pique. The woman’s self-absorption would make everyone’s lives a lot easier.

‘Well, thanks again Marianne. For looking after Lauren. She can be a bit of a handful.’

‘Oh, she’s a darling. No, she reminds me so much of myself when I was that age. She has great potential, hasn’t she? Her dancing! I could tell that she’s a natural dancer just from seeing her walk across a room.’ She was sitting down now, back straight as a board, chest out, one hand waving the flame of her lighter to the filter of her cigarette. ‘It kills the harmful fibres,’ she explained. ‘It’s better for my voice.’

‘Oh, yes, you’re a singer, aren’t you?’

‘Well, not here! In London, yes, and other places. But, my God, Karen—’

‘Claire.’

‘Claire, what do people do in the country?’ She drummed uneven nails on the table and blew smoke out of the side of her mouth. ‘Before I met you guys I was going crazy. Cccccraaaaazzzzy, as Lola says.’

‘I think it gets more crowded in the summer.’

‘Oh God, I’ll be long gone by then!’ She yawned and stretched. ‘Book launch in April.’

‘For a screenplay?’

‘No, not a proper launch, of course. More informal. A party. I’ll get friends around, caterers, Mexican food, people will bring their guitars. Like that. You guys will have to come.’

Claire felt dizzy. ‘Perhaps I’ll have something to eat.’

‘No, no, let’s wait until she comes back. She was very insistent on having breakfast with you.’

‘I shouldn’t have slept so long.’

‘She didn’t want to wake you.’

The conversation dried up and they waited, awkwardly, together, Marianne smoking and tapping, Claire trying to stop her stomach from rumbling. The dog whined in his sleep under the table while the clock ticked.

‘What is she doing, anyway?’

‘I’m sworn to secrecy.’ Marianne made a little zipping motion over her lips and flicked ash on the floor. ‘Do you need some more pills? It’s better to keep taking them while you heal. Trust me, I was housebound for weeks once with just this thing.’