Bad Little Girl(73)

And now Claire felt tears herself, warm luxurious tears of self-pity. ‘I always felt that if I did the right thing, that if I was always polite and kind, well, then I’d be rewarded. In some way. But, it never happened. I just, people just, expected me to always be like that. It becomes your role, doesn’t it? And so you’re never really valued.’

Marianne’s face shone in the light of the screen. ‘Lauren does. She absolutely values you. Loves you.’

‘She does?’ And Claire let the happy tears run.

‘Absolutely. Worships you. All the time you were asleep, she was planning her little show for you. To make you feel better. Asked me to get a repeat prescription for you; bought all your favourite food. No, she adores you.’ She clenched Claire’s hand in emphasis, accidentally knocking the brandy glass so that some slopped out. ‘You’re so lucky to have a daughter, it’s such a special bond, mother and daughter.’

‘It is. My mother, well, she died. Recently. And, I just haven’t felt whole since.’

‘Lauren didn’t mention her granny.’

Claire froze. ‘Well, she plays her cards close to her chest. So, no, I’m not surprised that she hasn’t told you about it.’

‘Is that why you came here? To get away from the grief?’

‘It’s a part of it.’

‘Well, at the end of the day – oh my God, such a horrible phrase, I’m sorry! – but still, you have a daughter. You have that closeness. Look, I’ll tell you something – here, have a drop more – all the time we were in the supermarket – Lauren and I – oh it’s silly, I know, but I was thinking, “I hope people think I’m her mum and she’s my daughter”, you know? Just once. You don’t think that’s terrible, do you? Or awful?’

Claire’s head swam. Pills and brandy on a nearly empty stomach. ‘No. I can understand that. I really can.’

‘She’s such a poppet. Such a very affectionate girl, and well, I’d be very proud of her. If she was mine, I mean. You’re so lucky.’

They sat in silence and watched the fire bank down. Of course, after all that brandy, Marianne couldn’t drive home; that vague, unspecified place she inhabited. ‘Horrible hole. Spartan. I’m only house-sitting for a friend – an actor, and you know what they’re like. Barely any amenities, that’s one of the reasons I’m so envious of you lovely ladies.’

‘You can stay here, whenever you’d like.’ Claire said it without thinking.

‘I’m glad, because even though it might seem a bit out there, I feel very close to you. Both of you. And what’s weird is that it doesn’t really feel that weird, you know what I mean? It’s more organic, more natural somehow. Now, let me tell you something that’s a bit more out there. A bit left field. Oh, God, I’ll need another drink for this! You? Yes? Just a little one. OK, I really, truly and totally believe that we were meant to meet. All three of us. There’s something about this situation, us meeting that way on the beach. I don’t know. I sound mad, I know, but I feel it, I do. I am meant to be in your life, and’ – she banged their entwined hands softly on the table top for emphasis – ‘ I. Am. Here. To. Help. Both of you.’

They stayed silent for a few moments, Marianne keeping up her significant gaze and Claire trying to keep her eyes open.

‘And on that note,’ Marianne laughed, rising unsteadily, ‘I really had better get to bed, before I begin to scare you. There’s a mad woman in the attic!’

‘Oh, no, Marianne, really—’

‘I can be too intense for most people, I know that.’ She stared at her knees. ‘But, I know what I feel.’ She tapped the paisley scarf over her heart.

Claire coughed. ‘You’ll be all right in the spare room?’

‘The one overlooking the drive? It’s heavenly. Really.’ Her brandy bright eyes twinkled. ‘Perfect. It’s like something out of Enid Blyton, isn’t it? These low eaves . . . we could be in the Faraway Tree.’

‘You should tell Lauren that. She loves Enid Blyton at the moment.’

‘Oh Lord, who doesn’t? It’s so comforting, isn’t it? Unthreatening? Magical creatures, strong friendships, adventures . . .’ She drifted towards the stairs. ‘Many moons ago I wrote a series of children’s books on that kind of theme – updated though, you know. And not so English . . .’

‘Did you publish them?’ Claire felt pinpricks of wariness again.

‘Oh, I was going to. A company was begging for them, but something stopped me,’ she laughed. ‘Something always seems to stop me.’ She turned to Claire, her sad, craggy face furrowed. ‘Being alone, that’s the hardest thing. I need to be with people to create, to really complete something, you know?’

Claire’s eyes refused to open. The silence lengthened. ‘I do. Being alone, well, it can be hard.’

‘Yes it can.’ Marianne sighed, looking at the ceiling. ‘It can indeed. But! Onwards and upwards! Do you need a hand up the stairs?’

‘No, I’ll be all right. The pills have worked.’

‘OK, I’ll do my best to keep Lola quiet in the morning.’

‘We don’t have a spare toothbrush, I’m afraid.’