Bad Little Girl(77)

‘Bless her,’ murmured Marianne. ‘Look at her, helping.’

‘I know.’ Claire felt warm in the cold air, looking at the child holding onto Lorna’s limp hand. ‘She’s good with little things.’

The little boy fell on the wood-chipping floor, Lorna squatted down to help him up, and when she looked up and saw Marianne and Claire watching her, she beamed with shy pride.

‘Maybe I’ll try a tractor ride,’ she shouted.

But there were no tractor rides that day. The surly youth in the café explained that tractor rides were only in the summer months. There was a petting session though, guinea pigs and a couple of rabbits.

‘What do you say, Lola? Do you want to make friends with a guinea pig?’ Marianne pushed her face down and raised her voice. And Claire thought, why does she do that? Lorna’s not deaf. Or an idiot. She fancied she saw weak irritation pass over Lorna’s face too.

Lorna had to wait in line for her few minutes with a sleepy rabbit; the guinea pigs were already being monopolised by younger children. It sat, emotionless, on her knee while she stroked and petted it, felt its ears, and, inevitably, said that she wanted her own rabbit to take home. Claire and Marianne exchanged nervous glances.

‘We can think about it,’ said Claire eventually.

‘But Benji might not like it,’ added Marianne. ‘Dogs and rabbits don’t really get on.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, dogs hunt rabbits. Benji might eat him!’ She was trying to be humorous, but Lorna panicked.

‘He wouldn’t eat him! Would he?’ She turned terrified eyes on Claire.

‘Well, we don’t have a rabbit anyway, so you really don’t need to worry about it yet.’

‘But we might get a rabbit, and if we do, Benji will eat it!’

‘Lola, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it!’ Marianne was distraught. ‘Benji wouldn’t really eat it, I’m sure!’

‘Eat it, eat it, eat it.’ The tow-headed toddler was beside them again. ‘Eat eat eat . . .’

Lorna turned to him – ‘Shut UP!’ – and the boy’s face folded in on itself as he began to cry. Lorna pinched him viciously just above the elbow. ‘Baby! Crybaby!’ The child’s howls grew louder, his mother folded him up in her arms and gave Lorna a look of hate.

‘What do you think you’re doing? A big girl like you pinching a baby!’

‘I didn’t pinch him!’ hissed Lorna.

‘I saw you!’ The woman glared at Claire and Marianne. ‘I saw her!’

Lorna looked directly at Claire, and shrieked, ‘He pinched me first! He kicked me too!’

Claire was frozen. She’d seen what Lorna had done, and Lorna knew she’d seen it. Why? Why do such a thing? And then, inevitably, Lorna began to cry, and Marianne was there, hugging Lorna and throwing nasty looks of her own. The toddler kept on howling, and Lorna cried again, ‘He kicked me! You saw it!’ She looked up at Marianne beseechingly. ‘You saw him do it, didn’t you?’ The other mother faltered, looked at Marianne questioningly.

‘It was a nasty kick,’ said Marianne grimly.

‘Ben, did you kick the big girl?’ The toddler, snot-covered and bawling, couldn’t answer. The mother, suddenly tired, asked again, ‘Did you?’

‘He did indeed,’ answered Marianne firmly, pulling away a now sobbing Lorna with one hand and putting back the rabbit with the other. ‘Aggression in young boys is very common, but if I were you I’d keep a close eye on him. Seriously. Before it gets any worse. Starting a fight with an older child – and a girl – he’s got it from somewhere.’ And she hustled Lorna away, leaving Claire alone with the woman and her son, exposed and shocked.

‘Is he all right?’ Claire managed.

‘What do you think?’ Now that Marianne had left, the woman was bolder.

‘I can only apologise—’

‘Didn’t do anything,’ the little boy snuffled. ‘Didn’t do anything.’

‘You didn’t kick the big girl?’

‘Where’s the rabbit?’ The boy, all cried out, was on to new things.

‘Ben, listen to me. Did you kick that big girl?’

‘Bunny!’ He lunged at the rabbit; his mother’s face creased with irritation and fatigue. ‘Did you, Ben? Ben, look at me please—’

‘BUNNY!’

Claire took the opportunity to leave, shamefaced.

She went into the ladies and splashed her face with cold water. She shivered at her reflection in the warped childproof mirror. So thin and old, withered and frightened. Her cheeks were sunken, her flat breasts almost concave. She looked an absolute wreck.

That little boy had not kicked Lorna, she was absolutely sure of it. No, Lorna had turned on him, without warning; the same boy – Claire had been so proud of her! – she had been playing with so nicely in the adventure playground.

Why?

She shivered again, but not with cold. Fear. She’d have to confront her, that’s all. Nip it in the bud. She looked at herself getting stern in the warped mirror. I know you pinched the boy, but what I want to know is why? And then she would march Lorna back to the bunnies, find the little boy, and make her apologise. Yes, there’d be tears, and of course she’d be angry, but she couldn’t be allowed to get away with something like that, she just couldn’t! She jumped as a woman came into the room, clanging the door behind them and trailing a chattering toddler. She washed her hands and waited until they’d gone before looking in the mirror again and rehearsing her speech, ‘I saw you . . .’ but it didn’t work a second time.