Bad Little Girl(81)

‘Well, it’s not terribly practical . . .’

‘Oh, Claire. Talent is talent. And we ought to get her to some modelling agencies, once her hair grows a bit more. In London. The best ones are in London.’

And Claire, scared, would retreat. She wished that she could confide in Marianne, have her take some of the burden. The girl might listen to Marianne, and give up this absurd idea about dancing school. But imagine it . . .

‘You see, Marianne, the girl became very attached to me, and when her parents were murdered, I took her away without telling anyone. Yes, I gave up my job, my home. And now I have nothing but her and no way of rejoining the world. That makes sense, doesn’t it? You’d have done the same, wouldn’t you? Now, what can we do about it?’

Hardly.

Adding to Claire’s isolation was that unspoken ban on the news in the house. Thankfully Marianne showed no interest in current affairs. But sometimes, when they were out, Claire would hesitantly scroll through the networks, looking for updates on the fire investigation, and ‘new lines of inquiry’ about a certain teacher. She was always careful to change the channel back when she’d finished; it wouldn’t do for Lorna to see what she was looking at. Anyway, the world was full of unsolved crimes. Mysteries. Why shouldn’t this fire be one of them?

And maybe there was some way of changing your identity – getting another birth certificate or something, like Lorna said – and they would be able to leave Cornwall, give the child more of a life, an education. But then how to explain the name change to Marianne? You’re getting ahead of yourself, Claire. Who’s to say any of this can happen? And why would Marianne be with us if it could?

It made her – it kept her – exhausted. She slept so much nowadays, eating less, speaking less. As spring advanced, she became more and more desiccated, and the grey at her temples spread in thick, untidy waves. And she knew that Lorna was growing tired of her. The less she did with her, the less Lorna loved her. It was all Marianne nowadays. Marianne had all the ideas, all the energy. They loved each other, they had their own language. And when Marianne wasn’t there, Lorna took it out on Claire.

‘Well, if you’re too tired, then we won’t . . .’, ‘There’s no-one here. There’s no-one to play with.’ She hung about the kitchen, her now downy legs dangling from the work surface, trailing toes on the floor. ‘It’s boring. It’s boring here. You said we’d go to the beach every day.’

‘We used to but you said it was too cold. It was, too. And you told me you were bored of the beach.’

‘Still. What do people do in the country?’ That phrase was pure Marianne.

‘It will be better soon, Lorna. In the summer, there’ll be loads of things to do, and people to play with.’

‘You always say that,’ muttered the girl, drumming bitten fingers.

‘Maybe even earlier, if the weather gets better. People will be here. There’ll be more to do.’ And more people to recognise her, she thought but didn’t say. She remembered, fleetingly, the first few weeks. How happy they’d been. How complete it all felt.

‘Auntie May has to go to London in the spring.’ Lorna picked her nose meditatively.

‘What for?’ It was the first Claire had heard of it.

‘Her book. Something to do with her book.’

‘She’s not writing a book. Not really.’

‘Why would she say she was if she’s not?’ The girl frowned.

‘Well, I think that sometimes she says things that – she just says things, that’s all.’

‘You think she’s lying?’

‘Well not lying. Just . . . exaggerating.’

‘I don’t think she’s lying.’

‘I didn’t mean lying—’

‘Anyway she says she’s going to take me with her. For a break. She says we should get some headshots done.’

‘Lorna, I think, I think well, it’s not too good an idea to get your hopes up. About modelling,’ Claire said carefully.

‘It’s not just modelling. It’s for dancing too. And she’ll pay for it all, she said. She says it’s bad for me to be stuck here. She says London is the place for me.’

‘Well, she’s not your mother. And I say—’

‘Well you’re not, either? Are you?’ And Lorna sauntered off, singing a show tune.

And Claire thought, keep calm. She’s testing you, that’s all. She still needs you, just hang in there. Don’t show your hurt. Don’t show your fear. Don’t drive her further away.



* * *



‘She needs variety,’ Marianne urged. ‘She needs to see more of life, something of the world.’ And Claire, catching the criticism in her voice, lurched to her own defence.

‘It was her idea to come here! But now she doesn’t want to learn.’

Marianne pursed her lips, keeping her eyes on the fire. ‘She learns from experience. Like me. We learn differently, people like us. Come on, Claire, you must feel it too! She’s a free spirit! We’ll have to work with her, she’ll have to lead.’

‘She’s only ten.’

‘But she’s an old soul in many ways. She knows what’s best for her.’ Marianne nodded sagely.