Bad Little Girl(83)

‘Is she OK?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Can I? I mean, should I go and see her?’

‘I don’t know. She’s quite upset.’

‘I don’t understand how we couldn’t have heard her.’

‘No. But, it can’t happen again. You know she’s afraid of the dark.’

‘Since when?’ This was a new one on Claire.

‘Since always.’ Marianne’s voice crackled with irritation. ‘You know that.’

‘She’s never told me that.’

‘Well, I knew, so you must have done.’ Marianne drummed her nails on the table, and took a seat. ‘I should have got her that night light she was asking for the other day. Stupid! She was asking for it, said she needed it. I didn’t think.’

‘Well, listen, don’t be too hard on yourself. She’s always been able to find the light before—’

‘Well, she didn’t tonight, and now she’s hurt. Because of us!’

‘Marianne—’

‘Because of us chattering away.’

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘No. No. I think perhaps we’re drinking too much. Maybe that’s why we didn’t hear her on the stairs.’

‘Come on, you haven’t had a drink today.’ Claire smiled.

‘No. But you have.’ Marianne stared at her hands, her mouth a tight line.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Look, nothing. I don’t mean anything. But I will say this, we have to be alert, we have to be more – present. Lola’s special. She has to be taken care of.’ Marianne’s voice quivered between tears and anger. ‘I think from now on, early nights wouldn’t do either of us any harm. I’ll go to bed when she does, just so she knows that someone is in the room next door, so she knows she’s safe.’

‘She’s been fine up till now,’ Claire bridled.

‘But she hasn’t. She’s been too proud to tell you. She’s been frightened at night for a while. All this time we’ve been nattering away downstairs, enjoying a drink, she’s been terrified and alone up there.’

‘I don’t . . . I mean, how were we meant to know?’

Marianne passed a lumpy hand through her hair. ‘Keep our eyes open? Think a bit less selfishly? Oh God, look, we know now. Go and see her. Tuck her in.’

‘Really?’ Claire felt suddenly frightened.

‘Yes once you do that, we’ll both go straight to bed so she won’t have to be frightened.’

Claire advanced up the stairs slowly, unwillingly. Lorna’s room was a mess. The bed in the corner heaved with toys and clothes, and the painted chest of drawers was stained with lipsticks, and scored with felt tip pen. The whole place smelt sweet, buttery, slightly fetid. Claire edged fearfully through the door, towards the bundled-up shape on the bed, and stood on a battery-powered hamster; it squeaked and clucked, and scuttled off under the bed.

‘I was nearly asleep,’ intoned Lorna from the depths of her pillow.

‘I wanted to come and see if you were all right.’ Claire sat on the bed, hesitantly patting the girl's shoulder. ‘Are you?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Did you hurt yourself?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Lorna—’

‘Lauren.’

‘Lauren—’

‘You were about to tell.’

‘About to tell who, what?’ Claire laughed weakly.

‘You were about to tell her! You know!’ The girl sat up suddenly. ‘About the fire! About us! You were going to tell!’

‘I—’

‘Yes you were!’ she hissed, and hit Claire’s arm with one small fist. The pain bloomed. ‘You were!’

‘I’m sorry! Look, I wasn’t really, I – silly – I thought, just for a moment, that she might be able to help us or something, but I wasn’t really—’

The girl clenched her fists on the faux patchwork duvet cover. Her mouth was a thin, contemptuous line. ‘If you tell anyone, you’ll be sorry. You will be. I’m telling you now, you’ll be really, really sorry.’ It should have been funny, this little girl laying down the law, barking orders from her toy-strewn bed. But it wasn’t funny. Claire rubbed her arm, frightened. Lorna took her hand, and squeezed, hard. ‘If you tell, I’ll tell more. Do you get me?’

‘What? No, what?’

‘I. Will. Tell. More,’ the girl said through her teeth. ‘I’ll tell the police all about how you kept me at your house, overnight. How you took me away. I’ll tell about the fire.’

‘What do you mean?’ The child’s pale face seemed to fill the room; those hateful words hissed through tiny teeth. ‘What do you mean, tell about the fire?’ Claire managed.

‘I’ll say you did it.’ It was a whisper, full of venom.

‘You couldn’t. They’ll know that’s not true,’ Claire whispered back.

‘They won’t know anything until I tell them, will they? And I will, if you don’t shut up.’ She was squeezing Claire’s hand harder now, hard enough that in the morning she would be left with four small bruises on each knuckle, like fingerprints. ‘If you do shut up then everything stays the same.’