Bad Little Girl(86)

Now that Marianne and Lorna spent most of their time together, Benji was left at home with Claire. They took calm walks every afternoon. He was such a comfort, good, easy company, like Johnny had been. When Marianne and Lorna came back each day, Claire’s timid questions about where they’d been and what they’d been doing were met with stony silence from Lorna and empty twittering from Marianne. They’d been ‘people watching’, they’d looked into taking a ‘movement class’, they’d been doing ‘retail therapy’. And they’d come into the kitchen with their dirty shoes, fling bags on the floor, and mess the whole place up again. Sometimes Marianne would throw her some praise.

‘You have been busy, Claire! Look, Lauren, even Benji’s bowl is sparkling clean!’

‘Where’s my bag of scarves?’ The girl looked panicked. ‘The special scarves?’

‘I put it in your bottom drawer. But, really, Lauren, you need to keep them all together. I found one in the garden today—’

‘All right!’ And she charged up the stairs.

‘She’s a bit of a teenager today,’ Marianne smiled. ‘That’s all. Great job on the fridge, Claire!’

Often though, her work was ignored, or criticised.

‘. . . I mean, it’s so difficult to find anything when it’s always being put somewhere else. Claire? Where’s that notebook? My best notebook?’

‘What does it look like?’

‘The one with the birds on it?’

‘I haven’t touched it.’

‘Oh God, never mind, never mind. Lola? Lo? Have a look in your room, will you? God knows where the thing is, and it has the list of classes in it.’

‘Marianne, if you leave things out all the time . . .’

‘One little notebook, Claire! That’s all. One little notebook. It’s hardly the messiest thing in the house. I mean, look at the stair carpet. You’ve been in all day.’

‘I’m planning on doing the stairs tomorrow. But if you’d take your shoes off in the house, it wouldn’t get so bad.’

Marianne rolled her eyes, shouldered past her. ‘Found it yet, Lauren?’

Lorna threw a volley of books down the stairs in response.

‘Brilliant! Got it! Here it IS! Lola! I’ve got the list!’

Lorna ran down the stairs trailing mud and dripping cola. ‘Let me see!’

Claire looked over their shoulders, making out the first thing on the list: ‘Miss Cumberland’s School of Dance’.

‘What’s this?’

Marianne turned glassy, faintly irritated eyes to her. ‘It’s the only good dance school in the area. The Truro one is a joke.’

‘But—’

‘Oh don’t worry, Claire,’ she flapped a hand in her face and turned away, ‘I’ll pay for it.’

‘That’s not what I meant—’

‘She’s ten now, we’ve left it late, but if we get her just in time, I really think she’ll be able to fulfil her potential!’

Lorna smiled and curtseyed. ‘Please Mum? Please? It’s SUCH a good school, and—’

‘Claire, I absolutely promise you that if it wasn’t an amazing opportunity, I wouldn’t ask. But it looks so good, and Lola’s so excited! Please?’

Lorna leapt clumsily down the last two stairs, landing in first position.

‘Look, see? She’s a natural! Look, we’ll be back, oh, within two hours I’d say. I’ll text. Don’t worry. In the meantime, Claire? Stairs?’ And they were on their way out again, Marianne nudging Benji back in the house with one boot. Claire heard her say to Lorna in a stage whisper, ‘Told you. Told you she’d let you.’

A few hours later, Claire got a text: ‘Taster session went brilliantly!!!! L tres excited. Now at cinema to celebrate. Don’t wait up. And later: Forgot we got you that cocoa you like! In the cupboard.



* * *



Because they were definitely away for the next few hours, Claire felt brave enough to put on the news, but she kept the volume down so she could hear them coming back. There was nothing on the fire though, and the drab national news leaked seamlessly into the drabber local news. She made herself a mug of hot chocolate. Lorna had drawn a smiley face in the powder; oh, she could be so thoughtful! She tried to keep that feeling close, she’s a good girl, she’s a thoughtful girl. Not, perhaps, an exceptional one. She needs discipline. She has done for a long time. Another failure of Claire’s. And all this reach-for-the-stars propaganda from Marianne wasn’t helpful, but what can I do about it now? Lorna was always a dreamer – what little girl isn’t? But this emphasis on fame . . . It’s not good. It’s corrupting.

Sitting down was making her sleepy. She got up decisively and got the Hoover out of the understairs cupboard to tackle the stairs. Marianne had a habit of tearing the hair from her hairbrush and dropping it in little frizzy clouds, where they drifted into corners, and they both tracked mud into the house. Claire got the worst of the stains up with carpet cleaner, and then began dragging the Hoover up the stairs, balancing it precariously on each. But then, something happened.

She suddenly felt so lightheaded, dizzy. And she must have got her foot caught in the cord or something, because suddenly she felt herself wavering, and too far away from the bannister to prevent a fall. She tumbled down three stairs backwards, before her head hit the newel post at the bottom and stopped her dead. The cord pulled out of the socket, and in the sudden silence, she heard Benji barking.