Bad Little Girl(96)

I want to go home, Claire thought, like a child. I want to go home, back to Mother’s. I want my job. I want my eiderdown, my trinkets, my books and my pride back. I want to wake up. I want to go home.

It was an hour before she was able to stop shaking, and another by the time Mother’s voice was summoned, bringing something approaching clear-headedness, practicality. Pull yourself together, Claire, and don’t be such a milksop! You have a plan. Do I? Yes! The solicitor’s letter, the will! That’s your plan. But Marianne . . .? Marianne wouldn’t know the truth if she found it dead in her bathtub, she’s easily fooled. And as for Lorna, anything complicated or legal bores her to death. You can do this, Claire. You can. But, it couldn’t all be done today, no. It’ll have to be spread over a few days. Today, plant the seed of the will problem. Then go into town a few times to ‘see the solicitor’, then say we have to leave. A few days. A few days of breathing space, time to finesse . . .

Her hands were steady now, her tear-ruined face almost back to normal. Just get away from them – now. Just drive away now. No-one’s seen you with Lorna. You could be free. But, what if I leave, and Lorna tells? Tells people that the only reason she was in Claire’s house was that Claire took her there? She’d threatened that, after all. If you tell them, I’ll tell more. That’s what she’d said. God knows what she’s cooked up, God knows what contingency plans she’s already put in place. So tired, so tired, not pill-tired, not-used-to-using-my-brain tired. Bone-tired as Mother would have said.

No, Claire, no. She closed her eyes and took deep, slow breaths, trying to get to the core of herself, where the courage lived. It was getting dark by the time she got back.



* * *



Turning down the lane to the house, she saw a scrap of material caught in the hedge. Then another; she slowed. Pink netting of a ballet skirt. The door to the house stood open and yellow light was pouring into the darkening driveway; Marianne was silhouetted against it, waving frantically.

‘. . . gone!’ she was yelling. ‘Gone! Did you see her on the way?’

‘What?’ Claire stopped the car with a jerk, and Marianne lurched towards the driver’s side and yanked open the door.

‘Lauren! She’s gone! Where’ve you been for such a long time? You didn’t take your phone—’

‘I was, I was at the solicitor’s—’ Claire brought out the lie like she was about to be sick. ‘I had a letter—’

‘Oh, God, Claire, who cares about that now? Lauren? She’s gone!’

‘Gone where?’

‘Oh my God, it’s all so crazy! You didn’t see her on the lane? No?’

‘No. What? Marianne—’

‘Come inside, come inside—’ She herded her out of the car and into the kitchen, where the strip light shone unforgivingly on what looked like the aftermath of a fight.

‘What happened?’ Claire asked weakly, picking up a chair.

‘I don’t know. God. Tea?’ Marianne had her hair pushed over one side of her face. Her expression was hard to read.

‘Tea? No. Marianne? What happened?’

‘Something upset her. That’s all I know.’ She kept her back to Claire, and fiddled in a drawer for a teaspoon.

‘What?’ Claire was dazed. There was glass on the floor; not a kitchen glass, but the toothbrush glass from upstairs. Lorna must have brought it downstairs specifically to break it in the kitchen. ‘What happened?’

Marianne took some deep breaths, and swung around dramatically. ‘She just went crazy! She was so upset. Something about the cellar. She said she’d lost something, and couldn’t find it.’ Then she turned round again and busied herself with a tea bag.

‘In the cellar?’ Claire asked stupidly.

‘Yes. In the cellar.’

‘What?’

‘Well I don’t know! All I know is she came streaking up here, looking for you, and when I said you weren’t back yet she went crazy. Smashing things. And then she just tore out of the door, still in her dancing kit. And then you didn’t have your phone—’

‘What did she say was in the cellar?’

‘I don’t know, Claire, it’s not my house. I’ve never been down there.’

‘Didn’t you look?’

‘No! It’s not my cellar, is it? I thought maybe you kept private things down there. And I wouldn’t pry.’

‘This doesn’t make sense.’

‘I know that!’ Marianne stared at her angrily. ‘I just felt so helpless. And you not being here, and everything. She just tore out of the place like a hurricane. If you’d been here, I know she would have been able to calm down. She needed her mum, Claire.’ Marianne gave a small, tight smile.

‘Have you looked for her?’

‘She’s only been gone a few minutes. Look, I’ll take the car and go down the lane looking for her, you go down to the cellar, and try to find out what upset her so much.’ Marianne was all eyes and flurrying fingers. She hustled Claire through the door to the cellar, banging the light switch down with one mottled hand.

The cellar steps smelt of damp, and there was a rottenness underneath it, like tooth decay. It was dark here, despite the bare bulb, and cool as a tomb. Claire could hear Marianne tapping one fingernail on the door frame.