Bad Little Girl(98)

‘It burned them all up. You know that. It was on the telly.

‘Did Pete start the fire?’ She could hear the wet crunch as Lorna bit into her bunches. She ground away at the ends with her sharp little canines and didn’t answer.

‘Did you do it?’ Claire kept her eyes closed because she didn’t want to see the girl’s face as she answered.

She sighed again. ‘Well, what did it say on the TV?’

‘It said someone put petrol through the letterbox and in the hall.’

‘That, then.’

‘Oh Lorna . . .’

‘Yeah. Petrol and some lighter fluid down the drains, too.’

‘It didn’t say that on the news. About the lighter fluid.’

She shrugged. ‘I think it did, didn’t it?’

Claire took a deep breath. ‘You did it.’ Her body relaxed as she said it, her mind suddenly clear, but tired. So tired. ‘Why?’

Another shrug. ‘You said you loved me, you said you’d take care of me and we’d live at the seaside and have pets and no school.’

‘Tell me, please Lorna, just, please, tell me. Was anything you told me true?’

‘Please tell me the trooooooth,’ Lorna sang, and giggled.

‘Please, Lorna. Some of it had to be true?’

‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ Lorna said with finality.

‘Lorna. Did you hurt Johnny? Did you kill him?—’



* * *



The girl sighed. ‘He was old. He wouldn’t have liked it here anyway. Everything happens for a reason.’ She giggled, hiccupped, and moved forward. ‘I can’t believe how well my elbow healed.’

‘Lorna?’

‘Lorna.’ The girl’s voice took on a privileged lilt. ‘“Lorna, you’re safe with me, Lorna. Lorna, you don’t deserve to be treated badly. Lorna.”’ She walked forward, pigeon-toed. ‘You did say all that, didn’t you? And the stuff about what happened to you. You shouldn’t have told me that. That’s private.’

She reached forward, gently stroked Claire’s cheek. Her other hand swung at Claire with a spanner. It smashed into her cheek with a faint clang, throwing her, stunned, against the wall.

‘Auntie May! Auntie MAY!’ Lorna was terrified, so frightened. Claire heard Marianne running down the steps. The skin under Claire’s eye felt hot and tight. Blood tricked into her mouth.

‘What happened?’ Marianne was breathing hard, panicked.

‘She tried – she tried to grab me!’ wailed Lorna. ‘She tried to grab me! Like you said she would! And I-I hit her. I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry nothing! You shouldn’t be alone with her – I told you. Give me that, darling.’

Claire heard Lorna sob as she gave her the spanner.

‘I took it for protection. ’Cause you said she might grab me,’ cried Lorna.

‘That was sensible—’ Claire heard a grunt as Marianne swung the spanner this time. It connected with her neck, and Claire collapsed like a felled ox.

‘Don’t be scared, poppet.’ Marianne threw the spanner into the corner of the doorway. She sounded shaky.

‘No, I’m all right, Auntie May. I’m just glad you got here in time!’

‘Let’s go now, darling.’

‘Can I have a minute with Mum? She can’t hurt me any more, if you wait behind the door?’

‘I’m not leaving you again—’

‘Auntie May? She’s fainted or something I think. She can’t hurt me, but give me the spanner, just in case. I-I need to see her? Like this? All floppy and, well . . .’

‘Powerless? Oh darling, listen, she doesn’t have any power over you at all any more. She can’t hurt you any more! You’re with me now.’

‘I know. I do know, but please. I just want a minute. It’ll really help me with what you were saying, what was it?’

‘Processing, darling. Dealing with the pain and coming through stronger.’ Marianne’s voice rang with quiet pomposity.

‘That. Yes. So, if you could kind of leave me alone?’ Lorna sounded just a tiny bit exasperated.

‘OK. All right. I’ll wait behind the door? All right, darling? Nothing can happen to you, not with me there.’

‘Can you, just – wait in the kitchen or something?’

‘I’ll wait at the top of the stairs. Don’t worry, I’ll be right there.’ Claire heard her trip-trapping across the stone floor and tottering up the stairs.

Lorna waited until she was sure Marianne had gone. Claire heard a scrabbling sound, and a sob. Claire felt her hands being fondled, and small, sticky fingers intertwining with hers as Lorna lay on her, awkwardly. Tears soaked into her chest.

‘Don’t be angry at me. Don’t hate me!’

Claire played dead. It was her only weapon. She kept her eyes screwed shut, her body limp in the girl’s embrace, and said nothing.

‘Don’t be angry with me! Please!’ Another sob. More scrabbling, and that distinctive lolloping trot across the cellar floor.

Lorna’s footsteps died away upstairs. Claire passed out then.





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