Claire furtively wiped her eyes and took a shallow breath. ‘I think the problem with the world is that people don’t care enough,’ she muttered.
‘People care as much as they can, as much as their nature allows them to. And you can’t compensate for others’ lack by caring too much. You have a vision of children, Claire, that sometimes verges on the religious. It’s as if you want to save them from the sin of adulthood.’
‘I know they’re not saints—’
‘Do you? I’m not sure about that.’
There was a long silence then, and neither looked at the other. Johnny whined at the door. The clock ticked.
Claire had intended to stay for the evening but didn’t, and on the drive back to her flat she tried to think about Norma’s words, but full understanding eluded her. Mother really ought to get that cough looked at again. She was thinner too.
* * *
Tuesday morning, and Claire had been in school since seven, reacquainting herself with Lorna’s school file, as well as Carl’s. What a catalogue of disaster that family was. Dyslexia, dyspraxia, ADHD, everything. No mention of a father, a grandmother in prison, Carl’s colourful school career – the stealing, the exclusions, the unfortunate fire during harvest festival – was all there, as was Lorna’s mistake with the erasers and a few little skirmishes in the playground. Nothing on the mother’s ‘partner’, but Claire was sure there’d be mentions of him in the court reports in the local paper. She must find out his surname and check. And what about the neighbour – what was his surname? Oh, why hadn’t she asked?
By the time she was sitting in James’ office, sipping weak tea, she was exhausted. James was studiously ignoring her, frowning at his computer screen and clicking angrily. At ten there was a knock on the door, it opened with no pause, and Lorna was propelled into the room by Ruth, the office manager. Lorna’s hair was pinned up in messy bunches and her cheeks were suspiciously pink. A smear of lipstick, inexpertly rubbed into the skin. She smiled happily and arranged herself on a swivel chair. Claire sat on her left, James frowned behind his desk by the window.
‘Miss.’ She nodded to Claire, and turned, beaming, to James. ‘Hello Mr Clarke.’
‘Lorna.’ James finally turned away from the screen. ‘Lorna. Would you like a glass of water?’
‘No. Thank you.’
‘Miss Penny – can you make sure the door’s closed? Lorna, there’s nothing to worry about, but I’d like to have a bit of a chat. About home. Is that OK?’
The girl giggled nervously. ‘Home!’
‘Yes. Just a – Miss Penny? Shut, is it? – few questions. You’re not in trouble, don’t worry.’
Lorna glanced at Claire, worried now. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Nothing, Lorna. Nothing. Just – well, you remember when Miss Penny took you home the other day? Well, after that we had a talk with your mum, just to find out why she didn’t come to collect you—’
‘I know.’ Again that nervous grin. Claire wanted to put a comforting hand on her knee, but didn’t.
‘Well, then your mum spoke with Miss Penny about, well, about some of the things that you’ve said about home? About your step-dad?’
‘What’s a step-dad?’
‘Pete. He means Pete, Lorna,’ murmured Claire.
‘What about Pete?’
‘Well’ – James cut his eyes at Claire, annoyed, helpless – ‘she said that you told her that Pete has . . . done some things to you?’
‘What things?’ Lorna’s face was scrupulously blank. Behind the lipstick swathes, her cheeks were sallow.
‘Well, suppose you tell me.’ He smiled tiredly at her.
‘Dunno what you mean.’ She shifted uncomfortably, and her fingers pulled at the nubby fabric of the chair seat. One hand strayed to Claire’s chair next to her, and Claire took it.
‘Lorna, can you tell me if Pete, or anyone else, has done anything to . . . hurt you, or make you feel frightened?’ asked Claire gently.
There was a pause. Lorna stared at James’ ‘World’s Best Dad’ coffee mug. ‘No.’
James blinked significantly at Claire and clenched his jaw. ‘Nothing, Lorna?’ he asked.
‘No.’ The girl's eyes were wide now, and focused on him. ‘No, nothing.’
‘And what about a neighbour?’ Claire asked gently.
‘What?’
‘Your mum told me that you said he asked you to do a dance?’ Claire murmured.
‘Oh! No!’ Lorna laughed and swung her legs.
‘Lorna. If there is anything happening at home – anything that you don’t like, that makes you sad or, or scared – you must tell me. Us. At the school. Do you understand?’ Claire reached out and touched one jiggling knee.
‘Yes, Miss.’
‘You must, Lorna.’
The girl looked confused, but stopped moving and nodded solemnly. ‘I will.’
There was a small silence. James drummed his fingers on the desk and raised his eyebrows at Claire. ‘Miss Penny will take you back to your class now, Lorna. OK?’
‘OK.’ She picked up her bag, adjusted her hair and hopped pertly off the seat.
Outside the door she slipped her hand in Claire’s. ‘That was weird.’
‘Lorna? I meant what I said in there – if anything happens at home, you will tell me?’
The girl giggled and swung their joined hands.
‘You must, Lorna.’
‘Oh I will. I saw you at the shops. On Saturday. You were with an old lady.’
‘Yes. That’s my mother.’
‘You’ve got a mum, too?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s weird.’ Her steps had slowed and her bag dragged on the ground. ‘Is she poorly?’
‘Bit of a cold.’
‘She looked poorly. My mum’s a bit poorly, too.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘Dunno. She was in bed all weekend. She fell or something.’
Claire felt a little stab of anxiety. ‘Fell?’
‘Brrrr! It’s freezing, isn’t it?’
‘I hope she didn’t hurt herself too badly. When she fell. Is, er, is Pete looking after her?’ Claire asked carefully.
‘No. He’s not there. They had a fight. Or he got angry.’ The girl shrugged. Her steps had slowed to a near standstill.
‘What did he get angry about?’
‘You.’
‘Me?’ Claire stood still. Her heart pounded in every corner of her body. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. All the stuff you asked today. I think.’