‘It’s Miss Penny!’ The girl’s eyes widened. ‘It’s Miss Penny from school!’
‘See you in court, Pete,’ laughed one of the men, and turned on the TV again.
Pete turned a worried face to Claire. ‘You’re her teacher?’
‘No. No. Not hers. I’m a teacher at the school, though.’
‘Well, look, it wasn’t my fault, the dog. Or Carl’s. I mean we did all we could and you didn’t get bit—’
‘Do you want a whisky?’ asked Lorna.
‘I mean, it wasn’t our fault. I’m sorry and everything, but you can’t say it’s our fault.’ Pete shifted uneasily. One of his friends laughed, while another shook his head. ‘If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Carl’s. I mean, more your fault, but the dogs belong to him – he let them out—’
‘I don’t think it’s your fault. Don’t worry,’ said Claire, carefully. He didn’t seem drunk, but he was drinking. People were unpredictable when they drank.
Pete’s face relaxed. ‘You live round here?’
‘No,’ Lorna murmured. ‘She lives in Western Bridge, near the school.’ And then she shimmied away like a shadow.
‘What you doing out here?’
‘I got lost.’ Claire tried to smile. ‘I went for a walk and got lost.’
‘Better walks to be had than this one.’ He stared at her meditatively. ‘School send you?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Did the school send you here? Check up on us?’
Claire was honestly bewildered. ‘What? No.’
‘’Cause it’s not our fault if she doesn’t want to go in. Can’t make her go in, can I? They said we’d get some help with her but we never have. Said they’d do some assessment and they never did.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Said they’d assess her. She’s not right, Lorna.’
‘She’s all right,’ said one of the men nearby. ‘She’s all right. Just daft.’
Lorna appeared at that moment, holding a glass of whisky, filled to the brim. She curtseyed as she gave it to Claire.
‘Milady!’
‘She’s not right,’ muttered Pete as the girl settled herself at Claire’s feet like a kitten.
‘It’s nice to see you, Miss.’
‘Said they’d do an assessment. Nik! Nikki! When’d they say they’d do the assessment on her?’ Pete yelled towards the house.
‘She’s not there. Sent her down the town – remember?’
‘Huh.’ Pete opened another beer, thoughtfully, mutinously. ‘One fucking time they send a teacher round, she’s not here and I’ve got to deal with it.’
‘What assessment?’ Claire asked softly. Were social services already involved?
‘I don’t know what assessment. Something. Behavioural something . . .’
‘Really, I wasn’t sent round. I-I’m not even working at the moment. At the school? I just got a bit lost in your area.’ Claire tried to put some steel in her voice but just came off as plaintive. Lorna poked her knee.
‘Nice to see you, Miss Penny.’
‘It’s nice to see you too, Lorna.’ She put the drink on the ground and tried to stand, but the deckchair was angled too far back and getting up was difficult. She put her hand on Lorna’s shoulder to try to boost herself up, but the girl flinched and jerked backwards.
‘Fuck’s sake Lorna – watch the fucking glass!’ And Lorna saved it. One of the dogs licked at the splashes on the paving stones.
Someone turned the volume on the TV up further. Inside the house the dogs began to bark again. A neighbour told them to turn the telly down, a shouting match ensued which ended in the neighbour coming round for the end of the game and a beer. Every time Claire tried to get up, Lorna just smiled and patted her back down to her seat.
‘I really have to go, Lorna. Really. I have to get back for . . .’ But, of course, there was nothing to get back to.
‘Mervyn! Found your dog?’ Pete yelled at a small, gnome-like man in shorts and a muscle top who was leaning over the fence, smiling.
‘Did he get out?’
‘He’s always out. Beer?’
‘All right. Lorna, Lorna my love, how are you?’ Mervyn stroked the top of her head with one quivering palm. His arms were long, simian-like, and roped with thin muscle. He wore his hair in a balding flat top. ‘How’s my darling?’
Lorna flinched, and Claire thought, the neighbour. Mervyn. Do a little dance. He asked her to do a little dance. She felt sick. Lorna’s eyes grew large and moist.
‘Lorna, come inside with me.’ Claire got up shakily and grasped the girl’s hand. ‘You can show me your room.’
‘How’s my girl?’ Mervyn called at her back. A few of the men laughed at this.
Lorna broke into a trot and she led Claire up the uncarpeted stairs.
‘Lorna, that man—’ gasped Claire.
‘Here’s my room.’
‘Is that the man who—’
‘Look! Here’s my room!’
‘Is that the man who asked you to dance? Did he hurt you?’ Lorna gazed at Claire, and pursed her lips. ‘Lorna?’
‘Come and sit down,’ Lorna said, with finality.
She must share the room, and the bed with her brother. It was a riot of filth.
‘It’s Carl,’ she apologised. ‘I’m a lot neater than him. There’s his side, look – see what it’s like? But my half is better. Here, sit down.’ She moved some rubble off the bed – doll heads and scraps of paper, a doubled-up pillow with dark stains on it. ‘You comfy now?’
Claire sank into the broken springs of the mattress. ‘Yes, fine.’
‘You didn’t get bit?’
‘No. Just had a bit of a shock.’
‘Aha!’ The girl produced the whisky once more. Claire took an obliging sip.
‘Lorna, that man . . .’
‘Mr Pryce?’
Claire took a deep breath. ‘Is he the man who . . . who asked you to do a dance?’
‘I want to talk about nice things. Like friends talk about? Can we, please?’ The girl turned tearful eyes on Claire, and grasped her hand tightly.
‘All right,’ Claire managed, trembling. ‘How have you been getting on, Lorna?’
‘Oh, well. Very well. I’ve been getting ready for my big debut!’ She pronounced it ‘debbutt’.
‘Oh really? And where is that?’
‘I’m starring in a West End musical!’
‘Starring?’
She nodded. ‘They picked me because I can dance.’