Lorna snorted. ‘I called him Dad. They wanted me to anyway, and I did for a bit. And then I stopped and Mum was pissed off with me. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t use language like that,’ she sniffed again.
‘And your mum, was she, nice?’
‘She was! Until Pete came, and the dogs. And then she wasn’t. They all thought I wasn’t. They all ganged up on me. It was awful.’ She looked at Claire directly for the first time. ‘You know.’
Static interfered with the radio station, and Lorna slapped the off button sharply. Her face was red, her eyes beginning to water. Claire cleared her throat. ‘It’s best to talk about these things, Lorna.’
‘These things,’ Lorna muttered.
‘It really is.’
‘Oh, look, your breakfast is all cold now!’
‘That doesn’t matter, Lorna, it really is best to—’
‘I’ve ruined your breakfast!’ The girl was getting ready to cry again.
‘Lorna—’
‘It’s ruined now!’ And she covered her eyes and began to sob.
Claire stood up straight. ‘Well, listen, how about this? How about I go back to bed, and then you bring me breakfast like you planned? That way nothing’s ruined, and everything’s perfect.’
‘Really?’ Lorna’s smile was like the sun coming out. Her eyes glittered, her cheeks flushed. ‘You mean it?’
‘Well, yes, of course, if it will make you happy.’
‘OK! I’ll make some more toast. Not crumbly toast; toast you like.’
‘But I do like crumbly toast—’
‘No you don’t.’ Lorna smiled, as if they shared a secret. ‘You don’t really. You just said that to make me feel better.’
‘No, really—’
‘I know that’s what you did. That’s the sort of kind thing you would do. Now, go back to bed and I’ll bring you a nicer breakfast.’
Claire did as she was told, and climbed, shivering, back into her rumpled cold bed. She lay looking at the ceiling, needing to use the toilet, but not wanting to get up in case Lorna came, saw that the bed was empty, and got upset again. Just when she seemed to be feeling more secure. Poor girl, so sure she’s in the wrong, desperate to please. It was so important to tread carefully with her; let her do things at her own pace, and expect set-backs. After all, this sort of thing was so common amongst abuse victims; she knew, she’d completed a fair few one-day training courses after all. A terrible life can’t all be put right in a few weeks. Patience. That was the key. Let her talk when she wants to. Don’t force it, foster trust and let her lead. But make her feel safe. Make her feel loved.
There was a creak on the stairs. Claire arranged herself on the pillows, and fixed her smile at the door. In came Lorna with her new breakfast, not really toast, more like hot bread, and generously smeared with the cheap, sugary jam Lorna loved. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching Claire with bright eyes, urging her to eat every mouthful.
They spent the rest of the day planning how they would decorate the house – pink walls and a canopy bed for Lorna's bedroom. A treasure chest and a china tea set. The girl drew plans, made lists and chattered away while Claire thought doubtfully of watching the news. But no. No. A few days’ grace. A holiday. Then we can face the inevitabilities, deal with the fallout. Because, now, look at her! Happy as a lark, drawing in front of the fire, rosy-cheeked and relaxed. It would be a sin to take this peace away from her so soon.
* * *
‘Can we go to the beach today?’ Lorna asked the next morning.
‘Isn’t it a bit cold?’ Claire looked at the dark window.
‘No. Maybe. We can wrap up, though. I made a picnic.’
She had indeed; the kitchen was scattered with crumbs and smeared with Nutella. Splashes of sticky juice congealed on the table. Lorna seemed to have taken everything out of the fridge and the cupboards, only to make two modest sandwiches. Claire was about to say something, maybe start cleaning up, but she caught sight of the girl’s happy, proud little face, and couldn’t do it. After all, children make mess. Years of teaching had shown her that, and people had to be taught how to clean, how to look after their environment; she would hardly have been taught any of that by her family, at her home. Still, some kind of look must have betrayed her because Lorna frowned, then smiled bravely.
‘I’m not very tidy.’ Tears were shining again.
‘Oh, don’t worry, we can get this all cleared up in a jiffy.’
‘I’m messy. I’m a lot of trouble.’ A tear dropped off her lower lashes.
Claire took her firmly by the shoulders, and dipped down to meet her eyes. ‘You’re not any trouble at all. You’re not! You’re a lovely, sweet little girl!’
‘I can’t do anything right.’
‘That’s not true! Lorna, Lorna, look at me.’ She pushed up the girl’s chin with firm fingers. ‘You’re a very capable girl, and I’m very proud to know you!’
‘You don’t mean that. You’re just being nice.’ But she sounded hopeful, and peered out from under her hair, shyly.
‘I most certainly do! Listen, let’s take your lovely picnic and have a walk on the beach. You’re right, it’s not too cold. It’ll do my old bones good to have a stroll.’
‘You’re not old! You’re beautiful and young young young!’ The girl laughed.
‘OK, look, I’ll tidy up. I will! What do you have to do?’
‘We have some spray, here? It smells of lemon. So, you get one of these scrubbers . . . spray the table . . . and . . . give it a wipe. That’s all.’
Lorna smeared Nutella and antibacterial spray in tentative half moons ‘Like this?’
‘Yes – but I think once the sponge gets a bit dirty, you have to wring it out again so things stay clean.’
Lorna wandered to the sink and splashed the sponge under a cold tap. She slapped it back down on the table. The brown smears turned to streams. ‘It’s going on the floor now though.’
Claire leaped forward with kitchen roll to mop up the puddles. Lorna sighed with satisfaction.
‘And now I’ve cleaned up, I can pack the picnic! I made chocolate and jam sandwiches, and a cocktail of juice.’ She waved a Coke bottle filled with murky-looking liquid.