Lorna held her mouth in a thin line. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’
‘I’ve slept enough. I’m not sleepy any more.’ Claire struggled to keep her voice calm.
‘You look awful,’ the girl said rudely.
‘I feel better than I’ve done in months.’
‘Well, that’s good, Claire, really, but Lauren’s right, you look pretty peaky. Have some hot chocolate and get back to bed.’ Marianne bustled about the kitchen.
‘No more cocoa for me, I think. I’ve gone off it.’ Claire registered Lorna’s narrowed eyes, faint sneer.
‘It’s your favourite, we bought it special for you,’ she muttered.
‘And I don’t like it any more. It’s too rich for me now.’
‘Well, I for one could do with something to warm me up. Lo? You?’ Marianne flung open cupboards.
‘No.’ Lorna kept her eyes on Claire.
‘It’s got a very strong flavour, the cocoa, Marianne. It might send you right to sleep,’ said Claire. Lorna’s mouth opened; her face flushed.
‘Well I could do with a good night’s sleep. I’ll have a bit, maybe with a drop of brandy. Can’t tempt you, Claire?’
‘No, thank you.’ She watched as Marianne dumped two hefty spoonfuls of cocoa in a cup, stirred in sugar and a liberal dose of brandy. ‘You enjoy it though.’
‘I shall. Let’s see what dross is on the TV. Lo? Yes?’ She went into the living room.
‘In a bit.’ Lorna’s eyes stayed on Claire. Her fingers clenched spasmodically. Claire, to hide her shaking hands, turned to get a drink of water.
‘What’re you doing?’ the girl asked in a low voice.
‘Having some water.’ Claire kept her back to her, taking her time. She felt incredibly tense and incredibly tired. There was a silence, long enough that Claire turned to make sure that the girl was still there. She was, and so silent, with tears rolling down her red face, her mouth tragic, and everything in Claire wanted to reach out to her, hug her, tell her it was OK. She even took a step towards her, but stopped, forced herself to stay still and gaze at her instead. Lorna squeezed out tears and took some shuddering breaths. The tears petered out. They stared at each other. Lorna narrowed her eyes and twisted a lock of hair around one finger.
‘I tidied your room a bit when you were out,’ said Claire blandly.
No tears now. A frown. ‘You can’t go in my room.’
‘Why not? Secrets?’
‘No. It’s private.’
‘Well, don’t worry. I only threw away some of the things I know you don’t need. I have no idea how some of them ended up there in the first place to tell the truth.’
‘What? What things?’ The girl narrowed her eyes.
‘Oh, I’m sure you won’t even miss them.’
‘Miss what? What are you talking about?’
‘Marianne?’ Claire called. ‘Did you find anything decent to watch? Marianne?’
‘Huh?’
‘Golly, you sound exhausted!’ Claire manoeuvred past Lorna and into the living room. Marianne lolled on the sofa, the cocoa drained, barely conscious. ‘Look at you! All tired out. You need to get to bed.’ And she helped the woman off the sofa and up the stairs. Marianne’s head lolled and her feet dragged on the carpet. She fell half on and half off the bed, while Claire took off her boots and eased her legs under the covers. Marianne blinked once, her eyes rolled like a scared mare’s, and then she passed out, snoring. Claire tiptoed from the room, took a deep breath and walked back down the stairs while Lorna was going up them.
‘Best not to disturb her now. That brandy must really have gone to her head.’
‘I’m going to bed,’ snarled Lorna.
‘But it’s so early! I thought maybe we could play a game together? Or watch some TV? The news, maybe.’ I’ve gone too far now, she thought. And Lorna must have seen some of that fear because she sneered, pushed past her, and slammed the door to her room.
Claire sat on the sofa, muscles quivering. She could hear Marianne snoring, and Lorna muttering to herself and throwing things around her room. With one slow hand, Claire reached for the remote control and turned on the news. There was an advert for a special on the fire, to be broadcast after the break.
The noises from Lorna’s room increased; she’d propped the door open with a broken doll and was dragging things out of carrier bags, loudly and ostentatiously packing a rucksack. Claire stayed, stiff, on the sofa, not moving her eyes from the screen.
‘. . . run away . . .’ she heard from upstairs ‘. . . love me anyway . . .’
A jagged pulse twanged in Claire’s neck. Go and talk to her – make amends. There was a sharp bang from upstairs, and a long, low moan that was almost funny. Then a pause.
‘. . . OWW!’
Claire turned up the volume.
‘HURT my LEG!’
‘Try to be more careful,’ Claire called, heart thumping.
‘It really hurts,’ Lorna whimpered.
‘Give it a rub.’ Claire didn’t turn round. Kept her eyes on the screen.
There was the familiar house, blackened, crumbling. Smoke stains drifted upwards from the boarded-up windows and the detritus had been cleared, leaving only the soggy bouquets and mouldy-looking teddy bears. Old pictures of Lorna and Carl appeared on the screen. The sudden silence from upstairs was deafening.
‘ . . . and this, at first thought to be a hellish accident, is now known to be something a lot more sinister?’ asked the reporter.
Lorna was on the top step. Claire didn’t turn round. She heard the girl’s dragging footsteps. Felt her standing just behind, felt sticky fingers on her elbow, and sweet breath on her neck.
‘Let’s be friends.’ One hand took the remote control from Claire’s fingers and turned off the TV. ‘Let’s be friends again. Mum?’ Claire said nothing. ‘Mummy?’
‘Do you miss them?’ Claire asked.
‘Who?’
‘Carl. Your mum.’
‘I—’
‘It’s just that you never seemed to miss them.’ The girl took a hitching breath. ‘Don’t cry, Lorna. There’s no need, it’s just a question.’
‘I-I wanted to stay with you,’ said the girl softly. ‘I didn’t think about anything else.’