Claire pulled Benji close, flipped to another channel.
‘. . . unconfirmed reports that the woman, Marianne Cairns, was beaten with some kind of blunt object. These reports, if confirmed, would certainly point to a murder inquiry. The Metropolitan Police have put out an appeal for anyone who has any information regarding the whereabouts of Ms Cairns’ daughter.’
A policeman stood behind a row of tables, facing a bank of reporters.
‘. . . imperative that we find the child, named Lauren, who has been described as white, between nine and eleven years old, with brown bobbed hair. When last seen she was wearing a pink T-shirt and blue jeans, as well as distinctive trainers with lights on the side and back. We encourage anyone who has any information on the whereabouts of Lauren to call the information line number . . .’
Claire was still watching the TV hours later, when she realised that the sky was now dark, and that she hadn’t moved for hours. There was no more news on the whereabouts of Lorna. Claire double-locked the door, stayed awake all night, waiting in the dark.
It was strange, so strange, but she found herself worrying about Lorna. Was she safe? She was alone. In London. And she was so small.
42
The next morning, Lorna was found, begging on Holloway Road. She’d been sleeping behind an Ethiopian café, going through the bins for food. She told police that she’d run away from home, but was unable to give them a full address. She said that she was begging to save up money to go to Paris to become a dancer. It wasn’t long before they asked her about the hotel in King’s Cross. She was distraught, she was frightened. It took the social worker a long time to win her trust, still longer to get her to talk about it . . .
The woman, Marianne, well, at first she was nice. Really nice. Like an auntie. And she seemed so sympathetic when she told her about Pete, about the horrible things that were happening to her at home. They’d just met on the street – no, a park. That was it. Lorna was crying because of Pete, and Marianne had been so nice. She’d bought her a hot chocolate and given her her phone number. Then they’d met again when Lorna had been crying at the bus station, and Marianne had taken her to a café, got her some food. She was nice to talk to. And then she’d met her again, and again. It just seemed that whenever Lorna was in trouble, Marianne would be there. They drove around. Marianne told her she was pretty, that she could be a dancer, be on TV.
Lorna trusted her. She loved her. They talked about going away together. Marianne said that some people just didn’t deserve to have kids, and that she’d keep her safe.
And then she was in Marianne’s car, and they were going somewhere safe. She was going to be safe from now on. But she wasn’t. Instead they went to and from different flats and hotel rooms, and there’d be people in the rooms waiting. Men. And at first Marianne didn’t make her do things, but then she did. She said she had to do them, or they wouldn’t have enough money to start their new life together. They were going to have a cottage, in the woods, or maybe by the seaside. But all that took money, and Lorna had to do things to make money. Marianne said she was so sorry, but it wouldn’t be for a long time, just until they had enough money . . . And she was still telling her, ‘You’ll be a dancer, you’ll be famous. Just do what I say and things will get better.’ And Lorna believed her, trusted her, and passed up the opportunity to confide in hotel staff about what was going on.
But it didn’t get better, it got even worse. Marianne wanted her to do things, even worse things, for the internet. There were cameras and it was scary. She was so scared! And then Marianne stopped being nice. She said they’d never get their cottage if Lorna was so selfish, that she knew another girl who’d jump at the chance to live by the sea. And so Lorna had said, all right, I want to leave, then. That was the argument that the hotel staff must have heard. But Marianne persuaded her to stay. She said she only had to do one more thing, and they might, just might, have enough money to stop for ever. But that one last thing was too awful, too much, and Lorna said no. And when she put two of the stones in the ornamental plant pots in the lobby in her knee sock, and told Marianne she was going to leave, she wasn’t really going to hit her! She just wanted to scare her, but Marianne went crazy, and Lorna – well, she just shut her eyes tight and swung. Not even knowing what she was doing really, just wanting to protect herself, just wanting to get out. And then she ran as fast as she could, before Marianne could grab her. She had run downstairs without anyone seeing her, and kept running.
Why hadn’t she been to the police?
The social worker squeezed her hand. Lorna took some deep breaths.
‘She told me that the police would say I was bad and I’d get put in prison for ever.’
‘Do you remember any of the names of the hotels you were taken to? Where any of the flats were? Any of the men’s names?’
‘No. No.’ Her voice was a whisper. She kept her eyes on the floor. Her legs, short, bruised and scabbed, swung.
* * *