Page 42 of A Slow Fire Burning

“Don’t,” she sobbed. “You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t be kind to me.”

“What on earth are you talking about? Laura, for goodness’ sake.” She grabbed a handful of the girl’s sodden coat. “Come in, come out of the rain.”

In the darkened hallway, the door shut behind her, Laura shook herself like a dog. “You should turn me away,” she said miserably. “You should tell me to fuck off, not that you’d ever say that, because you’re too nice and polite.”

“Well, quite,” Irene said crossly. “Stop being silly. Take off that wet coat, put it on the radiator there. Hasn’t it got cold? I’ll turn the heating on. Now, come on, don’t dawdle, don’t drip. Come into the living room. I’m going to turn the heating on and then I’m going to get us a cup of tea. You can tell me all about it, you can start from the beginning.”

When she returned with the tea, Laura was sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room, her legs crossed and her head in her hands. Irene handed her a mug. “Come on, then. Let’s hear it. What’s going on?”

As Irene settled back into her armchair, Laura began. She said that she’d taken money from Irene’s purse, which Irene knew, of course, because although she was forgetful, she wasn’t a fool. Laura told her that she’d taken something from next door too, that she’d seen the door open and snatched a bag from the hallway, and Irene had not known about that. “Do you still have what you took?” she asked sternly, and the girl nodded. “Then you’ll give it back. Money is one thing, Laura, and I understand you’re in a tight spot. But you can’t take things that mean something to someone. Can you imagine how you’d feel,” she scolded, “if someone took William’s watch from me? Can you imagine what you’d think of that person?” Laura cringed in shame. Her expression forlorn, she tipped the contents of her backpack onto Irene’s living room floor, picked up the two little jewelry boxes, and handed them to Irene.

“That’s not the worst of it,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. In her chest, Irene’s heart quailed. She dreaded what Laura was about to tell her, for what could be worse? What could be worse than stealing from a grieving woman?

“What have you done, Laura?” Her breath catching, she could barely utter the words. “You’ve not... you haven’t hurt someone, have you?”

Laura looked up, eyes bright. “I don’t think so. Unless you count the guy with the fork, but I don’t think that’s what you mean, is it?” Irene shook her head, confused. “Daniel,” Laura said, and Irene’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh no, Laura.” Irene felt her heart might stop.

“I didn’t kill him!” Laura cried. She was on her knees, at Irene’s feet. “I didn’t, I swear. But I was there.... Just before, I was there with him. And I didn’t tell you, because you said he was trouble, you—”

“I didn’t say he was trouble, Laura. I said he wastroubled. I think I warned you to be careful with him, because he was a troubled boy, didn’t I? He had a difficult family life, I told you that, I—”

“And I didn’t listen. And I went with him, and I spent the night....” Laura tailed off. Outside, the rain had abated somewhat but the sky was darkening as if in preparation for a second assault.

“You stayed the night?” Irene repeated, and Laura looked down at the carpet. “Oh, for God’s sake!” she snapped. “There’s no need to be so coy. I’m an old woman, not a child.” Laura nodded, but she didn’t raise her eyes. “So, you spent the night with him. And then you left without any breakfast, I’m guessing. But he was fine when you left him?” Laura nodded again. “And you’ve no idea what happened to him?” Laura shook her head this time. “Laura! Did you honestly think, in the light of all that, that it was really a good ideato go stealing from his family? For God’s sake. Imagine how it would look, if someone found out, if—”

“Someone has found out,” Laura said, her voice small. “You have.”

Irene rolled her eyes; she felt quite cross. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, I’m not about to call the police, am I? And none of that explains all this,” Irene said, waving her hand in Laura’s direction. “None of it explains the state you’re in now.”

“Oh, well.” Laura sat back down, crossing her legs. “There’s this woman, you see, who lives in one of the boats on the canal, and I know her a bit because she comes in the launderette sometimes. Her name’s Miriam, and she’s a bit weird, shelooksweird, you know, like she’s always wearing a few too many clothes, do you know what I mean? In any case, she’s the one who found Daniel, found his body I mean, she was the one who called the police, and then the other day, she showed up outside the launderette, and I was in a bit of a state, nothing terrible, just... you know.” Irene didn’t know; she had no idea what Laura was talking about. “Anyway, so I went round to her place, to her boat, you see, because I owed her an apology—it’s a long story, you don’t really have to know about all this, but the point is, the point is, when I got to the boat, I found out that she had the key to my flat.”

“She had your key?”

“Exactly! Remember I said I lost it, well she had it.”

“And she gave it back to you?” Irene wasn’t really understanding the point of this story.

“No, no, she didn’t give it to me. She hid it from me. I found it in her boat, I was looking through her things, you see—”

“You were looking for something to steal!” Irene said.

“Yes, all right, I was, but that’s not the point, is it? The point isshe had my key. And so when I found it, we had a bit of a... well...”

“An altercation?”

“Exactly.”

“And she hit you? This woman hit you? Gave you that bruise?”

Laura shook her head. “There was a bit of pushing and shoving. I was basically trying to get out of there, and I tripped. I fell.”

“Do you think we ought to be calling the police, Laura? I mean, if this woman has your key, then...”

“Oh, no—I have the key now.” She delved into her jeans pocket and pulled it out, along with one gold earring, which she peered at, before stuffing it back into her pocket. “I have the key, and I have this as well.” From the pile where she’d emptied out her backpack, she took a sheaf of papers, a bound manuscript, which she held out to Irene. “She gave me this—before we had our... whatchacallit, altercation, she gave me this. Hermemoir,” Laura said, air-quoting with her fingers. “Suggested I read it. Which I’m never going to do. You might like it, though. It has a crime in it! She claims she was kidnapped by a madman when she was young. Or something like that, anyway.”

“Good grief,” Irene said, accepting the manuscript with both hands. “How extraordinary.” There was a sudden flash of light accompanied by a particularly vicious crack of thunder, which had them both ducking their heads.

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