Page 32 of Good Bad Girl

“Which is why you should have given me the loan when I asked for it.”

“I told you, I don’t have any more money.”

“But you can afford to keep that ridiculous pink house? I don’t know why you insist on staying in a home full of ghosts. It’s far too big for a lonely old spinster.”

Just like when they were children, Clio’s brother has always known her weak spots. Where to aim a verbal punch to cause the most amount of hurt. She didn’t always live alone.

“Are you going to help me or not?” she asks, feeling defeated.

“Seeing as you asked so politely, yes. If we can’t find Mother dearest, then let’s start by talking to the person she decided to leave everything to.”

“If only I had thought of that. Problem is, I’ve never heard of Patience Liddell, which makes it a little tricky to find her. What’s wrong? Why does your face look like you’ve had a stroke?”

Jude smiles, revealing capped teeth. “I know who Patience is, and more importantly, I know where she is.”

Clio stares at him. “What? How? Where?”

He looks up toward the ceiling. “She lives in the attic upstairs.”

Patience

I can hear raised voices downstairs in the gallery and I worry for a moment that Edith has gone in there to confront her son. I hurry to the round window and am relieved when I can see her walking on the cobbled street, heading out of Covent Garden and toward the river, Dickens trotting at her side. I miss living on the water. The sound of it lapping against the boat used to be the lullaby of my sleep. After everything that happened yesterday, I’m surprised I slept at all last night.

I worry about Edith being out there alone but she promised not to be gone long. It isn’t as though she has anywhere else to go. Besides, I need a little time to get ready. Once I’ve taken her where I’m taking her, I won’t be coming back here. I’ve packed most of my things, including almost all of my papercuts, but I’m leaving one behind. It’s of a black fox I sometimes see from my window late at night. Black foxes are extremely rare and my mother always said they were unlucky. The papercut I callBad Luckalwaysmakes me think of Jude Kennedy, so I’ll leave it for him to find. A little bad luck to remember me by.

I pull out the drawer from beneath my bed and take the Japanese tea tin from its hiding place. Then I empty all the cash I have spent the last year saving onto the bed. Along with the petty cash I took from Joy’s office after she fired me, I have almost five thousand pounds. By the end of today, once I take Edith where she needs to be, I’ll have twice that amount. Enough to rent a little studio flat overlooking the river, and to fund my first year at art school if I’m lucky enough to get in once I apply. That’s all I want: a safe place to live and to finish my education. I’ve worked hard. I deserve it. It’s only natural to feel guilty because of what happened, but that wasn’t my fault. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

I hear someone coming up the stairs toward the attic and am relieved that Edith and Dickens are back. She said she would only be ten minutes and we really should get going.

“Is this her?” says a woman’s voice behind me. I drop the Japanese tea tin and spin around.

Mr. Kennedy is standing in the doorway with a woman I’ve seen before. She’s wearing a black dress with black trainers today and is looking super unfriendly.

“This is her,” Jude replies.

“You’rePatience Liddell?” the woman asks.

“Are you deaf or just stupid? I already told you it’s her,” Jude snaps. “Where didyouget all of that money?” he asks, staring at the cash on the bed.

“I’ve been saving up,” I reply quietly, wishing I had left five minutes earlier.

“It must have taken alongtime to save up that amount of cash on a care home assistant’s salary. Are you sure it’s yours? Perhaps it’s our mother’s?” Jude says. “I’ve just found out that you tricked her into changing her will.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about. I stare at Jude, then at the woman, but her face is impossible to read. I know I should defend myself but I don’t know how. I shake my head as though that might dislodge some suitable words, but none come out.

“Do you know where our mother is?” the woman asks and I don’t know how to answer. “Patience is an interesting name,” she adds, scanning every part of the attic with her sad looking eyes. “I wonder if it is your real one? I wonder whether anything you say is true?”

She snatches my purse from the bed and opens it.

I feel sick when I realize what the woman has seen.

“Well, this driver’s license does indeed say “Patience Liddell” but I’m curious to know why you have our mother’s bank card in your purse.” She holds the plastic rectangle in the air. “My mother trusted you.Itrusted you.”

Jude frowns at her. “Have you two met?”

“Of course not,” the woman snaps at him before turning back to me. “What I mean is, people like me have to trust people like you to do the right thing. With our loved ones. It’s what we pay you for.”

“You were right to trust me. So was Edith,” I say.

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