All the Little Things Sarah Lawton (red white royal blue TXT) 📖

after pick up. But it was late, nearly bedtime. Past bedtime, said the snide voice in her head. You timed it on purpose so you didn’t have to do it. She picked up the landline to call Carol, but then spotted her mum’s mobile sitting right next to it, and swore under her breath. For want of anything else to do she went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge, pulling out a bottle of wine and pouring herself a large glass, which she carried through the front room and drank standing up, watching out of the window. The nights were drawing in.

As the minutes ticked by Rachel felt her nerves getting tighter. Where were they? What was her mother thinking, keeping Vivian out like this? She had a swimming lesson in the morning, she needed to be at home in bed. Then the voice again, not so snide this time: What if she can’t come home? What if he’s come? Taken them? Her stomach clenched around the wine she had drunk, and she sat down, put her glass down. She was being ridiculous. Breathe, she told herself. There was an explanation, they were together somewhere. Carol had probably taken her out for some tea, a Friday night treat. She stood back up, forced herself to go upstairs and get changed. They’d be back any minute.

Wrapped up in her dressing gown, in her most cosy pyjamas, soft fabric comforting against her skin, she had just flicked off the light to her bedroom when she heard the front door go. She ran to the top of the stairs, and to her horror felt her slipper catch against the carpet runner and felt entirely weightless for a second, falling, before managing to grab the banister with a lurch, her heart hammering. How many times would she have to tell her mum it needed re-pinning? She could have broken her neck. The door rattled as she found her feet and her mother came in, shutting it behind her.

‘Mum! Where have you been? Where’s Vivian?’

Carol looked up and smiled beatifically. ‘Hello, my lovely!’ she said, before walking suspiciously steadily down the hall. Legs still shaking from the near-miss on the staircase, Rachel followed. ‘Mum! Where’s Vivian?’

‘Oh,’ said Carol. ‘She’s at Lexie’s. She’s having an over sleep. Sleep in over. Sleepover.’ She laughed.

‘Mum! Are you pissed?’ said Rachel, worry swiftly being replaced with acute crossness. ‘Where have you been? Where’s all her school stuff?’

‘At Lexie’s. We went after school, for a quick cup of wine. Tea. And wine.’

‘It’s nearly nine o’clock! I was getting frantic!’

‘Didn’t think you’d be home yet, love, have you been here long?’ Carol had found the wine that Rachel had left on the side and poured the rest into a glass, before pulling open a drawer and tugging out a sheaf of takeaway leaflets. ‘D’you fancy a pizza? Starving.’

‘No, I don’t! Mum, you have to take your mobile, you could have sent me a message to let me know – I was so worried! I thought something had happened to you. I thought…’ She trailed off: Carol was paying her no attention at all, her narrow focus now on choices of toppings on the leaflet which she was holding almost to her nose. Rachel put her hands to her face and sighed heavily through her fingers, letting the fear ebb away with her breath. She couldn’t let it take control of her again, everything was fine. ‘Actually, Mum, I could murder a pepperoni passion. You have to phone them, though.’

Later on, in front of the TV and full of pizza and garlic bread, she thought to ask her mum how Vivian had been at school, but Carol had fallen asleep on the other chair, her glasses slipping down her nose, and she was starting to snore. Laughing softly, Rachel covered her up with the throw, gently took off her glasses and put them on the coffee table, and went to bed.

Vivian

‘I can’t stop thinking about him,’ says Molly, who has managed to drag herself to school today looking suitably miserable.

‘Yes, it’s very sad,’ I tell her, trying not to sound bored. She’s sitting next to me at our lunch table, moving food around on her plate with the tip of her fork. I have already eaten all mine. ‘Try and eat something, Molls.’

‘I haven’t been able to eat anything since Monday. I’m just not hungry.’

‘Well, you’ll have to force yourself, then. You’re as bad as my mother.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ She looks up at me, a line between her eyebrows.

‘My mum. She’s been a complete nightmare this week. She didn’t even know Tristan that well. He was my friend’s brother. I don’t know why she has to be all fucked up about it.’

‘It’s called empathy, Vivian. Do you know how bad you sound right now? It’s probably making her think about her dad’s accident. You know, your granddad, who never got to see her grow up, or meet you? Your nan was only in her fifties, too, wasn’t she, when she died? That was another accident, wasn’t it? It’s bringing it all back for her. You’re such a bitch sometimes, I don’t know how you came out of her.’ Molly’s face has gone white; it makes her eyes really stand out. She’s beautiful even when she’s furious. ‘You must know how scarred she is by her past – you went mad at me for asking her about it that time.’

Well, it’s private. It’s none of Molly’s business, our past. I wonder if she’s ever noticed my mother’s literal scars, nosy cow that she is. I’m picturing the thin white line that runs along the edge of my mother’s scalp (‘Oh, I don’t remember, darling, I think I did it when I was little’) and about the crooked fingers on her left hand (‘I shut them in the car door and I didn’t get them fixed because I was pregnant with you, and then I just never did. They