All the Little Things by Sarah Lawton (the best books to read txt) 📕

‘So, it’s just his word against hers? It could be him lying and saying it was her because he doesn’t want to get a friend in trouble?’

‘Well, I doubt it, what with the past history…’

‘So, a half-hearted nip on the arm of a kid who was bullying her and now she’s prime suspect for everything? That doesn’t seem fair. Look, I’ll talk to her and try and get to the bottom of it, but I think you need to think about how you’re treating her. She isn’t a bad kid.’

Miss Avon looked like she wanted to say more, but instead she stood up and gestured to the door. Rachel left.

Carol was in the kitchen when she got back, dropping a teabag into a mug. She looked at Rachel expectantly, an eyebrow quirked in a question.

‘Don’t ask!’ said Rachel, as she sat down and put her face into her hands. ‘Where is she?’

‘She’s upstairs playing. Should we talk about it?’

‘Talk about what? It wasn’t really anything, just a silly prank she took too far, if it even was her. According to Miss Dipshit, she locked some boy in a cupboard, probably one of the ones who’ve been teasing her, not that they ever fucking do anything about that. It’s ridiculous – how were they allowed to sneak off together anyway? It’s their fault.’

‘Locking someone in a cupboard doesn’t seem that extreme—?’

‘Well, he was in there for quite a while from the sounds of it. They thought he’d run off, called his parents and everything.’

‘God, that’s awful! Why would she let it go that far?’

‘I don’t know!’ Rachel threaded her fingers into her hair and pulled at it, groaning.

‘Don’t do that. It’s not the first time you’ve been up there, is it?’

‘That wasn’t her fault, either! That horrible boy she bit had been teasing her for weeks – she’d already told you about it, though you neglected to tell me, didn’t you? I’m always the last to hear anything about my own child!’

‘Well, you’re never here, are you? It’s probably a cry for attention!’ The accusing tone stung, and Rachel flinched, hot tears starting as her temper flared.

‘I need to make money, Mum! I have to feed and clothe us! I’m not neglecting her, I spend every spare second I have with her – I don’t have a life of my own outside work, or being here. What else am I supposed to do? I suppose you still think I should have just got rid of her, don’t you?’

‘Rachel, keep your voice down! She’ll hear you!’ Carol hissed, her face a picture of hurt. ‘How dare you throw that in my face, after everything I’ve done for you? How dare you.’ She slammed her hand on the work surface, the noise making Rachel jump.

‘Mum, I—’

‘Don’t. I’m going out. You can feed your child and put her to bed. I’ve had enough of you not listening to anyone but yourself.’

‘Mum, please – I didn’t mean it…’ But Carol pushed past her, picked up her bag from the hallway floor where she always left it, and walked out of the door.

Rachel took a steadying breath before steeling herself and heading upstairs to speak to Vivian – what choice did she have?

Rachel

I was up first thing that Monday. It was unusual from the very beginning because Vivian had beaten me to it; she was already in the shower, even though it wasn’t yet six. I hoped she hadn’t been stressing about her exams or whatever it was going on with the girls. She buzzed around looking for things after breakfast, and then she was out the door with barely a bye.

I was in the studio later, finishing the fourth version of my third plate for Prince of Dark Wings, when my phone pinged with a message. I didn’t recognise the number but I assumed it was mystery boy Alex, because it apologised for the last-minute request and asked if he could come over now. I agreed, as I needed a break from drawing wings. The detailing on the feathers was imprinted on my eyeballs. I texted him back offering to make him a cup of tea.

I went into the house and put the kettle on, setting out two mugs with teabags and sniffing the milk as I always do, even though I’d only bought it the day before. It’s something my mother always used to do, but I don’t think I ever did it myself until after she passed away. It’s funny how we remember people.

There was a knock at the door and sure enough it was Alex, dressed for the ridiculously still-bloody-boiling weather in shorts and a vest top. He looked tanned and had that glow of vitality about him that somehow disappears over the years. I wonder when I lost mine.

I asked him how he took his tea – typical teenager: milky, two sugars – and then I took him out to my studio. To my gratification, he made a low whistle.

‘This is awesome,’ he told me, immediately nosing into everything like a magpie, picking things up and inspecting them from end to end before getting into something else. ‘The light is amazing.’

‘That was the plan.’ I was pleased that he immediately grasped how I had put it together. ‘I can’t draw unless I have natural light. I’m a snob.’

‘Who can?’ he asked me. ‘It’s hard to catch shadows without the light.’ He’d brought his portfolio again and I hoped there might be new sketches in there to look at.

‘I thought maybe you might like to start with one of your sketches and pull a little bit of colour in from there?’

‘It always looks like a cartoon if I try and add colour,’ he griped good-naturedly. ‘It just doesn’t look natural.’ He put the folio on the workbench and opened it, fanning out the work inside it.

‘Start with muted colours and build up,’ I suggested, picking out one of his beautiful fox sketches. It looked like a