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

‘It gets hot in here. You know I can’t sleep with the window open.’

No other bed wear seems to be appearing so I put it on in the bathroom, use her mouthwash to get rid of the taste of pizza and wine and go and climb into bed. She faffs around for a while in her ensuite (cleanse, tone, moisturise, brush, brush, braid) before coming back and pacing around her room for a bit, switching on the fan she’s got on the desk to move the stuffy air in useless circles. Her plait is as thick as my wrist at the top and it tapers down to a whip of gold at the bottom which flickers side to side as she walks, a cross cat’s tail. Eventually she jumps on the other side of the bed and crawls up to get under the sheet. It’s hot enough to sleep without it but she can’t sleep without some sort of covering, I don’t know why. Maybe she doesn’t feel safe in the place she’s most meant to, at home, at night, in her bed.

There’s enough light in the sky outside gleaming through the gaps in the curtains for me to see Molly’s profile next to me. Her eyes are still open and she’s staring into the dark above her. I don’t want to talk about Alex again but I can feel the words bubbling up in my mouth so I press my tongue onto the smooth, sore, burnt spot behind my teeth and I taste metal instead.

I don’t think I’m going to but at some point I actually fall asleep listening to Molly’s breathing. Maybe it’s the change in it that wakes me up, or it’s the dream I’m having about Alex running his smooth hands over me, shoulder to hand, hip to knee, breast to waist. I wake up, and it’s Molly who has her hand on me. It’s underneath my nightie and flat on my breast bone. She knows I’m awake.

‘I was wondering if you had a heart, Vivian. I was wondering if there’s anything inside you at all,’ she slurs, before slipping her palm sideways, cupping my breast, her thumb brushing over my nipple. I have no control over it stiffening and I’m frozen and I don’t know what to do. I can feel her breath on my cheek, smell sour alcohol, and she slowly moves her hand over my ribs and down my body.

‘Please, don’t,’ I tell her. ‘Please.’ But she puts her hand over the top of my underwear, her fingers resting between my legs, applying the faintest pressure.

‘Did he touch you here, Viv?’ she whispers, hot mouth at my ear. ‘Did he kiss you here? You know I could kiss you there and it would be better than anything he could do?’ Her lips brush my neck and I suddenly regain control of my body and I jump up, pushing her away so violently she knocks against the wall.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I shout at her now. ‘Are you mental? You’ve fucked everything up! Everything was perfect, why have you fucked it up?’ I run into the bathroom and I put my clothes on, throwing the scrap of nightie into her shower. I can’t stop the rage spilling over and I lash out, sweeping everything from the windowsill to the floor; I lose it, just for a screaming second, and then perfume smashes at my feet in a cascade of bright glass and the scent stings my eyes.

I go back into Molly’s room and she’s just lying there, on her back, with the light from the window shining on her face. I can see the silver track of a tear slipping over her cheek but I don’t care. I don’t say anything.

It’s in this moment, watching her cry in the gloom, that something whirrs and clicks in my brain, the way she’s been acting. It is just that, isn’t it – an act. It’s an act for me. She’s in love with me. She doesn’t want Alex, he’s not shady – she just wants me for herself! All this time, she’s been playing up – why the hell did I not realise sooner? I could have used this. All that power over her, and I never realised; I let the control slip through my fingers and now we are here and Molly has thrown everything away and it’s too late. Now she’s nothing to anyone, and I’m afraid of what she might do next.

I won’t let her ruin me like Lexie did.

London

‘What’s wrong with her now?’ asked Rachel, as she walked into the house past Vivian, who was running up the stairs.

‘She’s got a face on because I keep telling her she’s too young to dye her hair,’ said Carol, wryly. ‘She’s even younger than you were when I told you the same thing, and you pulled exactly the same face.’

‘Why does she want to dye her hair? She’s only eight!’

‘She says she wants to have yellow hair like Lexie.’

‘To go with the blue shoes and the sparkly blue rucksack like Lexie?’

‘Mmm,’ said Carol.

‘Even if it was blonde it wouldn’t look like Lexie’s, hers is so long and thick. I wouldn’t mind her hair myself! Vivian’s is too fine, I’m not sure she’s going to get it to grow past her chin any time soon.’

‘Takes after me – Vivian? What have I told you about eavesdropping?’

‘I came down to see Mum,’ said Vivian, who had been listening from the foot of the stairs. ‘Is that why my hair isn’t long? Because it’s like yours? It won’t grow?’

‘’Fraid so, my love! It’ll grow more when you’re older. It’s just fine,’ said Carol, pulling on the tips of her own short bob ruefully.

Vivian frowned. ‘What time am I going to Lexie’s?’

‘I’ll drop you off,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m going out for a drink; I need to get ready first, though. And you should count yourself