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

and mixed up, trousers with pants and socks and tops. I have to stop myself from sorting it out into piles, tidying up as I search. But there’s nothing here to tell Abi about, nothing embarrassing or shameful. Did Abi know what her daughter was up to, secretly? I bet she did. No one can be that blind, except maybe my mother, but that’s taken a lot of work. I think Molly wanted her mum to notice what she was doing. Poor Molly-wolly.

Maybe she kept something on her laptop. Molly always kept her little laptop hidden away underneath things because she was paranoid about burglars. Like burglars would bother with the crappy houses in this poxy place. I can’t see it anywhere and I try to remember if she brought it upstairs on Saturday. She usually would. I’m sure she did, under her arm, swaying up the stairs. She probably squirrelled it when I was in the bathroom, putting that stupid nightie on. Assuming Abi doesn’t already have it, where would she have put it? Where would I hide something if I were Molly? Tall, slim Molly. My eyes go to the built-in wardrobe and the cupboards above it. I’m going to need the chair.

I spot the corner of the laptop, with its charger cord wrapped around it, underneath the winter clothes that are stuffed in the last cupboard I check. I can’t believe Abi hasn’t looked properly, frantically searching for every clue. Maybe she thinks Molly took it away with her. That would make sense, I suppose. Maybe she wasn’t expecting it still to be here, and her room’s such a tip it’s impossible to see what Molly might have taken with her. I don’t have a laptop; I have to share Mum’s. I think Molly would want me to have her laptop, to look after it. Her secret keeper. There could be anything on here, now I think of it.

‘Did you find anything, Vivian? Any notes or numbers or anything, anything at all?’ Abi is where I left her, sitting on the tall stool at the kitchen island, hands wringing in her lap. Her eyes drop. ‘What’s that?’

‘It’s my hoody,’ I tell her, even though it’s actually one of Molly’s that I’ve never seen her wear. It was stuffed down the back of her wardrobe with tags still on it. It’s too big for me but it’s wrapped around the little laptop and you can’t see the edges, the way I’m holding it to me as if I’m hugging it for comfort. I don’t need the charger as it’s the same make as Mum’s – I can use hers to charge it. I hid that inside the drawer unit, pulling the bottom one right out and dropping it in the space behind, underneath. No one will think to look for it there.

‘I’m sorry, Abi, but it all looks normal. Her drawers are a mess – it looks like she’s taken some stuff. I think she had a big rucksack, but I can’t see it. You remember, the green one? From the school trip last year?’

‘Yes, of course. Thank you, Vivian. I’m sorry I dragged you over like this. You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?’ Her wet eyes are cast down at the floor so she doesn’t see me bite my lip to stop myself saying ‘yes’. Instead I mumble a quick apology and I’m out of the door before she can try and hug me again.

Rachel

I was in the shower leaning my head on the cool tiles when Alex slipped into the bathroom, and into the cubicle with me. I didn’t even start in surprise; it was almost like I expected him to be there, like I had conjured him up as part of a fantasy. He must have just let himself in after Vivian left. I didn’t care. His hands slid around my waist and up and over the edges of my ribs to briefly cup my breasts before sliding away again. He pressed himself against my back and a rush of goosebumps sprang up on my skin. I heard him squeeze a bottle and a floral scent mingled with the hiss of the water before his hands touched my head. I hadn’t been to the hairdressers in years, preferring to snip at it myself, and I had forgotten the special intimacy of someone washing your hair, of their fingers slowly moving on your scalp. Mine tightened with pleasure, along with other parts of my body. I pushed back against him, against how much he wanted me. He ignored it, and kept gently circling his fingertips on my head, tilting it back and smoothing the water through it to rinse away the suds which pooled at our feet.

He kissed my neck, his hands returning to my body, slipping down the silky trails left by the rinsed shampoo, easily, smoothly. His clever fingers playing my body, moving from breasts to hips, between my legs too briefly, before skipping away again until I moaned with frustration, at which point he spun me to him and lifted me easily, kissing me with a fury that scorched my mouth and bruised my lips. He pressed me up against the tiles, easily holding me in place with one arm and the weight of his body while he used his other hand to guide himself into me. He stopped then, and held me, relishing the heat we made together and the cool water that slithered over us, slicked our skin. He rocked against me, hard, and the pleasure that built up between us was more intense than anything I’d ever felt before.

‘Where did you learn that?’ I asked him afterwards, as we lay on my bed, my eyes distracted by the long hand that was tracing the contours of my hips, the dips and peaks.

‘Learn what?’ he smiled, his voice gruff and almost shy.

‘Come on. I’m pretty sure that sort of thing doesn’t come naturally.’

‘You seem to come naturally.’