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

I’m pretty bitter about having inherited Mum’s stupid early development. Puberty made me act on my worst feelings, do things nobody liked, have rages. Things have been better since then admittedly, because I know how to control myself now, but it was bad for a time. That thing with Lexie, it was too public. I just lost it. That’s why they put me in the hospital and therapy afterwards. They thought I was mad, but it was just because of all my hormones and stuff. Ugh, that was even worse than fucking periods. The stuff I had to make up so they’d stop looking at me like I was an insect: the apologies, the crying. I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t my fault.

‘You know the pill isn’t as effective as condoms, Vi. It won’t protect you from STDs. Remember we talked about that?’

This comment sideswipes me – was that what she was getting at all the time? I pretend to look for something in my bag and then sneak a look at her face. It looks like it usually does – she’s concentrating on the road. Does she know about Alex? How would she know? She doesn’t have any friends here except Steve because he feels sorry for her, the sad loser, so no one to have seen us and reported back, surely? I wonder if that bitch Molly said something to her when they were having one of their cosy little moments and I’m raging at her all over again.

‘I was checking your packing earlier,’ she says, and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach that I’ve slipped up somewhere. ‘I found the drawing of the girl under the tree. It looks just like you.’

‘What!’ I say, trying to think on my feet, panicking. ‘It hasn’t even got a face. Why would you say it was me? I found it at school, I don’t know who drew it. I was going to show you because it was good, but I forgot. Everything is going wrong recently, I keep forgetting to do things.’ I look at her face, does she believe me? It’s hard to tell. Maybe I should cry. That usually works.

‘It was an odd thing to find, Viv. You know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you? That you’re supposed to talk to me?’

‘Yes, Mum. You know I would, I promised I would.’

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but maybe I can work on that later. I don’t want her interfering with things. As I’m thinking about how I can convince her it isn’t me, my phone buzzes. It makes me jump as the girls’ chat has gone dead since Molly isn’t texting us, and Serena and Tilly aren’t texting me, the bitches, but it’s Alex. He asks if we’re nearly there yet – very funny. Without really thinking about it I tell him Mum found the drawing he did of me, but that I told her it was of someone else and that she believed me because she’s such an idiot, but he doesn’t reply. I’ll call him later and reassure him that she definitely believed me – why wouldn’t she? She believes everything I tell her. She always has.

Rachel

My daughter thought I was stupid. That drawing was quite clearly her, and I knew exactly who had drawn it. I didn’t know how I could get her to admit it without revealing that I knew Alex too, knew his talents. I couldn’t let her have a relationship with him. There was something wrong with the boy. I decided that when we got to Dorset and she was asleep I would research how to report underage sex to the police. Maybe I could text that policewoman who spoke to Vi about Molly running off? I had her card in my purse. I wanted so badly to call him, to scream my anger and frustration and betrayal down the line at him, let him know that I knew what he was up to, but that wasn’t possible since I had deleted all his messages and his number in that misguided attempt to not be tempted to contact him in a weak moment. I wasn’t weak any more. I was incandescent.

I didn’t think it was worth pressing Vivian about what was going on; she clearly was not going to tell me the truth. I wondered what else she had been lying about. She used to lie before, so easily, with marvellous sincerity. I never heard about the other children bullying her, teasing her, hurting her; about even Lexie, finally, refusing to be friends with her. And then it was too late. Her lies were the veneer that stopped me from seeing the truth. The steering wheel was slick suddenly, my palms sweating with anxiety and gripping it too hard. I forced myself to relax – I didn’t want my bad fingers to cramp up. We had another couple of hours’ drive ahead of us.

We didn’t talk as the scenery flashed past. Viv was engrossed in her phone and I had to concentrate on the stupid sat nav. I always got lost coming over the Downs and I didn’t want to get stuck in Newbury again. Or Winchester, for that matter. I hated towns now, found them grey and toxic, suffocating. We passed by the potential urban pitfalls without a wrong turn and I made a mental note to thank Steve for convincing me to buy what was now my new favourite contraption. The dulcet tones of the woman in the little box on the windscreen were almost hypnotic. We were driving through the New Forest before I knew it. It is so beautiful there.

‘You should look out for ponies, Viv.’ She gave a cursory glance out the window and returned to tapping on her phone.

‘I’m not eight, Mum. I don’t really care about ponies.’

You never have, I thought to myself. When had Vivian ever been interested in animals? She’d never asked for a pet, never