My Best Friend's Girl by Dorothy Koomson Read Free Book Online

become decrepit, barren, lifeless.
    Muriel stopped outside a white paneled door. There was a key in the lock, which she reached for. Her liver-spotted hand paused at the key before she turned it.
They’d locked Tegan in? THEY’D LOCKED HER IN? Where did they think a child who wasn’t tall enough to reach the front door handle would go if she left her room?
    Tegan’s room was twice the size of my living room. The walls were magnolia too but in here the carpet was royal blue. Two of the walls were lined with white bookcases and on each shelf sat dolls, play bricks, cuddly toys, teddies and books. None of them looked as if they’d been touched or played with; they were ornaments, perfect, untouchable relics of that thing called childhood. The neatly made single bed sat beside a large window that overlooked the wide expanse of garden.
    Despite the brightly colored children’s belongings, the room was cold and uninviting. At the center of the room was a small red plastic table and a yellow plastic chair, and at the table sat Tegan.
    Even from a distance I could see everything was wrong. She sat stock-still on her chair, her small body rigid with fear. Her pale blond hair hung around her face in dirty, unwashed clumps, her pink top was grubby and creased. And her eyes were fixed on the plate of food in front of her.
    Shock punched me a fraction below my solar plexus. The last time I saw Tegan she’d been staring at me with big, enraptured eyes as I read her a story. She had been a child that took nothing sitting down, lying down or standing still. Everything was full-on where she was concerned. She was always wanting to run or play or read or laugh or to get someone in a hug.
    “Tiga,” I whispered. I moved slowly across the room toward her. “Tiga, it’s Auntie Kamryn, do you remember me?” I bobbed down beside her and looked at her as I waited for her to reply.
    A few seconds passed before she nodded. Nodded but kept her eyes forward, fixed on her plate. The plate was loaded with gray boiled potatoes, dried and shriveled peas and a desiccated pork chop covered in a skin of white mold. The smell of the rotting meal assaulted my nostrils and I drew back, half retching.
    “So you do remember Auntie Kamryn?” I said, fighting the gagging in my throat.
    Tegan nodded again.
    “That’s brilliant. And did Mummy tell you that you might come and stay with Auntie Kamryn for a little while?”
    Tegan nodded.
    “How do you feel about that?”
    She raised her shoulders and lowered them. Then a tiny, hoarse voice said, “Don’t know.”
    I slowly reached out to tuck a lock of her unwashed hair behind her right ear so I could see her face but before I made contact she flinched away from me, her hands flying up as though to protect herself from an attack.
    I recoiled too, my heart racing with fear and horror. She thought I might hurt her. This small, frail creature thought I might hurt her. I stared at her and felt my heartbeat increase. Then I noticed her right hand—three red lines were streaked across its swollen palm. Around her right wrist were blue-black-purple bruises that looked like large handprints, as though someone had held her hand open as they whacked her with a cane.
    It was those red lines marking her young skin that did it. Inside, I snapped. I wasn’t even remotely close to screaming, lashing out or overturning furniture, though. I was angry. Completely, totally angry. It spilled through me until it dampened every other emotion and I felt nothing else.
    I suddenly knew what I had to do.
    I clambered to my feet and Tegan relaxed from her cringe. I marched across the room to the white wardrobe and the white chest of drawers beside it. I yanked open the top drawer, checked inside. It was filled with neatly folded tops. I grabbed a handful of tops and then slammed the drawer shut, opened another drawer, gathered another bundle of clothes. I yanked open the third drawer and took the vests and pants in