Free Bad Girl by Roberta Kray

drooping branches of the willow trees. She had put blue hyacinths on the grave. She remembered the smell of them, heady and sweet.
    The rain was coming down harder now, lashing against the windscreen. Uncle Tommy wound up the window. The wipers swished back and forth, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound. Soon they were passing through unfamiliar places, the streets flashing by, leaving a trail of hazy imprints in her head: a cinema, a red dress in a shop window, a woman struggling with an umbrella. And all the time they were getting closer and closer to their destination.
    Eventually, afraid that she might not get another opportunity, she took a deep breath and spoke. ‘Uncle Tommy?’
    ‘Why don’t you just call me Tommy, hun. Less of a mouthful, yeah?’
    ‘Oh, okay.’
    ‘So what’s the question?’
    She almost had second thoughts, but then blurted it out. ‘Do you know what happened?’
    He glanced at her. ‘Happened?’
    ‘To Mum. I know there was a fire at the flat, Janet told me that, but… but do you know why?’ She swallowed hard, the words thick on her tongue. ‘I mean, do you know how it started?’
    He hesitated before replying. ‘It was an accident, love. Could have been faulty electrics, something like that. Or maybe a fag that was left burning. They haven’t finished the investigation yet.’ He cleared his throat, staring straight ahead. ‘But she wouldn’t have felt anything. She wouldn’t have known about it. She was asleep, you see. It was the middle of the night. The smoke would have… Well, the smoke would have overcome her before she had the chance to wake up.’
    But Helen didn’t see how he could know this for sure. What if she had woken up? What if she’d been scared? What if she’d struggled to get out of bed and… Her hands clenched instinctively. She could feel the dampness of her own palms. Quickly she tried to block the thought, to think about something else. Her mother’s flat had been in Kilburn. Last week, when no one was looking, she had taken her grandfather’s well-worn A to Z from the bookcase and checked the index to find out where it was. North-west London, that was where she’d been living. Her mum had never stayed in one place for long: a few months, sometimes only a week or two. Helen had found the road, Samuel Street, and pressed her thumb down on it.
    ‘You okay?’ Tommy asked.
    She gave a nod. ‘Janet says that Mum’s in heaven now.’
    He grinned back at her. ‘Sure. Why not? Probably causing mayhem already. Those angels won’t know what’s hit them.’
    For a long while after, there was silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. It was getting on for five thirty when Helen saw the signpost for Kellston. By now, the roads they were driving along were busier, greyer and dirtier than the ones in Farleigh Wood. Three tall concrete towers dominated the horizon. As they got closer, she gazed up at the top storeys of the high-rise flats, wondering what it was like to live so close to the sky. There were flashes of colour fluttering on the balconies: shirts and towels hung out to dry by optimistic residents.
    ‘This is the high street,’ Tommy said. ‘And there’s a market three times a week. The girls usually go there on Saturdays.’
    Helen, not wanting to appear rude, pretended to be interested. They passed a cinema, Woolworths and a café with a group of lads loitering outside. The youths looked rough and hard-faced, their hands stuck deep in their pockets as they lounged against the wall. Recalling her grandmother’s warnings about the dangers of the East End, she felt a spurt of anxiety. But she didn’t have to worry, she told herself. She was in the car. She was safe. Nothing could happen to her. But her heart continued to beat a little faster.
    Tommy flicked on the indicator and turned left at a set of traffic lights. The first thing Helen noticed was the railway station. Men and women were streaming from the exit, an almost liquid crowd