Free Bad Girl by Roberta Kray Page A

that flowed out on to the pavement. She was still watching this when her uncle swung right across the line of traffic and entered the car park of a pub called the Fox.
    ‘Here we are,’ he said, pulling the Cortina into a space by a stack of empty beer barrels. ‘Home sweet home.’
    Helen’s eyes widened. She had never even been inside a public house before, never mind lived in one. As she got out of the car, she stared anxiously up at the Fox. It was a large but slightly shabby building, three storeys high, with the paint peeling from the windows. Tommy took her suitcase out of the boot and they sloshed through the puddles to the back door. Inside, there was a dimly lit corridor leading into the pub rooms – she could hear the murmur of voices, the chink of glasses – and a staircase going up to the first floor.
    Her knees started to shake as she followed him up the stairs. Her eyes, downcast, took in the threadbare carpet, the scuff marks on the skirting boards and the battered lower part of the banisters. On reaching the first floor, Tommy swung around to the right, walked a short way along the landing and went through an open door that lay directly ahead. It led into a living room that overlooked the street. Two big green sofas, their arms worn thin with use, dominated the space. There was a patterned easy chair, a television, an electric fire – currently turned off – and a modern-looking record player. A pale blue Trimphone sat on a low table by one of the sofas. The room was clean but untidy, with newspapers and magazines strewn around.
    A female voice came from the room beyond. ‘Tommy? Is that you?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    A second later, a woman flounced in from the kitchen beyond. She was slim and blonde and attractive. Or at least she would have been attractive if her face hadn’t been contorted in an angry scowl. ‘Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what the bloody time is?’ She stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Helen. ‘Who’s this?’
    ‘This is Helen,’ he said. ‘Lynsey’s kid. She’s come to stay with for us for a bit.’ He put the case down and gave Helen’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘This is the missus, love. And don’t worry, it’s me she wants to kill, not you. I should have been back hours ago.’
    Yvonne put her hands on her hips and stared at Helen. ‘Stay?’ she repeated stiffly. Her gaze flicked back up to her husband. ‘What are you talking about?’
    Helen shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other. Her cheeks were beginning to burn and she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She hadn’t asked to come here, hadn’t wanted to come. If it had been up to her, she’d have turned straight around and gone back to Farleigh Wood.
    ‘Don’t start,’ Tommy said. ‘It’s an emergency. Her grandma’s sick.’
    ‘And you didn’t think to call, to let me know?’
    ‘There wasn’t time. Jesus, it’s only one more. What’s all the fuss about? You’ll hardly notice she’s here.’
    Yvonne, however, didn’t seem convinced. ‘Oh, and you’ll be looking after her, will you? Cooking her meals, washing her clothes?’ It was clearly only the presence of Helen that prevented her from really letting rip. Instead, she said through gritted teeth, ‘We’ll talk about this later, Tommy Quinn.’
    Tommy grinned, backtracked to the door and shouted up the stairs. ‘Girls? Come on down and meet your cousin.’
    There was the soft thud of footsteps on the stairs, followed shortly by the appearance of two extremely pretty blonde girls. Apart from their height, they were almost identical, with long fair hair flowing down their backs, heart-shaped faces and wide brown eyes. They looked, Helen realised with a start, more like her mother than she did.
    Uncle Tommy made the introductions. ‘Debs, Karen, this is Helen. She’s going to be staying with us for a while.’
    The two girls, dressed in flared jeans and tie-dye T-shirts, looked her up and down