Solace & Grief Read Free

better to eat you with, my dear), but not malformed, and as she ran her tongue over them, probing, a bizarre, speculative thought occurred: that perhaps she, Solace Morgan, had been a vampire all along. Certainly, she didn't like sunlight; her diet consisted mainly of red meat; she was strong in a way unheard of outside bodybuilding competitions or sci-fi flicks; and then there was the question of thrall, which was as good a word for her persuasive skills as ever she'd encountered. Why should bats and silver have anything to do with it? At that, she began to tremble, hugging herself, and though she dismissed the notion as late-night jitters, something of it lingered.
    Sighing, she stood up from the table and carried her empty plate to the sink. Tomorrow, she'd be seventeen: only one year from freedom. It was an intoxicating thought, but also a frightening one. As she soaped the cold grease from her fingers, she contemplated, not for the first time, what it would be like to make her own decisions, live in her own apartment, have her own friends. What kind of work might she do? Insofar as she was able to judge, her marks had always been good, despite Mrs Plumber's tendency to deploy her in class as a buffer between the most disruptive element and everyone else, but would they count in the real world? Social problems were equally concerning: there'd rarely been boys in the group home, and all of them young. Thomas had been the last, she recalled, a shy pyromaniac who'd left some weeks before Luci's arrival. Since then, Solace's sole interaction with the opposite sex had come from TV and trips to Westfield. Which of these was least helpful was anyone's guess.
    ‘I'll do fine,’ she muttered. ‘I'll manage.’
    ‘Manage what?’
    Solace jumped. It was rare that someone snuck up on her, but lost in thought, she hadn't heard Luci approach. Turning, she smiled as the little girl hugged the edge of the doorway, the ends of two ratty, slept-in plaits brushing against her Minnie Mouse nightie.
    ‘Nothing. How're you?’
    Luci stretched theatrically. ‘Hungry! Can I have some breakfast?’
    ‘Depends on what you want. We're out of cereal.’
    ‘Crap,’ said Luci.
    Solace raised an eyebrow. ‘Mrs Plumber doesn't like you swearing.’
    ‘Mrs Plumber can bite me.’
    ‘Luci!’
    The eight-year-old giggled and poked out her tongue. ‘Toast, then? Please?’
    Rolling her eyes, Solace opened her mouth to tell Luci to heat her own bread when she remembered the Exploding Jam Incident and thought better of it.
    ‘How many slices?’
    ‘Two.’
    ‘Okay. Just sit down and wait.’
    She worked in silence. Luci was many things, but a chatterbox wasn't one of them, and so she sat obediently at the table, content with thrumming her fingers on the wooden top. ‘Strawberry jam,’ was her only comment on hearing the toaster pop.
    Solace was just serving up when Miss Daisy arrived downstairs, yawning in pleasant surprise at their seeming domesticity. Nodding a hello to Solace, she reached for the topmost cupboard where the coffee was kept and spoke without turning around, her voice carefully neutral.
    ‘Luci, you wouldn't happen to know who's been playing with my clothes, would you?’
    ‘No, Miss Daisy,’ Luci said through a mouthful of toast. Solace poured herself a glass of water, watching her house-mother's expression through sideways eyes. Miss Daisy frowned.
    ‘You're very sure? Someone's cut some words into my favourite shirt. It's not a very nice thought, Luci. Could it have been part of a game?’
    ‘Don't know, Miss Daisy.’
    ‘You didn't cut the words out?’
    ‘No, Miss Daisy.’
    An uneasy pause settled over the kitchen. Solace felt the hairs on her arms stand up. Something wasn't right. The problem with Luci – or, rather, a strange consequence of the many problems with Luci – was that she never lied about her misdemeanours, primarily because she didn't see them as such. The time she'd broken the arm of a boy twice