Little Red Hoodie (706 words)
"Now don't forget the bag for your Nan." The woman looks into the shopping bag, shudders, and closes it again. “Sometimes I wonder what I married into.”
Red sighs and does an exaggerated, adolescent shrug. She’s heard that before.
"And don't go by the Whitman Estate. And stay away from that old tramp by the off-licence."
"Mu-um."
"I don't want to be phoning the hospitals. Or the police."
"I'll be late."
The woman looks out the window. "Oh, blast. Yes. Hurry. Wait, have you got your mobile?"
"Yes, Mum. And yes, it's got credit, and yes, it's switched on."
"Don't you give me that voice, young lady. If that plumber had turned up when he was supposed to..." she rolls her eyes towards the upstairs, where there is an ominous, constant dripping sound. “But I have to keep emptying the bucket.”
Beyond the kitchen window, the moon is rising over the rooftops, fat as a cheese, smoky autumn yellow.
"Can I just go?"
"You ring me the second you get there. Tell your Nan I said you're to stay overnight. And if she gets out of hand..."
"I know. Anyway she can't help it."
"Sometimes I wonder. Just make sure her chain's on. I know what she's like."
She grasps the girl’s wrist as she’s about to leave. “Red, be careful,” she says. “You’re old enough…”
With one final, eye-rolling, “Mu-uum,” Red escapes, swinging the bag with Nan's supplies in one hand, tugging at the neck of her jacket with the other. It's too small, really, but she likes it. She pulls the hood up and pretends she's one of the lads from the estate, all droopy trousers and bravado, and giggles to herself as she walks.
She’s still, mostly, a child. She doesn’t hurry. She wanders and looks in windows and makes up stories about the people behind them; but her musings are interrupted by the crash of glass, a straggle of drunken laughter. She looks up; the moon’s lost its yellow. Suddenly it’s a bone-white eye.
She starts to walk faster.
Red isn't very interested in cars, and doesn't notice the sleek black late-model Jag cruising like a shark; even when it comes past her the second time. Slower.
The streets are almost empty. The car stops. The window slides down, electrically silent.
"Excuse me?" The voice is smooth. "I'm looking for Laburnum Drive."
If she'd been watching, she would know the car has already been down Laburnum Drive; it turned out of it, just now.
She pulls her hood further down, her voice comes out gruff. "I don't know."
"I've got a map here...perhaps you could show me? Come on, you can't see it from over there." A pause. "I'll give you some money, if you like...for your trouble."
She shouldn't get too close. But by the time she realises she shouldn't, it's already too late.
***
Nan's bungalow sits with three others at the far end of the estate; a last decrepit clutch at suburban respectability before the motorway. Her garden is overgrown. In the morning light, the girl's mother pushes frantically through the nettles, ignoring the stings. "Nan!" She hammers on the door. "Nan!"
Eventually, slowly, it opens. The old woman looks out, blinking. "Oh, hello, dear."
"Where is she?"
"Inside. She’s…”
But the woman shoves past her, into the house, and sees Red curled in the old chair, tugging idly at the buckle of a studded dog-collar attached to a thick, heavy chain.
"What happened? I phoned and phoned..."
"I'm sorry, Mum."
There is a streak of darkness on Red’s jacket; her face has changed, suddenly older, as though years happened to her last night. Or centuries. She is remarkably calm.
"Honestly," the old woman says. "Sending her out on full moon, and her all of twelve! You should have known."
"Who was it?" Red’s mother says.
"Some perv. Don't worry.”
“Don’t worry? What do you mean don’t worry?”
“We disposed of it. I’ve been dealing with this sort of thing a long time, dear.”
Nan grins. Her teeth are long, and white, and sharp. “If you’d been one of us, we’d have saved you a leg.”
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