Molly’s next words were barely audible when she asked, ‘And did he tell her?’
‘I don’t know,’ Magda said softly. ‘I thought he was going to come downstairs and see me so ran to the utility room and grabbed my phone then left as fast as I could. I didn’t hear the rest.’
The officer, standing quietly at the edge of the room, cleared his throat. ‘Which is why we need to investigate further. When Mr Jones returns, we’ll need to speak with him properly. But for now… it appears he was the last person to see Mrs Lassiter alive.’
Magda avoided Molly’s eyes and went back to the kitchen and took a seat at the island, her hands shaking. Her headwas crowded with thoughts and conversations that all merged together and knowing a detective was on his way, decided to put it in some kind of order so she wouldn’t miss anything out. She reached for her phone and opened a new note.
She began to write. A list. Every detail. Every suspicion. Every shout through walls. Every single thing about Shane that had always told her he was bad to the core. Until Nancy arrived, it was up to her to keep watch, be vigilant, and do her best for Julia and the girls.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Molly sat on the patio steps staring at the lawn, not seeing, just staring, her hands resting limply in her lap. To her left, the pool in the corner of the garden was covered over and she wished it was open so she could run across the grass and dive straight in. Wash herself and everything away. She hadn’t changed out of the dress from the night before, creased and stained with something she didn’t want to examine too closely.
Her mother was dead. That simple, brutal fact sounded like a klaxon in her mind, over and over. A hideous noise that silenced everything else. She stared down at her bare feet planted on the soft grass. The same grass her mum used to pace across in her Birkenstocks, talking too loudly on the phone, or watching the gardener, making sure he mowed straight, alternate rows in the lawn so it looked stripey. Now she was gone. Would never feel the tickle of grass on her skin or complain about a wobbly line.
Molly couldn’t cry. The tears wouldn’t come. Not in the way she thought they would or should. It felt more like drowning slowly, lungs filling up inch by inch. Grief, she realised, didn’talways rush in howling, screaming and crying. Sometimes it came quietly, like mist rolling over the garden in winter.
Molly knew she should be doing something useful. She should comfort Dee. She should get up. She should do a million things. But all she could do was sit, rigid and unable to escape the echo of Magda’s words. Her mum knew Shane was seeing someone. He was holding her to ransom. Said he’d have the last laugh.
Those phrases played on a loop now. Molly clutched her arms, cold despite the warmth of the day. She remembered being with Shane in the hotel room. The things they’d done. The things he’d whispered. And hours before he was here, arguing with her mum. Making threats, probably making her cry, knowing that the woman she asked about was Molly, her own daughter.
And then she remembered her mother’s body. The blood. The unnatural bend of her limbs. The slackness of her mouth, her face almost unrecognisable. A silk slipper by her head, the other on the stair above. The moment she had seen her was the worst moment of her whole life. That was followed closely by the here and now because since she’d heard Magda’s description of events, Molly felt like she was slap-bang in the middle of a sick reality TV show and her family, more to the point, she and Shane, were about to become unwilling stars.
Thinking of him made her skin crawl because somewhere deep inside, she knew. She knew it wasn’t just a fall. That it wasn’t some tragic accident. She knew her mother hadn’t slipped. She had seen the fear in Magda’s eyes. The hesitation. The way she had glanced at Dee before telling the truth.
Shane had been the last one to see her poor mum alive. He hadn’t gone to Glasgow. He was late to the hotel. Molly thought back to his behaviour when he arrived, tried to remember ifhe acted differently but she couldn’t focus and see him clearly because her head was all over the place.
A thought came, unbidden. What if he’d lost his temper when her mum told him about the divorce? And he’d snapped and pushed her. Was he capable of that? She thought back to what Phoebe had told her about poor Kye, and that Shane had threatened him, roughed him up and scared him off. So yes, maybe he was. Another question pinged in. What did Shane have on her mum? How was he holding her to ransom? Was this all about money and what he stood to lose in a divorce or was there more to it?
One thing that eased the tension in Molly’s heart was that for now, their secret was safe and only the two of them knew who the mystery woman was. And then a thought that made a sob catch in Molly’s throat, that at least before she died, her mum didn’t find out how badly Molly had betrayed her. The thought of her mum finding out like that flooded her body with a shock wave of fresh shame and as the tidal gates gave way, finally she was able to cry. Huge, bone-rattling sobs that almost choked her, making her back and throat ache.
It was as she managed to regain control and the tears began to ease, that the doorbell rang.
The detective had arrived. Molly inhaled shakily, pressing her hands to her face, trying to regulate her breathing. She heard Magda calling her name so stood, ready to face whatever and whoever was waiting inside and for the sake of self-preservation, continue with the charade that was becoming her life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dee kept her eyes fixed on the thick weave of the plush carpet. The oat-coloured strands that were sprinkled with diamonds of glitter blurred slightly so she blinked hard, determined not to cry again. Her throat felt raw, scraped from hours of uncontrollable sobbing. The silence in between the questions, the cups of tea and glasses of water, the comings and goings of strangers who tried to be respectful while doing their jobs, was unbearable.
She’d heard the detective arrive. He was standing in the hall, talking to the others. And still, she didn’t look up. She sat stiffly on the sofa, arms clamped around a cushion that smelled faintly of the Purdy and Figg spray Magda squirted on everything. Her feet barely touched the floor because the sofa was huge, deep and squashy and the fact they didn’t reach made her feel childish and small.
Molly sat opposite her, curled in on herself, her knees pulled tight to her chest. Her expression unreadable. Blank. The older sister who used to pull faces behind their mum’s back and make Dee giggle, who wore her hair long and wavy and refused to have it cut regardless of her mum’s insistence. Who could be naughtyat school but had everyone believe she was a goody-two shoes. At home, honey sweet and gooey, or dark-chocolate-bitter and bad, depending on her mood. Who was beautiful and outgoing and a light in Dee’s life. Who gave sage sisterly advice but didn’t take it herself. Who now looked pathetic and pale, her eyes ringed red yet watchful.
Then she spoke. ‘Dee,’ Molly said quietly. ‘Where were you last night? Did you not see Mum at all, or hear anything?’
Dee didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. Didn’t let the guilt show. No way was she mentioning that email. ‘I was here, all night on my own,’ she said. ‘Like I told them. I went to the park for a bit and when I came home. Shane was going out. He said Mum was tired, that she’d had a bit too much wine and gone to lie down. He told me not to disturb her. Said she needed peace. He told me to order takeaway but I didn’t want to without… without Mum.’
Molly’s jaw tensed.
Dee looked down at her hands. They were shaking again, so she gripped the cushion tighter. ‘I made a milkshake then went to my room for a while but later I was hungry,’ she continued, voice growing more mechanical, ‘so I made a sandwich. There was some cold pizza, too, and I got some crisps and juice and took it all upstairs on a tray. I was going to come back down and clear up I swear and ask Mum if she wanted a cup of tea or anything. But I didn’t see anything or hear anything odd.’
She paused, pressing her lips together. Her fingers twisted the edge of the cushion.
Molly was staring, her eyes full of tears.
‘Then I went to my room. I watched television then put on my headphones and I must have nodded off,’ Dee whispered.
She didn’t say that she’d told Shane about the email or that she’d seen his face change, that he looked worried and that she hated it when her mum was weepy and drunk so kept out of the way. She didn’t say she’d put on her earphones, turned onher relaxation app and let it drown everything out. Let herself believe that it was the right thing and that she had tried to help her family and it had all gone terribly wrong.
