‘When did you know, about Mum?’ Molly asked softly.
Dee took a breath. Her voice came out childlike. ‘I woke up and needed the loo. I took my earphones off and heard the front door. I knew it was Magda. I was going to go down after I had a shower and say hi but then… then I heard the screaming.’
She looked up, slowly, eyes glassy and wide.
‘I ran to the corridor. Magda was… she was hysterical, hunched on the floor crying. Then I saw Mum. She was just… there. At the bottom. It was horrible. I didn’t know she was there, Molls…’
Molly made a sound then. A soft, broken sob. She crossed the room in two strides and sank down beside Dee, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her close. Dee didn’t resist.
She let herself be held. Let her head rest against her sister’s shoulder, relishing the safety of her arms.
‘It’s not your fault,’ Molly whispered, rocking them gently. ‘None of this is your fault.’
And Dee didn’t speak. Didn’t nod. Didn’t confess. She let her believe it. Because if she didn’t, if she spoke now, if she told Molly everything she knew, everything she’d done, she might never come back from it. Their whole family, the one she wanted to protect, would be finished forever.
She was fifteen. She still had stuffed animals lined along her bed. She watched TikToks about how to contour her cheeks and wrote her name in bubble letters using sparkly gel pens. Her biggest worry last week had been whether to wear her black jeans or her denim skirt to the retail park.
Now she was in a house full of police, with her mother dead at the bottom of the stairs and a bunch of strangers looking at her battered and bloody body. And she had a secret buried sodeep in her chest she wasn’t sure it would ever be found. She was the catalyst, the snooper and the snitch. The one who’d caused the row that had made her mum get more drunk and… She couldn’t bear to think of what happened next.
Molly rocked her, humming some soft melody their mother used to sing. It was all too much. Dee felt herself retreat inward, a quiet withdrawal behind her ribs, somewhere the truth couldn’t touch her.
‘I miss her so much already,’ Dee whispered suddenly.
Molly tightened her grip. ‘I know. Me too.’
‘She was wearing her silky nightdress,’ Dee said, almost in a trance. ‘The one with the matching kitten heels that we bought her for Christmas. The ones she said made her feel like Cate Blanchett in a perfume ad.’
Molly let out a small, wet laugh, though it cracked halfway out. ‘She loved that nightdress and really did look like a movie star when she wore it. Miles more beautiful than Cate.’
And somewhere in the distance, the front door opened again. Footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful. Rushed. Shane was back. Dee clutched the cushion tighter and didn’t lift her head.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Molly turned her head, her breath caught. A moment later, Shane appeared, his voice in control, letting everyone know the man of the house had returned.
His eyes were bloodshot, lids puffy, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He looked crumpled, like he’d been driving for hours. His hair was dishevelled, shirt half-untucked. He looked, Molly thought, exactly how a grieving husband who’d driven miles to get home to his beloved family, should look.
‘Oh my God,’ he whispered, voice raw as he scanned the room, his arms limp by his sides.
Then he saw Dee. In two long strides he was across the lounge, dropping to his knees in front of her. Dee broke instantly. Her face crumpling as fresh tears poured down her cheeks. Shane pulled her into his chest, cradling her like a child, stroking the back of her head.
‘Sshhh, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m here now,’ he murmured. ‘It’s going to be all right. Let it all out, that’s it, I’ve got you.’
Molly stood and went to lean by the wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest, watching. Suddenly she wanted to be away fromhim, to look in and observe. Her jaw clenched so hard it ached, but she said nothing. His performance was flawless. His voice, his body language, the protective warmth in his embrace. All so convincing. All so wrong. And yet she was complicit in his lie and she hated that so much. And no, it wasn’t going to be all right. How could anything ever be right again?
He kissed the top of Dee’s head, pulled back slightly, brushing hair from her face. ‘You poor darling. This is so cruel. I can’t believe she’s gone.’
Molly noticed the way his fingers moved with practised ease, gentle yet commanding. The way his body curved protectively around Dee, placing himself between her and the rest of the world. It was the same way he’d once touched her, when she fell from a tree house at some country pub, feeling silly in front of all the strangers and giggling kids, his tenderness and reading of the scene had felt like balm, but now, with fresh eyes, it felt like a brand.
He looked over Dee’s head at Molly then, his expression folding with practised sorrow. ‘Molly,’ he said, ‘I… I can’t believe this. I just can’t. Where were you? Were you here?’
It was smooth. Molly caught the slight pause before his question, the almost imperceptible scan of her face, as though calculating what she might say. Still, she swallowed hard and replied, ‘No. I stayed at The Edwardian last night,’ she said. ‘A last-minute treat. We all went into town spur of the moment. Had a few too many cocktails with the girls and couldn’t drive so hammered the credit card and booked a room. I came home as soon as the police called.’
His body language told her he approved of her lie. Then he was nodding, understanding, stepping forward to hug her. The contact startled her. His arms were firm and warm. The smell of his aftershave familiar and cloying, and it annoyed her so much that he’d even thought to apply it.
She imagined the scene after she’d fled. Did he call room service, order breakfast then have a leisurely soak, maybe watched a film until it was time to make his fake journey home. The whole scenario that she suspected would be spot on, made her stomach churn. For the briefest moment, she wanted to push him away. Wanted to shove him hard in the chest and scream. But she didn’t. She let him hold her. Because she had to play the game. The one they were practised at. For now.
‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart,’ he whispered. ‘This is a nightmare. Just a nightmare.’
