She had narrowed it down to a handful of possibilities. The new admin assistant, brunette, mid-thirties, always perfectly made-up. One of the two receptionists who he said used to giggle when he walked past, using that little teaser to compare Molly who was far more mature. Or was it to keep her on her toes?
Oh what a big stupid sponge she’d been. Sucking in his praise and taking the bait, gobbling up in more ways than one the dangly worm of jealousy he’d placed so adeptly before her.
What about the depot manager with the athletic build and blue pixie hair-do? No, not feminine enough for Shane. Molly observed everyone in the room, disqualifying them one by one as she watched for a glance too long, a whisper too soft. Nothing. Just polite chat and a plate full of posh-nosh.
At the bar, Shane was holding court. He’d been drinking steadily since their arrival. Jack Daniels, his favourite tipple. He laughed too loud, patted too many backs, and threw his arm around people with a familiarity that made Molly cringe. She watched him with growing unease.
She glanced to the far side of the room where Nancy moved gracefully from group to group, thanking people for coming, accepting kind words with composure she wore like armour. Nancy had been her lifeline. Strong, calm, unflinching. Molly adored her.
They had already discussed what came next. After the reading of the will, Nancy would fly to Toronto at the weekend, to make some personal arrangements. But before that, a request. Nancy had told Molly she wanted a private chat, away from the house, about the contents of the will and other matters. Molly’s curiosity had piqued but trusted her aunt when she said it was better to wait until they’d got the funeral out of the way. Tensions were high enough as it was and she didn’t want to make things worse. And she was right. Getting through today had been hard enough so whatever Nancy wanted to tell her could wait. Molly was adept at waiting her turn.
One thing she did know was that, once the will was read, Nancy and Molly were going to ask Shane to leave. Which was why Magda was going to stay at the house and help look after Dee and keep Molly company when Nancy was in Toronto. A battle was on the horizon and the thought of it made her feel sick with nerves, terrified that at any moment Shane might expose her and she would die, right there on the spot, poisoned by shame.
Dee was the bigger worry, though. Withdrawn, temperamental, refusing to eat some days, avoiding showers, pacing her room. There were nights she cried so hard Molly had to lie beside her, stroking her hair until she calmed. And thenthere was the night Molly had found Shane sitting on the edge of Dee’s bed, murmuring soft words in the dark. He’d said he was comforting her, but Dee wouldn’t look Molly in the eye.
That moment haunted her.
Nancy had agreed that Shane needed to go. They had to keep Dee safe and out of his clutches because they feared he was using her fragile state to get her on side. Psychiatric help might be necessary but they were holding off until Nancy returned from Canada.
Molly’s head was wired, like a fizzing, sparking jumble of thoughts and doubts and fears and confusion. She had to get away, find some fresh air. Or at least take a break from the eyes of everyone in the room. As she walked toward the ladies’ room, she passed through the lobby where Magda and Erik were chatting to Harley, Magda’s nineteen-year-old niece and one of Molly’s non-school friends.
Even though they weren’t from the same circle, they’d know each other all their lives through Magda. They’d spent sunny summer holidays as kids playing in the back garden at Molly’s and in their teenage years, meeting on the village park to drink cider and check out boys.
A year ahead of Molly, Harley attended the local secondary school and during that time Julia had fixed her up with work experience and once she left, found Harley a job in the offices at ClearGlass.
Molly had always liked Harley and often wished they’d been closer but so many things prevented that, an ugly class divide for a start, and when she turned sixteen, one thing or person in particular. Still, they had a connection and seeing her old paddling-pool-pal, Molly smiled warmly at Harley who, on seeing Molly, immediately looked uncomfortable, nervously adjusting the hem of her black dress.
‘Hey, I wondered where you were,’ Molly said, ignoring the weird vibe.
‘We have been taking some air,’ Erik said, his voice quiet.
‘We were sat with Dee and your grandparents outside,’ Magda added, brushing a strand of insipid pink hair from her eyes that were still bloodshot from the funeral.
‘Thank you,’ Molly replied, her voice catching slightly. ‘For looking after them.’
Harley offered a small smile, eyes downcast. Her arms were crossed over her middle, twiddling the silver rings on her fingers. They exchanged a few more pleasantries about the weather and attendance, the vicar’s cold and impartial speech, the atmosphere both awkward and sincere.
Then, from the corner of her eye, Molly saw Shane approaching. He moved slowly, weaving slightly. His face was flushed, eyes glassy.
‘Magda,’ he said, nodding. ‘Erik. Harley. Good to see you.’ His speech was careful but slurred just enough to betray the JD on his breath. As he passed, he reached out, just briefly, and placed his hand on Harley’s shoulder. To anyone else, it would have looked like a gesture of balance, or drunken unsteadiness. But to Molly, it was something else. The action was visually familiar. The same way he used to touch her when they were in company. Light. Possessive. A secret signal.
Harley froze. A deep crimson blush spread from her neck to her cheeks, leaving a port stain on her chest. She cast her eyes downward, as if trying to disappear. Shane moved on, disappearing down the corridor toward the toilets. The moment was over in seconds, but its meaning was impossible for Molly to ignore. She stood rooted, her pulse thudding in her ears.
Harley is ‘babe’.
It hit her like a punch. That person on the phone. The panicked cover story. The lie about being with a woman who worked at ClearGlass. Harley. Nineteen.
Magda didn’t seem to have noticed. She was chatting softly with Erik, fatigue, the toll of the day and past events evident in her body language. Molly tried to compose herself, to breathe. But Harley’s reaction had said everything and now she’d turned sickly white.
Molly turned to the girl. ‘Are you okay?’
Harley looked up, startled. ‘Yes. I’m fine, how are you coping?’
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Molly wasn’t giving an inch.
Harley gave a nervous laugh. ‘I hate funerals and seeing Aunty Magda so upset.’
‘Hmm, yes. She’s taking it hard, isn’t she? Right then, I’ll go find the others. Please make sure you get something to eat and drink.’ Molly assumed hostess mode and didn’t press. It provided a shield and allowed her to walk away head held high, but with each solid step her mind was already spinning out of control.
