She stared at the message, seeing how stupid it sounded, then deleted it.
Why was she suddenly feeling like this? Was it what happened when you were grieving. She set the phone down and stared out of the window, letting her thoughts drift, chaotic and jumbled. She thought about Molly. Always whispering with Nancy, always watching Shane like a hawk. Like there was something she wasn’t saying.
Just because Dee didn’t speak it didn’t mean she couldn’t hear, like when she pretended to be dozing on the sofa. She’d heard them talking about him cheating on her mum, that she was going to divorce him, that he was a snake they couldn’t trust and was after Mum’s money and the house.
Shane. Her stepdad. Her friend. Her hero. The one who noticed when she didn’t eat. Who checked on her when no one else did. Who was taking her to Paris. Who sat beside her in the dark and said the things she needed to hear. Didn’t mind when she sat on his bed while he watched telly and talked about things that worried her, like Donald Trump and knife crime. He’d give her a cuddle and make her laugh about the orange one andreassured her that nobody in Little Bollington was going to go crazy with a machete.
It wasn’t wrong to feel safe with him. It couldn’t be. He understood her in a way no one else did. She was just being silly. Taking this ‘pushing people away’ thing a bit too far. Shane would look after her. He promised. And Dee believed him. Shane was her safe place.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It was almost lunchtime, the day after the funeral and Molly waited on one of the side streets close to ClearGlass. The industrial estate was huge and nobody would spot her there. She kept the engine of her Mini running and watched through her rear-view mirror for Harley who had agreed to meet her. Molly had been direct and firm in her message, saying that she needed to talk and it was urgent, giving the time and the place, leaving no room for negotiation simply because she’d ended with,unless you’d like me to come into the office.
The night before, Molly hadn’t slept more than a few minutes before waking up and going over everything she knew, and what she was going to do about it. She hadn’t mentioned to Nancy what she’d discovered because she wanted to hear it from Harley first, get her facts right. Spotting her rounding the corner and hurrying in Molly’s direction, she clicked the switch to open the door and within seconds, Shane’s other lover was sitting in the passenger seat.
Harley, dressed in white cotton capri pants and a pale lemon shirt, her long fair hair loose to her shoulders, looked far morecomposed than she had the day before. In fact, when she turned, there was something close to anger in her eyes and her first words took Molly by surprise.
‘I just want to say I’m glad you asked to meet because I’ve been wanting to get this off my chest for a while so you saved me the bother of trying to work out what to do next.’
Harley’s voice didn’t waver and Molly had a suspicion she may have rehearsed her opening speech. ‘Well I suppose that’s something then. So, what was it you wanted to tell me?’
‘I think you know very well what, but to save time because I only have forty-five minutes, I’ll get straight to the point. Yes, I was seeing Shane and it’s been going on since February and before you get the wrong idea, no, I’m not in love with him and no, I don’t want to keep on seeing him, either. In fact I’m kind of hoping you’re going to be able to help me find a way of getting shut of him. There, does that answer some of your questions?’ Harley held Molly’s stare and waited, her chest visibly heaving as though the sheer effort of what she’d said had exhausted her.
Molly was totally wrong-footed. She’d imagined having to drag the truth out of Harley so answered honestly, too. ‘Well, yes, it does, but what I don’t understand is why you sound like you can’t stand him. It doesn’t exactly fit the stereotype, does it?’
‘No, because I’m not his mistress, or his lover, either. I’m just a stupid cow who got taken in by a total bastard and that bastard is ruining my life and I’m sick of it, so if you can’t help me then I’m going to expose him and have done with it. It’s what he deserves in my opinion. Fuck the consequences.’ Harley threw her arms across her chest, her foot tapping in temper in the footwell as she waited for Molly to speak.
‘Okay… well, I have to say I wasn’t expecting that.’ Molly paused, trying to think at a million miles an hour. ‘Look, Harley, we’ve known each other since we were kids and I know we’re notclose but you’re one of my oldest friends so whatever all this is about, and even after what’s gone on, I do want to help.’
Harley seemed to relax, her shoulders dropping as she swivelled in her seat to face Molly. ‘I really appreciate that and for the record, it’s made all of this even worse, us being old mates, it really has.’
‘So why don’t you just explain it to me, how it started and why you need my help.’ Molly was conscious of the time and wanted to get every last detail out of Harley before her lunch break ended.
Harley nodded, ‘Okay… that makes sense but please, try not to judge me until you’ve heard it all and believe me, nobody hates themselves as much as I do.’
As much as she wanted to disagree with Harley’s statement, knowing full well what it was like to loathe everything about yourself, Molly kept it to herself and instead, listened.
It kind of started at the Lassiter house, of all places. She had been helping her aunt Magda, earning extra money over the summer. Harley had been seventeen, finishing up her A-levels, her life a mix of sixth-form gossip, music playlists, and dreams of being independent. Getting away from her dad who was a big piss-head and finding a flat, or maybe even a room in a shared house. She didn’t care where as long as it wasn’t her parents’ cesspit.
Shane had been charming. He noticed if she’d done her hair differently, if she looked tired and hot from hoovering the carpets. He hadn’t treated her like the help, someone peripheral, and instead, offered to get her a bottle of water and suggested she take a break. He asked questions about her interests thenlistened like he genuinely cared. Complimented her work and said she had a good head on her shoulders when she told him about her career hopes.
Then came the little favours. Offering her lifts back into the village. Leaving an extra tenner tucked inside her handbag and once a huge bottle of her favourite perfume he’d picked up from duty free. She’d been so overcome with gratitude, gobsmacked he’d remembered it was Gucci Flora, that tears had pricked her eyes. The first time he touched her it was her wrist. She was stacking fresh towels in the hallway cupboard when he walked past and gently wrapped his fingers around her arm.
‘You’re wasted doing laundry,’ he said with a smile.
She laughed nervously, unsure whether it was a joke or something else. From there it escalated. Slowly. A compliment here. A brush of the hand there.
When Julia got her the job at ClearGlass as a junior admin, he began sneaking her leftover pastries from meetings which she’d find on her desk wrapped in a serviette with a note saying,‘you deserve a treat.’It already felt like they had a special friendship even though nothing had happened. She was flattered. Nothing more.
It wasn’t until the night of the previous Christmas party that she realised just how serious it was becoming. He found her outside by the back staircase. She had stepped out for air; her head was pounding from the music and flashing lights. He followed her, stood close, and then told her he simply had to kiss her, after all, it was Christmas. He produced a sprig of mistletoe; it was plastic and it made her laugh and before she knew it he was kissing her passionately. She’d panicked, pulled away then fled inside and avoided eye contact and stuck close to her colleagues all night.
After that he was relentless and wore her down. It was as though he could see right inside her head and she realised toolate that while she’d been working in his house, she’d given away far too much about herself. That she was unhappy at home with her warring parents and biker dad who cared more about his Harley Davidson than his wife and kids. About the management programme Julia had hinted at if she did well, the driving lessons she’d been saving up for, and the ultimate dream, a little place of her own.
‘Her and Shane’ started proper on a cold, February night. She’d stayed late to help her boss who was still working away and then she missed her bus, could’ve cried when she saw it pulling away from the stop, the driver ignoring her waving arms and calls for him to wait. It was pouring down, too. A deluge of hail and rain that soaked her clothes and shoes, and her brolly kept blowing inside out, so when Shane pulled alongside her in his fancy red car and offered her a lift, she accepted without hesitation.
It was already dark as they made their way out of the industrial park and Harley was dreading going home to the same old drama she’d left behind at breakfast – her mum had chucked a full mug of tea at her dad, just before she’d slammed the door closed on them both.
Shane asked her if she fancied going for a quick drink and despite his behaviour at Christmas which she conveniently put down to being drunk, a one-off, she said yes. They went to a little pub tucked away in the Cheshire countryside where one drink turned into three or four, then a meal and afterwards he drove her home. To her relief, he didn’t try any funny business. If only he’d left it there, but he didn’t. He often gave her lifts home and they always turned into a few drinks in their ‘special place’ as he called it.
