Page 24 of The Good Girl

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 naughty at 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 on her 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.

‘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 so deep 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.