Page 27 of The Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-Six

It had been hours since Julia’s body had been taken away, yet the house still felt frozen in that moment.

The hush that fell when the private ambulance came, the way the officers moved in measured respectful silence, the quiet sobs from Dee muffled into a blanket.

Their mum left the house one last time, on a gurney, inside a black bag.

Molly had made it to the downstairs loo just in time before she emptied last night’s dinner into the toilet.

It was early morning; the twilight zone, and Molly hadn’t slept.

Not properly. Just dozed in short bursts, her body curled protectively around Dee’s.

The white roses on the sideboard, arranged days ago by Magda, were beginning to droop.

Their stems bowed as if in silent mourning.

The sofa cushions bore the impressions of weary bodies.

Dee had slept with a stillness that worried her, so slack-limbed and deep that it felt unnatural. Magda had said it was shock and exhaustion, and Molly didn’t question it. She envied it, if anything.

Shane had passed out on the other sofa. One arm thrown over his face, the other trailing off the side like a puppet with its strings cut.

His mouth hung open slightly, a faint snore rasping from deep in his throat.

The slow rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed set of his jaw.

He was still wearing the same clothes from the day before, creased trousers, a shirt with a small dark patch under one arm, and a luxury watch that glinted in the morning light.

Molly had watched him for some time after the police left.

Every detail. There was nothing in his expression to suggest grief.

Nothing in his posture to suggest tension.

It had all been performative. She had seen the best of his acting before.

Had lived it for the past two years. Inhabiting a house with your secret lover takes skill.

Which was why their break-up tryst had started to play on repeat in her mind.

The hotel. The intimacy. But now, the thought of that same intimacy made her skin crawl. The memory made her nauseous.

Magda had remained long after the others had gone.

She’d served tea, made sandwiches though no one drank or ate.

She’d wiped Dee’s forehead, fetched extra blankets, placed a hand on Molly’s shoulder.

She never spoke to Shane, never looked him in the eye.

When Erik arrived to take her home, she nodded to Molly, gave Dee a kiss on the crown of her head, and left without a word to anyone else.

The most painful moment of all had been when Julia was taken away.

Molly had stood on the steps, clutching the railing, as the stretcher was wheeled through the hallway.

The kind men spoke in soft tones, their shoes creaking on the polished floorboards.

Dee had sobbed until she collapsed into Molly’s arms. That image remained ingrained, of her mother, zipped inside a bag, leaving her own home for the last time.

When Yates approached her before leaving, he’d spoken with the same calm efficiency he’d carried all day. ‘We’ll be contacting the coroner,’ he said gently. ‘There will likely be a post-mortem. We need to determine the exact cause of death.’

Molly nodded, though her stomach turned at the word.

Then he continued. ‘I need you all to remain in the area. We may have follow-up questions.’

She thanked him, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps for treating her mother with dignity. Perhaps for believing, even if he hadn’t said it aloud, that something wasn’t quite right. She could just tell, the way he watched while his side-kick asked questions.

It was during the quiet, when the police had packed up their kits and the house began to breathe again, that she made the call to Nancy.

Her aunt’s voice on the other end was choked and still disbelieving.

Molly had kept it brief, clinical. She couldn’t afford emotion just then.

Had she booked her flight? When would she arrive?

‘Have you told Gran and Granddad?’ she’d asked.

Nancy had. A neighbour was with them. She was arranging flights and would be with Molly and Dee as soon as she could.

They would make the arrangements together and Nancy reminded Molly that she was still her and Dee’s legal guardian, an arrangement Julia had made shortly after Ronnie’s death, just in case.

Nancy would guide them through it all, so not to worry.

There was no mention of Shane. It was unspoken but as though he was of no consequence.

Surplus to requirements and for a very weird moment Molly thought that was cruel, and then she gave herself a dose of reality and remembered that only a marriage certificate had held him and her mother together for years.

They were leading separate lives and hadn’t needed a death certificate to part them.

Now, in the bleak unveiling of the morning, Molly sat on the same sofa, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. She hadn’t brushed her hair. She hadn’t eaten. Her stomach was hollow and tight with knots, her limbs leaden.

Dee stirred beside her but didn’t wake. Her small hand was still wrapped loosely around Molly’s, her mouth slightly open, her cheek pressed into the soft fabric of the cushion.

Her eyelashes were dry at last, in her dreams she was free of sadness or so Molly hoped.

She let her gaze wander to Shane and let her mind drift back to the hotel.

There was something wrong with that night.

She thought about it again. The tenderness.

The laughter. The way he had looked at her like he was memorising her.

Like he’d really accepted it was over and that fact made her feel liberated and cast-off, all at once.

Then she remembered waking in the early hours and finding him staring at the ceiling, unmoving.

She had whispered his name, but he hadn’t answered right away, pretending he was asleep.

When he finally did, his voice was warm and drowsy, but she now recognised the act for what it was. Practised.

Had he already known? Had she been lying in bed with a man who had killed her mother? The thought terrified her. She bent forward, pressing her hands into her eyes, stifling the sob that threatened to claw its way up. Dee shifted beside her, murmuring something incoherent.

‘It’s okay, I’m here,’ Molly whispered, brushing Dee’s hair from her face. ‘Go back to sleep.’

Dee didn’t reply. Her breath deepened again.

Molly forced herself to breathe. It wasn’t just sadness anymore.

It was suspicion. It was confusion. But more than that, it was guilt.

Because she had been with him. While her mother died.

She had wrapped herself in hotel linen and moaned into his shoulder.

And now Julia was gone. Molly knew she could never say what she’d done.

And that if her worst fears were founded, and Shane had hurt her mum even unintentionally during a row and he was cornered, would he blab?

Would he kick out, expose her, take her down with him and ruin her life?

Molly clasped her hands, at first to quell the shakes and then to make a silent prayer.

That despite her fears, Shane was innocent.