Page 28 of The Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Magda stirred a spoonful of honey into her coffee, the mood in the small kitchen made less sombre by the quiet sounds of the morning news playing on the radio. The cheery voice of the presenter seemed jarring against the sadness in her chest so she turned the volume down until it was just a murmur.

The terraced house was warm, lived-in. It smelt of cinnamon and baking.

Curtains with faded sunflowers fluttered slightly at the edges where the windows were open to the morning breeze.

A patchwork of family photographs covered the far wall, her wedding day, a summer barbecue in Norfolk, Erik in his favourite armchair with a book in his lap.

The small space was crammed with soft furnishings, knitted throws, and cheerful clutter that bore no resemblance to the cool elegance of the Lassiter house.

Magda had lived in the UK for almost thirty years.

She’d come to Manchester from Krakow in the early nineties with little English and even less money.

Erik, a gentle man with kind eyes and an obsession with local history, had been her travelling companion and her anchor.

They had built this life slowly. Brick by brick.

When she first worked at ClearGlass, she scrubbed office floors and emptied bins.

That was when she first met Ronnie, and then his wife, Julia.

Julia had been a powerhouse even then, fiercely ambitious and competitive but full of warmth which made ClearGlass feel like a family firm.

She was why people stayed for years and remained loyal.

Julia had taken time to speak to Magda, to learn her name, to ask about her family back in Poland, if she was homesick and to say if she needed someone to talk to.

That small kindness had stuck with Magda.

When Julia offered her the job as housekeeper not long after Molly was born, Magda had cried all the way home on the bus. Happy tears though.

Flicking a sad one from her eye, Magda took her mug and sat down at the table.

Erik was already at work. He saw it as his duty to keep things running for Julia and the girls but she’d seen the hesitant way he’d tied the laces on his boots and picked up his rucksack.

He was waiting for her to say, ‘Don’t go in today,’ so he’d be spared the ordeal of answering questions and facing the truth.

Across from her, Zuzanna, her close friend, perched on one of the chairs, her cheeks flushed from the sun. She held her cup but her gaze never left Magda’s face. ‘So?’ Zuzanna asked. ‘You were there. What happened?’

Magda stared into her coffee, then took a slow sip. ‘I don’t know,’ she said simply. ‘Only that she died alone after a fall.’

Zuzanna tutted. ‘Yes, I know. It was all over the village this morning. But was it an accident?’

Magda didn’t reply straight away. She reached for the biscuit tin, offering it to Zuzanna, who waved it away. Magda took one herself, though she had no appetite.

‘The police think she fell down the stairs,’ she said, her voice flat.

Zuzanna leaned in, eager. ‘But what do you think?’

Magda’s eyes lifted slowly. ‘I think that Julia made it up and down those stairs many times, after parties, merry from the wine and she never fell. And lately, there was something else going on. Between her and that man.’

She saw the glint in Zuzanna’s eyes and battled the desire to trash Shane’s reputation but chose to remain loyal and respectful to her dear friend who wouldn’t want everyone talking about her private life.

‘She was not happy?’

‘Not with him. Who would be?’ Magda gave the smallest shrug.

Her comment was fair and frank, not too much. She wasn’t going to feed the gossip but found she couldn’t lie either. She’d spent the last few years watching that marriage slowly turn from something she didn’t condone to something she wished would end, for Julia’s sake.

Zuzanna sat back, nodding sagely. ‘You always said that man was no good.’

That was true, Magda never had a kind word for Shane. ‘He’s charming and handsome, but that is about all,’ she said. ‘My Julia deserved better.’

She could still see Shane’s smile in her mind, how it had never reached his eyes.

How he would pass through rooms like he owned them, always with a joke ready, a hand on your back, a compliment on his lips.

But underneath that surface, Magda had always sensed something colder, as if he was always calculating and ever watchful.

‘How are the girls doing?’ Zuzanna asked.

Magda’s heart squeezed painfully at the thought of them.

Molly, always outgoing and fun to be around, looked broken.

There had been something haunted in her eyes when Magda left the house.

Not just grief. And Dee, sweet, gentle Dee, still so much a child.

She’d clung to Magda like a baby the day before, her face blotchy from crying, her small frame trembling.

Magda turned to the window, blinking against the blur in her eyes.

She had always considered the girls as part of her extended family, like nieces or even grandchildren.

She had bathed them, fed them, patched up scraped knees and soothed bad dreams. After Ronnie died, when Julia worked late, it was Magda who had been there to babysit. Who had listened, held, nurtured.

‘This will break them into pieces,’ she said quietly. ‘And Molly had so much to look forward to. Now, she will miss out on her university place and what will happen to Dee? She is too sensitive and fragile to bear the loss of her mother.’

Zuzanna looked up. ‘They have you. You will do what you have always done and step in. They love you like an auntie and that’s what you will be.’

Magda nodded, though it brought no comfort. ‘But I can’t protect them from Shane. Not entirely.’

The kettle clicked as it cooled. ‘What do you mean? Why do they need your protection? He is their stepfather and also has a responsibility to care for them even if he is a big show-off.’

Magda realised her mistake immediately and rectified it. ‘I meant that he is in a good position now, living in a big house and will probably get a share of Julia’s money. I just hope he won’t have any say in what happens to the girls, their lives or their inheritance. Dee’s especially.’

‘Oh, I see. Like one of those evil stepfathers who steal the family money and throw the children in the workhouse and then take a mistress…’

Magda butted in, not wanting to hear doom and gloom. ‘Something like that but without the Victorian drama. Molly is an adult but Dee isn’t. Anyway, I’m sure when Nancy arrives she will sort it all out and make sure everything is as it should be.’

Zuzanna nodded then reached for a biscuit, deep in thought as she crunched her way through a Bourbon cream.

‘I have to go back,’ Magda said finally.

Zuzanna looked at her, startled. ‘Why? After what you saw?’

‘Because the girls need me and I want to be there until Nancy arrives. Then maybe I will take a day or two off, so I can mourn in private.’

She could still see Julia’s face. Not the horror of it, that was too raw and painful.

No. She pictured her laughing in the garden, hands deep in the soil as she planted a rose bush, wearing old clothes and a ridiculous floppy hat.

She saw her dancing in the kitchen after too much wine, her hair loose, face bright with mischief.

She had to focus on her as she was before the fall.

It was the only way to banish the hideous image of her deformed face.

She didn’t tell Zuzanna the other thing.

The real reason why she didn’t trust Shane.

About the subtle things she’d started to notice, instances she’d put down to coincidence, or her being forgetful.

It was only the odd thing but gradually, in the past few months more so, they’d really started to bother her.

Filling her head with thoughts she’d rather not have but couldn’t shove away in a drawer, neat and tidy and forgotten.

The empty contraceptive packet she found in Molly’s bathroom bin.

But Molly didn’t have a boyfriend, and if she did, why was she keeping him a secret?

Perhaps she thought Julia would disapprove and worry that if Molly fell in love she’d change her mind about going to America.

Julia was very keen that she should go and Molly knew this.

So Magda had minded her own business as she believed a woman – and that’s what Molly was now – had the right to privacy, and the right to look after her body as she wished.

And at least Molly was being sensible which pleased Magda, so there had been no need to break her trust by telling Julia.

The next problem was trickier and had really tested Magda.

The socks. It was earlier in the year, January, and she had been cleaning Shane’s room and even though she hated doing anything for him, it was part of her job.

She was hoovering under his bed when the pipe made that awful screeching noise when something too big gets sucked up, so she switched Henry the Hoover off and to her surprise found the fluffy pink sock jammed in the end of the nozzle.

She knew immediately it was one of the girls’, and the other one was there, too.

Julia always bought Molly and Dee a big stocking of identical bits and bobs at Christmas, socks and underwear and toiletries.

Dee wore her fluffy socks all year round for bed, she said they helped her sleep, but Molly only used them for walking around the house.

Magda had no idea why they were in Shane’s room.

It was odd, but it had never happened before so Magda let it pass.

But a few weeks ago, when she went in there again to change the sheets, it had been the hair bobble under the pillow that had really freaked Magda out.

It was the same as the ones she found in the girls’ room.

They had big packs of them and often shared so she had no clue who it belonged to.

Maybe one of them had sat on his bed while they chatted.

Both of them got along with him well these days, Dee more so.

And how could Magda bring it up, and who with?

Shane wouldn’t take kindly to being questioned and the insinuation wasn’t a nice one, and with the atmosphere in the house Magda didn’t want to make things worse by mentioning it to Julia.

The only option was to ask the girls if they been on Shane’s bed but even as she thought about it she felt funny inside, awkward and embarrassed.

How would she even say it? In the end Magda resolved to be vigilant and go into Shane’s room a bit more often, just to check. Something was wrong, she knew it.

‘You’re so brave,’ Zuzanna said.

Magda turned, setting her jaw. ‘No. I am necessary. There is a difference.’

And with that, she picked up the mugs and took them to the sink, began to wash them, hands steady, eyes far away, heart already half back in the house she knew would never feel like a home again.