Page 12 of The Good Girl
At least she hadn’t complained about it being Wednesday, Dee’s least favourite day of the week or so she repeatedly said, because one contrary daughter was quite enough for anyone. Molly’s mood had shifted since her meet-up with Phoebe that afternoon, and not for the first time Julia worried that she was going to change her mind about Princeton. That was not an option. It would ruin everything.
‘Shane’s going to Glasgow tomorrow and Molly is hanging out with her friends and staying over at Jilly’s. They’re all having their nails done for the party but I’m obviously too young to be invited… so what are we going to do?’ Dee asked, peering into the fridge then sighing and closing the door. ‘And there’s nothing to eat.’
‘Yes there is if you look properly,’ Julia said, a little more sharply than intended. ‘Make a sandwich.’
Dee blinked, startled, then stepped back from the fridge. ‘Sorry. I was just asking. I thought maybe we could get a takeaway and watch a film if we had the house to ourselves, but if you can’t be bothered…’
Julia exhaled and softened. ‘Of course I can be bothered, sweetheart. Sorry, I’m a bit preoccupied and this heat is starting to get to me.’ She was glad Shane wasn’t there because last time she’d commented about being too hot he’d made a sarky comment about hot flushes and the menopause. She knew it was another chip at her confidence and it worked a treat.
She turned back to the jug and dropped in the lemon slices one by one, watching them swirl and rise, mesmerised for a moment and glad of the distraction. Dee had been unrelenting since Molly’s results day, her attachment growing tighter with each passing day, as if by staying physically close she might anchor her sister to the house, to the life she knew. Julia couldn’t blame her.
‘Why don’t we do just that, and some online clothes shopping, seeing as you hate going into boutiques and trying things on. We can plan a whole holiday wardrobe for your trip to Paris. Get it delivered. You’re going to have an amazing time but you need to look the part,’ Julia said, attempting a smile as she placed the jug on the table. ‘I bet you’ll come back with stories of patisseries and art galleries and all the ways youembarrassed Shane with your GCSE French.’ It was killing her, being enthusiastic, but it had to be done.
Dee perked up at the mention. ‘He says we can do the Eiffel Tower at sunset, and a dinner cruise on the Seine. Can you imagine? I mean, I know it’s touristy but still.’
Julia nodded, ignoring the twist in her stomach. ‘It sounds wonderful.’
She didn’t need to imagine. She’d been on that very cruise with Shane during their whirlwind courtship. He’d made her laugh all night and only had eyes for her which she’d found charming. That version of Shane no longer existed. Or maybe he never had. Now, his charm had the slickness of oil, all surface sheen, slimy with something rotten lurking beneath.
She took a sip of the water and turned away, eyes roaming towards the terrace doors and surpassing the urge to sprint outside onto the lawns and just keep running and running and never stop. But now wasn’t the time for cowardice. She had to stay and sort out the mess she’d made of things.
Julia had waited for this. For Molly to be old enough, strong enough to stand on her own and look at things with adult eyes. For Dee to understand that sometimes things change and when they do it doesn’t mean the end of the world, just that you have to adapt. For Nancy to be back in her corner. For herself to grow a spine.
Once Molly was in the States and Shane was skipping through Paris with Dee, she would strike. Every document had been prepared, every account quietly adjusted, every trace of leverage Shane held on to erased or countered. Blackmail lost its sting when the secrets were brought into the light. And once the light flooded in, Julia hoped it would lead her to freedom.
Nancy had helped her gather the evidence. Emails. Receipts. A carefully written timeline. Even a witness statement from one of the ClearGlass admin staff who had caught Shane in acompromising position with a temp. The photos of him nipping to see the barmaid in Bollington, who lived in the flat above the pub. Julia no longer felt fear, only fatigue and brittle resolve.
She heard the front door open and close, followed by the clatter of keys as he threw them inside the console table.
Shane’s voice echoed down the hallway. ‘Girls?’
Dee skipped from the kitchen. ‘In here! Mum made fruity water again.’
Shane appeared moments later, tall, tan, sunglasses perched on his head, charm dialled up. ‘Two of my favourite ladies.’
Julia’s stomach turned. That voice. So practised.
‘Have a good day at the depot?’ she asked, keeping her tone neutral.
‘Busy,’ he said, pouring himself a glass of water and knocking it back in one. ‘Still short-staffed. Might have to interview a few new temps next week.’
Julia shot him a look, bitter as the lemons floating in the jug. ‘I’m sure you will.’
He met her gaze, unreadable. A glint of something in his eyes – a test? A warning?
‘So,’ he said, turning to Dee, ‘I was thinking. Paris. What if we added Disneyland to the itinerary? It’s only about half an hour away by train.’
Dee gasped. ‘Seriously? You’d take me there, too?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You’re worth it.’
Julia watched the exchange, bile rising. How easily he switched personas. The doting stepfather, the generous partner, the ever-charming rogue. And Dee, soaking up the affection, none the wiser. It wasn’t just unsettling. It was nauseating.
Later, once Dee had retreated to her room to start her Paris packing list, Julia cornered Shane in the lounge. ‘A word.’
He leaned against the arm of the sofa and took a sip of his beer. ‘Always a pleasure.’
Julia ignored the sarcasm. ‘Won’t going to Disney affect your itinerary? I don’t mind if you stay another night in Paris if it makes it easier.’
