The Woman in the Middle by Milly Johnson

Author:Milly Johnson [Johnson, Milly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2021-10-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Shay didn’t so much sit down as collapse into the chair which her sister had just vacated. Oddly, the plastic cushion was cold, as if her sister was incapable of giving out any warmth. A portion of her brain was working frantically to rationalise Paula’s words, dismiss them as nonsense; they had been said to wound, bullets of pique. But Paula was thorough, she would have done her homework, on that there was no doubt. She wasn’t the type to randomly fling mud; instead, she’d moulded her evidence into a grenade full of acid so it would blister and scald and cause as much damage as possible, to be hurled at the right time for maximum effect. Knowing her sister, that would most likely be when their father died, but then this delicious opportune moment had landed in her lap.

Her father.

She thought of Harry lying in the nursing home, of her fingers entwined with his. She thought of him bringing her a Mars bar at exam time and holding her tightly when she thought she was going to fall into an abyss. Never once had she felt that he wasn’t her dad, he was her dad. She had his name, he was her children’s grandfather. He’d taken them to the park to feed the ducks and play on the swings, he’d bought them little lawnmowers so they could follow him around the garden pretending to cut the grass.

The clock in the lounge sounded the hour with its customary bing-bongs that sounded too loud in the silence. This time yesterday, she was just putting on her black dress for the funeral. And now her mum was gone, and with her all the answers to the questions spinning around inside her.

She heard a knock on the front door, but ignored it. She didn’t want to speak to anyone, she didn’t want any well-meaning neighbour dropping off flowers or a cake or a ‘sorry for your loss’ verbal message or written card that they hadn’t managed to deliver at the funeral. She was, at that moment, like a building, rocked from a seismic shock, hardly daring to breathe because she wasn’t sure if she would still be standing if she did.

She heard the door creak open, her name being called, and then there in the kitchen doorway stood little Dagmara.

‘Hello Shay,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to disturb, but I saw Paula leave the house. She made a zoom off.’

‘We had a row,’ replied Shay. ‘She didn’t like what Mum’s will said.’

‘Of course,’ Dagmara replied. ‘I’m sorry it was left to you. Roberta should have told her.’

‘You knew all about it.’ It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

‘I know everything.’

Shay smiled at that. ‘Oh, Dagmara, I wish you did.’

‘Your mama and I were friends for many years. We have had a lot of time to talk. I know everything.’ Dagmara said it again, like a piece of cheese trailed in front of a mouse. The mouse went for it.

‘Did she tell you that my father wasn’t my father, Dagmara? Because that’s what Paula just did.

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