Page 8 of Darling Girls

Jessica hadn’t told them to come; they just showed up. They always gathered at Jessica’s house, perhaps because it was the most centrally located, but also because it was the nicest. Both Norah and Alicia lived happily in student-like accommodation, whereas Jessica lived in a beautifully renovated Edwardian home with three bedrooms, ceiling roses, two original fireplaces, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a sparkling aqua-tiled pool that she never swam in and, frankly, found it difficult even to look at. (Jessica hated pools. Every so often she considered filling it in.)

‘Who do you think it is?’ Alicia asked.

Norah frowned. ‘Who do I thinkwhois?’

‘The body, you goose.’

‘Oh. Right. Don’t know.’

Jessica looked at her sisters, who were flopped across various pieces of her furniture. Jessica had no idea how they could flop under the circumstances. Jessica never flopped. Jessica stood. Usually while tidying or cleaning or filing paperwork.Doing.Even when she was home alone, she sat upright, her feet on the floor or maybe tucked neatly underneath her. A few years back, Norah told Jessica that she always needed a nap after spending time with her because her energy was so exhausting. Evidently it was true, because a few weeks ago Norah had actually taken a nap mid-visit, which frankly was a little rich, as the purpose of the visit was for Jessica to do Norah’s taxes (though, admittedly, Jessica preferred to work alone).

‘Jess?’ Alicia said, sitting up. Her hair was pulled up in a bun and her face was ringed with staticky ginger curls. ‘Who do you think it is?’

‘How should I know?’ Jessica snapped. ‘Wild Meadows is an old farmhouse. These bones might have been buried there for a hundred years for all we know. It could be anyone!’

‘Okay,’ Alicia said, hands up like she was soothing a skittish horse. ‘Calm down.’

Jessica laughed.Calm down?She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt calm. Panic was her constant state of being, as familiar to her as breathing. She imagined that even as a newborn she’d awoken each day with her heart in her throat, asking,What will today be like? Will I forget something, or say the wrong thing? How can I make everyone happy? What if I can’t?

Despite her inner panic, a glance in the mirror above the mantel told her she looked utterly unflustered. Her muted make-up was flawless, her black hair was glossy and smooth, there wasn’t a hint of colour in her cheeks. Her white shift dress looked as fresh as when she’d put it on that morning. Of course it did. Alicia once joked that Jessica’s linen shirts were too afraid to wrinkle.Quite right, Jessica had thought.They wouldn’t dare.

As Jessica dragged in a breath, she was reminded suddenly of an episode ofThe Mel Robbins Podcastshe’d listened to recently. It was about how to deal with panic. Apparently panic felt quite a lot like excitement, and if you told yourself you were excited you could trick your feelings. She decided to try it now.

I’m excited that bones were found buried under Wild Meadows. Woohoo.

Great. Now she was a psychopath.

‘The detective wants us to go to Port Agatha,’ Norah said, distracting her. ‘Tomorrow.’

Her tone was neutral, almost indifferent, but there were little giveaways that she was unsettled. The repetitive bounce of her right leg. The thumbnail she’d chewed down to the quick.

‘Tomorrow?’ Jessica exclaimed. ‘We can’t just drop everything and go to Port Agatha.’

‘It’s a police investigation, Jess,’ Alicia said. ‘I don’t think we have a lot of choice. Besides, it’s Saturday tomorrow.’

‘Of course we have a choice!’ Jessica felt heat creeping up her neck. ‘We’re not under arrest. We don’t have to go there just because they asked us to.’

Alicia, as usual, remained calm. ‘I’m just saying we might want to consider it. After all, we haven’t done anything wrong. And if we refuse to go, how will it look?’

Jessica felt dangerously close to tears. This wasn’t how she’d planned to spend the evening. She hated changing her plans; hated surprises and calls out of the blue, even when it was good news. And there was nothing good about this. This was her worst nightmare.

‘I just . . . I just don’t think I can go back there.’

A long moment of silence passed, broken only by the jangle of Phil’s keys in the door. From where she stood, Jessica heard him toss his keys, miss the bowl, and then chase after them as they skittered across the marble floor of the foyer.

‘Hey, Phil,’ Alicia and Norah said in unison when he appeared in the living room a moment later in his Victoria Golf Club polo shirt. Phil had worked as a greenskeeper at the club for the past ten years, and he’d likely continue to do it for the next twenty. Jessica found herself irritated by this lack of ambition, even as she envied his contentment. And if there was one thing Phil radiated, it was contentment.

‘Hey.’ He grinned. ‘I thought that was your car parked across the entire driveway, Norah.’

He said it cheerfully, and Norah confirmed that it was indeed her car, equally cheerfully. She did not suggest moving it, nor did Phil ask her to.He is so chill, everyone always said. ‘Chill Phil’.

Now, for example, he looked so happy to see them all. And it wasactualhappiness, rather than the forced, polite kind. Jessica often tried to mimic his joyful demeanour, ever since a marriage counselling session a few years ago when he’d commented, ‘You just never seem happy to see me. I’d love it if you looked at me how you look at your sisters. If you cared about me the same way.’

She’d felt awful when he said that. Particularly as she usuallywashappy to see him. She enjoyed his lanky, lingering presence in the house, his thoughtful commentary about whatever he’d listened to on the radio on the way home. She enjoyed caring for him – cooking his favourite meals, booking golf or surfing weekends, only buying one hundred per cent cotton sheets, because any other kind made him itch. But the relationship could never compete with what she had with her sisters. Nothing could. They might not have been related by blood, but their time together in foster care had made them closer than biology ever could.

‘It’s a sister thing,’ Jessica had said, glancing at their female therapist for solidarity. ‘No one loves their husband as much as their sisters, am I right?’

The therapist clearly didn’t have any sisters, because she’d stabbed Jessica in the back. ‘I wouldn’t say no one – but it’s interesting that you would think so.’