Page 1 of The Jealous Girl

1

NOW

Late August

Monday

I used to forgive.

It’s what you’re supposed to do. Don’t make a fuss. Just let it go. It was easier that way, and I was good at it.

I didn’t hold grudges. I didn’t dwell. I let cruel words fade and left the past where it belonged.

But then, that’s how I’d ended up here. Alone.

Again.

I’d forgiven. I’d waited. And, most importantly, I’d stayed.

Even when it was hard.

Even when it didn’t quite make sense.

I wasn’t always the best judge of things. I knew that. I could overreact. Read too much into nothing.

So, I waited for things to settle. I thought they had. I thought we’d finally found our way back to each other.

You expect too much.

My stepmother’s voice sprang into my thoughts.

Maybe Janine was right.

Maybe I did.

But this time, I wasn’t going to just sit back and let things happen.

I shuffled in the driver’s seat of my hired red Vauxhall Astra. This time, I would do things differently.

The air inside the car felt stale and heavy. This would have been better in winter. Darkness hides things. The August sun risked exposing them.

I pressed the button to open the window, but nothing happened. Of course. The engine was off.

Starting it would risk drawing attention that I couldn’t afford. Even parked and silent, I felt conspicuous. An idling engine would be worse.

I exhaled slowly and felt my unfamiliar fringe flutter. I checked my reflection in the rear-view mirror, adjusted my short brown wig and shoved the oversized sunglasses further up my nose. As daylight offered me no camouflage, I’d had to take alternative steps to hide my identity.

I nodded sharply. Good. If I could barely recognise myself, then neither would she.

I settled back into the seat, the fabric warm against my skin. Forgiveness might have been easier. Or at least less work. But forgiveness had never protected me. And, this time, it wasn’t even within reach. Which left me with only one course of action.

Revenge.

I drew in a deep breath and held it. Revenge wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t undo what had been done. I knew that. It probably wouldn’t even make me feel better. At least, not at first. But, like Janine always said, practice makes perfect.

I tensed at the further reminder of her. The little expressions that slipped so easily from her lips. She always seemed to have a phrase, an opinion, to fit every occasion.

I let out a long, slow breath. What would she think of me now?