Darling Girls

Even after all these years, yearning for the love and attention of someone who couldn’t give it to her was much more comfortable than actually receiving it.

If you were lucky, it implied that your good fortune hadn't been earned. You couldn't question it, or take it for granted. You had to be grateful. Because what had been given to you could just as easily be taken away.

Some people are so busy chasing perfection they don’t appreciate the wonders right in front of them

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?

This happened from time to time. She’d be going along just fine when wham—a darkness descended, bringing with it a certainty that life wasn’t worth living. That she wasn’t worthy.

She chalked up Kevin’s easy acceptance of the situation to the fact that she was extremely attractive, and men tended to make poor choices when it came to extremely attractive women.

When cruelty becomes familiar in your tender, adolescent years, of course you start to become comfortable with it. You believe you deserve it. But you don’t.

hate Russian dolls,” she said. “They seem nice at first but when you get to know them, they’re really full of themselves.

She didn’t do well out of her routine.

They’re service dogs,” Norah said, without missing a beat. “So they have to stay with us.” Patel looked at the mutts dubiously. “These are service dogs?” “Yes,” Norah said serenely. One of the things that Alicia had always admired about Norah was the fact that she was a committed liar. Not to be confused with a good liar; Norah’s gift was the ability to come up with a lie on the spur of the moment and remain committed to it against all logic and reason. “For…?” The pause was negligible. “Irritable bowel syndrome.” The detectives exchanged a look. Hando, still stroking the dog’s chin, snorted. “You have service dogs for IBS?” “Of course.

Besides,” she added, “I don’t blame Port Agatha for what happened to us. It’s hardly the town’s fault. I kind of like it here.

Troy wasn’t particularly attractive or charismatic, and he had an irritating habit of saying ‘anythink,’ but he had one important thing going for him: he liked me. When you feel like nobody likes you, it’s hard to overstate the thrill of that.

When she didn’t let up, Norah shouted in exasperation, “Go away, you psycho bitch!

My mum has never been capable of looking after me,” he said finally. “She has an intellectual disability, and some physical disabilities too. No one knows who my dad is. My gran raised me until three years ago when she went into a nursing home.

One thing to be said for having a horrific childhood is that pinpointing the happy parts is easy

When no one pays any attention to you, you can hide quite a lot.

grew up in a house where I was constantly trying to assess if it was safe to say something,” she heard herself saying. “Where I held myself responsible for my foster mother’s feelings—good and bad. I know it’s too much pressure to put on a person. But that’s exactly what I did to you.

They went through this dance every time: Phil pretending he knew how to cook, Jessica pretending she wouldn’t have an anxiety attack if Phil started messing about in her kitchen. Their kitchen.

Her neutrality was important, she’d learned. She’d spent the past six months learning about narcissists.

The thing about sharing a story like mine is that it doesn’t just stop when you’re not telling it. It continues to play out in my mind continuously. It is a relief to be able to speak it out loud.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want kids. If one had shown up in her life like a lost dog, she would have scooped it up and loved it and protected it forever. But making the decision to have one, to create one, was too big a leap.

She’d always been so aware of how things looked. Jessica was much more interested in how they felt. And she knew this interaction did not feel good.

She rolled over in bed, wishing Phil would wake up. She understood the irony. She spent most waking hours ignoring Phil—too busy with work and her sisters to properly engage—but the moment he fell (instantly) asleep, she became desperate for his attention

following Grammy’s death, Alicia had noticed that on the rare occasion when someone showed her kindness—letting her cut in front of them at the shop, a teacher commenting on work well done, someone paying her a compliment—it pushed her to the verge of tears. Her vulnerability had become so embarrassing that instead of seeking kind people she sought out those who disliked her

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt calm. Panic was her constant state of being, as familiar to her as breathing.

How do you deal with your feelings in the real world?” Norah had asked. “You bury them,” Jessica replied. “Good and deep.” It was a philosophy Jessica had always lived by.

Good. Because the next person you assault might not be happy to drop the matter for a photo of your boobs.” Jessica grossly underestimated the power of her boobs, Norah thought. But she let it slide.

You can’t have a relationship with a monster.