‘Come on, quick,’ says Lauren, slipping her arm through Jess’s and steering her back down the hill. ‘There’s a couple of shops right opposite the station; if we hurry we can get you a few essentials.’
‘I’m really sorry to leave you here like this,’ says Jess. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Of course. I’m more worried about getting you what you need.’
They run around the Sainsbury’s Local as if they’re taking part in Supermarket Sweep. Lauren tosses soap, deodorant and toothpaste into Jess’s basket whilst she deliberates over what hair product will give her naturally straight hair a ‘voluminous lift’.
‘Yes or no,’ asks Lauren, holding up a packet of condoms.
‘Oh my God,’ says Jess, her cheeks colouring. ‘I can’t believe you’re asking.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ says Lauren, throwing them in before Jess has a chance to change her mind. ‘Better to be safe than sorry.’
Lauren feels like she’s stuck in some weird cosmos where two worlds collide. She wants to keep Jess out of harm’s way, like any mother would, but like a best friend, she also wants her to have a good time. Isn’t that in-between state called being a sister? she wonders, the irony not lost on her.
‘You’re as prepared as you’re ever going to be,’ says Lauren, smiling as she hands over the carrier bag laden with toiletries for every eventuality.
‘Thanks a million,’ says Jess, pulling Lauren in for a hug. ‘I owe you one.’
‘Enjoy yourself,’ says Lauren.
‘I will,’ says Jess excitedly and Lauren can’t help but feel envious of the unencumbered life that allows Jess the freedom to do as she pleases.
I want to be you, she says after her.
But sometimes you need to be careful what you wish for.
26
Kate
Elm House is an imposing red-brick Victorian building, standing alone in the midst of a sprawling council estate. The cab driver joked to Kate on the two-mile journey inland that she should get out of there before it got dark, because no cabbie would be brave enough to come in and get her. As children circle her on bikes as she makes her way up the path to the house, she wonders that it might not have been a joke after all.
The stench of the overflowing bins makes her retch and she holds her breath until she’s in the porch, where an ugly board of mismatched bells offers her nothing but the numbers of the flats. It’s difficult to even know where to start. After all, what is she looking for? Who is she hoping to find if it isn’t Jess? Or rather, Harriet.
In what feels like her previous life as a door-stepper, when she’d knocked on as many doors as it took to get the information she needed, she rings the top three bells, hoping that at least one of the residents will be willing to let her in and talk to her. The door buzzes and she pushes it open, stepping into the hallway.
‘Who is it?’ calls out a male voice from above her.
Kate positions herself at the base of the grand staircase that turns its way up three or four floors.
‘Hello?’
‘Who is it?’ asks the same voice.
Kate can’t see anyone, but presses on, refusing to be unnerved. ‘My name’s Kate and I wondered if I could have a quick word?’
‘What about? You the authorities?’
‘Er no, I’ve just got a few questions about someone who used to live here.’
‘Fuck off,’ says the voice, before a door is slammed.
Undeterred, Kate steps back outside and presses the next three bells on the board. She’d noticed that there were a few windows open on the lower floors of the house, so someone must be in. She can’t help but think their judgement is highly questionable if they’re not.
The door buzzes again and Kate moves to the bottom of the stairs, waiting for someone to reveal themselves. A girl, barely out of her teens, peers over the banisters.
‘Can I help you?’ she asks hesitantly.
‘Ah yes, hello,’ says Kate in her friendliest voice. ‘I’m looking for someone who used to live here and I just wondered if I might be able to ask you a couple of questions.’
The girl pulls on the cuffs of her cardigan, making Kate feel even hotter than she already does. It must be thirty degrees in here.
‘I don’t know that many people,’ she says.
‘Might you know a Harriet?’ asks Kate hopefully.
Kate notices that the girl’s expression changes fleetingly before she pulls it back.
‘Who are you?’ she asks.
‘A friend,’ says Kate.
The girl nods. ‘Come up then.’
It takes all of Kate’s resolve not to baulk as the fetid smell of overcooked vegetables mixed with the pungent odour of weed permeates her nostrils.
‘My name’s Kate,’ she says, holding out her hand when she reaches the top of the stairs.
‘Finn,’ says the girl. ‘Come in – you’ll have to excuse the mess.’
There are wet clothes hanging off every surface in the room. It isn’t until Finn hastily pulls a curtain partition across that Kate fleetingly notices the corner of a cot disappearing behind the makeshift screen. She can’t imagine how you’d bring a baby up in these conditions.
‘So is Harry okay?’ asks the girl, as she moves a drying bedsheet from the only chair, nodding to Kate to sit down.
‘Harry?’ repeats Kate, momentarily stumped as to how this girl knows her father.
‘Yeah, Harriet,’ says the girl.
Kate’s stomach lurches as she acknowledges the similarities between her dad’s name and that of the girl who’s claiming to be his daughter. Had he given his illegitimate child his first name, knowing he could never give her his last?
What if he did have an affair which resulted in his mistress having a child? What if Jess really is his daughter?
No, Harriet or Jess, or whoever the hell she is, is not my father’s daughter, Kate says to herself. So why, then,
