Matt lets out a long breath. ‘Is she even allowed to talk?’
‘Seemingly so,’ says Kate, praying that he’ll take the bait.
‘And you’re definitely running it tomorrow?’
‘Yep, ’fraid so.’
‘Okay, I’ll give you until then, but if it doesn’t go to press, I’m printing mine the day after.’
‘Cool,’ she says, grateful for the extra twenty-four hours she’s got to stop that from happening.
‘You’re a royal pain in my arse, d’you know that?’
Kate forces a laugh. ‘You wouldn’t want me any other way.’
By the time Kate gets off at Waterloo, she’s caught up in the after-work throng that’s spilling into the station. If she didn’t have to get somewhere else urgently, she’d go for a walk along the South Bank, the need to not waste such a lovely evening at the forefront of her mind. She’d no doubt stop off to listen to one of the many buskers, each hoping to be the next Ed Sheeran. Kate always bought the home-burnt CDs that were sold out of the musicians’ empty instrument cases, mostly because she wants to support hard-working talent, but there’s a little part of her that likes to think that maybe, one day, she’ll own a rare recording of a global superstar.
She smiles at the thought, but then reality steps in, and drags her kicking and screaming to the here and now.
She needs to stop that story from running, knowing that if it does, it will destroy her family once and for all.
29
Lauren
Lauren’s just put Jude to bed when the doorbell goes, and she knows that at gone 10 p.m., the only person she’s going to answer the door to is Simon, who she assumes has forgotten his key. She does a cursory look out of the front bedroom window and is dismayed to see Kate standing on the pavement below. After the day she’s had, she doesn’t need this right now.
‘Hello,’ she says wearily, as she opens the door.
‘I need to talk to you,’ says Kate, stepping straight into the hallway.
Lauren probably has things she should tell her, but she’s tired.
‘Can we do this tomorrow?’ she says, looking at the time on her phone to emphasize the point.
‘There’s something you need to know about Jess,’ blurts out Kate, seemingly unable to hold it in.
Lauren can’t help but roll her eyes. ‘Seriously, Kate, can’t you give it a rest?’
‘I’ve been checking her out,’ says Kate, almost triumphantly. ‘And she’s not who she says she is.’
‘I don’t think even she knows who she is,’ says Lauren.
‘No, you don’t understand,’ Kate goes on. ‘She’s lying to you, me, everyone. Jess Linley isn’t even her real name. She’s nothing but a fraud.’
The words slice through Lauren as if cutting the very strings that are holding her up. She doesn’t want to believe it. She refuses to believe it.
‘I assume you’ve used your usual unethical methods to find this out,’ asks Lauren, hoping to expose a weak link in the information that Kate thinks she’s garnered.
‘Does it matter?’ asks Kate. ‘All you need to know is that Jess is up to something and you shouldn’t trust her as far as you can throw her. She’s playing us.’
‘What is wrong with you?’
‘Me?’ exclaims Kate. ‘You’re the one who wants to believe everything she’s telling you.’
‘Is this the person you’ve become?’ says Lauren. ‘Forever the cynic, not wanting to believe anything anyone tells you.’ She laughs falsely. ‘D’you know what? I used to think your job made you better than me. That working amongst people deemed to be important made you more important by default. But I’m glad I’m me, because all your job has done is make you a mistrusting egotist who doesn’t want to see the good in anyone.’
‘I’m a journalist,’ says Kate scathingly. ‘I seek out the truth, and if you’re threatened by that, then that’s your problem.’
‘Well whatever you think you’ve uncovered, I’m sure there’s a very good reason for it.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Kate laughs bitterly. ‘She’s got plenty good enough reasons. The first being that she’s obtained a job under false pretences.’
Lauren feels a pang in her chest, not only at the revelation, but also because she’d not got around to finding out what exactly Jess did for work. All she knows is that she’s doing a job she loves in Canary Wharf. It shames her that Kate appears to know more than she does. ‘Why would she need to do that?’
‘You tell me,’ says Kate. ‘But she claims she’s graduated from university.’
‘That’s right,’ nods Lauren.
‘Except she didn’t study there; she worked there.’ Kate offers a cynical laugh. ‘In the cafeteria.’
Relief floods out of Lauren. Kate has clearly got her facts wrong. ‘That’s not Jess,’ she says, happy to set her straight. ‘She got a first-class honours degree.’
‘Is that what she told you?’ asks Kate, with a wry smile.
Caught like a rabbit in headlights, Lauren doesn’t know which way to turn. Her need to believe that Jess has told her the truth is far stronger than having to admit to Kate that she’s been taken for a fool.
‘Why is it so hard for you to take people at face value?’ asks Lauren. ‘To accept that she’s Dad’s daughter?’
‘Because I don’t think she is,’ says Kate.
Lauren rolls her eyes and walks over to her laptop, perched on the end of the sofa. She hits a few buttons and turns the screen towards Kate. There’s no denying that the first match under Lauren’s profile page on the genealogy website is Jessica Linley – Half sister.
‘Happy now?’ asks Lauren. ‘What more proof do you need that Dad wasn’t the man you thought he was?’
‘That doesn’t prove she’s his daughter.’
‘For God’s sake, Kate!’ exclaims Lauren. ‘How many other options are there?’
‘One,’ says Kate, locking eyes with her.
Lauren looks at her, open-mouthed. Is Kate honestly suggesting what Lauren thinks she is?
‘Whilst you’re
