The Half Sister, page 12
She stiffens as he comes up behind her, reaching around to kiss her cheek. ‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he says. ‘Maybe we can recreate that dream you had.’
She drops two eggs into the saucepan, unable to think of anything worse. There used to be a time when she wouldn’t have let him leave the house in the morning without making love to her first. But that was before having children; when she had the energy and no inhibitions. If she can convince herself that’s the real reason, she can convince herself of anything.
As soon as she hears the front door close, she breathes a sigh of relief, but the problems of the day don’t offer much respite. She overboils the eggs and hopes that Noah and Emmy don’t notice that their soldiers can barely penetrate the yolks.
‘My egg’s not runny,’ is the last thing she hears Noah cry as she gently closes her bedroom door.
She calls Kate’s mobile, hoping that it goes to voicemail, but knowing that she’ll only have to summon the courage to call her again later if it does. She looks at the digital clock on her bedside; it’s not yet eight and she imagines Kate and Matt still nestled under the duvet together, probably making love, uninterrupted, in their swanky apartment. Kate will probably travel into town to meet a celebrity in a fashionable hotel for breakfast this morning before heading into the office to work on an exclusive for tomorrow’s front page. Lauren wonders what it must be like to lead such a glamorous life, with a husband you adore and nothing to tie you down. She tries to push the bubbling envy aside as the phone rings.
‘Hello,’ Kate finally answers groggily. Perhaps they’re not making love after all.
‘It’s me.’
‘Are you okay?’ asks Kate, her voice laced with concern. ‘Has something happened?’
‘No, why would you think that?’
There’s a momentary pause before Kate says, ‘Because you were out last night.’
Lauren’s shoulders slump forward. Rose had obviously beat her to it.
‘About that,’ says Lauren. ‘Did Mum say anything?’
‘Unfortunately, I went round there,’ says Kate.
‘Shit!’ says Lauren, under her breath.
‘So, do you want to tell me what’s going on?’
Lauren feels like a blunt instrument is being ground into her chest. ‘I’m sorry, I told her I was with you.’
‘I know,’ says Kate. ‘But we all know that you weren’t.’
‘Shit!’ says Lauren again.
‘If you’d given me the heads up, I might have been able to cover for you, but . . .’
‘Well, she did a good job of pretending,’ says Lauren. ‘Look, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to put anyone in an awkward position.’
‘No, but now that you have, do you want to tell me where you were?’
Lauren’s jaw tightens as her teeth grind against each other. ‘I don’t want you to get mad . . .’ she says, surprising herself that it still matters to her what Kate thinks. ‘But, it’s just that . . .’
‘You know this is never going to end well, don’t you?’ says Kate, cutting her off.
Lauren pulls herself up. How could Kate possibly know that she met Justin? Had someone seen them after all? Would that same person tell Simon? An icy terror courses through her veins, as she imagines what he might be capable of. The thought of him using the children against her makes it feel as if her heart’s stopped working.
‘Can I just explain . . .?’ says Lauren.
‘I can’t tell you what to do,’ says Kate. ‘You’re just going to have to find out the hard way.’
‘But you have no idea what it’s been like for me,’ says Lauren.
‘Listen, spare me the “woe is me” line. We’re all in the same boat, but if you want to see Jess for whatever reason, that’s up to you.’
‘Jess?’ Lauren exclaims. ‘But . . .’
‘Just know that it’s your problem when it all goes wrong, because it will all go wrong.’
Lauren’s brain feels as if it’s about to explode as she weighs up using Jess as her excuse for lying, wondering which is the lesser of two evils.
‘I’m sorry I lied,’ she says, opting to go with what Kate believes. ‘But I know you’d rather I didn’t see her.’
‘You can do what you like,’ says Kate. ‘But you need to be absolutely sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.’
She makes it sound as if Lauren’s doing something dangerous, but then she reminds herself that she wasn’t with Jess. The realization of who she was with chills her to the bone.
‘I know what I’m doing,’ she says hesitantly.
‘I hope, for all our sakes, that you do,’ says Kate.
20
Kate
Being pregnant doesn’t feel how Kate thought it would. After the interminable wait to get here, she expected fireworks to be going off and an instantaneous rounding of her tummy. But at six weeks, all she feels is really nauseous and a bit weirded out that there is a human being growing inside of her.
She’s glad to be almost done for the day, but the rush hour has already started as she heads back to the office from her last appointment in Soho. The summer heat from above ground has turned the Underground into a furnace and the labyrinth of tunnels becomes hotter and hotter the further down she goes, with the only relief being the whoosh of air that precedes the train. Though even that feels like she’s stuck in the diffuser of a high-powered hairdryer.
She gets caught up in the throng of people clamouring to get on the already packed carriage. There’s pushing, tutting and the occasional shout of, ‘Move the fuck down’, which, if it had been winter, would have been, ‘Can you move down please?’ The heat does funny things to you.
Kate clings on to the rail, eyeing the healthy-looking young guy who is slouched in the preferential seat for the elderly and pregnant. She fantasizes that in the weeks and months to come she’ll bare her bump and demand that he give up his seat, but right now, she looks like she’s just had a heavy lunch. She’d be happy if that was the truth, but she can’t remember the last time she had a decent meal, her insides unable to cope with the mere thought of carbohydrates and protein. So, to save herself from starving to death, and on Matt’s insistence, she’d taken to carrying a box of cereal around in her bag – the cardboard-tasting flakes being the only thing she can stomach right now.
She gets off at Canary Wharf and watches in awe as fellow commuters rush past her on the escalator. Men, with sweat staining their shirts, race up the steep risers towards civilization. The women take their time, preferring to be taken down in the apocalypse than display a wet patch on their blouse.
The coolness of the air-conditioned office building is a welcome relief, but as she’s waiting for one of the lifts, her phone rings.
‘Hello darling, it’s only me,’ says Rose. ‘I’m glad I caught you.’
Kate can’t help but sigh. ‘What’s up?’
‘Well, I just wondered if you’d spoken to Lauren at all.’
‘Not for a couple of weeks, no,’ says Kate.
‘It’s only that I wondered if there was a problem between you . . .’
‘I don’t know, is there?’
‘She won’t admit it to me,’ Rose goes on. ‘But I’m pretty sure she’s still talking to that girl, or maybe even seeing her.’
For a split second, Kate doesn’t know who her mother’s referring to, but then the cold hard realization hits her. She’d spent the last couple of weeks desperately trying to silence the noises in her head, refusing to let Jess infiltrate her thoughts, which had been easier to do without Lauren to constantly remind her. Though she had to admit that, even for them, two weeks was a long time to go without speaking and she missed her. Could she dare to hope that the next time they spoke, any thought of Jess being their half sister would be forgotten? It didn’t sound like it.
‘I’m really not interested,’ she says.
‘It’s breaking my heart, all of this,’ says Rose, her voice cracking. ‘I can’t bear it when you two aren’t talking.’
‘We’re just busy,’ says Kate, by way of an excuse, but even she’s not falling for it.
‘Goodness knows the girl’s caused enough grief as it is, let’s not let her ruin everything.’
Kate stops herself from saying, She already has.
‘Lauren is a grown woman,’ she says instead. ‘She can do what she wants.’
‘Not if it’s at the expense of the family.’
‘You keep talking about this wonderful family of ours, as if it’s the Holy Grail,’ says Kate, seeing red. ‘That we’re somehow untouchable by anything immoral or unethical. But guess what, Mum – right now, we’re in the middle of a shitstorm, all lined up like sitting ducks, waiting for the bullet that is going to blow us all to smithereens.’
‘If you’re referring to your dad—’ starts Rose.
‘I’m referring to you,’ snaps Kate. ‘When are you going to stand up and take responsibility for what you’re putting your precious family through?’
There’s a deathly silence at the other end of the line and Kate instantly wishes she could suck her words back in. She’d not intended to say them. She hadn’t expected to be brave enough.
‘We obviously need to talk,’ says Rose eventually.
Kate breathes out. Finally we’re getting somewhere.
‘Can you come over at some point this week?’ asks Rose.
‘Yes, of course,’ says Kate, suddenly eager to sound conciliatory. ‘I can probably pop in the day after tomorrow.’
‘Fine, I’ll see if Lauren can get cover for the kids for an hour,’ says Rose. ‘But Kate . . .?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Be ready for some home truths.’
The poor signal in the lift ends the call and Kate spends the twenty seconds of peace it affords her to try and control the apprehension that is tightening her chest. It’s not long, but it gives her the time she needs to arrive at the news floor with a smile on her face.
‘Those pictures have come in,’ says Daisy eagerly, as soon as Kate reaches her desk.
‘Great, what are they like?’
‘I’ll ping them over to you now.’
Kate throws her bag onto the desk and stands over her computer terminal. If these mobile-phone shots of a pop star they’ve been promised are good enough, it’ll be a front-page lead and all she’ll have to do is write a quick caption before she heads home.
Her phone rings again as she taps impatiently on her keyboard, waiting.
‘Yes,’ she says, without knowing who’s calling.
‘Hey, it’s only me,’ says Matt. ‘You okay?’
She wants to tell him that no, she’s not okay. Her family are driving her insane, the heat is killing her, she could fall asleep standing up and she’s sure that her ankles have swollen, but she’s already bored of herself.
‘I’ve been rushing around all day, so I’m a little bit tired,’ she says instead. ‘I’m just going to wrap things up here, head home and have an early night.’
‘Ah, okay,’ says Matt. ‘A few of us are going for a quick drink after work. I was going to ask if you fancied coming with us.’
‘Mmm, I think I’ll give it a miss if you don’t mind.’
Matt’s colleagues on the news desk are far more testosterone-fuelled than she’s in the mood for right now. Standing in a packed pub with all her ailments is bad enough. Having to do it whilst being lectured on the merits of a 4-4-2 over a 5-3-2 would be a bridge too far.
‘Okay, do you mind if I go for a quick one?’
‘Go for as many as you like,’ she says, laughing.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’
‘Tempting as it is, I have a rather pressing engagement with a book and a scented candle.’
Matt laughs. ‘Okay, as long as you’re sure. I’ll give you a call as I’m heading home.’
‘Have fun.’
Her head drops onto her chest and she lets out a sigh of disappointment as a flurry of grainy images fill her screen. She doesn’t know whether it’s because you can barely make out it’s a woman, let alone an international pop star, or that a member of the public has deemed it acceptable to invade someone’s privacy from fifty metres away. Either way, she knows she can’t print them.
‘We need something else,’ she says, pulling out her chair and falling heavily onto it.
‘There’s that premiere tonight,’ offers Daisy quickly, as if she’d already anticipated Kate’s response.
Kate nods thoughtfully. ‘Have we got a photographer there?’
‘Yes, Ben’s on it.’
‘Okay, great,’ says Kate. ‘Let’s see if we can get a handle on what and who the leads are wearing and as soon as the pics are in, can you write a caption?’
‘Me?’ says Daisy in surprise.
Kate normally wouldn’t trust anyone but herself or her deputy Karen to write copy, but for some reason, she doesn’t feel quite as conscientious as she once did. She suspects it’s because she’s pregnant, and knows that in a few months from now, her life will be so far removed from the one she’s currently living that she won’t give two hoots about what film stars are wearing or who pop stars are dating. She’s also coming to the conclusion that she’s simply lost the taste for exposing the private lives of people who try so hard to keep them private.
‘Yes,’ says Kate. ‘Do you want to give it a go?’
‘Absolutely,’ says Daisy, smiling enthusiastically. ‘If you think I’m capable.’
‘I tell you what,’ says Kate, looking at her watch. ‘I’m going to go to the pub for a bit. Give me a call and let me know what you come up with once the pics are in. That way, if there any problems, I can come back to the office.’
‘Okay,’ squeaks Daisy.
It isn’t quite the evening Kate had envisaged, but if it means she can get off work early, she’ll take it. She certainly knows someone who will be pleased with the change of plan.
She calls Matt as she’s walking up the street towards his office, sidestepping the suits that move towards her like ants as they spill out from the high-rise towers and disperse in different directions, most with the sole purpose of finding the nearest watering hole. She wills him to pick up – although there are only a handful of pubs Matt would head for, in this heat she’d rather not have to do a solitary pub crawl to find him. It goes to voicemail and when she reaches his building she tries again, but still there’s no answer.
She sits on a stone bench, reaching surreptitiously into the cereal box in her bag and lifting out a handful of dry cornflakes, unable to determine if the odd sensation in her tummy is hunger or nausea. If she can’t reach Matt soon, she might pop to the Tesco on the opposite corner of the square for some ginger biscuits. She’d once run a feature on how Kate Middleton had allegedly relied on them to get her through the severe sickness she’d endured with each of her pregnancies, and if it was good enough for royalty . . .
Her thought process is interrupted by Matt emerging from the revolving door of his building, shielding his eyes from the glaring sun. Relieved to see his lop-sided grin, Kate moves towards him, holding her stomach with a protective hand as the tide of bodies moves against her. It doesn’t occur to her to wonder what he’s smiling about, though if it had, she’d probably hazard a guess that it’s the thought of her and the little life that they’re incubating.
But as she gets closer to him, something stops her dead, rooting her feet to the concrete. She wants to call out his name, to stop him in his tracks, but her throat is dry and contracting in an involuntary spasm. It’s as if she’s trapped in a nightmare. She wants to scream, but when she opens her mouth, no noise comes out.
She watches, open-mouthed, as the man she loves guides the woman who’s threatening to destroy her family across the concourse. He and Jess are close as they sidestep the horde and move in the direction of the footbridge and the bars of West India Quay. Kate stands there numbly, her brain blocking out the noise of everything but her own thoughts. It’s as if they’re scratching incessantly at a scab – pick, pick, pick – until they expose the wound. Only then do they throw her back out into the cacophony that surrounds her, raw and bleeding.
A text pings through on her phone and she looks at it as if through a blurry haze.
Had a couple of missed calls – all okay? Matt asks.
She looks up in disbelief as he walks away from her, his head lolling back as he laughs at something Jess says.
What the fuck? Kate asks herself, again and again as she follows them across the bridge. She quickens her step, not knowing whether she wants to catch them up or not, but her warped need to know what’s happening pushes her on.
They go into Brown’s restaurant on the quayside and Kate lingers outside, debating what she should do. If she applied her usual forthright mentality, she’d storm straight in there and call them out. After all, she has every right. But there’s a tiny part of her that is urging caution. That is trying to offer an explanation as to why her husband is sitting in a bar in Canary Wharf, entertaining the woman who claims to be her half sister.
Before she has a chance to think, they’re both coming back out again – Matt with his usual, a pint of beer, and Jess with a glass of rosé. Kate steps backwards, stumbling over her own feet, to hide behind a tree. Her heart is thumping and the bitter taste in her mouth is becoming increasingly difficult to swallow as she fights to come up with a logical reason why these two people are together.
Jess leans into Matt as he shows her something on his phone, and she throws her head back laughing. Kate watches with a growing sense of unease as Jess runs a hand through her blonde hair, looking at Matt, almost as if she’s in awe of him. He, in turn, smiles at Jess over the top of his pint glass. It’s the same playfulness that he used to look at her with; is it flirting, or a social nervousness? It would depend on how you want to take it, though Kate has never known Matt to suffer with the latter. If she didn’t know better, she’d think they were a couple in the early stages of courtship, when they hadn’t quite found that comfortable place where they could truly be themselves. It looks as though they are still testing each other out, seeing how far they should go.
