away.’
Rose’s face changes, as if she’s been hit by a sudden recollection. ‘That’s where she’ll be,’ she says abruptly. ‘She’ll have gone to see Jess.’
They may not be the closest of siblings, but the thought of Lauren playing sisters with someone else cuts Kate deep.
‘I knew she was up to something,’ continues Rose bitterly. ‘She was all dressed up, looking like she used to. She’s not made as much effort since before the kids.’ She tuts blithely. ‘She must take me for a fool.’
The realization that Lauren’s forging a strong bond with the same girl that she’s trying to cut loose makes Kate feel adrift without a paddle.
‘You know Jess isn’t Dad’s child, don’t you?’ asks Kate, without looking up. She counts as she waits for her mother to answer. She gets to twelve and wonders what the hell is taking her so long. ‘Don’t you?’ she presses.
‘I hope she isn’t,’ is all that Rose offers. ‘But the DNA seems hard to ignore.’
‘You can put an end to all this,’ says Kate. ‘You can tell Lauren that she’s got it all wrong. That Dad would never have done what she’s accusing him of . . .’
Rose shrugs her shoulders. ‘But how do we know? How will we ever know?’
‘Why wouldn’t you want to nip this in the bud, before it goes too far?’
‘I don’t know what you want me to do,’ says Rose.
Kate looks at her mother’s sorrowful face, her peachy complexion smooth, aside from a few expression lines that show the life she has lived has been full of love and laughter.
If she’s not going to do the right thing, Kate supposes that she’s going to have to force her hand. It feels wrong, but she’s given her mother enough chances to stop this.
‘Have you got any paracetamol?’ she says. ‘I’ve got a terrible headache.’
Kate knows where they’d usually be kept and prays that her mother doesn’t magic the tablets out of her handbag on the kitchen worktop.
‘I’ve got some in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom,’ says Rose, going to get up.
‘Don’t worry,’ says Kate, beating her to it. ‘I’ll go.’
The stairs that she’s run up and down a million times now feel like a crime scene. For some reason, she doesn’t even want to touch the bannister for fear of leaving any incriminating evidence.
She wants to close and lock the bathroom door but is sure Rose would think that weird. There’s a toilet downstairs, so why would Kate go upstairs? Any other time it would have felt totally natural, but when she knows she’s being devious, it feels anything but. She opens the mirrored cabinet above the sink and scans the shelves, not knowing what she’s looking for. There’s an ointment for nigh on every ailment, though when Kate picks up the menthol vapour rub, she sees that it’s five years out of date.
She puts two paracetamol into her pocket and eyes the two toothbrushes that stand proudly in a glass. Knowing that the bristles hold all the evidence she needs, she looks at them, disappointed that she’s unable to distinguish whose is whose. Though even if she could, she’d never be able to take either away, as Rose would instantly notice that they were gone. A folded flannel sits neatly in the chrome bath tray and a loofah sponge hangs from the taps, but again, both would be noticed if they weren’t there.
Careful to avoid the creaky floorboard, Kate steps over the landing into her parents’ bedroom. The curtains are half drawn, and the room is shrouded in the fading light of the setting summer sun. Kate hasn’t been in her parents’ bedroom since she doesn’t know when, but the memories it evokes instantly bring tears to her eyes and a tightness in her chest.
She watches through the eyes of her six-year-old self as she tiptoes into their room at their old house in Harrogate, dragging her misshapen pillowcase stuffed with presents behind her. Her dad’s face is ruckled into his pillow, his mouth wide open as he loudly snores.
‘Daddy,’ she’d whispered. ‘Daddy, are you awake?’
He murmured momentarily and her heart had soared, but then he’d snuggled back down into the duvet and snored even louder. She’d stood there, waiting for what seemed like an eternity, desperately wanting him to wake up, but not wanting to be the one who woke him.
‘Father Christmas has been,’ she’d whispered loudly into his ear.
He’d suddenly opened one eye, staring straight at her, and she’d momentarily been too scared to