that Jess has been inflicting on Kate’s loved ones is aimed solely at one person. Her.
Kate feels like she might be sick as she wonders why anyone would have such an axe to grind. Were there people in her past who hated her enough to go to such lengths?
She thinks about the stories she’s written and the enemies she may have made along the way, but apart from a few erstwhile PRs who’d lost their jobs for not managing to contain a juicy scoop on their client, there were few people in the entertainment world who would take umbrage to this degree. Even those she’d inadvertently got fired had eventually been lauded; the global superstar that had been pictured snorting cocaine off a naked woman’s breast had enjoyed his biggest album success the following year. All publicity was good publicity, it seemed.
She remembers the undercover sting she did on a group of far-right activists some years back, before she decided that showbusiness was a safer option. But aside from the initial death threat and a talking to by the police, she’d never heard anything more. She feels strangely comforted that the queue to witness her downfall is surprisingly short.
As she gets up from the bed, conspiracy theories abound, bogging Kate down with the what ifs, making her brain feel as if it’s banging against the inside of her skull in her efforts to work it all out. Hot tears of hurt and frustration run down her cheeks as she realizes how futile this all is.
She picks her handbag up from the hall floor, having resigned herself to at least telling Matt who his junior reporter really is. Once he knows that she’s lied about her past, he won’t hesitate to fire her, and that will leave Kate with one less problem to worry about.
As she walks down the hall, she absently turns the door handle to the only room she hasn’t yet been in. When she finds it locked tight, her interest is piqued. Adrenaline courses through her veins as she imagines what might lie beyond it. A grotesque image of her dad, gagged and bound to a chair, immediately flashes into her head – a recollection of another dream she’s recently had. Getting the wheel brace back out of her bag, she jimmies open the door with a renewed sense of purpose, desperate to see what Jess is so keen to keep hidden.
She feels for the light switch and peers around, through half-closed eyes, as if waiting for something to jump out at her. But instead of the dark dungeon-like room she’d expected, it’s oddly serene. A bed adorned with a pretty floral duvet cover and a scented candle stands unused on the bedside. It isn’t until Kate walks into the room that she sees a cot behind the door.
With her heart hammering through her chest, she reaches in to pick up a toy bunny rabbit that’s sat in the corner. Its floppy ears fall forwards and Kate absently runs its soft fur against the skin of her cheeks, her tears making its glass eyes glisten.
She still has the rabbit in her hand as she slowly opens the wardrobe doors, now more scared than ever of what she’s going to find. There, stacked in neat piles, are a dozen or so sleepsuits, perfectly folded muslin squares, an unopened pack of nappies, a breast pump – in fact, everything that a woman with a baby could possibly need. There’s just one problem; Jess isn’t a woman with a baby.
Kate tenderly runs a hand over her stomach, desperately trying to stay calm whilst she works out what all this means. Why would Jess have a locked bedroom, dedicated to a baby she doesn’t have?
She frantically pulls at the drawers at the bottom of the wardrobe, tipping the soft embroidered blankets out onto the floor. She yanks a bedside cabinet drawer from its runners, and a jewellery box falls to the floor, its contents upending onto the spotless carpet.
Tiny human teeth lose themselves between the weave of the wool, and Kate finds herself wondering whether there’s anything to gain from taking one with her to check its DNA. That’s the way her mind now thinks – that’s what Jess has done to her.
It’s then she notices the little hospital tag, lying face down amongst the spilled contents of the box. Her hands are trembling as she picks it up. Feeling as if she’s handling a new-born baby, she slowly turns it over