but suddenly he was working all hours God sent. One night, after telling me he was staying at the office, I decided to surprise him by taking his dinner in to him.’
Kate grimaces, knowing the lie her mother is about to tell.
Rose bites down on her lip as she looks at the girls in turn, checking that she has their undivided attention.
‘Was he not there?’ asks Lauren naively.
‘Oh, he was there all right,’ says Rose, attempting to laugh, though it sounds hollow. ‘She was there too, though, and there was no doubt in my mind what she was there for.’
Lauren covers her mouth with her hand. ‘You saw them?’
Rose nods solemnly.
‘Did they see you?’ asks Lauren.
‘No, no, I got out of there without them noticing me.’
‘Did you ever confront him? Did you ever tell him what you’d seen?’
Rose reaches across to Lauren and puts a hand over hers. When she looks up, her eyes are glistening with tears. ‘No, because I didn’t want anything to change. You have to understand; I loved your father with all my heart, and I knew that if I told him what I’d seen, things would never be the same again. I didn’t want that for our family – it was too important to me. It’s still important to me.’
Rose looks sadly around the place they’d called home for almost a quarter of a century. The peach-coloured front room, with its mahogany units displaying porcelain figurines, is a little dated, but it has been beautifully kept.
Kate remembers the Saturday mornings when her mother would be hoovering along to Radio 2 as she and her father ran in from the garden, both of them wearing muddied boots and even dirtier grins.
‘Don’t you be coming through here with all that mud on you,’ Rose had cried, as Kate and her father looked at each other conspiratorially and giggled.
Had he been seeing another woman, then? Making a child with her? Kate refuses to believe it, yet tears still spring to her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Rose. ‘I would never want you to think badly of your dad, but you’ve given me no choice. You wouldn’t let it drop – you’ve forced my hand.’
‘So, you think Jess is Helen Wilmington’s daughter?’ asks Lauren.
‘I hope so,’ says Rose, ‘Because if she’s anybody else’s then I’ve been far more naive than I would care to admit.’
Lauren is wide-eyed as a thought occurs to her. ‘Do you know where she is now? Perhaps Jess can track her down and be reunited with her mum.’
Rose looks down, picking at the tissue she’s holding in her lap. ‘I heard she died,’ she says quietly. ‘About four years ago.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us all this when Jess first turned up?’ asks Kate.
‘Because . . . because I didn’t want you to hate your father,’ cries Rose.
Kate feels winded. She could never hate her father, no matter what lies her mother told. It takes all her willpower not to applaud her stellar performance.
‘How long did it take you to come up with this story?’ she asks.
Lauren gasps at her sister’s audacity. ‘Kate!’
Kate turns to face Lauren, her features hardened. ‘Before you jump on the bandwagon, why don’t you ask Mum about the baby mementoes that I found in the loft?’
Rose’s eyes widen, but she quickly pulls herself back together, presenting the pitiful face of the grieving widow again.
‘What baby mementoes?’ asks Lauren, looking from Kate, to their mother, and back again.
‘Do you remember, Mum?’ asks Kate. ‘Do you remember the little pink sleepsuit and teddy bear?’
A look of utter panic descends on Rose’s face as she gets up from her chair, brusquely shaking her head from side to side. ‘No, no,’ she says, one too many times – each denial countered by Kate’s resolute belief that she’s lying. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Sure you do,’ says Kate confidently, though inside her stomach is in knots. ‘I showed them to you, and you promptly threw them in the bin.’
Rose lets out a strangled guffaw. ‘I really don’t remember that. Are you sure you didn’t dream it?’
‘I’m sure,’ mutters Kate, cocking her head.
‘Well, perhaps you imagined it. You always had such an overactive imagination when you were little.’
‘You haven’t even asked me how old I was at the time.’
‘Kate, that’s enough,’ says Lauren.
‘So you’re denying any knowledge of it,’ Kate presses on, ignoring her sister. ‘You don’t remember the box, any of its contents, throwing it in the bin . . . nothing at all.’
‘No darling, I