SIXTY-EIGHT

Kate

SUNDAY, APRIL 29, 2012

She was cooking breakfast—a Sunday ritual—when Emma rang. She’d pushed the spatula into Steve’s hand, dripping fat on his newspaper, and said: “Sorry, got to take this, sorry.”

“Emma, are you okay?” Kate said. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great. How about you?”

“It’s not about me, Emma. I was so worried when I left you last night. I think what you told me shocked us both,” Kate said. “It is an extraordinary story.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Emma said. “The thing is, I’ve kept things hidden for so long, I think I just needed to tell someone.”

Kate hesitated, torn between returning to the story and telling Emma she’d told the police about the confession. She knew it could be the end of any trust between them. She’d see what Emma had to say first.

“What are you going to do next?” Kate asked.

“I’m not sure. But I need your help,” Emma said. “Can we meet?”

•   •   •

Kate walked back into the kitchen where Steve was flipping bacon like a pro.

“How many eggs, Katie?” he asked.

“I’ve got to go out, love. I’m really sorry,” she said. Steve pulled a face and put the pan back down on the hob.

“For goodness’ sake, this is your day off. The one day we can spend as a family. Is it too much to ask for one day together? I’d hoped we could sit down today and talk to Jake properly.”

“He’s not even awake yet. We can do that tonight,” Kate said. “It’s an emergency. Honestly.”

“It’s always an emergency, isn’t it? You can never put us first,” he said.

“That’s not fair,” she said, knowing it was.

“Anyway, Freddie will be pleased. He’ll get double bacon and egg.”

Steve was very unhappy, she knew. But what else could she do? She put on her coat and shouted, “Call you later” from the door. Steve didn’t respond.

“Bye, then,” she said into the silence.

•   •   •

Emma had instructed her to meet her at North Greenwich underground station and said she’d tell her more when she got there.

Kate arrived first and sat in the car park, wondering what she was getting herself into. She was going out on a limb. A very creaky limb. She still didn’t know what to make of Emma. She’d been caught before. Just the once, but it still rankled. The fantasist who’d persuaded Kate that she and her illegitimate baby had been abandoned by a famous businessman. She and the paper had spent a couple of thousand putting the mother up in a wonderful hotel and traveled halfway across the world to gather evidence before the grubby truth had emerged.

Kate had got hold of the baby’s birth certificate and found another man’s name was on it. She should have done it earlier. A call to the man named as the father had revealed that the woman was a serial con artist, and Kate had had to confess all to Terry. Luckily, they’d caught the lie before publication.

Her comfort was that the woman had gone on to persuade another paper to actually print her story. Egg on someone else’s face, but Terry still dragged it up if she got too out of line.

It was tricky but Kate felt she was edging towards some sort of truth about the Alice Irving case. She couldn’t stop now. She would see what Emma had to say. And keep her fingers crossed.

Emma was so bundled up in a hat and scarf that Kate almost missed her.

“Kate,” Emma said when she was practically next to the car window.

“Sorry, Emma, I don’t know where my head is today,” she said and smiled.

“Can we sit in your car again?” Emma said. “I need you to come somewhere with me.”

“To Howard Street?” Kate said.

“No. To see the father of the baby.”

Kate stared at her. This was deep water she was getting into. This wasn’t just about her and Emma and the phantom baby anymore.

“Does he know about the child?” she asked.

“No. He forced me to have sex,” Emma said. “He wasn’t interested afterwards.”

“Who forced you?” Kate said quietly. “Was it Al Soames?”

“Al Soames?” Emma said and looked out of the windscreen. “No, ’course not. He was the landlord when we were renting in Howard Street. How do you know his name?”

“I went to see him to ask about the tenants in his houses around the time the baby was buried,” Kate said, unsure how much detail to divulge. “He gave me some photos of naked women by mistake. They looked drugged.”

“Naked women?” Emma said. “In black-and-white Polaroids?”

Kate risked a look at her. “Er, yes. Have you seen them?”

“I don’t know. But there was one in Will’s desk. A photo of Barbara, who lived with Jude and me for a while. I found it when I was messing around in his office at the university.”

She closed her eyes as if searching for that moment.

“Will was in the library, sorting out some photocopying, and he’d promised to buy me an ice cream when he finished, to celebrate the end of school for the summer. I was swinging round on his chair, singing ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.’

“A glass of water on the desk crashed over, and I saw the water was seeping into one of the desk drawers, so I pulled it open and used my school cardigan to soak up as much as I could. The damage wasn’t too bad and I was about to shut the drawer, but then I saw the photo. Of Barbara. And stopped. I remember wondering why Will had a picture of Barbara.”

Kate listened intently. Will and Al Soames was playing in her head. This couldn’t be just coincidence. They were in it together.

“I pulled it out to get a better look,” Emma was saying. “She looked so strange. It was her, but not her, if you know what I mean.” Kate nodded.

“Her eyes were half-closed and I suddenly realized she didn’t have anything on her top. I could see one of her nipples and I dropped the picture as if it had scalded me. I felt sick and frightened. I knew I shouldn’t have seen it, but I couldn’t unsee it. I picked up the photo and went to put it back so no one would know. But I knew.”

“What happened when Will came back? Did you confront him?” Kate asked.

“I was fourteen, Kate. And he was my mum’s boyfriend. I didn’t know what to say. I was embarrassed and frightened about what Jude would say if she found out.”

“Did she? Did you tell her?” Kate said. And Emma shook her head.

“Will told me not to. We were sitting outside later. Will and I with ice-cream cones, sitting in the garden in Howard Street. His arm was flung behind his head, and he was gazing at the sky, and I asked him if he was in love with Barbara. He laughed and said it was a funny question. But he went a bit quiet. So I told him I’d seen the photo. I said I’d spilled the water by accident and seen it. And he said Barbara had sent it to him. She’d been a bit of a nuisance, throwing herself at him behind Jude’s back. And since she’d left she had started trying to get him to leave Jude.

“And he told me not to say anything because Jude didn’t know and it would upset her.”

“And you never did?” Kate asked.

Emma shook her head again. “I couldn’t. Will made sure I would keep quiet.”

“How, Emma?” Kate said. “What did he do to you?”

The only sound was Emma’s breathing.

“Was it Will who raped you?” Kate said.

“Yes,” Emma said and pulled the scarf up over her mouth.

“But you could have told someone,” Kate said. “Why didn’t you tell anyone what he’d done?”

“Because I didn’t know he’d raped me. I know it sounds crazy now, but he told me he’d had sex with me because I’d made him want me. It was my fault. It was me who had done a terrible thing, not him.”

“The bastard,” Kate blurted.

“A very clever bastard,” Emma replied. “He made me believe I’d been the instigator. I was fourteen. I’d only kissed one bloke before. I didn’t know anything. So when he told me I’d thrown myself at him, he must have known I would believe him. I wrote in my diary that I was ‘dirty’ and I told myself that the baby had been my punishment.”

Kate started the engine. “Where are we going, Emma?” she said. “Where is he?”