After we’ve closed up Moretti’s for the day, I nip into the staffroom to collect my handbag and call a taxi to drop me home. As I sit on the worn leather sofa and pull my phone out of my bag, Carolyn comes into the room. I look up and smile, even though I can’t help being a little annoyed at her for letting Carly in to harass me earlier.

‘Tessa, can I have a quick word?’ she asks. She’s standing awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, not meeting my eye.

‘Sure.’ I put my phone down on the arm of the sofa. ‘What’s up?’

‘Janet told me what happened in the café today,’ she says hesitantly, ‘with that journalist woman. And I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I should’ve checked who she was before coming to get you.’

‘Oh, thanks. But it’s not your fault, Carolyn,’ I say, feeling guilty that I was blaming her only a moment ago. ‘How were you to know who she was? She’s a good liar.’

‘I’ve been feeling awful about it all afternoon.’ Carolyn looks as if she’s about to cry.

I stand up and give her arm a squeeze. ‘Please don’t feel awful. I’m over it already.’ I force out a smile.

‘Anyway,’ she says. ‘I wondered if I could give you a ride home tonight?’

‘Really?’ My heart lifts. ‘That would be brilliant.’

‘It’s the least I can do.’

‘Actually, would you mind dropping me at my local supermarket instead? The one by that new pizza place on Friern Barnet Road. I’ve got no food at home and it’s tricky to get to the shops, what with the whole media-circus thing.’

‘Of course. No trouble at all.’ She relaxes her shoulders.

Suddenly the dark evening doesn’t feel quite so oppressive. I shove my phone back in my bag and walk with Carolyn out to the yard. Even my foot isn’t hurting as much any more. When I see her VW Passat Estate, it dawns on me that the press will easily spot me if I sit in the passenger seat. I think Carolyn realises this too, as she stops and stares at the vehicle, her lips pursed.

‘What about if I lie down in the boot?’ I suggest. ‘It looks like there’s loads of room.’

‘Would that be okay?’ she asks, her voice unnaturally high. ‘Otherwise they’ll probably follow us, won’t they?’ I can sense the panic radiating off her. I bet she’s regretting her offer of a lift.

‘I think it would be perfect,’ I reply. ‘That way, I’ll be hidden and they won’t know I’ve left work. I might even get to do my shopping in peace.’

‘Great, okay.’ Carolyn opens up the capacious boot and I crawl in, positioning myself against the left side like a Mafia victim.

‘If you use that blanket to cover me…’ I suggest.

‘It’s the dog’s blanket,’ Carolyn says. ‘It’s not very clean.’

‘I don’t mind, it won’t be for long. Then you can shove that bag of wellington boots right next to me.’

Carolyn catches my eye and I let out a giggle. She stifles a smile.

‘That’s the first time I’ve laughed in months,’ I say. ‘I think I must be cracking up.’

‘Well, it’s not every day you get to travel in this much style,’ she replies.

At this, we laugh so hard I think I might do myself some permanent damage. Tears stream down our faces, and our cackles fill the night air. I’m still snorting as Carolyn spends the next minute arranging the back of her car.

‘There,’ she says finally. ‘You’d never know anyone was under all that lot.’

‘Are you sure you’re still okay with this?’ I ask from beneath the blanket, the whiff of old dog filling my nostrils.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Just don’t move for the next few minutes. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come out.’

Soon we’re driving slowly out through the gates, and I can hear the shouted questions the media are firing at poor Carolyn.

‘Is Tessa still at work?’

‘What time’s she due to leave?’

‘Are you friendly with her? Want to give us an interview?’

I hadn’t thought about how all this must be impacting on my work colleagues. I’m surprised they’re not annoyed at me for adding all this extra hassle to their lives. I hope none of them will be tempted to speak to the press although I do keep myself to myself at work, so at least there would be nothing much for them to talk about.

---

Carolyn drops me off outside the supermarket without incident. She looks almost drunk with relief that it’s all over. A quick glance around the pavement tells me that no one is paying me any attention at all. What a luxury to be able to shop without being hassled.

I take my woollen hat from my fleece pocket, jam it on my head, pull it down over my ears and step into the brightly lit supermarket, praying no one recognises me. Basket in hand, I make my way up the busy aisle and start choosing goodies. My stomach growls at the sight of freshly prepared fruit salad, pre-cooked arrabiata pasta, sliced cheese, milk for my cornflakes, two chocolate eclairs in cardboard packaging. It’s all I can do to stop myself ripping open the box and stuffing both pastries in my mouth. I’m becoming almost dizzy with hunger. I restrain myself, and decide that I have enough in my basket for now – I’ll grab some bread and go to pay.

Rounding the corner, I get the familiar uneasy sensation that I’m being watched. I glance to my left and right, but all the other customers appear to be engrossed in their shopping. No one looks my way. Sweat prickles on my upper lip. The bread can wait, I want to get out of here.

I head down towards the row of tills. They’re all busy, even the self-service ones. I make my way to the back of the shortest queue, but there are still at least half a dozen people ahead of me. As I toss a glance over my shoulder, I lock eyes with her. That short, brown-haired woman, the one who’s been following me. Who is she? I leave the queue and make my way back up the aisle towards her. How did she know I was here? She can’t have followed me from work.

She’s turned away now, half-walking, half-running towards the back of the store. My basket bashes against someone’s arm.

‘Watch where you’re going, idiot!’ he cries, a look of outrage on his face.

‘Sorry,’ I gasp.

I finally reach the back wall, but the woman is nowhere to be seen.

There! She’s making her way back down to the exit. I dump my shopping basket on the floor and follow her, but someone grabs my arm to stop me.

‘Hey!’ I cry. ‘Get off. I’m trying to—’

‘Tessa?’

I turn to glare at whoever it is. She has my sleeve in her hand. I don’t recognise her. She’s small, with an angelic face, blonde curls and wide blue eyes.

‘Do I know you?’ I snap, turning away again to see if I can spot the other woman. But she’s gone – I’ll never catch her now.

‘You are Tessa, aren’t you?’ she says.

‘What paper are you from?’ I say, my shoulders drooping.

‘I’m not a journalist,’ she says. ‘My name’s Eleanor Treadworth.’

‘Sorry, who?’ And then it dawns on me. I look her up and down, note her flawless skin, her immaculate designer boots and jeans, the navy Puffa jacket that would make most people look like they were wearing a sleeping bag but on her comes off as stylish and chic. I also notice the way she has one hand resting on her jacket, over her belly.

It’s Ellie. Scott’s Ellie.

And here I am, dressed like a tramp, reeking of dog, barging my way down the aisle of a supermarket like a demented woman. I have no idea what to say to her. This woman who has taken away my last chance at happiness with the man I love… loved?

‘Are you okay?’ she asks. Her voice is high and childish. Affected. ‘It’s just, you seem a bit—’

‘What do you want?’ I ask. Besides my husband.

‘Look, I wasn’t going to contact you, but I’m glad I’ve run into you like this. Because… Well, the thing is, Tessa, I know you’ve had a rough time in the past, but you have to understand… all this stuff in the media about you and Harry is really stressing Scott out.’

‘How do you know Harry’s name?’ I snap, knowing the media still don’t have this piece of information.

Her cheeks turn pink. ‘Scott told me.’

I scan her features, trying to work out if she’s lying, but she carries on talking.

‘Like I was saying, all this media attention, it’s not good for Scott. He can’t sleep, he’s so worried about it all. And you know I’m pregnant. I need to stay calm for the baby.’

I stare at this cherubic creature in front of me and I’m not sure whether to laugh at her insensitivity or shove her into the ready-meal chiller cabinet. Of course, I do neither.

She takes my silence as her cue to carry on talking. ‘You calling him up at all hours of the day and night isn’t going to help anyone, least of all you. It’s selfish, can’t you see that? Look, Tessa, you have to try to let go of the past, move on with your life and let Scott go.’ Her expression is all fake concern, like she understands what I’m going through. But from the look of her, she can’t be more than twelve.

‘How old are you?’ She still has her hand on my sleeve and I shake it off.

‘I beg your pardon?’ she says.

‘You know. Your age – what is it?’

‘Twenty-six, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.’

So she’s ten years younger than me. This embryonic creature is giving me advice on how to move on with my life. I don’t think I can trust myself to reply. If I open my mouth, I’m not sure what I’ll say, what I’ll do. Submerged rage bubbles up from my gut, but the last thing I need is to be arrested for GBH so instead, I simply stare at her.

Silence hangs in the air like thunder about to break. She chews her lip, less sure of herself now. Good. More words trickle from her mouth, but I don’t hear them. Don’t respond. She touches my arm again in that condescending way. I shake it off once more. Then I turn away. Retrace my steps and retrieve my abandoned shopping basket from further up the aisle. I don’t look back to see what she’s doing, I just pray she doesn’t try to follow me. If she does, I’m not sure I can be held responsible for my actions.