The Half Sister(47)
‘Here,’ says Matt, fetching in the spare washing-up bowl from under the kitchen sink and laying it down on the floor beside the bed.
It feels like she’s a child again, feigning illness to get off going to school. Her father would take one look at her hot red face, burnt by the radiator, and send her straight back to bed. Her mother wasn’t quite so easy to deceive and would watch her through narrowed eyes as she took her temperature with a thermometer.
‘Why don’t you take the day off?’ says Matt. ‘You can’t possibly drag yourself in like this.’
‘Mmm, I think I might,’ she manages through closed lips.
How ironic that as soon as she makes the decision, a rumbling of nausea circles in the pit of her stomach – like a washing machine on a slow spin.
She watches as Matt gets himself ready for work and can’t help wondering what he’s thinking as he selects the tie he’s going to wear. What would he say if she told him who his junior reporter really was? Would he be surprised? Would he pull her on it? Would he fire her on the spot?
But then Kate is forced to admit to herself that as of yet, Jess hasn’t actually done anything wrong. In fact, she’s probably the model employee, but if she’s expecting Kate to believe that this is all nothing but a huge coincidence, then she’s got another think coming.
‘Does this go?’ asks Matt, holding a pink and grey striped tie up against himself. It works well with his white shirt and charcoal suit. Better than the red one in his other hand.
‘I’d go for the red one,’ says Kate, just to be difficult.
He immediately swaps them over. ‘Are you going to be okay?’ he asks, his face full of concern. ‘I’m going to struggle to get in early tonight – the Prime Minister’s called a press conference up in Birmingham and God knows what crap they’re going to announce. Do you want me to see if I can shoot back at lunchtime?’
Kate shakes her head. ‘No, I’ll be fine. I’ll wait for this to pass and see how I feel. I’ve got some work I can do from here anyway.’
He leans in and kisses the top of her head. ‘Okay, look after yourself, and that little one,’ he says, smiling. ‘Hopefully this won’t go on for too much longer and you can start to enjoy being pregnant.’
As soon as Matt leaves, Kate grabs her phone and pulls up Jess’s CV from her emails. She quickly scans the salient points before putting a call into Bournemouth University. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for or expecting to find, but she refuses to sit by and allow this woman to railroad her life.
‘Hello, Student Verification,’ says the cheery voice at the other end of the line, far quicker than Kate had anticipated.
‘Oh hi, I’m looking to employ one of your former students and I’m calling for a reference.’
‘I’d be very happy to do that for you,’ says the woman. ‘But I will need signed consent from the former student in order to release the information.’
‘Of course,’ says Kate, her job having taught her to bend the rules when necessary. ‘I have that already, but I do need this quite urgently.’
‘We can normally turn it around in five days.’
Kate was hoping to get the clarification she needed over the phone, but she doesn’t get the impression that this jobsworth will court such an impetuous request.
‘Ah, that’s going to be too late I’m afraid,’ says Kate. ‘Listen, I’m in the area today, is there any chance I can pop in? I’d hate not to be able to offer your student this opportunity just because I’ve been a bit slow on the uptake.’
And because you’re hemmed in by bureaucracy, she says to herself.
‘Well, we wouldn’t normally accept requests made to the office in person.’
‘I appreciate that, but I’m really up against it here. It’s totally my fault, but if there’s any way . . .’
‘Okay,’ says the woman reluctantly. ‘But I can’t promise anything. If the office is particularly busy, we might not be able to do it there and then.’
‘That’s a chance I’m prepared to take,’ says Kate cheerily.
‘If you’d like to give me the student’s name now, I can put it onto the system. It might quicken it up for you and then you only need to show their consent when you come in.’
‘That’s great,’ says Kate over-enthusiastically. ‘It’s Jessica Linley.’
She puts the phone down and types out a two-line letter using Jess’s address, prints it out and signs it. How that constitutes consent, Kate doesn’t know. But it’s clear that Jess isn’t playing by the rules, so why should she?
It’s predicted to be a record-breaking July temperature today and, in typical British fashion, the DJ on the radio is warning people to stay indoors and check on vulnerable neighbours. Kate wonders how other countries manage to keep functioning when the thermometer goes over thirty degrees, whilst London’s train tracks are buckling and its roads are melting. It’s menial thoughts like this that keep her from tearing her hair out, as she tries to figure out what Jess is up to.
She chooses a floral jumpsuit, with cap sleeves and three-quarter length trousers, in the hope that it will keep her cool on the two-and-a-half-hour train journey. The fabric is light, and the belt can be tied loosely around her waist to allow for its daily expansion.