The Half Sister(58)

Her phone vibrates in her lap and, seeing that it’s Matt, she picks up, momentarily forgetting where she is. As soon as she hears him say, ‘Hey, where are you?’ her heart sinks.

‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ he continues, as she quickly looks at her watch, as if it will offer a justifiable excuse for where she’s been. ‘I called the office, but they said you hadn’t made it in. Are you okay? How are you feeling?’

The sound of the train speeding along the tracks is unmistakable, yet still she wonders if she can get away without telling him where she is.

‘Better,’ she says, answering one question that he’s asked. ‘I did a bit of work this morning and went out for a walk at lunchtime. I actually feel better this afternoon than I have in a while.’ It’s not an out-and-out lie. All of that has happened at some point today.

‘Great,’ he says, sounding enthused. ‘So where are you now? At home?’

‘I’m just on my way back now,’ she says, skirting the issue. ‘How’s your day been?’

‘Mad busy,’ he says. ‘And far from finished unfortunately. The PM’s press conference isn’t until this evening, and he’s agreed to give me a one-to-one straight afterwards.’

‘On the phone?’ asks Kate.

‘In person,’ says Matt.

Kate groans.

‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ sighs Matt. ‘So I’m on a train to Birmingham after work.’

‘Okay,’ says Kate, nonplussed. She’s used to dropping everything herself at a moment’s notice – it comes with the territory.

‘I’ll keep you posted,’ says Matt. ‘Oh, and by the way, keep your eyes peeled for our centre spread the day after tomorrow.’

‘Oh yeah,’ says Kate. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Didn’t I tell you that the new girl had a good nose for a story?’

Kate’s lungs feel like they’re being squeezed. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘She’s sniffed out something that might be of interest to you.’

‘Meaning?’ Kate presses.

‘She’s tracked down someone who’s used those genealogy websites to find their long-lost relatives.’

Kate shudders involuntarily, her blood feeling like it’s freezing over. ‘Wh-who’s she found?’

‘A woman who’s been reunited with her sister by uploading her DNA – just like Lauren and that girl.’

Kate’s jaw spasms and there’s a banging in her head as she imagines Jess and Lauren’s faces peering out at the five million people that read the Echo. Would they really be that stupid? Kate can’t take the chance.

‘My girl promises it’s a corker,’ Matt goes on.

My girl? If Kate were in a forgiving mood, she’d acknowledge that it was a phrase he’s used before, but right now it just leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

The noise in her head is getting louder, like a beating drum that’s getting closer and closer. She can see this spiralling out of control.

‘You can’t run it,’ she says.

‘What? Why not?’

‘Because . . . because we’re running a similar story tomorrow.’

‘Oh shit!’ groans Matt. ‘Are you kidding me?’

She hates lying to Matt, as they’ve always managed to give and take where work’s concerned, both of them careful not to tread on the other’s toes. But this is different. This is personal.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ she says. ‘I offered it up in conference and the news team went with it. Their story’s much stronger than your girl’s, I’m afraid.’

‘What have you got?’ he sighs, not picking up on Kate’s sarcasm.

‘Erm, I really can’t say.’

‘Seriously?’

She needs to think quickly. ‘We’ve got a relative of someone who’s been charged with an offence in the US,’ she says, biting down on her lip, hating herself. ‘A mother who the police were able to trace the criminal’s DNA back to.’

Matt lets out a long breath. ‘Is she even allowed to talk?’

‘Seemingly so,’ says Kate, praying that he’ll take the bait.

‘And you’re definitely running it tomorrow?’

‘Yep, ’fraid so.’

‘Okay, I’ll give you until then, but if it doesn’t go to press, I’m printing mine the day after.’

‘Cool,’ she says, grateful for the extra twenty-four hours she’s got to stop that from happening.

‘You’re a royal pain in my arse, d’you know that?’

Kate forces a laugh. ‘You wouldn’t want me any other way.’

By the time Kate gets off at Waterloo, she’s caught up in the after-work throng that’s spilling into the station. If she didn’t have to get somewhere else urgently, she’d go for a walk along the South Bank, the need to not waste such a lovely evening at the forefront of her mind. She’d no doubt stop off to listen to one of the many buskers, each hoping to be the next Ed Sheeran. Kate always bought the home-burnt CDs that were sold out of the musicians’ empty instrument cases, mostly because she wants to support hard-working talent, but there’s a little part of her that likes to think that maybe, one day, she’ll own a rare recording of a global superstar.