She remembered that night clearly. They’d had a terrible fight an hour before they were due to leave the house. She’d refused to attend the event, afraid she’d be unable to stand on that carpet and smile and not reveal all their dirty secrets to the public. But Cliff had insisted. He’d persuaded her that not to go would attract even more attention. He’d told her that he loved her, that the whole thing was a mistake, that everything was going to be different moving forward. And what people didn’t understand was how convincing Cliff could be, to the point that she actually believed that this time would be different. You fool, Joanna.

The other thing that people didn’t understand was that he was a showman. A performer. Anyone looking at him or talking to him would assume he was a man in control of his life, and at the very top of his game. She was the only one who knew the real Cliff. She was the only one who saw the insecurity, the desperate need for validation and reassurance, the fear.

The first time Cliff’s affairs had been made public, she’d locked herself in the bathroom of the huge house they shared together. She’d sat on the floor for hours at a time, afraid to leave her home, trapped by the enormity of her humiliation. The thought that everyone was talking about her was paralyzing. They were unpicking every small detail of her looks and personality in their attempts to justify why Cliff might stray. The fault wasn’t his, apparently, it was hers. She’d even started to wonder if they were right. She’d felt like a failure.

Unlovable.

When she looked back at photographs from that time, she barely recognized herself. She looked gaunt and thin, her face so pale she could have successfully auditioned for a vampire movie and not needed makeup.

She closed the laptop. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have looked.”

How long would this continue? How many times would she have to say “no comment”?

Presumably until the woman who had been with Cliff in the car was discharged from the hospital and could answer some questions.

“Er, Joanna...” Nessa pointed a remote at the TV. “They’re filming from the hospital. Maybe there’s some real news for a change.”

A picture of a young woman appeared on the screen.

She had blonde hair and a wild, terrified expression on her face. The photo was slightly blurred, as if it had been snapped in a hurry.

The news presenter announced in a grave voice that photos had emerged of the unknown woman who had been rescued from the crash. Unnamed sources had revealed that she was pregnant, but no one knew more than that. Her name had yet to be revealed. The hospital team was refusing to comment. Everyone was asking the same question. Was the baby Cliff’s?