Chapters (34)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Letter from Author
Oh God. Charles on the phone, after the post-mortem results came through: She was six weeks pregnant. We hadn’t had sex since before Christmas.
I am fantasising. Making this up. None of this is true.
But here it is, in her handwriting: He will walk away, protesting his innocence, blameless in his own mind, and leave the country holding the baby.
Just like me.
I feel sick. The blow is physical. I have to get out of here. I run downstairs, into the sitting room where Luke and Sam are flapping around in their bath towels, shouting and screaming ‘Return of the Mack, return of the Mack’, as though it’s the funniest song ever.
‘Are you OK?’ Charles asks. He frowns, seeing the Filofax I’m clutching. ‘You look pale.’
‘I’m all right. It was hard, but I’m fine. But I’ve just noticed the time. I have to shoot. Sorry Charles. I must get to the Commons to start our coverage.’
Charles looks anxious and sad. I hope he doesn’t think that yet again I am putting my career and work before family. I want to tell him everything. But I can’t. Instead I do something I should have done a long time ago. I go up to him and hug him, hard. I don’t look back because I don’t want to see his reaction, or for him to see that my eyes are full of tears.
‘Thanks for having me,’ I shout at Luke and Sam. ‘It was such fun hanging out. Whatever you do, don’t tell Dad about the sweets.’
And then I run.
Chapter 29
Chapter 29
‘WHAT TIME DO YOU THINK Todd will be back in London?’ I’ve rung Jess while walking down Fellows Road towards Chalk Farm, where I’ll get on the Northern Line. The pain in my ankle is a blessing. It distracts from the screaming in my head. As I approach the junction, there’s a black-on-white placard announcing POLLING STATION outside a church hall. There’s a stream of people back from work to vote, and I want to shout, ‘Don’t do it, don’t vote for Todd!’
‘It’s hard to say for sure,’ Jess says. ‘I asked Fisher. They’ve laid on a Jag to bring him from Birmingham to the South Bank just as soon as the returning officer has announced. He reckons he should arrive around two in the morning.’