‘Yes,’ I squeak. I wish I’d had longer to work out how to play this.
‘Then the explanation you’re about to give me better be nothing short of fucking miraculous.’
‘I don’t know what’s going on.’
‘Not going to fly!’ he bellows so loudly I have to move the phone away from my ear. ‘Not going to so much as taxi along the tarmac! Try again! You have the only interview with this woman and your friend in court takes this line to the nationals! You’re seriously telling me this is a coincidence? Do you think I was delivered with this morning’s milk? Is it my fucking silver top that’s confused you?’
When Ken starts delving into his rhetorical repertoire, you know you’re in deep shit.
‘I had nothing to do with this at all, I swear.’
‘Then how’d she get the story?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘If you value being in employment, try harder.’
‘There were rumours.’ I’m desperately trying to think three steps ahead, with blood pounding in my ears and the phone slippery. ‘Gossip round court a while back that Natalie and her lawyer seemed too close, and maybe that was why he was moved off the Shale case. That was all. Zoe took a chance and it paid off.’
‘I’d say it paid off, yeah. Based on nothing more than a hunch, she went to the Mail and never once mentioned what she was doing to you?’
‘I’m guessing she kept it from me because she knew it would ruin my story and I’d warn you.’ That’s better, that’s good, Rachel. No one knows about the text. Oh God, what if Zoe’s told people about what I did and Ken’s merely seeing whether I own up? Fuck, fuck.
‘Why didn’t you take the rumour seriously?’
‘None of us did.’
‘Apart from the new girl?’
‘Seems so,’ I say, limply.
‘Here’s what I think. I think Natalie Shale confessed she was doing the lawyer in some girly confidential with you, and instead of bringing the story to us you gossiped to a junior reporter, who for all her backstabbing double-dealing has still behaved more like something resembling a fucking journalist.’
‘Why would Natalie Shale tell me? That interview I did with her was all about getting good PR. She wouldn’t want this in the papers.’
‘And this has well and truly shafted our exclusive, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I concede, miserably.
As the initial shock recedes ever so slightly and the truth of this turn of events sets in, a significant degree of humiliation takes its place. To think I trusted Zoe. To think she play-acted agreeing with my decision to drop it. Zoe was probably contemptuous of me all along, while I played the experienced old hand.
‘I’m going to have to explain this to the editor and you’ve given me precisely fuck all to work with,’ Ken continues. ‘I’ve got plenty more to say to you and if you know what’s good for you, you’re going to find more to say to me. See me first thing tomorrow.’ He hangs up on me. At least that’s business as usual.
I pace the length of the flat trying to get a grip, think straight. OK, OK. Breathe in, then out. ‘First thing tomorrow’ – I’m probably going to keep my job. If Ken was going to sack me he’d want longer to confer with the editor and check it was feasible without risk of tribunal. But if Zoe tells anyone about the text, all bets are off.
Bottom line: what I did is illegal. I struggle to remember my long-ago training in journalism law. I think it goes, you’re allowed to look at the top page of a document left near you, but turn the pages to look inside and it constitutes trespass. Picking up a phone and opening a text would certainly qualify, should Natalie want to sue. Loads of reporters have crossed similar lines, I know some of them have pocketed photos. The difference is being caught doing it. Ken Baggaley would have no qualms about hanging me out to dry, I’m sure, as punishment for the real crime of giving the story away.
Blurry with rage, I call Zoe, punching at her number in my address book, marching up and down as I wait for it to connect. This number is no longer in service. I recall she kept saying she was going to change it after the personal advert hassle, but hadn’t got round to it – what fortunate timing to get organised this weekend.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I scroll through the numbers on my phone and call Simon.
‘Yes?’ he says. He sounds haughty and inscrutable, but then Simon generally does. He’s with someone, perhaps.
‘Simon, you need to see the Mail, the stuff about Natalie. I promise you that I had nothing to do with it—’
‘I’ve seen it.’
‘You have?’ Oh dear God, thank you, he’s seen it and it sounds like he’s not lost it. ‘Simon, I—’
‘I’ve talked about work enough this weekend. Meet me in St Ann’s Square, one p.m. tomorrow.’
‘Sure, I’ll be there.’
I hear the beep-beep-beep that indicates he’s rung off. Definitely with someone from work, that’s why he was so abrupt. I hope.
After some more pacing, hair-pulling and cursing, I call Caroline, which results in an unsatisfactory conversation taking place, at her end, on a golf course with Graeme’s parents. It might be distraction due to the game, but she doesn’t seem to understand why this makes me look – and feel – so bad.
‘If nobody can prove you told Zoe about it, then it’s on her, surely?’
‘They suspect I did.’
‘They can suspect all they want, Rach, they need proof and if you tough it out you’ll survive, I’m sure.’
‘What if I they already know and they’re testing me to see if I own up?’
‘Then you’re screwed either way, so still say nothing.’
‘I suppose.’ This thought isn’t remotely comforting.
I hear Graeme in the background, calling ‘Cee, hurry up, we’re turning to stone here.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ she says. ‘Have you spoken to Simon?’
‘For about three seconds. He wants to meet up tomorrow to talk about it.’
‘Yes, alright Gray – I’ve got to go. Let me know how it goes with your boss.’
When my phone rings an hour later, I practically sprout wings and flap across the room to answer it, hoping Ben’s going to give me the inside track on what’s gone on. It’s Rhys. For the first time since I left, the thought of him provokes annoyance rather than guilt. I haven’t got the strength to be made to feel bad about anything else right now. I’m guessing this is more logistics and unfinished house
