“You OK? You’re white as a sheet. How’s Rosie? All still on track for her to start rehab?”
Say what you liked about Christine, but she’d remained a great friend and confidante throughout and had kept up-to-date with all that was going on with Rosie even after introducing me to Declan.
Unlike Lucy, who, since I’d brought the suit against Madeleine, had shied away a little. She was obviously upset with me for doing so and, while I was dismayed that I seemed to have lost my one true friend in Knockroe, I could completely understand that her loyalties were torn. The problem was that I really needed her to testify when and if this case got to trial. Declan had said that our side was still strong without her, but if we could introduce incontrovertible proof that Madeleine was fully aware Clara was ill when she sent her to school, it would make a decision so much easier for the judge.
She’d said she’d pop in to the hospital to see Rosie this week, though, and, despite her misgivings about me, I knew she still cared deeply about my daughter.
I smiled tightly at Christine. “Ah, just feeling a bit hesitant about coming here.”
“To the supermarket?” she replied, incredulous. “Why on earth would you be worried about coming here?”
“Exactly for this reason—running into someone I know.”
“Wow. Thanks,” she quipped sarcastically. “Glad I rank so highly on your list.”
Chuckling, I swatted her away and offered a small smile as we began walking together down the aisle. “You know what I mean. And don’t take it personally. Things are just...” I struggled to find the right word. “I supposeawkwardis a good word to use. I feel a bit awkward at the moment, with all this stuff that’s coming out in public.”
Christine’s brow furrowed and she leaned into me, placing a free arm around my shoulders. “How are things going? I talked to Declan, but I couldn’t get anything out of him.”
I smiled softly. “Well, I should hope so.” Shaking my head, I decided to give her a short and to-the-point overview of what was happening. “Things are progressing as they’re supposed to—at least that’s what Declan says. We’re just waiting on a trial date now. But I suppose it’s just with all the public attention, this is getting...well, it sort of makes these outings uncomfortable.”
Grimacing, Christine asked, “Well, obviously ourfriendis getting a lot of flack, but people aren’t hounding you or anything, are they?”
Obviously she knew about Madeleine’s fall from grace, not that she seemed overly concerned.
“I’ve had one or two calls from the papers looking for comment. But I haven’t spoken to anyone. And I don’t plan to. This might be news fodder to some people, but it’s also my life.”
Christine nodded thoughtfully. “That journalist Gemma Moore certainly seems to have it in for Madeleine, doesn’t she?” Her voice took on an all-too-familiar gossipy and conspiratorial tone and I didn’t like it.
I stopped walking and turned to her. “Please, don’t be that way. I’m sure Madeleine is having a terrible time and nobody needs to add to it.”
Suitably admonished, she muttered a quiet “Sorry” and I began moving again, keeping pace next to Christine while snatching a loaf of bread off a shelf.
A moment later, we rounded the corner at the end of the aisle and I was met with a blast of cold air from the frozen food section. “In any case, I wish the media would just stay out of it. It’s merely whipping up an already difficult situation and—”
However, I discovered that I couldn’t finish my sentence, because at that particular moment I locked eyes with the one person I had not considered running into today.
Fifteen feet away from where I stood was Madeleine Cooper. She’d been in the process of plucking a liter of milk off the shelf, and in the seconds that had passed since she realized my presence, the look on her face had gone from one of shock and surprise to horror, embarrassment and finally anger.
Breaking my gaze, she tossed the milk into her trolley and turned violently away, rushing back up the aisle quickly. It was obvious she wanted to get as far away from me as possible.
Or had been warned to do so.
I heard Christine gasp and, in that moment, I pushed my cart to the side. “Madeleine, please, wait.” I had no idea what I was doing or eventhinking, but I knew I had to talk to her.
Christine called out after me, a warning in her tone, but I had no idea what she was saying, so focused was I on catching up to my so-called nemesis. But, for some reason, seeing her there, looking haggard almost, hair messy and face unmade-up, dressed down in jeans and an old sweatshirt, completely devoid of her usual bubbly glamour, had made me feel ashamed.
“Hold on, please. I need to talk to you.” But even if provided the opportunity, I had no idea what I was going to say.
Then, suddenly, she turned back to face me.
“What...” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her face painted with unbridled strain. “What could you possibly want, Kate? What on earth could we have to talk about now? I tried, you know I did, I tried and tried. Wanted to tell you how desperately sorry I felt about Rosie and how I’d do anything to help. But you didn’t want to talk to me then, didn’t take the time to listen to what I had to say. And now, it seems, there is nothingtosay.”
I had stopped my pursuit and now stood lamely in the middle of the supermarket aisle. “Madeleine, I just need—”
“Need what?” she whispered. “I’m so sorry that this happened to your daughter but what else do I have that you need to take from me, Kate? How many more ways can you think of to punish me?”
I felt like I had been slapped. The force of her words made me take a step back and put my hand over my heart, I could feel it pounding so loudly in my chest.
