Page 71 of The Actress Unscripted

He gives us both a quick salute, then drives off before I can object to this.

One more thing to add to my ever-increasing list of problems that need to be solved.

Back home, the power has been restored, so I plug my phone in to let it charge and wander off to have a bath. I was so keen to get out of Jett’s cabin this morning that I bypassed the luxury rainfall shower in the cabin (Don’t worry, Mum made up for it by staying in for almost 20 minutes. “It’s the Highlands, Lexie,” she said, when she finally emerged, her skin like a prune. “It’s not like there’s a water shortage, is there?”), but I find myself thinking longingly of the rows of Neom products that were lined up on the bathroom counter (Hotel freebies? Or Violet King’s?) as I duck beneath the tepid water of the tub, and do my best to shampoo my hair in the few inches of water I managed to coax out of the tank.

This is a mistake, I hear Jett’s voice say as soon as my head’s under water.

A mistake. A mistake…

I pull myself back up again, shaking my head as if to clear it.

Maybe I should try messaging him again? Maybe he’ll have unblocked me by now? Hedidsay he didn’t hate me. But then he ran off. That seems like a pretty clear sign that he regrets the kiss. That he really does see it as amistake.

I want to scream in frustration at all of these jumbled thoughts that keep swirling around my head. Instead, I climb out of the bath and get into my Pikachu robe before heading back to my bedroom to check my phone for messages.

You know, just in case.

You have one new message.

It’s a voicemail. And I know it’s probably not going to be from Jett, but I press the button to listen to it anyway, determinedly trying to stamp down the tiny spark of hope that lit up somewhere inside me when I saw the message alert.

“Oh, hi Alexandra,” says a woman’s voice I don’t recognize. “I’m calling from the clinic. About your DNA sample?”

I hear her take a deep breath. I do the same, my heart racing as my brain registers that this is it: this is the moment I’m finally going to find out who my father is. Alan or Lochlan. Rock or hard place. Devil or deep blue sea.

“I’m sorry to do this over the phone,” the woman says, “But we’ve checked all three samples that were submitted, and I’m afraid none of them are a match.”

She goes on to say something else; something about giving her a call back if I have any questions, but I’m not listening because she’s already told me everything I need to know.

I sit down abruptly on the edge of the bed, the phone still clenched in my hand.

It’s not Alan… and it’s not Lochlan, either.

The picture I’d formed in my head — the hopefully-not-wicked stepmother; the two half-sisters; the spaniel called Cheeto — abruptly shatters. But so does the other one: the broke mechanic who sold his story to the press; the lifetime’s worth of having to deal with a father I can never trust.

It’s neither of them.

Neither one of them is my father.

I’m not Luke Skywalker, about to experience the plot twist of a lifetime. I’m just Lexie; the same person I’ve always been.

I’m not sure, but I think this might begoodnews.

I sit very still, and poke around the edges of the emotions that are fighting it out inside me at this latest bombshell.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s relief that’s coming out on top.

With maybe just atinybit of frustration lurking underneath.

At least I won’t have to go fishing. Or play darts. And, honestly, I’m not sure I’d evenlikehaving sisters, anyway. I’m used to it being just me and Mum; and maybe that’s for the best, because, knowing me,I’dbe the wicked stepsister in this situation.

Maybe this has been a lucky escape for all of us. Even Alan, who’d surely have been disappointed to find out I have no money of my own, and no access to Jett’s, either. I have a feeling old Alan would’ve abruptly lost all of his fatherly instincts once he found that out.

I really wish I could speak to Jett about this. He’s the only person who’s ever really seemed to understand what this whole thing has been like for me; probably because he’s the only person who’s ever really understoodme.

Or he was, at least.

I’m not sure he isnow. Because he might nothateme, but that doesn’t mean we’re in “calling each other up for a quick chat about the men-who-aren’t-our-dads” territory either, does it?

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