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I turn to face her, trying not to panic. Just because Alex Russell writes for the Insider, it doesn’t mean whatever she’s about to tell me has anything to do with him. They have tons of writers. And Jett told me he’d given Russell money not to run the story about him and Violet’s fake engagement — and presumably the way I reacted to it. So there’s really nothing he could do that would give Mum a reason to be looking as nervous as this.
Is there?
“You should take a look for yourself,” she mutters, still finding the kitchen floor incredibly interesting. “But before you do, Lexie, you should also know that this had absolutely nothing to do with me, okay? So, whatever you do, don’t shoot the messenger.”
She turns and leaves the room; which is another bad sign, because it suggests she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me when I read whatever it is the Insider has to say about me. (I’m assuming it’s something about me, anyway. I can’t imagine Mum coming all the way over here to tell me about some random showbiz gossip, although, to be fair, it wouldn’t be the first time…)
I hear the TV go on in the living room, and reach warily for my phone, not sure whether I really want to know what I’m beingdragged for this time. As Jett pointed out last night, though, not finding out isn’t exactly a solid plan either, so I unlock the screen, and navigate to the Insider’s website, hoping it’s just going to be a really unflattering photo of me again, and not anything worse than that.
(I can’t believe there was a time in my life when I’d genuinely have believed therewasnothing worse than an unflattering photo or two. Now, though, a photo of me with five chins, or a Voldemort grin, is what would count as agoodday online. That’s why I stopped using social media when I started seeing Jett…)
The website loads slowly, and, as the top story comes into view, I give a sharp intake of breath.
It’s not an unflattering photo of me.
Well, it’s notjustan unflattering photo of me. Thereisa pretty shit photo, which I guess was taken around about the time I had that giant zit. But it’s tiny, and in a little cut-out above the main photo in the article… which shows Alan Reynolds standing outside The Wildcat (Which is listed incorrectly as my workplace: Brenda will be thrilled), staring at the camera with a sad ‘compo’ face, while holding up a photo of Jett.
“My Two Dads,” says the headline. Then, in smaller text under it, “Jett Carter’s ex in paternity dispute as actor threatens legal action against Sexy Lexie Steele.”
Feeling like I’m about to throw up, I quickly scan the article, which describes in totally fictional detail how Jett apparently not only tried to serve me with a restraining order, but also threatened Alan and Lochlan — who, for some reason, is referred to throughout as “Lochy” — with the same.
“Jett Carter thinks Lexie has been stalking him since he came to Heather Bay,” Alan is quoted as saying. “And he’s sick of it. He just wants to be left alone to get on with his work; and, of course, to protect his girlfriend, Violet King, who Lexie has a history of attacking. Lexie was just a distraction for Jett. Violetis the one he really loves. He was always going to go back to her; Lexie knows that, but she can’t accept it, which is why she keeps stalking them both. She even turned up at a cast party for their movie, and tried to trick her way onto the set, so she could get at Violet. Jett had to literally carry her away.”
Then there’s a photo of Violet, looking predictably beautiful, at some red carpet even or something.
“Mum!” I shriek, my hands shaking so much I almost drop the phone. “Mum, you better get in here.”
“You’ve seen it, then?” she says, somewhat unnecessarily, as she shuffles back into the room a few seconds later. “It’s … not a great photo of you, Lexie darling. Honestly, you’remuchprettier than that makes you look.”
“The photo is the very least of my worries, Mum,” I yell, making her flinch. My voice is so high I’m pretty sure only dogs can hear me now, but I go on anyway, hardly able to believe what I’ve just read.
“What the actual fuck?” I say, holding up the phone, which Mum refuses to look at. “This is all completely made up. What was Alan thinking? Why did he do this? And how did he know Violet wanted to take out a restraining order against me?”
This is the bit that’s bugging me the most. Almost everything Alan’s said is either exaggerated or outright untrue. But Violethasthreatened me with a restraining order now; at least twice that I can think of. Asher mentioned it that night at The Crown, and then McTavish said she’d been talking about it after the incident with the wine, too.
But how didAlanknow that?
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mum raise her hand to her mouth, and start to bite her nails, in a gesture that reminds me weirdly of myself.
“Mum?” I say quietly. “Mum, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”
“It wasn’t me, Lexie,” she wails. “I swear to you, it wasn’t. When he asked me to let him interview me, I said no, right away. I knew you’d be angry if I did it, even though God knows we could both use the money. But I turned him away. I said, ‘No, not a chance. My daughter would rather see me starve than have me speak to the likes of you.’”
She looks at me appealingly. None of this makes sense.
“Speak towho, Mum?” I ask. “You don’t mean Alex Russell, do you? Did he contact you, too? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“That’s right,” she nods. “He said he’d contacted you first, but you’d turned him down, so he wanted me to try to talk some sense into you; or, failing that, talk to him myself. Honestly, Lexie,” she goes on, her voice taking on a complaining tone. “I don’t see why you couldn’t just have done it. He told me how much money he’d offered you. If you ask me, you’re crazy to turn that down, especially with you in… well, in such reduced circumstances.”
“I didn’t ask you,” I reply. “But I still don’t get it. If you didn’t speak to him andIdidn’t speak to him, then how did he get to Alan? And how did Alan know about the restraining order? Wait—”
I turn to her with narrowed eyes as the penny drops. Mum takes her fingers out of her mouth and puts both hands over her face instead.
“I didn’t know he would go to the reporter,” she groans. “I thought he was justinterested.”
“So, what, you thought you’d just tell him there was a journalist creeping around, looking for people to sell stories about Jett?” I say angrily. “How could you be so stupid, Mum? Why on earth would you tell him that?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, reaching for me. I shrug her hand away, irritated. “I’m sorry, Lexie darling,” she repeats. “It was that day you and Jett came to the house to meet them both. After you left,Lochlan said he had to get back to his hotel to phone his wife, but Alan suggested we go for a drink together, to… you know, catch up on old times?”
