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I nod grimly. I think I’ve pieced this sorry story together now, but I want to hear it, anyway.
“Well, one drink led to another,” Mum says, twirling a lock of hair anxiously. “And it all came tumbling out. You, Jett, everything that’s been happening… I thought he just wanted to know more about you, Lexie. That would be only natural, right, seeing as he might be—”
“Don’t say it,” I cut in, fiercely. I don’t want to hear her say that this man who’s sold me out to the press might be my dad. I don’t even want tothinkit.
“Well, I told him some stuff, anyway,” Mum continues, quietly. “I didn’t think he’d go to the journalist with it, but I suppose I should have. I don’t think his garage is doing as well as he made out. I think he must have needed the money.”
“You don’t say.”
I look again at the photo of Alan on the website, finding it hard to feel any sympathy for him and his money worries.
“How didyouknow about Violet and the restraining order, though?” I ask suddenly.
“Well,youtold me, Lexie,” says Mum, looking surprised. “That night when I found you and Jett in the pub. You kept going on about how Violet hated you and wanted you out of Jett’s life for good. You said you were worried that Jett would side with her, and try to protect her. You weren’t really making much sense. You were really drunk—” She has the audacity to give me a reproving look here, “But you did seem to believe Jett really loved her, and had never loved you. You kept on saying that.”
I sink into one of the kitchen chairs, my legs suddenly feeling like they’re no longer up to the task of supporting me.
It all makes sense now. Me rambling on about Jett and Violet, my paranoia at full force. Jett telling Alan and Lochlan they should speak to their lawyers. And I told them about how I’d ended up on the movie set myself that afternoon. I was just trying to explain why Jett was still in costume, but somehow it’s been twisted into me stalking Violet, and Jett having to intervene to save her.
What an absolute mess.
On the plus side, at least Violet will be happy. This article makes me soundwayworse than her.
As for Jett, though, I’m not so sure. He was already worried that Alan and/or Lochlan might be using me to get to him, and now look what’s happened. He’s so protective of his privacy. He’s going to absolutelyhatethis.
As well as the rubbish about restraining orders and stalking, the article also contains a huge amount of detail about Jett and his life; stuff Alan presumably got from Mum, who visited us both in L.A. once, but which he’s made sound like it came directly from me. There’s nothing particularly controversial, sure, but it’s all sopersonal. Jett’s anxiety around large groups of people. His weird relationship with his dad. There’s even a description of one of the bathrooms in his house, which has a poster of Jett opposite the toilet.
Oh God, this ishorrific.
Maybe I should message him and try to explain?
Maybe if I tell him what happened, and that I had nothing to do with it?
PING!
Before I can put this thought into action, my phone bursts into life with a new message alert, and I pick it up as carefully as if it’s a hand-grenade that might go off at any moment. Jett’s name is on the display. I have a feeling this can’t be good, but as I tapto open the message, I can’t suppress the tiny sliver of hope that rose up inside me at the sight of his name.
Surely he knows me well enough to know I had nothing to do with this?
Surely he’s not going to blame me for what idiot Alan’s done?
But no. No, it seems he doesn’t know me well enough to trust me not to blab. And heisgoing to blame me for every single word of that stupid article.
I saw the piece in the press. I can’t believe you told him all that stuff, Lexie. I know he might be your dad, and you probably wanted to bond with him or whatever, but I trusted you. Violet’s right: you need to stay away from us from now on.
My fingers are shaking as I hit the call button, knowing I have to speak to him right away. This is way too important for a text message that might get lost in translation, and which has no hope of even beginning to explain what I’m feeling. I have to speak to him in person. I have to sort this out.
But even though I try to try again to get through, it’s no good. The call won’t connect. It’s like the number no longer exists. And after approximately the 12th attempt, I’m forced to give up, and accept what this means.
He’s finally blocked me.
Twenty-One
“Come on, Lexie darling, you really need to eat something.”
In the aftermath of The Alan Interview, as I’m already thinking of it, Mum’s feeling so guilty that she’s actually trying to feed me; and the fact that she barely even knows how to heat up a Pot Noodle is testament to how serious this is.
“I’ve told you, Mum, I’m not hungry. I just want to—”
