Madeleine took a deep breath as, later the following week, she sat in the makeup chair at the Channel 2 studio, complying when the makeup artist instructed her to shut her eyes so she could apply eye shadow.
This morning was another attempt at rebuilding her reputation and saving face, but Madeleine had expressly checked with the producer about the other panel guests (namely Gemma Moore) on today’s Morning Coffee show before agreeing to go on.
While she was surprised that they’d asked her back given the flood of negative sentiment surrounding her just now, she was grateful for the opportunity to face the public, even though she’d been forbidden from uttering a single word about the case, never mind try to defend herself.
“I’m really not happy about this, Maddie,” her husband warned, when she’d told him she planned to face the music and hold her head high by carrying on as normal, rather than cowering in a corner, hiding away from what was being said about her.
Grimacing afresh at the media storm and public outcry that was still raging, she tried to think positive and remind herself that Tom was just as frustrated as she about this entire situation. He was angry at everything, not at her particularly.
At least not much, said a little voice in her head. He was still reeling over that blog post she had published on the day of the first news report, but following a speedy warning phone call from Matt Townsend, almost immediately had to take down.
In her own words, Madeleine had essentially pled her case—she had done her best to be sincere and tell the public the truth. But their solicitor had warned her about practically handing Kate and her legal team a victory and told her not to worry about what the public thought.
Her husband had readily agreed. “Who gives a rat’s ass about what your ‘followers’ think at a time like this? Not when our entire life savings and everything we’ve both worked for are in jeopardy.”
The words had stung but they had been said out of anger and frustration, and, admittedly, Madeleine hadn’t thought about it that way.
Perhaps worst of all, the blog hadn’t made the least bit of a difference, and if anything had stoked the fire of public dissent. Try as she might, Madeleine didn’t know what the solution was.
However, even if she wanted to further ponder the weight of her worries, it wouldn’t have been possible, because her thoughts were just then interrupted by an all-too-familiar voice.
And the feeling of unease that she had been holding in her stomach ever since the story broke lurched forward and plummeted, like she had just gone over the biggest drop on a roller coaster.
“Hiya!” called the voice. “Yes, great week. You?” There was a bout of laughter and then the voice got closer. “I’m actually doing Coffee today, so I’d better get in to makeup and then I’ll catch up with you in the green room, OK?”
Madeleine’s eyes flew open, which earned her a tut from the makeup person. Mumbling her apologies, she flicked her eyes to the vacant chair next to hers before closing them again, wishing it would make her invisible.
No, this can’t be happening to me—I can’t be sharing the panel with Gemma Moore. She groaned in complete disbelief. But how? The producer had expressly denied that her nemesis Gemma would be on today.
Had he lied? Was the studio hoping for a ratings winner with some kind of standoff? But that wasn’t what this show was all about—it was a chatty, lighthearted lifestyle slot, not an episode of Jerry Springer.
But then why...
“Morning, Marcie,” Gemma greeted, situating herself in the chair next to Madeleine. “I know I’m not on the roster for this morning, but Conor called me for a last-minute fill-in and—”
Her voice dramatically fell silent, and Madeleine willed herself to play it cool. Clearly, the journalist had also spotted who was sitting next to her.
“Madeleine,” she said simply. It was not a question, and Gemma’s voice had taken on an imperturbable edge, as if she, too, had been duped and was unaware that the two would be sharing the panel this morning.
Madeleine secretly wondered what she had done to this woman—by all accounts a complete stranger—to make her so obviously dislike her. Why else would the journalist, with her sniping article and subsequent TV news appearance, be trying to ruin her reputation?
Regardless, she did her best to swallow the panic she felt. She was no coward and she had dealt with bitches like this before. Not to mention every small-town committee and parent-teacher association had someone similar. Gemma Moore would soon understand that Madeleine wasn’t someone who was going to be walked all over.
No way.
The journalist broke away from Madeleine’s cool gaze and sat back in her chair. A second makeup artist approached then and threw a cape around Gemma’s shoulders to prevent any product from getting on her clothes.
Madeleine willed her own attendant to hurry up and put the finishing touches to her face so she could extract herself from this uncomfortable situation. She might have worn a cool facade, but her stomach felt suddenly nauseous.
A beat of silence passed.
“Terribly tragic about that little girl, Rosie. Special needs, I hear, just horrible, really. So much suffering that could have been prevented.” Gemma paused to let that sink in. “Do you have any idea when you will be going to court?” she asked sweetly.
This overt attack, as well as the blatant challenge, made Madeleine see red. She felt a tidal wave of sharp responses rush to escape her mouth, but, in that instant, she also remembered what her solicitor (and indeed her husband) had warned her.
Do not discuss the case with anyone—especially people with loose lips. And don’t be tricked into having loose lips yourself, either.
That was the understatement of the year, Madeleine thought. Here she was, sitting next to a woman who had looser lips (and a bigger megaphone) than anyone.
Thankfully, at that moment, the makeup lady indicated that she was finished and removed the paper collar around Madeleine’s neck.
“I’m due in studio,” said Madeleine as she rose from her chair.
“Nothing to say?” shot back Gemma with raised eyebrows. “That’d be a first.”
She walked away, barely glancing back as she left the journalist in her wake.
It was only after she’d exited makeup and been escorted through to the studio that Madeleine’s hands stopped shaking.