I grab my laptop.
I start with Claire, 1974 and North Yorkshire. A few social media profiles come up. Alistair leans over my shoulder, watching as I scroll. He points towards the screen.
“Click on that.”
The link leads to a headline of a regional BBC news article.
Local woman Claire Blackburn missing from the Stockton area.
Claire Blackburn, 50, has not been seen for ten days following the funeral of her late husband Jack Blackburn, 53, in Little Ingleby, Stockton-on-Tees. Neighbour Janice Tideswell reported Claire Blackburn missing on 10 July.
Family members have expressed concern for Claire’s well-being after the sudden loss of her husband. Lisa Blackburn, Claire’s daughter-in-law told the BBC that the family are hoping Claire has gone away for some space to grieve. “We want to believe she forgot to let us know but it’s unlike her to do something like this. We’re obviously really worried about her mental state right now. She’s vulnerable.”
If you have any information regarding Claire Blackburn’s whereabouts please contact Cleveland Police or BBC News.
“Oh my God,” I say.
At the top of the article is a photo of Claire Blackburn. Same wavy strawberry blonde hair, same heart-shaped face, same thin lips. Exactly the same. Seeing that picture is like looking in the mirror, and now it leaves no doubt at all. I have an identical twin sister.
CHAPTER 28
FAYE
Ibarely sleep that night. How can I when I’ve finally found her? Now Iknowshe exists. My missing half, my sister. I was right. I can hardly believe it after doubting myself all this time. After watching expressions of pity flash across the faces of loved ones.
But Claire has been missing for about two weeks. Why? What has happened to her?
And if I’m right, then she was on Seeley Moor just after she was officially last seen, and at my mother’s house a few days ago.
As Alistair sleeps beside me, I read the article over and over again on my phone. I even find her neighbour, Janice Tideswell’s Facebook post asking if anyone has seen Claire. I click through and find Claire’s Facebook page. It’s private and the profile picture is of her with her grandkids. She’s a grandmother.
The article mentions that Claire’s husband Jack passed away recently. After a little more digging online, I see Jack Blackburn was a local businessman with a very successful haulage company and he died from heart disease. Dealing with the sudden death of a husband would be so painful. Perhaps her mental health is suffering, or she has had an emotional breakdown. I can’t stand the thought of her vulnerable and afraid somewhere out there alone.
I consider the thought that she might be in the same boat as me. My condition is difficult even with proper treatment and a support network, how would it be without any of that?
My thoughts spiral and adrenaline won’t let me rest. But there’s also an uneasy edge to my ceaseless enquiries. Why is she stalking me? Why is she upsetting my mother?
Giving up on sleep entirely, I climb out of bed and pace the house. First my office, then the living room, then the kitchen. I check the doors and windows are locked, even though I feel much safer with Alistair in the house with me.
What if Claire is a bad person and she’s doing all thistome. But why? To make me feel like I’m going crazy? What’s the endgame there?
When dawn breaks, Alistair stirs. I’m back in bed. His hand reaches out for me and I answer, distracting myself with the warmth of his skin, the taste of his lips on mine. Finding respite from the anxious thoughts swirling around my mind.
Then we shower, dress and drink coffee. I’m careful to take my medication. A night of not sleeping could easily affect me during the day.
“We need to go to Little Ingleby,” Alistair says. “It’s near Stockton-on-Tees so not far.”
“Shouldn’t I go to the police first?” I ask.
“We can ask around a bit before going to the police. There’s no harm. The police will probably tell you to keep out of it.”
“Yes, that’s true. Although people in Claire’s village may be confused when they see me. I look exactly like her.”
“Right,” he says. “Which is an advantage, isn’t it? You can pretend to be her even!”
I shake my head, speechless that he would make light of this.
He immediately senses my disapproval. “Sorry, I was probably being a bit reckless about you pretending to be Claire. But we finally have a lead. I’ll book us somewhere to stay.”
