Little Ingleby is small, and it doesn’t take me long to navigate through the roads, ruling out houses along the way. When I reach a long road dotted with cottages and bungalows, I sense that I’m in the right area. From what I’ve read about Claire and her husband, they were wealthy, and no doubt lived in a large property like the ones I’m seeing around me. I pass a detached, red-brick house with its own gate and tasteful fountain on the driveway. What mars the sight of the pretty house is the police car sitting on the drive. Could this be the Blackburns’ house? Why else would the police be here?
I decide to quicken my pace and hurry out of sight from the police. I wore plain, navy jeans and a beige shirt today, hoping to blend into the background. I’ve tied my red hair into a bun, seeing as in every photo I’ve seen of Claire she wears it loose. That way I’m hoping the police won’t pounce on me as soon as they see me walking around.
As I carry on up the road, I almost turn back. I’m starting to second-guess what Alistair is doing. Why did I agree to us splitting up to ask questions? Now I can’t know what he’s saying or who he’s talking to. This is paranoia again, raising its pesky head. Alistair has been nothing but good to me and he deserves my trust.
As I turn the corner, I see the red front door and the elegant roses of Janice Tideswell’s house. I place my hand on the cool iron of the garden gate, open it and follow the path to the front door. Before I lose my nerve, I knock three times using the brass ring.
A tall woman in a cream cashmere cardigan opens the door.
“Claire!” Janice exclaims. “We’ve all been so worried.”
She tries to hug me, but I step back. “I’m so sorry. I’m actually not Claire. I’m her twin.”
Janice shakes her head slightly and her greying curls move prettily around her face. “What are you?—”
I grab my wallet and flick through it to find my driver’s licence. “My name is Faye Mathis and I’m Claire’s estranged twin. I’m sorry, I know this is a bit of a shock. To be honest, it is for me, too.”
She glances at the ID and then at me. “Claire never mentioned you.”
“She might not have known about me,” I say, making the split-second decision to be honest with this woman. “We were adopted to different families.”
“Oh,” she says.
“I know this is all a bit much, but I know you reported her missing and I’d like to find out a bit more.”
“I see. Would you like to come in?” Janice asks.
The warmth of her tone eases the tension in my body. I let out a relieved sigh. “I’d love that.”
She leads me through to a sunlit conservatory at the back of the house and brings out a pitcher of cool lemonade.
“I always make it on hot days,” she says, pouring me a glass.
“What a beautiful house,” I say. “And garden.” I gesture to the manicured lawn sloping up to two different levels.
“Yes,” she says. “Little Ingleby is a lovely spot full of great properties. We’re very lucky to live here.”
I agree with her and then jump right into my questions. “Were you and Claire close?”
“We’d have coffee every so often,” she says. “Usually right here in the conservatory. Sometimes in the village or at her house. Less often at her house.”
“Was there any particular reason for that?”
Janice pauses. “I actually don’t know. I always assumed it was the hassle of entertaining.”
I can picture Janice taking charge of a social situation. Her drinks always ready and prepared, her snacks made from scratch the night before. Perhaps Claire is more like me, someone never quite ready for visitors.
“Did Claire have a job?” I ask.
“No. Aside from housewife. She was always by Jack’s side when it came to official business. She kept the house tidy and had a few volunteer days.” She sighs. “You know, the reason we didn’t notice her absence is really because of Jack’s death. We thought she needed space, so we gave it to her. If I could go back and change that, I would.”
Her words are like a gut punch. This is the first person I’ve met who knew and cared for my sister. And now I can’t stop thinking what our lives would have been like if we’d never been separated.
“What is she like?” I ask.
A genuine smile crosses Janice’s lips. “Funny. But she didn’t show it often. A lot of the time was well put together. Very diplomatic. She is one of those people who never says anything controversial. But when she has a couple of Pinots or when she’s had enough of a boring fundraiser, that’s when her acerbic side shines through.” She takes a sip of lemonade to hide the fact that her chin is wobbling slightly. Then she places the glass down on a coaster. “I hope they find her.”
“I hope so too,” I say quietly.
