Now my sister and I are both intruders in each other’s homes.
“It’s one all, Claire,” I mutter to no one.
I close the door behind me and try not to worry about my footprints as I head through a wide, tiled hallway into the living room. I’m not sure what I’m searching for here.
There has to be more to the story. When did Claire find out about me? Did she write it down? Does she have correspondence with the adoption agency? But more than that, I need to find something that might incriminate someone else in her life. Janice mentioned her stepson, which eerily mirrors my own life with Nathan. What were they arguing about that day? Did it lead to Claire’s disappearance?
I move across the living room towards an antique sideboard, wondering if documents sit within, the key to the mystery. But before I open the cupboard doors, something on the fireplace mantel catches my eye. I move closer. There’s a framed photograph of a family, all standing close together, smiling. There’s Claire, my doppelganger, and her grey-haired, now deceased husband. A couple of children stand in front of a young, blonde-haired woman who I assume is their mother. But it’s not any of them who grab my attention.
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach as I recognise the man at the centre of the photo. A man who has wormed his way into my life. A man who has lied about everything, including his name.
I pick up the photograph and bring it closer to my face so that I can make absolutely sure that I’m right.
Then I hear the front door open.
CHAPTER 43
THE GRAVEDIGGER
She thinks she’s fooling him with that disguise, but he knows it’s her. He sees her face in his dreams, and his nightmares. He would know it anywhere. He’s been watching her more closely than usual the past few days, trying to work out the best moment to spring his plan into action. Whenever he can get away from the life he pretends to live, he monitors her movements.
And now he watches as she leaves in a taxi. He follows it.
About halfway through the journey, he realises that she’s going back to Little Ingleby. A spasm works its way through his body as he follows her back to where it all started.
She’s exiting the taxi. He’s forced to drive past, hoping she doesn’t see him.
She’s going to the house. She has to be.
This turn of events has forced his hand. He will now have to act. It’s slightly sooner than he expected but if that’s what she wants, that’s what she’ll get.
He’s surprised when she makes her way to the neighbour’s house. She keeps him on his toes and he likes that. He watches the nosey old bat next door let her in and he continues driving up the hill towards the village. He parks the car and walks over to a drystone wall. From there, he can observe her leaving the neighbour’s house.
He waits.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Then she’s on the move again. He watches her walk towards Claire’s drive and then sees her talking to the cleaner. He marvels at her audacity as she waves her goodbyes and makes her way into the house. Her confidence excites him. He will have his fun after all.
He hurries back to his car, and drives down the hill, reducing the speed to a crawl. He doesn’t want to alert her with his arrival. He pulls the car into the drive and parks close to the door, ready for a quick getaway.
This is it.
He grabs a small, pen-sized object from his glovebox before walking quietly to the front door. She’s here because she’s searching for answers. She wasn’t expecting the answer to lead to him. The thought makes him smile.
His pulse quickens when he places his hand on the door handle. This is a thrill he hasn’t experienced for a long time. He steps quickly into the house, closes the door and locks it. He doesn’t bother being quiet. He has decided to use speed instead.
As soon as he enters the living room, he hears the sound of her moving through the kitchen. Breaking into a jog, he follows, finding her pulling at the back door. When she sees him, her eyes widen into dinner plates. He clears the kitchen in two strides as she staggers away from him. He catches her skinny wrist, yanking her back towards him.
“Why are you doing this?” she winces in response to his grip, her voice pleading. “Why… why did you lie? What do you want?”
“What do I want? A few things, actually,” he says. And then adds, “Mrs Mathis. Or should I call you Faye now?”
She’s still struggling to get away from him, twisting and turning her body, but he holds on tight.
“Only if you tell me your real name,” she says. “Because I know it isn’t Tim.”
