But I keep talking. ‘Zac and I tailed the woman who looks like you. She was driving a brand-new Mini,’ I gabble, shadowing my mother as she leaves the lounge. ‘She drove to Lymington. Got on a bloody great yacht – it was a party, I think. And there was another younger woman on board.’
Mum opens her bedroom door, still ignoring me.
‘This woman,’ I continue, my voice rising, ‘she looked exactly likeme! And when I say exactly, I mean, apart from our hair colour, she was identical.’
Mum freezes in the doorway mid-stride, her back to me, but she doesn’t respond.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ I demand. ‘Who are they? You must know who they are, or you wouldn’t be trying to get away from me right now.’
Mum’s shoulders drop and she turns around slowly, her face taut, her eyes bright with emotion. ‘I didn’t want you to find out,’ she whispers.
‘Find out what?’ I ask, my heart pounding.
‘I wanted it to stay just you and me,’ she continues, her hands twisting in front of her. ‘I should never have moved down here. I’m such a fool.’
My voice hardens. ‘Mum, just tell me who they are. Have you got a sister? Have I got a... twin?’
She sways, jaw clenched. ‘I think I’m going to need something stronger than tea. Fetch that bottle of vodka from the cupboard.’
We return to the living room, and she sits while I bring a couple of glasses, the vodka, and a can of Diet Coke over to the sofa.
Mum pours herself a generous measure of the vodka with trembling fingers. I top it off with the Coke, and she lifts it like a shield, takes a deep swig before speaking. ‘I suppose I should start from the beginning,’ she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I sink back down on to the sofa and clutch my own glass, fear and anticipation swirling in my gut. I lean forward, scared to hear, but desperate to know. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’
Chapter Nine
Nicola runs a hand through her dyed blonde hair and puffs out a breath. She surveys the room and wonders why she even bothered tidying it up. She tried sprucing up the saggy settee by half covering it with a green throw she found in a charity shop, but that’s made it even worse. The scuffed bamboo coffee table with its scratched glass top actually looked more respectable under piles of old mail, empty takeaway containers, and dirty crockery. And it would take a bazaar’s worth of rugs to cover the stains on the worn carpet. ‘Brilliant,’ she mutters to herself. ‘Welcome to the palace.’
It’s never going to look anything other than what it is – a rundown social-housing flat in a grotty part of Middlesbrough that’s too hot in summer, and freezing in winter – like now, on this dank, grey February afternoon.
She’s annoyed at herself for trying to make the effort. Why should she go to all this trouble for her sister after Penni more or less abandoned her? Penni rarely visits anymore. In fact, the two of them have hardly been on speaking terms for fifteen years. It was after the tree incident occurred that things started to go pear-shaped between them.
She flops on to the lumpy sofa, fishes a cigarette from a crumpled pack, flicks her lighter until a yellow flame shudders to life, and takes a long, steadying drag. Smoke drifts towards the ceiling as memories of that awful day come racing into her brain. After Nicola’s screamsbrought their foster mother, Janet, bolting from her bedroom, Penni was rushed by ambulance, lights flashing, to the hospital with serious abdominal injuries and a suspected concussion.
Nicola had sat in the waiting room in shock, numb, as doctors in scrubs whispered ‘internal bleeding... concussion... life-threatening.’
Nicola was convinced that her sister would die.
But she didn’t.
Thankfully, Penni made a full recovery, and Nicola couldn’t wait for her to be well enough to come back home. Only, things didn’t work out like that.
When she finally came to, Penni let slip to one of the nurses that Nicola had instigated the tree-climbing and had accidentally pushed her. A sliver of betrayal that rippled through social workers’ notes, through hushed meetings with Mike and Janet, until Nicola was deemed ‘a risk’ and packed off to another home.
Nicola wasn’t stupid; she gleaned snippets here and there and was horrified that they thought she was a bad influence on Penni. They even wondered if she’d tried to deliberately hurt her sister. But she really hadn’t! It was just a terrible accident, wasn’t it? Yet, somehow, they poisoned her sister against her.
Penni wasn’t keen on visiting Nicola at her new home, and whenever they did meet, she was quiet, withdrawn. Nicola couldn’t get her to open up. To be like she used to be. Like they used to be. Something between them was broken.
Since then, unlike Nicola, Penni has thrived. Mike and Janet ended up adopting her. She did well at school, went to university, and married Paul Newbury, a successful estate agent who originated from down south. While Nicola lurked in the care system, was expelled from school aged fifteen and drifted from one poorly paid job to another in between long bouts of unemployment. And now, here she is at twenty-four years of age with nothing to show for her life.
The doorbell rings, yanking her back to the present. She opens a window – a slap of icy wind rattling the sash – grinds out her cigarette against the exterior wall, drops the butt on the concrete slab, then stuffs a tab of gum into her mouth.
Nicola’s heart hammers. She doesn’t want to open her door, and yet she desperately does. Penni is her other half. Without her, she’s felt cut adrift, like she could float away into outer space. But she knows her sister doesn’t feel the same way about her. If she did, she would never have stayed away.
The doorbell chimes again, making Nicola jump. She steels herself, strides across the threadbare carpet, and pulls open the door.
Penni stands in the drizzle, cheeks pink, chestnut curls clinging to her face. Hazel eyes clear and bright. They share the same face, but Nicola sees a very different person to the one she sees in the mirror. Behind her, a man walks up the front path, tall in a dark overcoat, polished leather shoes tapping the pitted concrete.Paul. Nicola’s heart sinks. What’s he doing here?
