As the night deepens and the music gets louder, I return from the loos to see that the young girl who barged into me earlier has taken my place at the bar, and Seamus is giving her the same twinkling smile he was giving me a few moments ago. A green-eyed spike of jealousy twists through me. But I have no right to feel it.
Time to go home.
I push through the door out into the cold night, and, for a surreal moment, I see someone on the opposite side of the street who looks exactly like me. And I meanexactly. She’s coming out of Burger King, stuffing fries into her mouth.What the hell?I must be super-drunk to be seeing visions of myself. I take a few steps towards the figure and get a fright as a car honks its horn and swerves. I realise I’ve stepped out on to the road. Somewhere in the haze, I hear my gasp. By the time I recover my senses, the vision of me vanishes, and I stand alone on the pavement, shaken, almost sober again. I could have been killed.
Would that be so bad?
I step away from the kerb and walk a few steps. My reflection flickers in a shop window – red-rimmed eyes, smudged mascara – and as I catch the washed-out image of myself, I realise I don’t want to go home. Back to my office, to those auditors. Back to Lymington, where all my troubles are waiting for me. I’m not equipped to face any of it, but I don’t have the courage to admit my fears and ask for help. Or to run away and start afresh.
I’m stuck.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jade
Early next morning, I lurk in a narrow alley next to an overflowing recycling bin, across from Bella’s apartment, shivering despite my multiple layers. Her building is a four-storey white edifice in one of the nicest areas of town. Although I haven’t yet seen any bad areas of Lymington.
Her boyfriend’s BMW isn’t parked out front, so I guess he either didn’t stay over or he left already.
The street is quiet apart from the occasional dog walker, a couple of uniformed cleaners, and a few workers leaving their homes, smartly dressed, with thick coats and hats. All of them too preoccupied to notice an unremarkable figure hunched in the shadow of a bin, plotting. A dark-red Mercedes SUV rolls by with blacked-out rear windows and a stressed-looking mum in the driver’s seat. I feel oddly invisible, capable of anything. My hands tremble, not just from the cold, but from a mixture of nerves and anticipation.
I continue to watch the block, breath held, blowing on my gloved hands and stamping my feet to try to get some warmth back in them. Finally, after thirty minutes of freezing my arse off, Bella’s pale blue Fiat slowly emerges from the rear of the property. I geta good look at her face through the windscreen. She’s wearing her hair scraped back a little too harshly, and has a thick, blue wool scarf at her throat. She looks rough, as though she hasn’t slept. For a moment, I wonder if she’s been up crying, or arguing, or if today she simply feels the same friction with the world that the rest of us do. She looks left and right, and peels away down the road.
The moment her car turns the corner, my body jolts from its hiding place. It’s now or never. I stride over the road and up the stairs to the entrance doors. The copied key works on the first try, which gives me a sick little thrill. Inside, the hallway is empty and smells faintly of lilies and cleaning fluid.
I climb the stairs, rather than take the lift, each step steady, though my chest clangs, my system flooded with adrenaline. Bella’s flat number is 12, which I’m guessing must be on the third or fourth floor, but I stop on the second to have a look, just in case. Nope. This floor goes up to flat 8. On the third floor, I spot number 12 and do a quick scan in case she might have a door cam, but there’s nothing I can see to suggest any kind of additional security, so I approach the door, heart racing.
The copied keys slide effortlessly into the locks. I turn the second, and hear a beautiful little click. I push open the door, still wearing my thin faux-leather gloves, as I don’t want to risk leaving any fingerprints. I’d assumed that we’d share the same prints, but apparently not. I’ve done my research. Everyone’s are unique, twins included.
Although I saw Bella leave a few moments ago, I pause in the doorway, my head cocked, listening for any sounds of life. But all is silent. No beeping alarm either, which is a relief.
Once inside, front door closed, I do a slow pan of the flat. Small hallway with a gilt mirror above a console table. Pale oak floors, high ceilings, and white sash windows. Black-framed glass doors leading to a huge lounge-kitchen-diner. A wood-panelleddoor, open a crack to reveal a bedroom in pale green and muted creams. I push open another door to see a guest-bedroom-slash-office, and another door reveals a tasteful limestone shower room with brushed-gold fixtures.
I can barely comprehend that if everything goes to plan, this could be my new pad. It doesn’t feel real. But I can’t stand here gawping all day.
I move with purpose. First, the mahogany desk in the spare room. I open all the drawers, rummaging through stationery, spare cables, notebooks, old greetings cards, and various other crap. And then, inside the bottom right drawer, beneath a stack of papers, I find a battered grey Moleskine notebook. Flipping through the pages, I’m elated to find a scrawled list at the back with her passwords, usernames, even thePinfor her phone. So predictable, so careless. I just have to hope they’re up to date. I guess she did make some effort to conceal them – having written in pencil, she’s erased a few letters, worried someone might find them. I’m sure I have enough info here to work some of them out.
Another upside to discovering this handwritten treasure trove is that my writing is nothing like hers, so I’ll be able to examine how she forms her letters and practise. I take photos of all five pages’ worth of codes.
There’s a filing cabinet in the corner, the keys hanging from its lock. I open it and take photos of bank statements, bills, receipts. Not sure if I’ll need anything here, but it doesn’t hurt to have the information. There’s nothing that I can see of any note on the bookshelves.
I leave the office and head to the living room next. Such a beautiful airy space with tasteful, comfy furniture, expensive-looking rugs, and modern artwork. How did she end up with this life while I ended up with mine? Was it simply a quirk of fate? Did Penni reach into the crib to pick up the nearest of us, and itjust happened to be Bella? Or did Bella give a piercing gaze that endeared her to Penni? Perhaps it was Mum’s decision, and she bonded with me first. Well, whatever it was, I’d say that Bella got the better deal. Twenty-eight years of living in luxury, while I’ve had to scrape a living and rack up debt just to get by. I shake my head and drag my attention back to my surroundings.
I have a root around in the kitchen area, opening the cupboards, scanning the wine rack. I take one of the five bottles of prosecco – I doubt she’ll miss it. The fridge is almost empty – just a couple of tubs of M&S salads, a carton of oat milk, and a lone mango.
Gorgeous as it is, it doesn’t look like there’s anything else of interest for me in this room, so I head to the bedroom next. This is the main reason I’m here. To snaffle a few of Bella’s designer outfits so that I can really take on her persona.
I glance around the restful sanctuary, looking for a wardrobe, but I can’t see one. I frown. That can’t be right. There’s a door to what I presume is an en-suite, but when I push it open, I’m confronted with an enormous walk-in wardrobe leading to an opulent jewel-green bathroom with a clawfoot tub at the far end.
Wow.
I’ve never seen so many outfits, shoes, and handbags. It’s like a high-end store in here, all arranged by colour and heel height. I grab a pair of tan leather boots that look as though they’d cost a year of my wages. Should I take them? Yes, I should. I also pick out a couple of dresses, a jacket, two handbags – one of them a real Mulberry that I can sell online – and a wool coat that smells faintly of an expensive perfume. There’s something intimate about rifling through her closet, as if I’m absorbing her life through osmosis.
I spot a grey garment carrier hanging next to the coats, open it, and slot my choices inside. It takes all my willpower not to stuff it as full as I can. But I mustn’t tip Bella off to my visit. She can’tknow she’s been robbed. Reluctantly, I replace the tan boots. It’s winter, she’ll know they’re missing. I just need to be patient – they’ll be mine soon enough.
The last thing I take is a bottle of Kayali perfume, unopened, with a ribbon around the box. I’ve never heard of it, but it looks expensive, probably a gift she never got around to using. I stuff it in my coat pocket. Bet I can get a good price on eBay.
I finish loading up the carrier and decide it’s time to leave. I take one last lingering, yearning glance around the apartment, reluctant to say goodbye to what will hopefully soon become my home. But I can’t risk staying any longer.