Chapter 25
FAYE
Strands of red hair float onto the sofa cushions as she walks into the room. I see her face reflected in the TV screen, leaning over my elderly mother, skinny hands around her neck. This reflection sneers with hatred.
I wake with a silent scream. The room is pitch black, the sheets beneath me soaked. Slowly, I step out of my bed and switch on the light with a trembling finger.
I have never had a nightmare like that before. That wasn’t the dementia, it was something else. Pure terror.
It hits me. I believe someone who looks like me went to my mother’s house and entered her property by tricking her. That person most likely wants to do me, or her, or my whole family harm.
That twin I’ve always wanted… if she exists, she might just be the person making me terrified to sleep right now.
* * *
As dawn breaks, I give up trying to get any sleep and put myself under the shower. Try as I may, I can’t wash away the creeping sensation that something is very wrong. I can’t get it out of my head. Why would someone visit my mother? Why ask about the adoption? Why say those horrible things to her?
As I try to rationalise it, my thoughts swing from believing it was me, to believing there’s an evil version of me lurking in the shadows, impersonating me and watching me. Someone who hates me.
When I thought I might have a twin before, I was concerned she might be hurt. I was worried about her and wanted to help her. But now I feel afraid of her, terrified of what she might be capable of. That’s if she exists at all.
Having an enemy out there in the world is far less terrifying than the idea that there’s an enemy within me, sabotaging my every thought and feeling.
A parasite that I can’t cleanse. With the adoption agency offering no new leads, I realise there’s only one person who can help me.
I need to try and speak to Rachel again.
She’s the only person who knows the truth and I have to do everything I can to find it out. Once and for all.
I drive over to her nursing home later that morning, before I can talk myself out of it.
After I arrive, I sit in the car for a few minutes, preparing for what may come.
Another day with another mother, and my only hope for answers.
I walk up to the reception and sign into the guest book.
Then I make my way down the corridor, transforming my fear into determination with every step.
“You again,” Rachel says as I walk in.
She’s propped up on the bed with lots of pillows. There’s a newspaper on her lap. She seems as though she was happy and content until I ruined it by stepping into the room.
“I won’t keep you long, Rachel.”
“Good,” she says.
“Do you remember you had a baby in 1974? One you gave up for adoption?”
She rolls her eyes. “You can’t even get it right, Claire.”
“Who’s Claire?” I ask. “And what can’t I get right?”
“There were two babies. Two.” She sighs. “You know that, Claire. You were one of them.”
I freeze. This is it. The confirmation I have been searching for. “You’re sure? Two babies? You had twins?”
“There were two babies,” she repeats. Validation and triumph courses through me. I was right. I am not mad. “They wouldn’t keep them together. Bad that, isn’t it?” She continues. “But they were better off alone than together with me. That I know for certain.”
“You do?”
She nods.
Suddenly, I’m hit by the emotion this news brings. I have a twin sister and her name is Claire. Tears prick the backs of my eyes and heat flushes my face. “You called… you called me Claire?”
“No,” she says. “I didn’t name them. It seemed silly to do that. They weren’t mine, not really.” She bites her lip and breathes heavily. For a moment I see the pain of the teenage mother, forced to part from her children.
“Where did the name Claire come from?”
“Ask your parents,” she says. “Why are you asking me all of this?” Immediately the vulnerability lifts, her temper erupting over her cruel face.
I ignore her question and plough on with my own. “So, you contacted Claire when she was older? That’s how you know her name?”
“Why are you talking like that?” Rachel asks. Her eyes narrow. “Who are you?”
“I’m one of the babies,” I say. “I’m one of your twins.” I lean forward, hoping to take her hand and connect with her at long last. “I am your daughter.”
She pulls her hand away from me and raising it, she slaps me, a harsh sting across my cheek. “I don’t know you. You’re nothing to me. Get out.”