Chapter 36
FAYE
I walk along Seeley Moor wishing I had a faithful dog with me by my ankles.
Salt air mists over the sea, and my hair clings to my forehead, tentacles splayed across the shifting sands of my mind.
I walk farther than I ever have, all the way to the highest point of the cliff, alone aside from an old, tumbling farmhouse in the distance.
Alistair hasn’t been in touch since lunch the other day.
I’ve respected his request to give him space, but I’m finding it very hard.
I want to tell him all about the visit from PC Forrester, the bloody shirt, the suspicious glances from her colleague as he searched the house.
But most of all I want to tell him I’m sorry.
That I was selfish and wrong not to tell him about my diagnosis.
That I would do anything to turn back time and trust him enough to share it with him.
Instead, I regularly check my phone, hopelessly knowing that he’s going to need longer than a few days to think about things.
A smattering of cold drizzle wets the back of my neck on the way home.
This summer is unpredictable. My moods are too.
Dark thoughts lap at the surface, wetting the edges of my paranoia.
I no longer feel safe inside my house, not now I know she’s been there.
I lie awake at night, alert to any noise, picturing the police opening drawers, peering in cupboards and going through all my belongings. It doesn’t feel like home anymore.
This morning, I covered every mirror in the house with tea towels and scarves and shawls. I don’t want to see her face at all. My dark half, staring back at me, always watching. Though it doesn’t stop her appearing in my dreams.
I’ve been checking in with my mum every day. Of course, I don’t tell her what’s been happening, it would worry her sick. But I need to make sure she’s okay and that no more mysterious visitors have paid her a call. So far, nobody’s been back there. I just hope it stays that way.
I’m standing close to the edge of the cliff watching the sea emerge from the fog as it slowly lifts, when my phone rings, breaking the silence.
“Mrs Mathis, this is DS Oliver from Cleveland Police. I’ve been assigned the Claire Blackburn case. I believe you’ve been dealing with PC Forrester.”
“That’s right,” I reply.
“Good. I’d like you to come to the station to answer a few questions. Right away, if possible.”
“I’m not home right now. But as soon as I get back, I’ll set off immediately,” I say.
“Excellent. Then I’ll see you soon.”
By the time I arrive at Stockton police station a couple of hours later, my legs are shaky.
I want my body to be stronger than it is, but every muscle seems jellified, like I’m boneless.
A tall man steps forward and announces himself as DS Oliver.
“Mrs Mathis.” He extends a hand and gives me an official nod before leading me through to an interview room that is small and too bright.
He shows me where to sit. There’s a female officer with him too, but not PC Forrester this time.
“Can I get a glass of water?” I ask.
“One moment, Mrs Mathis. I’m setting up the interview.”
I note the recorder on the desk. This is official. Should I call a solicitor? I’m second-guessing myself. If I do that then I might make myself appear guilty. But guilty of what? I think of the blood on the shirt.
A word rushes into my mind, burning hot as it scalds its way forward.
Murder.
DS Oliver announces my name to the recording device, stating the date and time. The other officer is introduced as PC Henry, a stocky woman with red cheeks.
“How do you know Claire Blackburn, Mrs Mathis?” Oliver begins.
“I don’t,” I say. “I wish I did. I found out recently that she is my sister. My twin, in fact. Only we were separated at birth. We were adopted to different families.”
Oliver nods. “So, when did the two of you meet?”
“We’ve never met,” I reply.
“You’ve never been face to face with Claire Blackburn? Never spoken to each other?”
“No,” I say.
“When did you realise you had a twin?” Oliver asks.
I glance across at the silent police officer, wondering if she’s going to ask any questions.
“When I saw the viral photo. I know a lot of people thought it was me, but I knew it wasn’t. I had no recollection of walking down that road in such disarray.”
“But you are suffering with young-onset dementia?” he asks. “That’s what you told PC Forrester.”
“Yes. But it is mostly being controlled with medication at the moment. Obviously, it will progress, but I still have an awareness of what has happened to me.” It feels as though I’m warping the truth to make myself appear strong and together, the version of myself I used to be.
My mouth is dry and I wonder where that glass of water is.
“You didn’t ever try to find any siblings before then?” Oliver asks.
“No,” I say.
“And you’ve never met Claire Blackburn?”
“I already told you. No.”
PC Henry looks to DS Oliver who nods. She leans down under the table and produces a large ziplock bag containing the clothes found at my house. She dumps it on the desk and pushes it towards me.
“Twins may look identical, but their DNA is not,” DS Oliver says. “There’s blood on the clothes inside that bag. And the blood belongs to Claire Blackburn.”
When DS Oliver says the word “blood”, the room fades in and out of focus and I slump forward in my seat. I hear someone mention a glass of water but I can’t tell who’s speaking. Then a moment later PC Henry returns with a plastic cup filled with tepid water. I drink it in two gulps.
“Are you all right, Mrs Mathis?” DS Oliver asks.
I nod and place the cup carefully on the desk in front of me. “Luckily for you, you’ll never get to experience the wonderful symptoms of the menopause, which includes hot flashes. Thank you very much for the water. That helps a lot.”
He smiles thinly. “Why do you think finding out about the blood on the clothes led to such a strong reaction from you?”
“Like I said, DS Oliver, I am in the middle of the menopause, and this is a stuffy room. But also, because now I know my sister has been hurt and that is a distressing thing to hear.”
“Even though you’ve never met this sister?”
“Yes,” I say. “We’ve never met but I still feel a connection to her. I want her to turn up alive and well.”
“No one said she was dead, Mrs Mathis,” he says.
“I know,” I say calmly. “Neither did I.”
We’re irritating each other. He’s hoping for a rise from me and I’m pushing down the rage his questions are provoking.
I hear the insinuations in his voice. The accusation in his tone.
He thinks I might have hurt Claire. Or worse.
My house is the last place Claire was seen and they found blood on her clothes inside. None of this looks good for me.
DS Oliver slides a notepad and pen over to me. “Could you write down your whereabouts for the last twenty-seven days?”
I take hold of the pen and click it three times.
The police clearly suspect me of a crime, but I’m not guilty of anything except trying to get on with my life.
These past few weeks I’ve felt as though I was the victim, and yet here I am having to account for my movements and explain the strange circumstances that have led me here.
I close my eyes and the twisted grimace on Claire’s face from the doorbell footage lurches into my mind.
She was stalking me. She wanted to hurt me.
But now I wonder if she is trying to frame me.
I put my head in my hands and try to rub away the image of her from my brain, pressing and clawing at my scalp, pushing the spectre of her away.
“Are you well, Mrs Mathis?” Oliver raises an eyebrow. “You’re quite pale.”
I look up and the room shifts. I’m in a hospital room with my dad, staring at machines, too afraid to look at his withered and grey face.
I am sick to my stomach with the guilt of worrying about myself as he’s dying, wondering how on earth I will cope without him.
Then I blink again and DS Oliver stares at me with his head tilted.
This time his expression shows genuine concern.
I’ve forgotten the name of the other officer.
Oliver is hard to forget – he wants to arrest me, he wants to put me in prison.
He says something but when he speaks, his words sound jumbled up.
I don’t understand what he’s saying. And then a great sense of exhaustion washes over me and I slump forward.
Arms pull at my shoulders, sitting me up straight.
“Is there someone we can call?”
“What?” I shake my head.
“Is there someone we can call to collect you, Mrs Mathis? Or would you like to go to the hospital?”
“To see my father?”
The strangers in front of me regard each other with a look of confusion before gazing back at me.
And then everything shuts down. I’m in a dark room on my own, not able to see what’s happening around me. I know I’m speaking, and I hear someone replying to me. Is it her? My twin sister. My missing half.
I feel her here with me.
She’s come at last.