Chapter 42
FAYE
“He might have hurt her.”
I let the words hang in the air between us.
“Who?” I ask.
“Magnus.”
“Is that Claire’s son?”
“Her stepson.”
She stands up, rubbing the tops of her arms. “On the day Jack died, I heard raised voices. I was out in the garden. I only ever hear them when I’m outside.
” She shrugs. “I mean, that’s when I’ve heard Jack and Claire fighting in the past. During summer.
Well,” she raises her eyebrows, “actually I only ever used to hear Jack. I never heard Claire’s voice. ”
“She didn’t argue back?”
Janice looks at me with wide eyes and shakes her head.
“So, the day Jack died, you heard Claire and her stepson, Magnus, fighting? Did you hear any words?”
“No, but he sounded furious.” Janice exhales, long and slow.
“How did you know it was Magnus?”
“It was him. He looks like Jack, but their voices are quite different. I thought about going over, but I didn’t want to get involved and I knew she would be embarrassed that I’d heard. I came inside. I didn’t want to hear it.”
I let the words sink in. A scene comes together in my mind. Janice kneeling on the lawn by her roses, a pair of secateurs in her hands. The windows open at Claire’s house, her stepson’s booming rage filtering out into the air.
“It wasn’t until the next day that I found out Jack had died.
When I next saw Claire, I was too focused on supporting her to bring up the argument I heard.
But it has bothered me. And now she’s missing.
I just know it has something to do with him.
” Her agitation is extreme as she shares this with me.
“And you told the police this?”
“Yes, but I have no idea if they’ve followed it up or not. I haven’t heard any more.”
I look back to the upstairs window of the Blackburns’ house where I saw the figure moving around.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say, breaking the tense silence. “Is there someone at Claire’s house right now?”
Janice moves closer to the conservatory glass and squints into the distance. “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen anyone.”
“I saw a Skoda in the driveway as I passed.”
“That’s Claire’s cleaner’s car. But why would she be there?” Then she gasps. “Oh, that’s right. Before Claire went missing, she mentioned that her cleaner was going to be away for weeks. Some sort of long cruise vacation. She’d been saving up for years, apparently.”
“So, it’s possible she doesn’t know Claire’s missing?”
“It’s possible,” Janice muses. “Poor thing, someone needs to break it to her.”
* * *
I walk up to the Blackburns’ house, my palms itching with anticipation. Excitement, even. This is reckless. It’s probably the most daredevil action I’ve ever taken. But if I don’t find Claire, I can’t clear my name.
In my backpack is a screwdriver, hammer and crowbar. I came prepared. Not just to speak to Janice Tideswell, but to get inside Claire’s house. Even if I had to break in.
I’ve finally found new strength from my diagnosis.
Because now I realise I have nothing to lose.
There’s nothing stopping me pushing my boundaries to a place I’d never dare go if I knew my future lay sprawled out like a red carpet.
Clearing my name and finding my sister is more important to me than getting into trouble over breaking into a house.
My stakes are higher than they have ever been. And there’s freedom in that.
I walk up the drive. Claire’s house is beautiful. Ivy climbs the walls in thick ropes. White pillars stand next to a large, blue door with a brass knocker. Not a single weed pokes up from in between the stones that criss-cross along the driveway. I smooth down my top.
Before I reach the front door, it opens and my heart skips a beat. I try to rearrange my shocked expression to one of relaxed serenity, as if I own the place.
A woman in a blue tabard walks out of the house carrying a vacuum cleaner.
I jog up to her, forcing my mouth into a relaxed smile.
“Hi!” I wave. “No need to lock it. I’m just coming back from… a jog.”
The woman turns her face up at me. “Oh, Mrs Blackburn. You made me jump!”
“Sorry.” I place my hands on my knees, pretending to be out of breath. She looks at me with a curious expression. “How was the cruise? Was it amazing?”
Any doubt dissipates when I ask about the cruise and her eyes light up. She’s around my age, with a few wrinkles and greys, but her skin is tanned and glowing from the holiday.
“Oh yes, it was brilliant,” she says.
I stand there awkwardly as she talks about her trip, even showing me a few photos on her phone.
Trying not to say much, I nod and smile and hope I’m emulating the twin sister I’ve never known.
But the cleaner – who I wish I knew by name – is so lost in her post-holiday bubble that she never, not for one moment, realises I’m not who she thinks I am.
“I have to go,” she says. “I’m late. I can’t stop nattering about the holiday. Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m glad you had a good time!”
As she starts walking down the driveway, my heart finally slows and I risk a glance down at my fingertips to see them trembling. I force myself to wave as the Skoda pulls out of the drive and onto the road.
“Holy shit, Faye. Holy moly, holy shit.”
Gently, as though it might break, I place the backpack down, pull a pair of gloves from the front pocket and step into Claire Blackburn’s house. There’s no blaring alarm. No broken windows. All I had to do is walk in through an unlocked door.
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.